#maybe you have to instead of a flat rate tie it to an 'order of magnitude difference from standard grade'

[elainemorisi]

not a new proposal I'm sure, but I just think somebody should do a series where they take those tradwife influencers' resources and apply them to other jobs. like damn, ten assistants, nearly no risk, and a single piece of individually-possessed equipment is $35k, I feel like it'd be an interesting exercise to find a profession/vocation that didn't look tempting

[lordkambe]

⛓   title, type, word count: high rise, drabble, +1.7k

⛓   character, fandom, type of reader: chrollo lucilfer, hunterxhunter, woman reader.

⛓   genre, rating: y/n, explicit nsfw, 18+ only.

⛓   themes, triggers: public sex, oral m/f receiving, explicit dirty talk, daddy is used as a pet name

⛓   brief summary:  after a date chrollo invites y/n to a high rise suite. on the top floor they put on a show for yorknew. this is truly p*rn without the plot. 

⛓   author’s note: i know i promised this earlier but i got caught up with other things plus this went in another direction than i was intending. nevertheless, i had fun writing it and i hope you all enjoy it. feedback and further suggestions is always welcome. i’m also considering of doing tag lists so if anyone is interested in that please let me know. 

The chill from the glass elicited a soft shriek from you. Your hand reached forward to press your hand against the glass but Chrollo was quick to stop it. He earned a grip on your wrist and forced it behind your back. He pressed your frame firmly against the mirror. From over your shoulder you could see he was consumed with lust, “my love...” he moaned in your ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your eyes shifted to the skyline ahead. It lowered to see the busy streets of YorkNew beneath you. The suite Chrollo had rented was located in a high rise where the entire city of YorkNew could be seen. Embarrassment swept over you,

“what if someone sees us?”

“Then let’s give them a good show.”

The grip he hand on your wrist softened before he let go entirely. He decided to pull you towards him by using your neck instead. That same hand swept down your chest. He felt your breast through the thin fabric of the dress you wore. It was stark red color that fit your frame as if it was meant for only you to wear. Chrollo had gifted you the dress prior to your date. Just minutes before you two were in the lobby of the high rise returning from a night on the town. The way he treasured you led him to take you out anytime he was able to. You were his most prized possession.

He was gentle with the fabric but it wasn’t to spare it, it was to tease you. He felt you through the fabric before his finger looped through one of the straps. He forced it down exposing you entirely. He sees your reflection through the glass and you see his. His cheeks flushed into a rosy hue.

“No bra?” You can hear the excitement in his tone.

“It would’ve ruined how the dress looked.”

“Or maybe you’re just teasing me. Huh?” He pushed your frame closer to the glass once more. Your nipples hardened the second the cold glass touched them. You hitched a breath and felt the heat between your legs rise. Chrollo took the ends of your hair and pulled it causing your head to fall back. “Like the little slut you are.” Your lips meet and the kiss is filled with haste. Chrollo penetrated your mouth with his tongue. When you parted both of you elicited a harmonious moan. With each passing moment you felt the juices in your cunt grow. You clenched your legs together tightly in order to give yourself some pleasure as Chrollo continued to tease you. It’s almost as if he could read your mind. With his own leg he forced your legs apart. It caused a whine to fall from your hungry lips. He stepped back for a moment and you wondered what he was up to. “What are you doing?” Your voice is needy and desperate for his touch. He doesn’t respond but returns to stand directly behind you. He fixed your hair before his hands fell to either side of your waist. “Alright then. That’s what I’ll do.” You swallowed to prepare for a response but his actions are faster than you anticipated. He tore the dress from your figure and the tattered fabric fell into a puddle beneath your feet. Still pressed against the window the only thing on your body was your panties, already soaked through. He began to trail kisses on your back and down your spine. He lowered his frame while doing so. Now on his knees he stared at your ass. “Chrollo,” you whined. “My love, call me that other thing. You know.” You knew exactly what it was. It was when Chrollo had blinded you in a state of euphoria. You’d never been fucked like that before and you could’ve sworn you saw the stars. The adrenaline rush you felt from that evening caused the thing, as he called it, to fall from your sweet lips. “Daddy.” You whispered. “I’m terribly sorry my love. A little louder.” “Daddy!” You cried out. “And what would you like Daddy to do?” Your hand curled into a small fist and you bit on your lower lip. Your legs were trembling. You heard him chuckle. What’s so funny you think? Then you realize how wet you are. The juices from your swollen pussy dripped down the side of your leg and stained the floor underneath. Chrollo ran his finger up your inner thigh. A single finger pressed against your clothed entrance. “Say it.” It was a demand. With such haste you blurted out, “Daddy please fuck me hard. I want you, no! I need you.” In response Chrollo slipped your panties to the side and exposed your glistening pussy. Immediately Chrollo pressed his lips against your cunt. He gave it a sweet kiss before penetrating his tongue inside you. A moan bubbled up in your throat. It’s soft and you knew Chrollo didn’t enjoy that but he seemed to be to wrapped up in pleasuring you to care. His tongue lapped against your entrance the juices you created started to run down the sides of his lips. And the grip he had on your thighs? You were expecting to be greeted with bruises the next morning. As you moan and whine his tongue left you. It’s quickly replaced with his finger. Chrollo rose up to his feet and instructed you to push your hips towards him. Another finger entered inside of you. He’s stretching you out in preparation for his hardened length, equally as desperate to be inside you. The rhythmic pace of his fingers scattered but the sound your pussy made was consistent. You didn’t have to verbally ask to be fucked, your pussy said it all. Chrollo removed his fingers from inside you. You whined in disappointment. “I know, my love. I know.” Your neck twisted to watch him. He was unbuttoning his suit coat. It hadn’t hit you that he was fully dressed unlike yourself. With your legs weak you managed to find balance without his help. You walked toward him. “Please let me.” You said with your hands flat against his chest. You enjoyed undressing Chrollo, the moment was sensual and thrilling for the both of you. You began with his coat then loosened his tie. You removed each button to expose his toned body underneath. With your hands pressed against his biceps you slid your body downward. Now on your knees you unbuckled his pants. With the buttons undone and the zipper opened, you removed his pants to view his hardened cock hidden underneath the thin fabric of his briefs. Your hand touches the shaft of it before running it upward. It elicited a moan from Chrollo, music to your ears. You lowered the band of his briefs to finally expose his cock. You nearly drooled at the sight of it. “Daddy’s cock is so big.” The words fell from your mouth involuntary. And while you were desperate to have him press his entire length inside you. You couldn’t help yourself to attach your lips to the tip of his cock. You didn’t tease him. You took the entirety of his length in your mouth and the moan that left Chrollo’s mouth was the loudest you’ve ever heard from him. “That’s right my love, take it. Take my cock. So—- so fucking good.” His speech stuttered and it boosted your ego. Your head bopped in unpredictable patterns causing Chrollo’s knees to buckle. His hand tangled into your hair. “Ah, ah — fuck!” He tore your head from his cock. You let out a cough before using the back of your hand to wipe away the liquid from your lips. On your knees you looked up at him. He’s exhausted but hungry for more. “So are you going to fuck me good daddy?” You batted your eyelashes. Chrollo didn’t say a word. He lifted you up from your arm and gently threw you against the window once more. His hands ran up your stomach before he cupped your breasts he played with your nipples for what felt like an entirety. Finally, fucking finally. He entered inside you. Your wet pussy welcomed him with such ease that the two of you moaned in ecstasy. You arched your back and pressed your hands flat on the window. The sound of your skin clapping against each other filled the room. Alongside it were your whimpers. “I’m sorry Y/N? Do I need to get my ears checked?” He said between labored breathes. He took one of your legs and hooked it underneath his arm. You felt is cock hit your g-spot and you choked at the euphoric sensation. “I can’t hear you.” Instantly a moan bubbled from your chest and left your mouth. It was loud, visceral. The rims of your eyes began to water as he continued to mercilessly thrust into you. “That’s a good girl!” He praised. “Such a good fucking girl. That’s what they are thinking looking at you down there. Oh— god.” The beat of his thrusting grew erratic, he was close and so were you. “Chrol— Daddy! Oh! Fuck me! I’m going to cum!” He responded with his own moan. You felt his lips return to your shoulder. He littered your back with warm, sloppy kisses. Within your core you feel it tighten but the growing wetness in your swollen cunt is also concerning. You continue anyway far too warped in pleasure. Chrollo took a his two fingers and pressed it against your clit. You gagged in pleasure at the touch alone. Already so sensitive and on the verge of over simulation you welcome it anyway. He rubbed your clit with vigor. “Cum for my baby, cum.” The knot in your stomach released. The sound of pleasure that tore from your throat filled the room and it matched Chrollo’s deep, husky moans. He came inside you and you squirted all over his thighs. You stood there in the mutual mess you made. His cock softened inside you with another kiss on your shoulder he removed himself. You felt weak in your legs but he was quick to support you. “You did good.” He complimented as you could only greet him with a tired nod. He lifted you from your feet and carried you bridal style. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He said while pressing a firm kiss on your forehead.

[sequinsmile-x]

Serendipity

This was originally a prompt on here that I promised a follow up to, but got carried away.

The original prompt is in italics, so you can refresh yourselves on what it was!

Words: 3.6k 

Rating: Mature

Read over on ao3, or below the cut. 

Let me know what you think! 

It should never have happened. Emily hadn’t intended for it to, and she knew Aaron hadn’t either. They hadn’t meant to fuck at JJ’s wedding, hidden in Dave’s guest bathroom as Aaron’s girlfriend danced with his son downstairs.

Things shifted between them that night. The dance they had shared, his hand in hers and his breath against her neck had ignited her skin, set something on fire that she had tried to ignore. Emily had tried to walk away, to put some distance between them. Aaron had followed her, knocking softly on the bathroom door when she had been in there a little too long.

Emily wasn’t entirely sure who kissed who first, but she remembered him pressing her up against the counter. How it felt when he pushed her dress over her hips, her own hands not idle as she undid his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

The aftermath had been awkward, but that hadn’t stopped it from happening again the following day. Him coming to hers for the coffee they had promised each other, ending up on the couch instead, clothes shed and desperate hands palming against each other's skin.

She stiffened when he said he had broken up with Beth, the gentle hope in his voice breaking her heart. Emily still remembered the look on his face when she said she was still going to London, his cheek against her hand.

She had been in London for two months before she called him, lied and said she was in town for a consult. Aaron obviously didn’t believe her, but he came to her hotel room anyway. Emily realises she should have known it would be inevitable, that they would have sex again. She wants him as much as he wants her and she has spent so much of her life denying herself the things she wanted. It isn’t lost on her that this is the first time they have done this in a bed, and she sits up as he gets dressed, the silence in the room deafening. She pulls on one of the robes hung up in the wardrobe, pulling the tie tight around her waist.

“Aaron, we still need to talk.”

He looks at her, his face stern. “Are you staying?”

Emily opens her mouth, unsure how to even begin to answer that question, to say what she needs to say. Aaron takes her hesitance as an answer, shrugging on his jacket as he shakes his head at her.

“I should go.”

“Aaron, please.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” He says, his voice full of defeat and she hates that she's the one that put it there. That she caused the man who she cares for more than she should to feel anything other than happiness. Aaron turns to leave, his hand on the door of her hotel room and a heavy sigh escapes him. “See you next time you’re in town, Emily.”

Emily closes her eyes and wraps her arms around herself, pulling the robe she had put on tighter, as if it could hold her together in the soft material whilst she tells him what she came here to say. What she couldn’t bring herself to tell him on the phone.

“I’m pregnant.”

Aaron turns to look at her. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Emily.”

She looks up at him, a small smile on her face. “I think it goes without saying it's yours.” She clears her throat awkwardly when he just stares at her, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. “We should sit down.”

She moves over to one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. She curls up into the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Emily feels relief ease some of the tension in her chest when he joins her, sitting in the chair next to hers.

“Are you ok?” He asks, and it makes her smile. Any frustration he had aimed at her had melted away, replaced by confusion and something she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m ok.” She answers. “Although morning sickness is the most poorly named thing on the fucking planet.” He laughs at that, and it’s nervous, making her raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you ok?”

He nods. “I think we have a lot of things to discuss.”

“Yeah.” She replies, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “We do.” ____________

The flight back to London is rough. Her constant nausea makes the hours drag by, her desperation to just be on solid ground almost overwhelming her.

She’s never been more grateful to see her apartment, the place still not quite feeling like home yet. She sinks into her couch and groans when her cell phone immediately rings, rolling her eyes when she sees Clyde’s name on the screen before she answers.

“Do you track me or something? I’ve only just made it back.”

“That's for me to know and you to wonder about, darling.” Clyde says, smugness in his voice that made her smile despite herself. “How did our dear Agent Hotchner take the news that he’s going to be a father again.”

“Quite well given the circumstances.” Emily answers, unwilling to divulge anymore of her conversation with Aaron to her friend, knowing if there was one person on the planet he wouldn’t want her to talk to about this it would be Clyde Easter.

“You’re going to go back aren’t you?”

Emily laughs, frustrated that he could read her so well even over the phone. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.”

“Not now.” She replies. She looks down at her abdomen, still flat with no indication of the life growing underneath her skin showing yet. “I can’t keep the baby from him, or him from the baby. He’s a great dad.”

“You left DC for a reason.”

Emily places her hand on her belly and smiles to herself. “And now I guess I have a reason to go back.” ____________

Aaron visits her a month later. His insistence on coming to London for a long weekend made her laugh. She feels nervous when she picks him up at the airport, but it fades away when she sees him.

It’s strange, having him there in her apartment, like two very distinct worlds were colliding. She liked it though, couldn’t help but smile as he walked around and made himself familiar with where she lived.

“I had a scan this morning.” She says, smiling at him nervously when he turns to look at her, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Would you like to see the picture?”

“Of course.”

She beams at him as she digs the scan photo out of her purse and hands it to him. “Everything looks good, even if I am a ‘geriatric mother.’’ She said, using air quotes as she spoke.

Aaron has the gall to laugh at her, which makes her raise her eyebrows at him. He steps towards her, ultrasound scan still in hand, and he hugs her. She hugs him back, breathes in the scent of his cologne. She pulls back enough to look at him, and before she can think better of it she leans forward and kisses him. It crosses the delicate line they hadn’t crossed since he had left her hotel room a month ago, still reeling from the life changing news he had told him. They’d been in contact every day since, exchanging texts and phone calls around both of their gruelling work schedules. They’d been acting like friends, nothing more, but her hands grasping the back of his head, pulling him closer to her, changed that.

“Wait.” He says against her lips, pulling away so he could look at her. “Is this a good idea?”

Emily heaves in a breath and licks her lips before looking at his. “Maybe not.” She presses another quick kiss to his lips. “But it’s not like you can knock me up again.”

He stares at her for a second before pulling her back into him, kissing her fiercely as she drags him to her bedroom. ____________

They don’t talk about anything important until the day he leaves, neither of them wanting to ruin the little bubble they had created in her apartment. It’s him that tentatively brings up her plans over the breakfast they had ordered in.

“When are you coming back?”

“In three months.” She says as she takes a sip of her tea. “That’s when my replacement can start here, and when the role at the DC Interpol office opens up.”

Aaron frowns at her. “The DC Interpol office?”

Emily nods. “It’s essentially what I’m doing now.” She senses his confusion and clears her throat as she sets her mug back down. “I was never going to be coming back to the bureau, Aaron.”

“It’s your choice, I just thought you would have mentioned it.”

Emily can feel her temper flaring, annoyance rising up in her before she can stop it. “We’re not in a relationship, Aaron. Just because we fucked a few times and accidentally made a baby doesn’t mean I have to run everything past you.”

He stares at her, a hard look on his face. It seems to take him a moment to speak, and the way he carefully chooses his words pisses her off even more. “Would you even be coming back if it wasn’t for the baby, Emily?”

She looks at him, her fury written all over her face. “No. I wouldn’t be.”

He leaves pretty quickly, claiming he needs to get to the airport even though his flight isn’t for another 12 hours.

____________

After that they speak less often. She updates him on the baby and he asks her how she is, how both of them are doing.

When she starts to show she takes a photo of her bump and sends it to him. The next day a package from Amazon arrives full of pregnancy skin care, a gift note from Aaron that tells her Haley had sworn by the bump cream. The tenderness of the gesture makes her cry, the affection she feels for him almost bursting out of her chest.

She calls him when she finds out they are having a boy, her enthusiasm seeping down the phone and filling his voice with wonder.

As she boards the plane to DC 3 months after she last saw him, all of her belongings shipped, she feels something a little bit like hope bloom in her chest. ____________

Aaron comes to visit her at her apartment almost as soon as she gets back, a smile on his face and a bag of takeout in his hand.

“Hi.” She says, almost shyly as she lets him in.

“Hi.” He kisses her cheek before he thinks about it, pulling her into a hug. He steps back and looks down at her abdomen. “Wow.”

Emily laughs, her hand landing on her belly. “Yeah, he’s getting big.” She takes the bag of food from him. “We should eat.”

They eat and make conversation, and it’s as if 3 months of awkward conversation between them hadn’t happened. He asks her about Sergio, and she says Penelope would be keeping him for now, but that she had full visitation rights.

Aaron clears up the plates, and she rolls her eyes at him as he tells her to put her feet up. She feels the awkwardness seep back in when he sits on the couch next to her, the unanswered questions hanging in the air.

“I’ll get you your own key.” Emily says, tearing her eyes from her lap to look at him. “It makes sense for you to just be able to come over, see the baby whenever.”

He nods, an awkward smile on his face. “I’ll get you one to my place too. Jack keeps asking when you’re coming over.”

“That’s sweet. I missed him.”

“He missed you. We both did.” It’s awkward again for a moment, and she can see the second he decides to simply say whatever he had been holding back for months. “What are we, Emily?”

She sighs. “I don’t know, Aaron.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I care about you. So much. But if we hadn’t had sex at JJ’s wedding we wouldn’t even be here right now. How is that the foundation of a relationship?”

“By itself it might not be, but we have a lot more than that.” He cups her cheek. “We’ve known each other for years. I know I’m not the only one who has felt that there could be more between us.”

Emily closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his. “There is so much more at stake now.” She puts their joint hands on her bump. “We can’t mess anything up for him, or Jack.”

“Don’t we owe it to them, to us, to try?”

She pulls back enough for her nose to brush against his. Emily decides that she’s going to let herself have what she wants. She nods before she kisses him, sighing as they both lean further into it. She breaks off with a laugh when she feels the baby kick against their hands.

Aaron looks down at her stomach in wonder. “He’s kicking?”

She nods at him. “He’s kicking.”

For the first time since the test came back positive she genuinely feels like everything might work out. ____________

By the time she's 8 months pregnant she is spending the vast majority of her time at his apartment, even when he was away on a case, and she tries to ignore what that means. That she’s 2 months into a relationship with a man and practically living with him and his son. Whilst being pregnant with his second son.

Her mother had always told her that she didn’t do anything by half.

Emily is sitting on a park bench, watching Jack play on the swings, with her hand pressed into her belly when she feels it. The familiar feeling of being watched. She feels a shiver run down her spine, goosebumps raising over her body.

Her first instinct is that it’s Ian. All of her logical thoughts that he was dead, that she’d watched him die, being beaten by the anxiety coursing through her. Every reason she had left DC in the first place comes flooding back and she has to take several deep breaths. The feeling doesn’t go away, she looks around the park quickly. She can’t see him, can’t see anyone that looks like they’d be associated with him, but she feels like she needs to leave. Like she needs to get Jack, and her baby, back home as quickly as possible.

She’s about to walk over to Jack, make him leave his friends so she could take him home, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Emily?” She whips round to see Beth standing next to her, an awkward look on her face as she takes in Emily’s appearance. “I saw you from across the park, I thought it was you.”

“Beth. Hi.” She tries to smile. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She nods. She looks at her again, eyes landing on Emily’s bump. The unspoken understanding from the other woman that she was pregnant with Aaron’s child. “You look well.”

Emily’s smile falters. The last time she had seen Beth had been at JJ’s wedding, the night she’d had sex with Aaron when his girfriend was just downstairs. Beth would know that. Emily knew that Aaron was a good enough man to have told her everything when he broke up with her.

“I am really sorry, Beth. For how everything happened.”

Beth laughs and sits on the bench next to her. “That is almost exactly word for word what Aaron said when we got back to his place after JJ and Will’s wedding.” Beth looks over to where Jack is playing and smiles. “I knew something had happened, neither of you were very subtle.”

Emily feels her baby roll in her belly and she presses her hand to it, hoping the gentle circles soothe her son as well as herself.

“I...I guess saying we didn’t mean for it to happen won’t mean much.”

“It doesn’t.” Beth says, a wry smile on her face as she turns back to Emily. “But are you both happy?”

Emily doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. We are.”

“Then maybe it was all worth it.” Beth says as she stands. “I should get going, tell Jack and Aaron I said hi.”

“You should say hi to Jack.”

“It’s ok. I don’t want to confuse him.” Beth smiles at Emily one last time. “Tell Aaron I’m glad he’s happy.” ____________

Aaron gets back to his apartment, the case he had been on two days too long for his liking, to find Emily fast asleep on the couch, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, with her hand pressed into her stomach. He smiles as he hangs up his keys and sets the alarm, setting his briefcase down on the side. He walks over to the couch and sits on the edge of it, gently waking her. She opens her eyes and looks at him.

“You’re home.” She murmurs, the roughness to her voice giving away that she’s been asleep for a while.

He hums in his throat as he strokes his hand over her head. “Why are you on the couch, you know it doesn’t do your back any good.”

“I was waiting up for you.” She sits up slowly, accepting his help to get her upright. Emily leans against his side as he sits next to her, smiling when he puts one of his palms on her belly and kisses the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He tilts her head and kisses her properly, feeling her smile against his lips as the baby rolls in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Good.” Emily answers. “My entire body is sore. But good.”

He hums his sympathy and rubs his hand over her stomach, the baby forever active in a way he knew had caused Emily to lose sleep.

“I’d like to take you on a date.” He says, smiling as Emily pulls back from him, a look of curiosity on her face. “I realised today that I've never taken you on one.”

“Aaron.” She replies, a smile on her face. “I’m 8 months pregnant with your son, I think we’re a little past dating.”

“True, but you have only just agreed to be my girlfriend.” He laughs when she scrunches her nose at him, leaning down to kiss the tip of it. “What?”

“The word ‘girlfriend’ makes it sound like I’m 14, not in my 40s.”

Aaron smiles at her again and kisses her, smiling against her lips. “Well, I’d propose to you so you could call me your fiancée, but I worry that would send you running back to London.”

Emily laughs, kissing him again quickly. “I wouldn’t run away, but I might check if you were feeling ok.” She rests her head against him again. “I saw Beth today.”

He stiffens, his arms tightening around her. “How was that?”

“Awkward.” She answers, turning her head to kiss his shoulder through his shirt. “But she was very nice. Nicer than I might have been in her shoes.”

“I’m glad.” He kisses the top of her head. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else happened?”

She scoffs. “Can’t keep anything from you.” She sighs. “I could tell someone was watching me, and before Beth came over I thought it was Ian.” He doesn’t say anything, and it spurs her on. “I know he’s dead, that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, but I was for so long.” She feels her emotions rise in her chest, tears flooding at her eyes as she was at the mercy of her hormones. “And I have so much more to lose now.” She wipes her face. “You, Jack. The baby.”

He kisses the top of her head again, then her temple, holding her impossibly tighter. “You aren’t going to lose any of us, sweetheart.” He tilts her chin so he can kiss her properly. “This is it now. Forever.”

She ignores the voice in her head that tells her he can’t promise her that, and she nods.

“If that’s a proposal I’m leaving.” She jokes and it makes him laugh, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Trust me, baby. You’ll know when I’m proposing.” ____________

He takes her on a date the following week. She lets him take her to a restaurant and spoil her, and he doesn’t make any comments when she orders enough food for at least 3 people for herself.

He takes her for ice cream after, going into the store and getting it himself so she doesn’t have to get back out the car, her ankles sore and swollen.

That night they lay in his bed, the one she really knows is theirs, and as he runs his fingers up and down her bare spine she drifts off to sleep.

“I love you.” She whispers into the room, the first time she has said it to him.

She stays awake long enough to hear him say it back. ____________

It should never have happened, but when their son, Benjamin, is born three weeks later Emily is so glad it did.

[searchingwardrobes]

Valentine Throwbacks: Day 5

This is another one that was written for the Valentine’s Day Prompts back in 2018. This was for Day One: Secret Admirer. I’m posting it last because it has a part two which I’ll post later.

I really wanted it to be Emma who is the secret admirer because all the fics I've read in this genre has Killian as the secret admirer. So I was going through the Chick-fil-A drive thru, mulling over how closed-off Emma could actually do that, and . . . well, this happened. I didn’t realize when I wrote this that the kind of drive thru at our Chick-fil-A was a prototype and not found anywhere else. Basically, instead of driving up to a window, there’s this open area where they just walk out and give you your food.

**Please note: I have made no attempts to hide that this story takes place at a Chick-fil-A. I have tagged it accordingly here and on Ao3. If you have a problem with Chick-fil-A, please just skip this story.**

Summary: Emma Swan is slightly embarrassed to admit that she sometimes goes through the Chick-fil-A drive thru twice a day. She's even more embarrassed to admit she's leaving anonymous notes for the owner-operator, Killian Jones.

Nominated for Best Captain Swan Modern AU One-Shot in the OUAT Fandom Awards 2018

Rated: G

Words: about 3k

Also on Ao3

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Emma Swan was not a people person. It was for this reason that the Chick-fil-A drive-thru wasn’t her sort of thing. You had to talk – face to face – with at least four people just to get your food. And they asked for your name at the beginning of the entire process. Then everyone afterwards actually used it, with a mega-watt smile on their faces. And Emma Swan never would understand the Southern phenomenon of tacking “Miss” on the front of a person’s first name. Miss Swan, she understood. Miss Emma? Not so much.

But she had to hand it to those cheery employees walking up and down the line with their i-Pads. They were efficient. Which was one of the reasons Emma put aside her anti-social ways on her way to work. No matter how much of a hurry she was in, she could count on Chick-fil-A. She could be in and out of that line in five minutes flat.

Then there was the coffee. Sustainably sourced by local farmers. Or something. There was a big poster about it in the lobby. All Emma knew was that it was damn good, especially for a fast food place. And then there were chickin-minis. She had Mary Margaret to blame for getting her hooked on those. Or more accurately, her four year old son Leo. Tiny nuggets wrapped in tiny fluffy biscuits. Where had those been all her life? It was her new favorite food. Okay, breakfast food. Grilled cheese and onion rings still held the one and two spot.

So she gladly put up with the bright smiles and the over-the-top hospitality for a decent breakfast a couple of times a week. Or three. Okay, four max.

But she was not going to be one of those people who had drunk the kool-aid and made odes to how wonderful Chick-fil-A was on You Tube. And then Mary Margaret had to go and introduce her to the sweet iced tea.

“You can’t re-locate to Georgia and not drink sweet tea,” she had argued with Emma while practically shoving the straw in her mouth.

“So what next, MM? I have to start monogramming my towels?”

But she had begrudgingly took a sip anyway, and there was no turning back. Then she discovered the lemonade, and the cookies and cream milk shake. Some days, she was hearing “It’s been a pleasure to serve you, Miss Emma” twice in twelve hours.

She was one “Eat Mor Chikin” cow from making a You Tube video while holding a Styrofoam cup with a red straw.

To make her obsession even more embarrassing, it led – albeit indirectly – to her being an actual- to-God secret admirer. Who left anonymous love notes. Seriously. What had she become?

Killian Jones, according to his name tag, was the owner-operator of Emma’s neighborhood Chick-fil-A. She had figured immediately that he wasn’t just a regular burger- er – chicken sandwich flipper because he was wearing slacks and a navy blue button down shirt – no tie. His chest hair must need plenty of breathing room because he always had at least the first five buttons of his shirt undone (not that she was counting or anything). The first morning they met, he hadn’t started out on the best foot, inadvertently insulting her food preferences.

When he handed Emma her food, Killian Jones had leaned over slightly to glance in her back seat, simultaneously handing her a coupon.

“We’re doing a special promotion today. Would your little one like a gift card for a free cone?”

His words sort of trailed off when he saw that the backseat was empty. Emma had barked out a wry laugh.

“Uh, there’s no kid back there. Sorry.”

“My apologies,” he muttered as he stood quickly, his face flaming and his hand lifting to rest behind his ear, “I just assumed. You ordered the chicken minis, and usually people get those for their kids . . . “

Normally, Emma would have been insulted, but he seemed so genuinely embarrassed, that she simply chuckled. “Well, I have been told that I have the appetite of a twelve year old.”

The smile that he gave her was lopsided and almost sinful. He arched a very expressive brow, and leaned towards her open window with a conspiratorial whisper. “I must admit, I rather fancy them myself. I mean, they’re chicken nuggets in little biscuits. What’s not to love?”

“I know, right? It’s revolutionary.”

They gazed at one another way longer than necessary, threatening to bring imbalance to the well-oiled drive thru machine. Killian blinked, as if suddenly remembering where he was, awkwardly cleared his throat, and then handed Emma her coffee.

“It’s been a pleasure to serve you. God bless.”

In a slight daze, Emma took the coffee, noting the brush of his fingers against hers like she was some fifteen year old with a crush. It wasn’t until she was driving away that his accent registered with hers. Instead of a southern drawl, it had been a lilting Irish accent.

Intriguing.

********************************************************

Later that day, Emma’s hand literally shook as she took the Styrofoam cup of lemonade from the drive thru. For a brief moment, she considered chickening out – pun completely intended – but then shook off her fear and resolutely snatched the envelope from the passenger seat of her Bug.

“Could you give this to your owner-operator?”

“Okay,” the girl server said with a smile and a nod as she took the note, “we always like to hear how we can better serve our customers. Is there anything I can do to make your experience here better?”

“Oh,no!” Emma said quickly, making a quick slashing motion with her hand. “It isn’t a complaint. Quite the opposite actually. Just . . . “ she nervously bit her lower lip, “don’t tell him my name or . . . anything. Okay?”

The girl gave a slightly different smile this time as she pocketed the note. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

Emma couldn’t tell if the smile was just relief or a kind of knowing. Maybe the girl thought it was Emma giving her boss her phone number. Maybe women were frequently passing notes to Killian Jones. She wouldn’t be surprised. Emma’s face flamed red as she drove away.

It wasn’t like it was that kind of note. All it said was, “You made a hectic morning bearable. Thank you.” For a company that emphasized customer service so much, it was really just a thumbs up for a job well done. Like a positive review on Amazon. Nothing more.

********************************************************

Killian Jones was there again when Emma stopped to get a quick breakfast. This time, he arched a knowing brow when her yellow Bug pulled up to the curb.

“Ah, Miss Emma Swan once again. Your chicken minis, m’lady, and I must say, a fine dining choice for a woman of mature tastes.”

He gave a mock bow as he passed the bag through the window, and Emma was mortified when a giggle made its way past her lips. He waggled his eyebrows at her, to which she rolled her eyes. Yet, he had remembered her.

She cleared her throat as she took the bag, and then asked him, “I was wondering about the accent. Isn’t it the wrong one?”

At first, he furrowed his brow. “The wrong one . . . oh! You mean, as in, why don’t I go around saying mornin’ ma’am, or ya’ll have a good day now?”

Emma giggled again at his horrible impression of a Southern accent and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. Your accent is . . . Irish?”

“Aye. And if you’re wondering how I ended up in Atlanta, well, the short version is I came across the pond as a kid.”

Emma nodded. It was about all she was going to get. She was sitting in a drive thru with at least half a dozen other cars behind her. So she simply nodded, tilted her head in a way that was only slightly flirtatious and said, “I like it.”

*****************************************************

The rest of the day sucked, to put it bluntly. The scumbag she was staking out took hours to show up, she twisted her ankle chasing him down, and she never did get to eat lunch. So today was a cookies and cream milkshake type of day.

And today the note she asked the girl at the drive thru to pass along to Killian Jones said, “I’m glad you moved here. It’s a long way from Ireland, but . . . welcome home – I hope.”

******************************************************

“Is that required?”

On this particular morning, it was pretty cold outside, and Killian had kept his banter at a minimum as he handed Emma her order. So maybe she was grasping at straws for a little interaction. Or maybe it was a legitimate question.

“Is what required?” he asked, both eyebrows jumping slightly.

“God bless,” Emma clarified, “everyone here says it. Is it company policy or something?”

Killian shrugged, “Sort of. I mean, not officially. You can’t make someone use religious language, of course. But we’re encouraged to if it’s something we believe in.” He pulled the collection of necklaces he always wore around his neck free from his pea coat and scarf. He grasped a pendant shaped like a cross and waved it at Emma. “And I’m a good Irish Catholic boy.”

The smile he gave her belied his words, especially when his tongue darted out to swipe at his bottom lip. Emma cocked her head to the side and gave him a teasing smile.

“Not so sure you’re always a good boy.”

He leaned down, lowering his voice to a timbre that did something to Emma’s insides. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Emma rolled her eyes as he leaned back with a triumphant grin. Then his features became suddenly sincere.

“However, Swan, I do wish you every blessing. I mean that.”

**************************************************

The cold weather made it a “second cup of coffee in the afternoon” sort of day. But she had brought in a skip so easily she could have done it blind-folded, her little nephew Leo stopped by her office with a picture he drew of the two of them in preschool, and Mary Margaret insisted she come over that night for David’s famous chili.

And Killian Jones wished her every blessing.

On today’s note, Emma wrote, “You make me smile. That’s rare. Thank you. (Or should I say, God bless?)”

She had hesitated including that last line. After all, she didn’t want to give herself away. But was there any harm in dropping a hint or two? She shook her head, sealed the envelope, and passed it off to the girl who received all of her notes for Killian. Emma now knew her name – Holly.

And did Holly just wink when she took her note?

*************************************************

“Lovely as always, Miss Swan.”

Killian’s hand lingered as he passed Emma her coffee. She blinked and opened her mouth to say something, and –

Jumped a foot in the air when the SUV behind her honked. She and Killian both laughed, and he shuffled backwards, his face turning red. His smile was a broad one that dimpled both cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

That day, Emma’s note read, “I find myself looking forward to your smiles. You’ve got a great one, but you’ve probably heard that before. Anyway, just wanted to let you know it always brightens my day.”

**************************************************

Today it was raining, and yet the employees of Chick-fil-A were still there, bravely traversing the drive-thru line in ponchos, their i-Pads encased in water proof plastic. Killian stood huddled beneath the awning at the service door, in a thick navy blue raincoat. Raindrops had gathered on his eyelashes, making the blue of his eyes sparkle in the gray misty haze of the Georgia rain.

“Wow,” Emma quipped when he handed her the to-go bag, “this is dedication. And still telling me, it’s a pleasure to serve you.”

His eyes seemed to light up even more as he smiled at her. “For you, Swan, it is more than a pleasure.”

That day, her note read, “Your blue eyes make a rainy day a little brighter.”

It was the most blatantly flirtatious note she had left, but she no longer cared.

************************************************

“Your accent is the wrong one too, you know.”

Emma smiled broadly as she leaned against the open window of her Bug. Killian made no move to give her her food, swinging the bag idly in his hand. She shrugged.

“Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up. Minnesota. Portland. I moved here a few months ago. I had been living in Tallahassee, but my foster sister wanted me here to be close to family. There’s way more work here in bail bonds anyway.”

Killian nodded as he handed her the bag of chicken minis and her coffee. “Well, Swan, welcome home . . . I hope.”

He winked before turning his back to receive the next order. Emma’s jaw dropped, but she had the sense to ease out of the line and onto the highway.

Did he know? To test it out, her note to him that day read, “I’ve never really felt at home anywhere. This is getting close. You’ve helped make it feel that way.”

**************************************************

Emma was only half listening to Mary Margaret as she set the table in her and David’s eat-in kitchen. Their house was small, but quaint, and was in a great neighborhood. They had been willing to buy a smaller house rather than keep renting in the apartment complex, knowing the back yard and park down the street were better for Leo. It worked out for Emma too, as she spent way more time here than in her lonely one bedroom apartment.

Mary Margaret was lecturing Emma about something – probably about how she ought to be more social – but Emma’s mind was on Killian Jones. Had he gotten her latest note yet? Would he figure out who she was? If so, would he think she was a total stalker?

“ . . . so since you keep giving me excuses, I just decided to ask Killian over for dinner tonight.”

The name tore Emma immediately from her daydreaming. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Mary Margaret shook her head at Emma. “I said set one more place because I invited that guy I told you about over for dinner.”

Emma set down the stack of forks she had been laying at each place and waved both hands back and forth. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You said his name was, what?”

Mary Margaret had been going on and on about her and David’s former neighbor at the apartments and how he would be perfect for Emma. But surely that couldn’t be the same Killian as her drive-thru Killian. Could it? Okay, so Killian wasn’t exactly a common name . . .

“Killian Jones,” Mary Margaret answered with an exasperated sigh.

Emma shook her head rapidly. “Killian Jones? What . . . what does he do for a living?”

Mary Margaret grabbed the forks Emma had abandoned. “He’s the owner-operator of the Chick-fil-A near here. I was going to introduce you the day you went with me and Leo, but Killian was at some training thing at corporate.”

Emma grabbed the back of a chair as the room started to spin. Crap. She had to go and open herself up in that damn note today. And Mary Margaret just had to invite him over for dinner, tonight of all nights.

This was going to be interesting.

*****************************************************

Killian was just as surprised as she was when he arrived at the Nolans. Apparently, Mary Margaret had gushed on about her “sister,” but had failed to mention a name. They told Mary Margaret and David about their interactions in the drive thru, and everyone had a good laugh about it. What a small world! How ironic! That sort of thing. Killian seemed no different than normal. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the note yet?

Emma, on the other hand, was wound tight. Maybe things had been more comfortable between them when there was a car door and a time restraint. Or maybe it was all those stupid notes hanging over Emma’s head. Whatever it was, it made Emma’s face feel like it was stuck in a perpetual blush. She couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, and Mary Margaret and David were not-so-subtly trying to play matchmaker as they attempted to steer the conversation Emma’s way. But all she could do was give one word answers and stare at her plate.

“Well,” Killian said with a satisfied sigh, “I can’t tell you Mary Margaret how delicious this was. Working at a restaurant all day, the last thing I feel like doing when I get home is cook. This was amazing, really.”

Mary Margaret beamed at his compliment. “Well, we are pleased to have you. You should come over more often. We miss you. Right, David?”

“Yeah,” David chuckled, shoving Killian’s shoulder, “I’ve got no one to watch hockey games with anymore. It’s not really a popular sport around here.”

“The notes were from me,” Emma blurted out.

Everyone immediately fell silent at Emma’s completely out of context outburst. Except for Leo, who ran his fork across his plate with a loud screech and demanded to know what was for dessert.

Emma lifted her gaze from her lap to meet Killian’s. “The notes that kept arriving at Chick-fil-A in the afternoons? They were all from me.” She let out a long, shaky breath.

“I know,” was all Killian said in response.

Emma’s eyes widened. “I – I thought you might. When did you figure it out?”

He chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I suspected, or hoped, it was you from the start. You see, every note corresponded with our morning interactions. But of course, today confirmed it. I was testing you by quoting one of your notes, and then when the note this afternoon was about home . . . “

He trailed off, a grin splitting his face.

“You hoped it was me from the start?”

He nodded, and Emma just sat there grinning right back at him like a fool. Mary Margaret hurriedly jumped from the table, scooping up Leo.

“Hey!” the little boy protested. “What about dessert?”

“We’ll eat cookies in front of the TV,” Mary Margaret muttered in response, “David, now.”

Killian and Emma chuckled as their matchmakers hurried from the kitchen. Emma felt as nervous as she had been back in junior high when she went to her first school dance. Killian rose from his seat across from her and came to take the seat beside her. They both shifted their chairs to be a little closer.

“I felt something between us the moment I first saw you,” Killian said.

“You mean when you offered my non-existent kid a free ice cream cone?”

Killian chuckled and ducked his head. How a man could be so sexy, cocky, and bashful all at the same time was incredibly endearing. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question passing between them. Emma nodded imperceptibly as they both leaned towards one another. When Killian’s lips met hers, the contact was charged with an intense attraction she had never felt before.

Except when his fingers had brushed hers in the drive thru.

Those fingers now carded through her hair as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft against hers, but his kisses were firm and passionate. His other hand came up to gently caress her face, his thumb tracing her jaw and coming to rest on her chin. Emma pulled back, giving him a shy smile, which he returned. Then they resumed kissing, their tongues entwined in a dance so perfect, it felt as if they had been molded to fit together. When they finally parted, they were breathing heavily. Emma rested her forehead against his and sighed in complete contentment.

“Emma,” he murmured. God, she loved the way he said her name!

“Yeah,” she mumbled back dreamily.

“It’s definitely been a pleasure to serve you.”

[writingithink]

The Doctor’s Domestic Nightmare Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: G Wordcount: 2,542 Summary: They visit Jackie to do some Earth-wedding planning. Notes: This is for Day 5 of @timepetalsweek ! I used two of the prompts, the picture prompt and 'family'. A fair amount of the other fics in this series get referenced in this one, but I still don't think you'd be lost if you haven't read them. Extra special thanks to @hey-there-juliet , the best beta ever <3 All mistakes are mine. I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478851

The Doctor landed the TARDIS outside the flat this time. Anything he could do to make this whole thing go easier (and hopefully quicker).

“How long are we staying?” He turned toward Rose, who was still sitting on the jumpseat, doing something on her phone.

“Thought we might stay the night,” she slowly replied, attention obviously otherwise involved. “Mum’s been lonely.”

“What are you doing?”

Normally she was out of the ship in a heartbeat when they landed at the Estates. This time she didn’t look like she’d be moving anytime soon. Their bond wasn’t providing him with anything useful, just a mix of concentration, mild frustration, and sympathy. They had agreed to both put their barriers up decently high shortly after she woke up, when they started to create a stress feedback-loop in each other's heads. He sat down next to her and leaned over her shoulder to see that she was texting Jackie.

“You know, you can talk to her in person right outside these doors,” the Doctor felt the need to point out.

“No, no, however my phone works now, the sonic or the TARDIS or whatever, it, like- it blocked my texts until I woke up this mornin’. But if you look at the little time stamps, it’s sendin’ my replies as if I didn’t wait a month to answer. I’m texting my mum three days ago,” Rose explained.

“Oh. Huh. Must be the TARDIS. Have you been doing this all morning?”

“Yeah. The first text came through as being from about, I dunno … an hour after we left last time?”

“Well, knowing your mother, she’ll be outside the door any minute. Doubt you’ll have time to finish the week,” he admitted with a frown. The Doctor hoped that all of the guilt he was feeling at keeping the two of them apart was safely behind the walls he’d erected in his mind. Of course, traveling, being away from her mother, that was Rose’s decision (and one that he was immensely, immensely glad for).

But still.

He and Rose had talked, back when they were at the Olympics, after the Isolus. About things, family things, Gallifrey things that he didn’t want to talk about. Thankfully, with the bond, he was able to show her more than tell her, because the words wouldn’t come half the time - a real shock, with his gob. And he’d admitted to her how much he wished things had been different with his children. That he’d been more like them, or they’d been more like him - but they had taken after their mother, who was a very respectable Time Lady, and fit right in. Whereas he never had. Things had brightened up a little when he told her about Susan, but overall the whole thing had made them both very sad, very ill timed conversation to have on a honeymoon.

And now he felt guilty, much more so than usual, at the thought of Jackie being lonely while they gallivanted about time and space.

“I need to change,” Rose announced, jostling him as she stood and bringing him back to the present.

“What?”

“She’s made some appointments at some very nice places and I have to change. Ahh, I don’t even know what to wear!” she exclaimed, quickly exiting the console room but pausing at the entrance to the main corridor. “If mum shows up, can you stall her?”

“ What?!”

But his wife was gone, apparently off to change out of her jeans and hoodie. The Doctor sighed, circling the console, mentally calculating what repairs he might be able to make some progress on in the time that he would be waiting on her. It really was a shame that humans tended not to pick an outfit and stick to it - things would be so much simpler. Not that he didn’t enjoy all the fun, different things Rose wore. And she did seem to really enjoy dressing up for all of the different places they went to.

Just as he was considering perhaps changing his tie, knocking started up on the TARDIS door.

Oh, bloody hell.

He flinched, expecting a mental zap, but it never came. Right, they were blocking most things out. Ehh … 

The benefits of mental privacy - today, at least. Well, it was obviously necessary but he really didn’t like it. What did it say about him that he preferred to be telepathically reprimanded than to not be telepathically noticed at all?

Probably nothing good.

The Doctor shook his head as the knocking continued, and then jogged down the ramp, grabbing his coat as he went. He opened the door just wide enough to slip out, slamming it closed with his back as soon as he’d cleared it.

“Hello, Jackie!” he greeted his mother-in-law with a wide grin.

“Doctor,” she responded, crossing her arms. Ohh, and he’d been hoping she would have warmed back up after last time. Then again, what had been a month and a half for them had only been a week for her. “Where’s Rose?”

“She’s still getting ready. I never can tell how long it’s going to take her, so I may have landed us a bit, er, prematurely.”

“You’re not lyin’, are ya? She’s not in there sick, or injured, or- or-“

“No no no no no,” he quickly interrupted, waving his hands about, “I would never lie to you about something like that! Rose is fine. She’s just- just- picking an outfit or doing her hair or something.”

“Alright then,” Jackie said, finally seeming to relax … a bit. “Maybe I can give her a hand.”

The Doctor knocked her arm away as she reached for the door, and that was quite rude, wasn’t it? Definitely not doing anything to get back into her good graces, but if Rose was still texting and Jackie had her mobile on her, he wasn’t sure it would still work if her mum entered the TARDIS.

“If you go in, it’ll take even longer!” he insisted, not knowing if that was necessarily true but assuming it was. Jackie had never been in the wardrobe room, so he could only imagine. “Why don’t we head inside? Otherwise we might be standing outside the TARDIS for ages.”

“ You want to sit around the flat with me, no Rose?” She seemed skeptical, and he really couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah! Of course!” The Doctor pasted on what he hoped was a winning smile.

The things he did for his wife.

“Riiiight. Okay, then. Fine. She better be quick about it, though, otherwise we’ll be late. You shoulda waited for her to land that box of yours,” she scolded him as they headed up to the flat. He took the time to really look at her, and realized that Jackie actually looked quite nice today, for once not wearing one of her velour tracksuits.

It was too bad he couldn’t tell her that of course he’d waited for Rose before landing.

“Won’t happen again,” he said instead, hoping that was true.

They entered the flat and the Doctor was sincerely at a loss as to how to proceed. He projected everything that had happened to Rose, just getting an ‘okay’ in response. Her mental presence was frenzied, and he wished he knew how to be more helpful. The fact was, he had wandered into something very human that he had never thought that he’d ever be a part of.

“So, how’s it been?” Jackie called out from the kitchen.

“Hmm?” He wandered into the room to see her moving about, fixing tea.

“I said, how’s it been, the two of you. With your first week or however long it’s been for ya, dating.”

“ Dating?!” the Doctor repeated, and now she was facing him, looking at him like he was an idiot for some reason, but excuse her, what?!

“My daughter?”

“No, I know your daughter, but we’re not dating! We’re married!”

“Right, sure, so you’ve been sayin’, but the fact is you two weren’t even properly together before your alien voodoo ended up accidentally getting you hitched. You can’t go from nothin’ to married like that, relationship-wise, no matter what ya got goin’ on with your shared brain whatever you call it.”

What?

“Bond,” he found himself mumbling, “it’s called a bond.”

“Though if you ask me, you two did go on about like you were together, even if Rose was constantly denying it. I’m not blind, y’know. And it wasn’t just me, either. Ask anyone around here, watchin’ you too making doe eyes at each other.”

“ Doe eyes?! I don’t make doe eyes,” the Doctor denied, though he still was trying to process the whole beginning of her speech. “Wait, did you say alien voodoo?!”

His words fell on deaf ears.

“And don’t get me started on the constant touching. The both of you had to realize that normal friends, platonic friends, don’t carry on like that, clingin’ to each other.”

“Clinging?” He didn’t even have it in him to scoff anymore. This was exhausting. Jackie pushed past him, handing him a cup of tea as she went. “Erm, thank you.”

“Use a coaster,” she told him, pointing at the couch.

Forget the beast in the pit, this was hell.

“Right, yes, of course,” he nodded, quickly sitting down and placing his mug on a coaster as ordered. Ugh.

Still, it was better than the interrogation she’d given him the last time they’d been here. And at least this time Jackie didn’t seem to expect him to say anything at all. Though she had asked him a question. And people called him rude!

His mother-in-law took a seat in the chair with her own mug, giving him the same skeptical look that she had after catching him modifying her toaster. Thankfully, before she could start up again the door opened and Rose walked in.

And she was breathless, panting, having obviously ran all the way from the TARDIS.

And from what little he could get from her over the bond he could tell that she was incredibly stressed and anxious.

But she looked gorgeous.

Her hair was done in soft curls, and she had on a TARDIS blue dress and the same little pink heels she’d worn when they’d failed to see Elvis. He really needed to get back around to that. Might not have time until their second honeymoon, though. Too many different plans. The Doctor couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Mum!” she exclaimed, immediately wrapping Jackie in a hug.

“Finally! Thought we’d miss our first appointment! I told him, wait ’til you’re done before gettin’ you here, especially if he’s going to cut it so close. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t pass his test, you know, the way he lands willy nilly, and a year late, don’t think I’ll forget that! Who in their right mind woulda given him a time machine if they knew he’d be carryin’ on like that,” Jackie nattered on.

Not a word, he bit out to Rose across the bond and was actually quite pleased with the resulting mental laughter (despite the fact that it had really been a dire warning).

“Sorry for takin’ so long. I think we should still be fine. We’re getting a cab, right?” Rose asked, and they both began heading right back out of the flat.

The Doctor picked up his tea, blew on it, and put his legs up on the coffee table.

“What are you doin’?” Jackie asked him, holding the door open. “Shake a leg!”

“What?”

“You’re coming with us!”

He looked at Rose, who mouthed ‘sorry’, pointed at her phone and shrugged before remembering that they could speak telepathically.

Mum never said she expected you to come with us until the texts from yesterday, she explained, and I was in such a rush to get here by the time I got those ones that it slipped my mind to tell ya.

“Oh … right,” he tried to cover, “I just … thought we were having tea. And you know how great I think your tea is, Jackie. Saved the world, your tea did. Well, helped my regeneration sickness, which amounts to the same thing in that situation. Free radicals and tannins, have I properly explained the benefits to you? You see-”

“Wait a minute!” Jackie interrupted him, staring at Rose’s hands for some reason. “Where’s your ring?!”

Ring? Ring. Oh bloody, fucking hell.

“Oh, we haven’t-”

Her mother didn’t even give Rose a chance to speak. “We’re to go to all of these places, wedding planning, and he didn’t even have the decency to get you an engagement ring?!”

Exchanging rings. He knew that one! It was a human marriage custom so pervasive that it remained a part of their wedding ceremonies throughout time and space. And he’d forgotten.

“We just haven’t had a chance to go looking yet, that’s all,” Rose lied. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say it’s off gettin’ sized.”

Jackie huffed before stomping out of the flat, his wife trailing behind. The Doctor sat for another moment, positively baffled at how this day was going, then bounded out of the flat after them. When he caught up to Rose, he took her hand and pulled her to a stop.

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, and really, he didn’t even know where to start.

“Doctor, it’s fine, I don’t care about rings and stuff.”

“Not just that, though. But still, that too! I’m sorry for- for not doing this properly, not dating you, jumping straight into everything. I waited too long to tell you how I felt, and now I’m completely rubbish at doing all of these human courtship and marriage things, and you deserve-”

“Doctor,” Rose interrupted him, putting a hand over his mouth. “Y’need to stop listening to my mum. We’re fine. We were fine before you left the TARDIS, and we’re still fine. Better than fine, even. We’re fantastic. And let’s get this straight now, I’m the one who gets to decide what I deserve.”

“And what’s that?” he asked, words muffled by the hand she still hadn’t moved.

You, she declared over their bond, barriers dropped so that a tidal wave of love and affection poured into him.

And then he effortlessly nudged her hand out of the way, pulled her even closer, and kissed her.

The Universe was not kind. It owed him nothing. If anything, he owed it. Because it gave him her.

The hand not clutching her lower back tangled into her hair as he deepened the kiss, his own barriers crumbling as he tried to express everything he was feeling in that moment. Her arms wrapped around his neck and it was perfect. Everything was perfect, and the Doctor had no idea why he’d ever thought otherwise.

“OI!!”

They sprang apart as if a bucket of water had been poured over them.

“None of that!” Jackie yelled from across the way. “Get a move on! I swear, this is gonna be worse than all of the lovesick mooning.”

He was mortified.

Rose’s barriers had already locked back into place, her face red.

Tell your mum I’m off to get your ring, he projected before running back to the TARDIS as fast as he possibly could.

[sighmurderbot]

Irish Coffee Chapter Two

Title: Closing Time

Chapter Rating/Warnings: G, I don’t think there’s even any profanity in this one

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her. Spencer Reid/Original Female Character. Slow burn coffee shop meet. Strangers to friends to lovers. This fic is also available on AO3, it’s ahead of tumblr currently!

previous chapter//next chapter

“Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer.” 

- Ed Cunningham

It had been a tiring Thursday, which is saying something. Thursdays were the one day a week I only worked at the coffee shop, just coming in for a few hours to close, meaning it was the closest thing I had to a day off. That being said, somehow the denizens of DC had decided this was the Thursday to descend on this coffee shop and just...be assholes. My head ached from the amount of focus and energy it took to process complaints and orders simultaneously while making drinks and keeping the cafe clean.

It might only be a three hour shift, but sometimes it’s a long three hours.

I finished wiping down the table in front of me and stood, arching my back to stretch it out. 

I’m not sure what caught my attention. A flicker of movement, perhaps, or maybe just the sense of someone else nearby.

I glanced towards the front of the store, scanning the city street on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows.

And there he was.

He looked a little worse for wear, his clothes wrinkled and hair mussed, as if he had only slept briefly and in uncomfortable places. Light spilled from the streetlamp above him, his high cheekbones casting harsh shadows across his skin.

His eyes widened a little as I spotted him.

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face upon seeing him. He intrigued me, and...I'll admit it, I thought he was cute. The door was still unlocked and I waved for him to come inside. 

Maybe my Thursday is starting to look up!

He seemed confused at my gesture, glancing over his shoulder and pointing a hesitant finger to his chest.

“Me?” he mouthed, eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown.

I rolled my eyes and grinned, quickly making my way to the door and holding it open with one arm. Cool air rolled in off the street, ruffling a few flyaways around my face.

“Come on in!” I exclaimed. “We don’t close properly for another ten minutes.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket, rocking back on his heels a little.

“Are you sure? You-you probably already cleaned everything and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Don’t be silly,” I smiled. “Just come in, sugar.”

He ducked his head and stepped inside. I watched his shoulders relax slightly as he stopped a few feet into the store.

“What can I get ya?” I asked, crossing to behind the counter. His eyes flicked from the menu to me and he tilted his head a little, as if in confusion. I felt my lips twitch in a small smile.

I wonder what he’s thinking, he looks baffled…

“Sir?” I asked, thinking it was perhaps not a good idea to let on that I overheard and remembered his name.

“Why do you call me sugar?” He asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory or upset, simply curious. My cheeks reddened slightly.

“Well, that’s your order, right? Uh...large mocha with extra sugar?”

He nodded, a pretty frown still wrinkling his forehead.

“You remembered?”

I looked down, chuckling a little. 

“It’s not every day a nice man reading Danish philosophy comes in and is kind enough to talk to me like a person,” I said honestly.

More confusion from the man before me. I worried that I had said too much, scared him off. I serve hundreds of people a day, remembering one customer might come across as creepy or weird or-

He cut off my train of thought as he spoke.

“You think I’m nice?”

The question was genuine, he blinked a few times like he was having trouble processing what I said.

“...yeah,” I laughed a little. “I mean, I obviously don’t know you, but I get feelings about people. My feeling is that you’re nice.”

“Huh,” he said, eyes returning to the menu above me.

“So…” I gently prompted him. “What can I get you? Same thing?”

“Oh! Yeah, same thing please.”

“Have a seat anywhere!”

It only took me a minute to finish making the drink, and instead of calling it out at the counter I walked it to his table.

He looked up as I set the drink in front of him, giving me a closed-lip smile and wrapping long, delicate fingers around the warm cup.

“Reid,” he commented into his cup. I almost missed it. “Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s my name.”

Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s a nice name, I decided.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Reid,” I said with a smile. “Katie, but, you already knew that.” He nodded and looked back down at his coffee. 

“Let me know if I can get you anything else, Doctor,” I said, then turned to finish closing. He seemed like the quiet type who preferred to be alone, or maybe he’d just had a long day.

“Uh, Sp—” he said as I turned around, so quiet that I missed most of what he said.

“Sorry?” I turned around, pushing some hair back towards the ponytail it had slipped out of.

He looked up and his gaze swept over me, analytical and probing. I found myself nervously twisting my apron tie around my fingers.

What is he looking for? What does he see? 

“You wear a hearing aid,” he said matter-of-factly.

Oh.

I nodded silently, my face falling before I could catch it.

What’s he going to say? Berate me? Mock me? My thoughts were perhaps a tad more bitter than intended, and I tried to keep that out of my voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, cringing inwardly at how flat I sounded. “I can’t pick up certain frequencies.”

“You know,” he said, taking one hand off his coffee cup as he began to gesture with his words. “The use of hearing aids has actually been proven to reduce cognitive decline and lower the risk of developing dementia.”

What’s he doing? I thought, thrown off a little, but not upset by this turn of events. Is he...trying to make me feel better?

“There was a study conducted in Europe, two out of three people who used hearing aids wished they had gotten them sooner,” Spencer continued, both hands involved in his gestures now. I began to fear for his coffee. 

“They lead to a better social life, mental and physical health, and job performance. So...it’s a good thing. That you have them.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I accepted, watching him with a small smile. He seemed embarrassed after his small outburst.

I gestured to the chair across from him.

“May I?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his sugary drink.

“So,” I said, taking a seat. “You’re studying philosophy but you’re also a doctor. How’s that work?”

If I thought he looked embarrassed a moment ago, he was downright flustered now.

“I, uh…” he fiddled with the cardboard protector around his coffee cup. “I am a philosophy student,” he said. “But I already have my doctorates in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. And another bachelor’s in Psychology.”

He suddenly fell silent, eyes fixed on the steam coiling out of the slit in the cup’s lid. I couldn’t keep my impressed admiration off my face, smiling as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to process something to say.

After I hadn’t replied for a few seconds he looked up at me from beneath his lashes. He was almost wincing, as if bracing himself for ridicule, mockery, disgust.

Just like you, my mind prompted. 

I gave him a wide grin and set my folded hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

“Doctor R— Spencer. That’s amazing, you don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m 26,” he replied, almost automatically, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“That’s amazing,” I emphasized. “You’re amazing, that’s a huge accomplishment.”

I watched a light shade of pink spread up his cheeks.

“Oh, uh...thank you,” he said unsurely.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I mean it,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You must have worked incredibly hard for those.”

“Well, I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 but...college isn’t friendly to 12-year-old high school graduates.”

I gave him an empathetic grimace.

“Sometimes it’s not the course load that’s the hard part of college.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t a student though.”

I pressed my lips together, looking down at my hands.

“Not anymore,” I said shortly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, but it sounded like he was reading out of a book. I didn’t really mind. People don’t understand, they can’t, not really. 

“I’m working to go back.” I don’t know why I said it, why I told him. It wasn’t any of his business, but for some reason I wanted Spencer to know I didn’t drop out because I screwed around, I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.

“Everyone has their own pace,” Spencer said. “At least, that’s what my mom told me.”

I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I gave him a small smile that I hoped wasn’t as sad as I suddenly felt.

“My mom told me something similar,” I found myself admitting. “Run your own damn race, she told me.”

Spencer tilted his head, as if asking me to explain. His eyes were fixed on me, I felt almost shy about being the complete focus of his attention, but I also had a feeling that anything Spencer did was the absolute center of his focus.

“It means that everyone has a race they’re running,” I said. “And you should focus on yours, not anyone else’s. If you focus on someone else’s race you’ll probably trip while trying to run your own. If...if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Spencer assured with a small smile. 

“Heh, moms, right?”

I let out a slightly nervous laugh, but something in Spencer’s eyes, an understanding, calmed me.

“Moms,” he agreed with a small smile.

We shared a quiet moment, just looking at each other. His face was too harsh and angular for a man with liquid honey eyes and perfectly curved lips. I wondered where he worked, what stressful career painted dark circles like bruises under his eyes and stripped the softness from him.

“I should close up,” I said finally, regretfully. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Spencer hurried out of his seat, almost knocking over his coffee but deftly catching it before it could tip too far. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I replied, maybe too quickly, as I stood as well. Spencer arched an eyebrow.

“I just-” I started, then exhaled a laugh and looked down at my shoes. “I don’t get to have a conversation with...well, anyone, very often.” 

I twisted my apron tie around my finger three times, then unspireled it. 

“I don’t really talk with anyone outside of work,” Spencer admitted. He didn’t seem upset about it, it was simply a fact of his existence. 

“That’s kinda sad,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth right after. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, hand returning to harassing my apron ties. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer cut me off with a shrug.

He really doesn’t seem upset, I guess some people are happy that way.

“Well,” I smiled up at him. “If you ever want to talk to someone you don’t work with, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, returning my expression.

“Thanks.”

I noticed how he kept a respectful distance between us, and remembered how he hadn’t offered to shake hands when we swapped names. 

Touch avoidance.

He seemed to notice everything, and with an eidetic memory he’d remember it all, so I carefully filed this away. Even though I might not be able to compare to him on memory, I could still try and remember something important to someone who had gone out of his way to be nice to me.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked, glancing around the room to make sure I had finished closing.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Great.”

I gave him a bright smile.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the back room to grab my coat and bag. A few moments later I returned, and Spencer was still there. For some reason I had almost expected him to disappear, almost as if he wasn’t ever there.

But there he was, tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan and shuffling in place.

“Ready to go?” I asked, tugging my coat around me. It was old, and too big for me, and frayed at the bottom, and I had to patch the elbows last winter, but it was warm.

And it was hers.

Every time I pulled the old blue coat on it was like a memory of a hug from my mom.

Spencer nodded.

“Andiamo!” I exclaimed cheerfully. Spencer’s attention perked.

“You speak Italian?”

“A little, you?”

“I’m passable.”

I grinned. 

“I’ve only spoken with you a little, but something tells me you’re a sight more than passable.”

Spencer cracked a smile, ducking his head to hide his pleased expression.

“Maybe I’m closer to fluent, but I’m not there yet.”

I made my way to the door, hitting the lights on my way. The shop fell into darkness, the only illumination the emergency lights and the city ambience outside. 

“It was really nice to meet you, Spencer,” I said earnestly as he joined me on the sidewalk outside. I locked the door and gave it a rattle to make sure it was secure, then turned to him. He tipped the last of his coffee down.

“It was nice to meet you too, Katie.”

“I’ll see you around?” “Yeah, probably.”

He raised the now-empty cup.

“You’re the only one who puts enough sugar in,” he joked, and I laughed with him. 

Raising my hand in farewell, I set off to catch the bus and he began walking the other way. Once I reached the corner I glanced back at the tall figure, passing in and out of sight under streetlamps as he drew further away.

When was the last time I talked to someone who wasn’t a coworker? I wondered. No time was easily coming to mind and I grimaced. It wasn’t easy to maintain a social life while working three jobs.

It’ll be worth it, I assured myself, Friends can come later, I need to do this.

I was dedicated to my goal, and I’d stick to it, but deep down I was hoping to see the handsome Doctor Spencer Reid again. 

A friendly, casual acquaintance. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face every now and then.

And that’s truly all I hoped for, for now.

[kylermalloy]

my Thoughts on rebels

Now I don’t have any hot takes or any controversial opinions to put out here. Rebels is a simple show with a simple plot. There’s not a whole lot to analyze, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to enjoy. Sometimes all you need is a straightforward concept with lovable characters. So let me proceed to squeal about Dave Filoni’s second masterpiece, Rebels.

Spoilers abound!

Before I say anything else...

THEY HAD A BABY I haven’t stopped squealing.

Zeb Okay I’ll start with Zeb, for no particular reason. He was the only main character I hadn’t really heard about or seen much of before I started watching. In the first few scenes with him, I was afraid he’d become his stereotype—the thuggish gorilla who argues all the time, disobeys orders, messes up plans, and borderline betrays his friends. I was so pleasantly surprised when none of that happened. Maybe by virtue of being a kids’ show, these characters don’t have *edgy* or twisted nuances. Zeb is fiercely loyal. He likes smashing heads in and gets grumbly sometimes, but he’s never a hindrance. He’s not just “the muscle”; his ingenuity saves the day on more than one occasion. If anything, his nuances take him the other way—he’s incredibly sensitive and childlike in some ways. Being one of the last of his kind is a major plot point of several episodes, which brings so much depth to him and his psyche. It also informs SO MUCH on his relationship with Kallus. Speaking of...

Kallus I never, ever expected Kallus to be anything more than a season-long plot device. The fact that he stuck around and went through actual character development?? Amazing. The episode where he and Zeb are stranded together is gold. He’s got a sense of honor even as he works for the Empire, sparing the rebels as Zeb spared him. He develops a new set of ideals thanks to our heroes, and he begins to question and regret the things he’s done for the Empire—ethnic cleansing of Zeb’s Lasat people included. And that last scene of them in the epilogue? I’m not gonna lie, it was a bit shippy.

KANERA I know while the show was airing, fans were constantly asking when Kanan and Hera were going to get together. But for me, they seemed to be married from the first episode. Hera calling Kanan “love” and teasing him? Kanan constantly worrying after Hera while simultaneously believing in her ability to do...absolutely everything? Their parenting of Ezra, Sabine, Chopper, and even Zeb? Explicitly referring to them as “the kids” and themselves as “Mom and Dad”? Yeah, they’re married. And let’s not underplay their strengths as individual characters. Kanan—or Caleb—is exactly what you would expect of a Jedi whose training is only halfway complete. He’s cool and awesome, but also riddled with self-doubt and uncertainty. And Hera is the mature voice of reason this merry band of children so desperately needs—except of course when she’s the one rushing headlong into danger, whether to get a fighter prototype or to steal a family heirloom or to save a couple pilots in a suicidally risky move. She’s a perfect blend of mature reason and headstrong determination that makes a true rebel. (Wait a minute...she’s totally Katara! Maybe that’s why I love her so much.)

Now back to them as a couple! Most of the show did nothing to advance their relationship—further reinforcing my headcanon that things were always happening between them behind the scenes. Even though they became official canon in the last season, the appearance of their kid in the epilogue proves I was right—based only on what we saw, there was no time for them to make a baby. Of COURSE there were things going on behind the scenes. 😏 (I found the interview that explains exactly where Jacen came from, and I was equal parts ecstatic and freaked out.)

Did I mention THEY HAD A BABY???

Ezra So apparently there are people in the Star Wars fandom who hate Ezra? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; Star Wars fans hate everything. Except the OT. If you hate the OT you’re a heathen. I can’t really think of a solid reason why people hate Ezra, except for the fact that he seems to be a Luke Skywalker analog. He’s a poor kid with Force sensitivities who gets adopted by a Jedi and becomes a venerated leader of the Rebellion. He also finds an oddball group of friends he comes to call family but eventually bids them farewell after the death of his mentor. They’re not carbon copies, of course—Luke’s an optimistic idealist; Ezra’s a cynic. Luke whines; Ezra snarks. Luke blows up the Death Star and defeats Vader; Ezra completes a series of far more complicated missions and defeats Inquisitors and Thrawn. Again by virtue of him being the star of a tv show instead of just three feature length movies, he gets a lot more time to have his adventures. Maybe there’s some resentment over him getting more screentime than Luke? Maybe it’s because I’m just Not a Luke Skywalker stan. I like him fine, but I don’t hold him up as some perfect saintlike hero. (I didn’t have any problems with his TLJ characterization.) The people who do need to rewatch the OT they hold so dear. Luke’s a beautiful drama queen and you all should love him for that. But I’m here to talk about Ezra! Listen, this child is a disaster and a half—just like Luke, just like Anakin, just like young Obi-Wan. There is nothing to not like about him—except that he reminds you of your favorite characters but he’s not them.

Clone Wars characters I initially started watching this show solely for the characters I already knew from Clone Wars. Ahsoka Tano has been my girl ever since I started watching Clone Wars, and I didn’t even consider watching Rebels until I knew they had undone her death. (If there was just ONE character they could needlessly save via time travel, they picked the right one.) At any rate, she’s perfect in this show. She’s more grown-up, more mature, but still retains that *young and plucky* spirit. (For the record, I usually hate the *plucky* characters. Somehow, she works for me. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really do that annoying cocky smirk thing.)

But it’s not just Ahsoka. Rex survived! I’m so glad at least one clone (two? Wolffe?) made it out of the war okay. And he’s great here. His constant snarking with Kanan reminded me so much of his banter with Anakin (and I’m sure it reminded him of that too ;-; ) His presence on Rebels isn’t strictly necessary, narratively speaking, but it’s just a nice tie-in to the world we got used to in Clone Wars. It reminds us that this world with the Empire was once the world of the Republic, and there are still clones out there—even if there’s no place for them in this new order. This of course reinforces the tragic narrative of clones as sentient beings created for nothing but combat. And again, I commend both shows for making me feel that narrative so deeply!

Hondo and Maul were two of my favorite antagonists from Clone Wars, so seeing their multiple appearances here filled me with joy. Hondo cracked me up, as usual, and Maul’s farewell was touching and heartbreaking. I almost wish he were still around! There’s still his duel with Ahsoka in season 7 of Clone Wars... 👀 Honestly what surprised me most about those two were the way they were both presented as protagonists. Hondo especially, and Maul does become an antagonist again. But it really speaks to the way all paradigms in the galaxy have shifted after the Republic became the Empire. In Clone Wars, Hondo was portrayed as an annoying hindrance to our heroes. Now with the Empire as an adversary to our main characters, Hondo is an ally. An untrustworthy one of course, mostly in it for the money, but his interests usually lie with helping our heroes, not hurting them. Besides, nothing tops his relationship with Ezra. Their first meeting had me in fits: “You lied to me?? I KNEW I liked you!” (Also I forgot to mention the running gag of Ezra introducing himself as Jabba the Hutt? Genius. And hilarious, since some people actually believe him at first)

THEY HAD A BABY!!!

Thrawn I need to see this guy again. Whether in a continuation where we learn what happened to him and Ezra, or some other moment in time where we see him younger, rising through the ranks of the Empire full of ambition and ideas. He’s quietly menacing, always confident and meticulous. He does a great job of making the rebels feel helpless in their fight, needling their pressure points and taunting them—but he never makes the conflict personal to him. He always remains detached, just a guy doing his duty. He’s just there to pick up interesting art pieces. I love the way he’s acted—always quiet, cultured, practically whispering. I didn’t know he was voiced by Lars Mikkelson until after I watched, but that was a perfect choice. I found the Inquisitors a little flat as villains (antagonists, whatever) and the other Empire ministers and governors not very threatening. Thrawn was the perfect balance (lol) between interesting and a genuine threat.

MANDALORE For all of Sabine’s merits as a character, I love her most in the Mandalorian arcs. The episode where she comes into her power and wields the darksaber is one of my favorites. She’s not a traditional stern, stoic Mandalorian character. She’s a free spirit, incredibly creative and intellectual. Yet she’s also afraid of her mind and what she could create—for years she created weapons for the Empire to feed her hubris. Maybe that’s why she mainly sticks to painting throughout the series. :) Anyway. I look forward to the follow-up detailing her adventures with Ahsoka.

Chopper I rolled my eyes so hard when I first saw Chopper. Everything from his name to his design screamed “kiddie version of R2D2” and I was fully prepared to hate him. I don’t. He’s just like R2, in that every sentence he says sounds like it’s punctuated with about ten different swearwords. It’s hilarious seeing such a cute character being so surly and even threatening on occasions! Chopper kicks some serious butt. He even comes with a tragic backstory!

Lastly, I don’t think I’ve mentioned...

THEY HAD A BABY AND HE’S ADORABLE

[brycemaloliver]

Imprisonment

Imprisonment - Oliver x MC

Distant Shores - Oliver Cochrane x MC (Peyton Bellamy)

Summary: What happened in between chapter 9 and 10, right after Peyton was taken as a prisoner on Oliver’s ship? Things get a little heated between them in Oliver’s office.

Word count: 1914

Rating: T (make-out, curse words, slight sexual implication)

Author’s note: Wow this is way longer than I intended it to be! This is the first fic I’d ever written, but it’s been in my drafts for some time. I wanted some more sexual tension between Oliver and MC, so I decided to write it myself! Not sure if anyone would want to be tagged in more stuff like this, but you can let me know if you want! Hope you guys enjoy!

@mrsbhandari​ (I kind of wanted to tag you because you helped me so much! Just let me know if this is too much lol)

----------

Peyton had never expected her life to turn out like this: Becoming a pirate on the Poseidon’s Revenge and getting ambushed by the Navy. She had a slight sliver of hope when Oliver accepted the one-on-one duel with Edward, but when Edward got stabbed because of her, her heart dropped.

She had let out a scream when she saw Edward’s shirt slowly started getting drenched by blood. His eyes had immediately found hers, and she wanted to run to him, to try and help him. The navy officer holding her arms behind her back made sure to tighten his grip. Pain flashed through her, but she pressed her lips together in order to not give him the satisfaction.

“Take the prisoners below deck,” she heard Oliver say. She could believe her ears, was this really the man whom she had kissed so passionately, whom had warned her that he was with the navy and told her that she should flee as soon as possible?

As her capturer started forcing her to the stairs, she didn’t know what to do. Should she try and plead with Oliver? Her eyes moved to his face, he was staring at the direction the Revenge had escaped to.

“Oliver, please let--” she started, trying to appeal to his good side, but she was quickly interrupted by a push from the navy officer behind her, making her stumble.

“You will not address the lieutenant, you filthy pirate,” the officer behind her spat with venom in his voice. She heard a few laughs around her because of her almost falling flat on her face. Oliver turned his head to her right before she was taken below deck, and she thought she saw a hint of sadness as he looked at her face.

Peyton was brought to a wooden cell that clearly hadn’t been cleaned in some time. A rope was used to tie her hands behind her back, and she could help but let out a small yelp as the rope dug into her flesh. Shit that really hurts, are they going to leave the rope around her wrists for the entire time?

She felt a hard push on her back to get her into the cell, and the cell door was shut and locked behind her. Where was Edward? Did they take him to a physician to at least stop the blood from pouring out?

---------------------

It felt like hours had passed by before she heard footsteps coming into the brig. Her mouth was dry, her wrists hurt like hell, and she was starting to get very hungry. Hopeful that it was Edward, she sat up and moved to the front of the cell. To her disappointment, it was one of the navy officers, no Edward in sight.

“Where the hell is Edward?” she boldly asked the officer as he started to open the lock that was placed on her cell. What was going on? Why wasn’t Edward brought into a cell as well? Had he maybe managed to escape?

“Your captain is being interrogated, haven’t you heard the screams?” he answered with a smug grin as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. Her eyes widened at his words. “Don’t you dare hurt him!” she yelled as she forcefully ripped her arm from his grip.

Peyton quickly turned around, not even thinking about what her plan was. How was she even going to fight this man with her hands behind her back? And even if she were to knock him out, she wouldn’t be able to escape. She lift her knee to kick him in the groin, but the officer was clearly anticipating this and quickly blocked her. The palm of his hand harshly connected with her left cheek in retaliation, and it hurt like a bitch.

Before she could get in another kick, the navy officer grabbed Peyton from behind and wrapped his arm around her neck, restricting her breathing. Panic washed over her as she tried to breathe and get as much air in her lungs as possible. She desperately tried to move her arms behind her back to free herself from her assailant.

“If you had only cooperated, your interrogation might not have been as bad,” the officer spat, still keeping her tight against him. “But I have to say, you are one of the prettiest pirates I have seen, we could have some fun,” he said confidently as his lips grazed her neck, If she wasn’t scared yet, she definitely was now. She tried to scream, but a soft whimper was the only thing coming from her throat.

“What is taking so long?” she heard Oliver’s voice call out as he walked into the brig. His expression changed from a serious to a shocked one, though he quickly covered it up.

“Not to worry lieutenant, I was just teaching this pirate a lesson about--”

“Thank you officer, you can let the woman go, I will personally interrogate her,” Oliver said with authority in his voice, and the tight grip on Peyton’s throat loosened. She inhaled as much air as possible, coughing in the process.

“But lieutenant, should you not be interrogating the captain of their ship?” the officer challenged his superior.

“You forget your place on this ship officer, stand down,” Oliver’s face was now angry, and Peyton would way rather be interrogated by Oliver than by the officer standing behind her. She felt the officer’s hand let go of her reluctantly, and she quickly took a step towards Oliver. She would almost stick out her tongue at the officer if she wasn’t almost suffocated to death.

“Yes, lieutenant,” he mumbled in defeat, and the officer quickly left the brig. Peyton let out a sigh of relief, and Oliver gently gripped her upperarm.

“I’m very sorry about that Peyton, some of my men I would rather see jobless as well,” he mumbled and he guided her outside and towards his own office.

“He nearly assaulted me! He should be thrown into the ocean,” she said venomously. She took another deep breath, having never been so happy to breathe normally. Oliver opened the door and as they both stepped inside, he made sure to lock it behind them.

“What, you’re afraid that one of your officers might interrupt you while torturing me like you’ve done to Edward?” She took a step away from him, looking him over a few times. Damn, why did he have to look so good? It made it harder for her to concentrate.

“Oh no, there will be no torturing Peyton, I promise,” he said with a small smile while taking a few steps toward her, closing the distance between them. He gently turned her around and undid the rope around her wrists. “I am sure you do not know what the admiral wants to know, so why not be civil about this?”

Peyton looked up in surprise as she touched the sore skin on her wrists. She winced from the pain, but it felt amazing to move her hands properly again. She lifts an eyebrow as she looked at him, trying to figure out what his plan was.

Suddenly she thought of Oliver stabbing Edward again, and anger washed over her. Before she even knew what she was doing, her fist swings through the air, and if Oliver hadn’t blocked her, it would have connected with his face. Surprise was evident in his face and his body took a more defensive stance.

“How dare you hurt Edward,” she yelled at him as she lunged toward him. He quickly dodged out of the way, making it evident that he was way more experienced in hand to hand combat than she was.

“Please Peyton, there is really no need for this,” he tried to reason with her as he quickly grabbed her hips to keep her from falling down. “Your captain knew the consequences of his actions.”

Her skin felt hot where he had touched her and her cheeks flushed slightly, both from effort and because of his touch. Still, she pushed his hands off and took a quick step back.

“You know he doesn’t deserve to be tortured, what happened to your conscience?” She gave him a hard push, though it affected him less that she had liked. Still, he was almost with his back against the wall, meaning that she would have some sort of advantage over him. “Why aren’t you fighting back?” she breathed, her eyes shifted to his lips.

As soon as Oliver noticed that she was distracted, he quickly made his move and switched their positions, so that her back was now against the wall, and he grabbed her hands, pinning them over her head against the wall. “Happy now?” he grinned, pressing his body closer to hers.

Peyton noticed how he had purposely grabbed her hands instead of her injured wrists, which made her heart beat a bit faster.

“You know, you’re very attractive when you’re angry,” he mumbled as he studied her face.

“Well, I must be extremely hot right now because--”

He had shut her up by pressing his lips against hers, his eyes fluttering closed, desperate to taste her soft lips again. It took her a second to respond, which made him worry that she would push him off, but then Peyton kissed him back eagerly.

She opened her mouth slightly and let out a moan, almost like it was an invitation for him. He swiped his tongue over her lower lip, as she squeezed his hands and let out a shaky breath in response. It was like her mind was going black when she was kissing him, like he took all her worries away.

His mouth left hers as he started kissing his way down her neck, her soft panting making him more eager to please her. How did a pirate have such an effect on him? He sucked on her neck, and she rewarded him with even more pretty sounds from her pretty lips.

Her eyes fluttered open and closed as she enjoyed his kisses, when a brief moment of clarity hit her. She was really having a make-out session with the enemy, again! How does she keep finding herself in these situations? While he was still distracted kissing her neck, she managed to stomp her heel into his foot.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he let go of her hands and stumbled back. “What in the hell was that for?”

A proud smirk appeared on her face, she had finally gotten the one-up on him. “That was for Edward, you should be thankful that I didn’t kick you in the groin.”

His face hardened again, taking on his persona of lieutenant. “I will take you back to your cell,” he said with authority and he grabbed her upperarm again. He eyed the rope that now lied on the ground, but decided against it, not wanting to cause her more pain. He groaned inwardedly, how had he become so soft for such a lowly pirate?

He unlocked the door and guided her back into the brig, As he opened the cell door, she let her hand lightly graze his crotch before voluntarily walking back into the cell.

“Think of me tonight,” she said with a triumphant smile, knowing that it would mess with his head a llittle. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he locked the cell door. She had him right where she wanted him.

[moominquartz]

rating: T fandom: Steven Universe prompt: Secretly Drawing the Other warnings: None Apply word count: 3.4k requester: @kohakhearts​

[IMG attached]

Connie is in desperate need of a reference picture.

My first complete fic for Fluff Bingo, which is something solely in a writing discord I’m apart of! Yes, it was inspired by BTHB, but it’s fun to have something to go to when I’m all out of angst juice. :)

[Read on AO3!]

~*~

Connie has never been especially talented at anything outside of school. She wins only as many tennis matches as she loses, and she struggles with the advanced sheet music that most of her peers seem to pull off flawlessly. Her grades are always A’s, sure, but that hardly seems like talent or skill, only an ability to test well.

The one thing Connie has never allowed herself to itemize — never allowed herself to compare herself to others, no matter how tempting it is — is her ability to draw.

To be fair, she knows she isn’t very good. When she begins, she’s heavily influenced by the wide-eyed, shoujo anime she adores, and proportions are the furthest thing from her mind. She draws solely for the fun of it, for pure expression. She draws when she’s ecstatic, she draws when she’s angry, she draws when she’s so sad that her tears stain the pages.

It’s only pencil drawings, but they’re very personal to her, and it’s something she doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s doing. Her parents know, because they’re her parents and she needs them to buy her the sketchbooks and the pencils. None of her friends do.

No one except Steven.

“Whoa,” Steven whispers with wide, childlike awe as he holds her sketchbook between his hands. He cradles the book as if it were scripture bound in expensive, gilded leather. “Connie, you’re amazing.”

She blushes. “Oh, it’s not anything special.”

“Are you kidding?” He looks at her with such fervent belief that it throws her off-kilter. “Connie, I don’t know anything about drawing, but look at all the details you put in here!”

That isn’t quite true; Steven draws as well, though maybe not as frequently as she does. Still, she supposes she can see what he’s saying. Even though the proportions are way off and Archimicarus should not be double the size of Lisa’s head, Connie took the time to put in every accessory she loved into Lisa’s outfit. She was determined to make sure Lisa was recognizable, despite the fact that the movie hadn’t come out yet and nobody knew what Lisa was going to look like.

“Okay,” she murmurs, feeling high on the praise. “All right, I’ll take that. Thanks.”

He grins. “Will you show me more sometime?”

“Oh, uh… sure.” Flattered that he’d even ask, she agrees without thinking about it.

-

Connie starts to draw him. Not out of any intention, and certainly not because she wants to. It happens entirely by accident that she looks down at her sketchbook, struggling to find inspiration, and realizes she’s doodled his head in the corner.

It becomes commonplace that, when they’re spending time together — time not always spent doing something, but rather, sharing the same space and simply being — Connie will draw.

Sometimes Steven asks, but more often than not she says no. He takes absolutely no offense at all, and that’s part of why she likes him. He just lets her do her thing while he chugs through another playthrough of GolfQuest Mini or plans out his next TubeTube video. 

Connie’s never been good at drawing real people. They’re even harder to get right than her anime characters. But the doodle doesn’t look entirely bad. It doesn’t look like Steven, but it doesn’t look bad.

And this is how Connie learns to use references: she stares at him while he doesn’t look at her.

She’s nervous at first, watching him while she draws. She’s afraid he’ll realize what she’s doing and draw attention to it. He’ll strike a pose or blush and say something about how she should be drawing someone else, or worse, he’ll ask to see it when she’s done. But Steven doesn’t do any of that. He keeps right on going, completely oblivious.

Connie gets pretty good at drawing him.

-

Years pass and Connie gets pretty damn good at drawing him.

The way she draws him changes with time. Her skills transform and puberty hits Steven like a freight truck. Every time she sees him, he seems to have grown a few inches. She hardly gets the chance to draw him more than once or twice while he’s in front of her. Once she reaches high school, she has far less time to just “hang out” — or if she does, and they aren’t doing anything, she’s forced to spend her time doing homework.

And then she figures out the work-around.

“What’re you up to?” she asks aloud as she types it into text. “Send pics.”

It sounds as if she’s asking for something else, but she absolutely isn’t. She hopes her Mom doesn’t still go through her text messages, or else she’s going to have a very awkward conversation with her later.

Her phone dings in response before she even sets it down.

w/ lars at the bakery!! lookit this! [IMG attached]

Yes, score! She only hopes it’s got a good enough angle—

—aaaaand it’s a picture of a dessert. It’s a very delicious-looking chocolate orange mousse, but it’s not of Steven.

She tries again on a different day, when she’s so tired of studying her eyes will fall out if she has to read one more word. She pulls out her sketchbook, lays on her bed, and texts him again. I’m so boredddd. Doing anything fun?

To prompt a photo in return, she attaches a selfie while she’s lying on the bed. It isn’t the best selfie she’s ever taken, but this isn’t about that. It’s about getting one back.

Steven, as always, replies quickly. sry, @ LH, can’t talk now. No picture. Connie glances at the clock just to make sure it is, indeed, past 8 PM, and she frowns.

Fine. Maybe she can ask for some help.

I am so sorry, Connie. Pearl’s texts are always way longer than they should be. You should’ve asked me a few weeks ago! I had a ton of pictures saved, but I recently exported them to an external harddrive. And he’s been so unwilling to let me take pictures of him recently.

Connie bites her lip. Pearl isn’t exactly a ‘grandma’ with technology — most of the things she’s learned how to operate, she’s done herself or only after one demonstration — but Connie wonders if she pressed, if she asked Pearl to retrieve her most recent picture of him to send to her, that Pearl would be a little too curious in return.

With all other options exhausted, Connie turns to desperate measures.

“Why am I doing this, again?” Amethyst asks over the phone. “Can’t you just, like, ask him yourself?”

“Please,” Connie all but begs. “I can’t tell you what it’s for, I just need a picture of him from the front, and it need to be at least waist-up. Although if you could get a full picture of him standing up, that’d be even better. Oh, and please don’t let him know that it’s for me.”

“Hmm.” Amethyst’s little hum is plotting, and Connie absolutely hates it. “Well, what do I get in return?”

“Huh?”

“What, you’re not expecting me to do this for free, are you?”

Of course. This is Amethyst. Connie chews on her bottom lip, considering.

“Well, what do you want? I could order Fish Stew for you.” Connie’s mom gives her enough of an allowance for her grades that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Or some of Lars’s bakery’s treats, if you like.”

Amethyst’s laugh goes to her bones. “What? I’m gonna need more than that. Hmm… How about this: I’ll take the picture for you, but you gotta come here to get it yourself.”

“What?” Connie’s voice squeaks. “You can’t be serious, Amethyst! It’s a school night!”

Amethyst snickers. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it tonight. I’ll text you when I have it, and you’ll get it when you come over. Oh, but when you do, you’d better bring two full pizzas with you, okay?”

“O-kay,” Connie mumbles, defeated.

“Sweet. Catch you on the flip side.”

-

do u need his face showin?

Connie blinks at the text on her phone, three days later. She’s just gotten out of school and Amethyst sent it three hours ago. 

Yes.

dam. well heres the outtake [IMG attached]

When Connie clicks through, she gets the full shot of Steven all right. But he isn’t standing upright and still; instead, he’s rushing past the camera, blurring the shot, a hand in front of his face to block it from being seen.

This is a shitty picture.

i kno, that’s why i sent it to u w/o getting pizza, dam!!

-

In the interim, Connie tries once more to provoke a selfie from Steven. This one requires a little more effort and is incredibly flirtatious — borderline forward — but she has to try it. Her sketches of him seem more and more off by the day, and it’s driving her nuts. She needs that reference shot, at least one.

She has a violin concert one Friday night. She dresses up for it, wearing black slacks, a white button-up with a high collar, and a black blazer. A simple tie, black with blue stripes, adorns her neck, and she lets her hair down. Like this, it would just barely tickle her shoulders. She puts on a little more makeup than she normally would for a concert; she dabbles in foundation, in blush and lipstick, when normally she would settle for mascara and concealer, if she decided on makeup at all.

Eyeshadow is still too foreign for her, but she hopes this is enough.

Then the trick is taking the selfie itself. At first she takes a shot without her shoes on, then decides it would probably look better with them on, especially if she’s trying to get one back. So she puts on her nice pair of loafers and stands at the full-body mirror in her room, taking a deep breath as she tries to set her nerves to rest.

“It’s fine, Connie,” she murmurs. “It’s fine. It’s just Steven, and what’s the worst thing that could happen? That he just flat out doesn’t respond?”

That is, by far, the worst thing that could happen. She doesn’t know what he’d do if he did that, because Steven is always the type to reply within a few minutes. She doesn’t know if it’s just like that for her or for everyone, but she has to trust that he’ll reply to this.

She takes the picture. It’s a little lopsided because her hand is shaking, but it’s the full picture of her, head to toe. She sends it off with a caption that, she hopes, is not too flirtatious, not too forward, because she would hate to put him off:

Don’t I look nice? What are you wearing tonight?

She bites her lip. Mom calls for her to get going, that she’s taken too long, but Steven’s response is almost instantaneous: a long, long string of heart eyes emojis and hearts of different colors and patterns. Then another text, this one saying, you look amazing!! i wish i was there!!!

It isn’t a selfie, and it doesn’t answer her question, but it makes her heart soften nonetheless. He’s so good to her, and of course that makes him difficult to manipulate. Maybe she really should just ask.

Several hours later, on the drive back home from the concert, she turns her phone back on. And to her surprise, there is a message waiting.

sorry this took so long, i wanted to match!! [IMG attached]

She blinks.

Steven has gone all out for this. He’s wearing a formal dress she hasn’t seen before, the same blue of her tie; an A-line that allows her to see the broadness of his chest, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that proudly display the freckles of his shoulders, and a pleated skirt that begins at his waist. His shoes are the same color, heeled, open-toed, and he’s even done his nails.

His makeup is more intricate than hers. Blush, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, an iridescent violet eyeshadow and vibrant lipstick.

He’s sent multiple pictures. One is of him doing a kissy face, eyes lidded; the next is him laughing, blurred from moving the camera, what might have been a shot he hadn’t done on purpose; and the next is of him doing a peace sign.

Connie’s face burns. She’s glad her mom and dad take the front seats, so that she can have this little moment all to herself.

I love it! She hesitates over the send button. He sent her all those emojis, and she can’t even say more than three words?

You look great! Oh, but he looks more than great, doesn’t he? 

Can I come over? Now that was honest, but way too suggestive!

She deletes it again and then realizes they’re almost home. She has to send something, she’s been thinking way too hard about it!

You’re the most beautiful, most handsome man in the whole world, and I wish I was with you.

She sends it before she can think twice about it. Steven responds immediately with many more emojis.

-

Connie can’t get the way he looked out of her head. In school, she doodles the dress in the margins of her notes. At tennis practice, she imagines trying to wear those heels and run at the same time. In orchestra, she pretends Steven is watching, that he came to her concert in that outfit.

She draws him, of course. For hours in her room, she flips through the pictures and draws, and draws, and draws. She draws him in the dress in different poses, in different settings, with different people.

… Mostly with her.

Her outfit’s different, though. It’s not the same, boring orchestra one she had to wear for the concert. She Googles different outfits and finds some fantastic, colorful tuxes, and of course pretends she would ever be able to wear them.

She’s in the middle of coloring a self-indulgent piece in which the two of them are dancing in these outfits (and this is one she would never, ever show to anyone), when she gets a text from Amethyst.

i got the pic. but uh… kinda havin some issues [IMG attached]

Connie blinks.

It’s a picture of Steven, though not the one Connie asked for. He’s closer to the camera, a rage in his eyes as he moves toward the person taking it, mouth open as if speaking.

Oh, no. Is he mad at Amethyst for sneaking pictures of him? Quickly, Connie tries to call her, but it only rings twice before going to voicemail.

Oh, no.

She calls Steven instead. He hangs up on her, too, but shoots her a short text: can’t talk.

URGENT, she replies in all caps and without punctuation. He does not reply.

She grabs her sketchbook, rushes downstairs. It’s late but not so late that she’ll be in trouble. She runs past Dad at the kitchen island, sipping on coffee before he goes in. “Sorry, I’ll be back before Mom!” she promises, slipping her shoes on.

“Where you going, honey?”

“To Steven’s!”

And when she opens the door, there, waiting for her, is a pink-hued lion.

-

When she throws open the door to the beach house, Steven is still yelling: “—you know I don’t like it when you take my picture—”

“Why?!” Amethyst yells. “Just because it’s me?!”

“No, it’s because I don’t want y’all snapping pictures of me for a scrapbook like I’m a baby—”

“AHEM.”

Connie’s clearing of her throat cuts through it, startling them both. They spin back around to face her, and while Amethyst’s glance goes askew, almost ashamed, Steven sees in her an immediate ally.

“Ugh, Connie, this isn’t a great time!” His voice is high, angry, but not at her; clearly, he thinks she’ll be on his side. “You won’t believe this, but Amethyst’s been trying to snap photos of me all week when she thinks I haven’t been looking, without even asking me or anything, and I’m in the middle of confronting her about it because if she thinks this is funny—”

“She doesn’t!”

“—just because that concealer isn’t working on the dark circles under my eyes, then she’s got another thing—” He cuts himself off, and Connie feels her nerves spike as he turns to her again, looking almost like a startled animal. “—uh… what are you talking about, Connie?”

“I asked her to do it.” Connie’s voice is one of defeat. Shame makes the room feel so much hotter than it is, and she wishes she could hide. She makes do by pressing her face into both of her hands and speaking against her palms. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed to get a picture of you and I didn’t want you to know, and that was probably really weird and creepy of me, and I’m sorry.”

The silence is suffocating. Steven whispers something to Amethyst, and Connie can’t hear the response. He must think she’s so creepy, that she’s been manipulating him somehow, and that she’s a horrible, untrustworthy person—

A moment later, Steven is right by her side. “Hey.” His voice is soft, and he pries a hand from her face to enfold in both of his. It should be comforting, but for a moment, she feels even worse; like she’s tricked him into offering her this kindness. “Um… So, why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I thought you’d say no.” That’s not quite it. “I… I thought you’d ask why.”

“Well, now I kinda really wanna know.”

“I…” And here it is, the big moment. The confession. She looks down, unable to meet his gaze as her free hand fists at her side. “I’ve been drawing you and I needed a reference.”

There’s another beat of silence. Then two. And then Steven bursts into laughter, loud and relieved and maybe even playful. It still is humiliating to hear, but at the same time, she’s so, so glad he isn’t angry.

“You totally could’ve asked! I would’ve sent one to you, because that’s like… really, really nice of you to draw me.”

“No, it’s not!” And as she looks back at him, she can see just how much he doesn’t see this. She doesn’t tug her hand free because, selfishly, she hopes he never lets go. “I haven’t been doing it because I’m planning to paint you a portrait or anything, I’ve been solely using you for practice and it’s probably a really selfish thing of me, I-I even used the selfies you sent me that one night, and I’ve kind of lost all control over that, because you were so gorgeous in that dress and I…”

“Wait.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue. “Can I, like… see the drawings you’ve done? Or a few of them? I know you don’t like it when I ask, but there’s got to be at least one or two you’re proud of, right?”

“You… want to see them?”

“I want to see everything you’ve ever drawn!” His voice is so sincere and enthusiastic that her heart soars, forgetting immediately every single thing she said that could have soured their relationship. “But only if you’re cool with it! You’re such an amazing artist, Connie.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Don’t start with me. I can go on and on.”

She smiles. She fidgets with a strand of her hair, and though it’s juvenile, she plays witness to the way such a small thing makes Steven’s face light up in adoration.

“Hey.” The word cuts through the moment, startling the both of them, and they look over at Amethyst leaning against the fridge with a raised eyebrow. “So now that like, the truth is out there and all that, I think I’m owed something.”

Connie opens her mouth at the same moment Steven groans, cutting her off. “I… yeah. I’m sorry, Amethyst. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I’m sorry for just… assuming stuff.”

Amethyst’s gaze then turns to Connie.

“Uh… Thank you, Amethyst.” Connie sighs. “For doing all of this for us.” 

Amethyst laughs. It startles Connie a little, but Amethyst just shakes her head, a knowing grin on her face. “I can think of, maybe, a way for you two to express just how sorry and grateful you are…”

Steven blurts out a “huh?” while Connie giggles, reaching for the phone in her pocket. 

“On it.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Bagging a Demon (Rated NC17)

Summary: When Crowley returns to Aziraphale's bookshop after time away frazzled and out of sorts, Aziraphale helps him bury his fears and doubts ... by burying himself. (1178 words)

Notes: This is a sort of re-write of another one-shot from a while back. Warning for consensual burying alive, bondage, suspension, anxiety, and emotional hurt/comfort.

Read on AO3.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

The sound of sand pouring around Crowley’s body is like a long, soothing hush - a finger to his angel’s lips as he tries to quiet the voices in his demon’s brain.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

It fills Crowley’s ears, then his head, and slowly, like a well-worn eraser on a pencil too short to be sharpened any further, eliminates the comments made so many times they’ve left thick, dark lines inside his skull, stains that will never completely be removed - Hell’s snide remarks; a ledger full of jokes made at his expense; vague threats that chase after him, catch up to him no matter how fast he drives; and, most importantly, his own vile thoughts, which he’ll never be free of regardless of how many times Aziraphale whispers sweet words of praise in his ears.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh …

Crowley isn’t exactly sure where Aziraphale gets the sand from. He would assume Aziraphale miracles it in but that would be a difficult thing to explain to the higher ups - not that they have any say in what Aziraphale does with his magic anymore, but they’re always poking their noses in where they don’t belong. Crowley smiles at the conversation that might ensue if Archangels confronted Aziraphale now that the two of them are, for the most part, independent contractors.

“Aziraphale! Why in Heaven’s name did you waste a miracle transporting seventy-five pounds of sand to your demon’s flat?” Gabriel would ask, red-cheeked with anger, his eyes aflame with holy white light.

“Why? Why!?” Aziraphale would reply, squaring his shoulders and tugging down his waistcoat, his eyes not only alight with the same white flame, but consumed by it. “Fuck you, that’s why!”

That’s probably not how it would go down, but it makes Crowley feel a smidge better to imagine it that way.

Crowley suspects it’s beach sand Aziraphale fills his body bag with.

Black volcanic sand.

It smells like all things summer - sunscreen, salt water, barbecue smoke, but also clean, fresh air kissed by sunshine. When he’s in his human-form, Crowley is not too fond of sand. But his serpent side adores it. The sand retains heat, absorbing it, then redirecting it, transforming Crowley from shrunken and shivering in his own tense frame to relaxed.

Downright cozy.

It acts like a weighted blanket, the effect only mildly different. It builds. Instead of having ten, fifteen, twenty-five pounds rest on him all at once, it presses down on him gradually - one shovel full at a time until he’s engulfed in calm. It’s not like having Aziraphale’s weight on top of him, Aziraphale’s warmth surrounding him, his wings wound around him and tightening slowly. But it’s still comforting.

The darkness of the bag he’s curled inside of, the weight of the sand, it doesn’t just bury him. It buries the voices that collect in his head, buzzing like flies drunk on honey. It buries his self-doubt in a place he can project on to so that it doesn’t plant seeds inside him, grow and devour him. His successes and his failures get buried with him inside that bag, too. When he comes out, he’ll get to decide which he wants to take with him and which he wants to leave behind.

With the help of his angel, who is always there to help guide him.

Crowley had been gone for days - off to only God knows where … if She cared to look. Aziraphale never troubles him for an explanation. Yes, they’re married, but that doesn’t mean much has changed.

Crowley’s time is his own. As was Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale read and Crowley … did Crowley things.

When Crowley finally returned, Aziraphale expected a lighthearted and giddy demon to saunter into his bookshop bearing several crates of alcohol and a take away box of crepes, maybe devil’s food cake.

Wine he did have. Crepes, too. But also a back bowed by burdens.

He muttered and paced and grumbled under his breath. He would sit, then immediately get up and walk a lap around Aziraphale’s shop.

Everything was wrong, Aziraphale heard him say.

His flat was wrong.

His car was wrong.

The city was wrong.

His head was on wrong and everything inside him was wrong.

He may have gone down to Hell for a visit or a meeting or a whatever. Lord knows why he returns from time to time, but he does. But now that he’s above ground again, everything is too bright, too loud, too sharp, too open, too much.

And Crowley can’t handle it.

When Aziraphale asked his demon what he thought could help him, Crowley answered, “Soft, dark, quiet … alone.”

It broke Aziraphale’s heart to hear Crowley say he needed to be alone. He’d presumably just returned from time alone and now he wanted more of it. Though Aziraphale understands that time alone away from him and time alone with him in the same room are different concepts.

Still, Aziraphale missed his husband.

But he couldn’t deny him anything.

And Crowley needed a re-set – one he couldn’t find on his knees.

He needed to hide, disappear somewhere where the world couldn’t find him.

This bag isn’t some random item Aziraphale had lingering around his bookshop, a relic from the past that he kept alongside his snuff boxes and Bibles. He’d ordered it special - a tool to help Crowley with his anxiety. When Crowley had his first major attack and spoke about it with Aziraphale, he used words like open and big and lost and flailing to get his point across. Aziraphale concluded that Crowley needed to make his problems smaller than himself, and thus more manageable. He needed to restrict his thinking to the basics – yes and no, light and dark, good and bad, the building blocks that humans learn as children, and move on from there.

So, in essence, this bag is like a womb, a beginning which, as supernatural entities, they’d never been given. Crowley retreats to it when he needs to start over.

Sometimes Aziraphale envies him for it.

Crowley can’t wear much when he’s inside it. Just his underclothes. It forces him into the fetal position, muffles most external sounds. It’s where he comes to terms with himself, reconnects with his thoughts either demonic or celestial, before he joins the world again.

Aziraphale bid his husband good-bye with a kiss before Crowley climbed in and Aziraphale began shoveling, packing Crowley in. When he’s done, he’ll lace the bag up from end to end - no zippers or snaps here. Then he’ll tie the entire bag with hefty rope and suspend it, let its cigar shape hang and sway gently over his head.

Three hours.

Three hours in the bag and the sand in total silence. After three hours, Aziraphale will come get him, dig him out with his own two hands as if discovering his gorgeous husband all over again.

But if Crowley needs him, all he has do is say his name and Aziraphale will be there.

[dcnatural]

Getway Car

Word Count: 1446

Pairing: Reader x Joker

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: You and the Joker escape Batman, and you make a hard choice.

“Faster! Faster!”, the Joker screamed, his voice barely hearable above the loud noises of the machine gun.

You hit the accelerator, bringing the car to full speed. The city lights became a blur as you drove faster and faster into the night. Behind you, the Batmobile, as well as many police cruisers, followed suit.

Your heart beat loudly in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body as you maneuvered just in time to avoid hitting a bus. Your partner in crime continued firing, and by the rear-view mirror you watched as the cars crashed one by one: some because of flat tires and others because their drivers fell dead. Either way, soon they were all gone, leaving only the Bat chasing you.

The Batmobile was seemingly bulletproof, and no matter how many times the Joker shot it, the bullets fell harmlessly to the pavement. “Hand grenade”, the Joker yelled,  and you quickly reached into the passenger's seat where the weapons bag rested. Grabbing one of the pineapple shaped bombs, you threw it to him, who removed the ring and sent it flying into a water tower on the side of the road, causing the structure to collapse, flooding the street and, most importantly, blocking the way with it’s massive pillars.

The Joker laughed maniacally, jumping over to the seat beside you and throwing the bag on the floor. “Now, that should take care of Batsy for a while”, he chuckled. His laugh was contagiating and you couldn't help but grin.

“Where to?”, you asked as you stopped the vehicle, waiting for your next orders.

He raised a gloved hand to tuck a loose lock behind your ear, the soft material caressing your skin in the process. “Home, darling.”

* * *

You still remembered the night you first met the Joker as clearly as if it had been just yesterday. You had attended a black tie party, exactly the type of event you hated, but in which your boyfriend, Roman Sionis, just loved to parade you around, like you were the newest shiny prize in his collection. You put up with it, smiling and playing the part of the lovingly girlfriend, just like you put up with his abuse and his lies. You didn't have much choice, even though you didn't love Roman, you couldn't leave, not when he owned half of Gotham's underworld. Leaving him would be a death sentence. 

You had been playing with the diamonds in your bracelet when he caught your eyes: a mess of disheveled green hair, pale skin and purple fabric. He stood out in the gray crowd and you found yourself staring at him with increasingly curiosity. And then you froze. For as you watched him carefully, he turned his face, his bright green eyes locking with yours for a second, before trailing down your body. Then, he smiled and made his way towards you. His presence was enough to scare away whoever it was you had been talking to.

Meeting the Joker was the push you needed to finally leave Sionis for good.

* * *

You parked the car in front of the current hideout, an abandoned toy factory. The Joker whistled blissfully by your side, creating a melody that was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Just like him, you thought. The factory door opened, and three henchman came hurrying to help carry the stolen goods. You let them do the job, turning your back to the car and entering the building. Even with the furniture you had brought in, it still didn't feel like an inhabited place. The air was damp, dust covered the floor and the windows were so stained almost no light passed through.

"Wasn't that one hell of a night?", the Joker asked, passing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Your whole body went stiff with his touch. Lately, every time he approached you, you felt like running away. His hand slid down your back, fingers playing casually with the waistband of your jeans.

“Not today, J”, you told him, shaking your head and twisting out of his hold. “I’m tired.”

He sneered, lips curling in a weird fashion. “Always a party pooper.” 

You sighed. “J…”

He weaved his hand, cutting you off. “It’s fine. Go sleep or whatever. I’ll fend for myself.”

You rolled your eyes, hating that he always made a big deal out of nothing. His drama was very tiring. Leaving him in the makeshift living room, you climbed the narrow staircase and made your way to the small space in which you slept. What once had been a control room, now had been converted into a bedroom: the wide windows were covered with purple curtains, the desk and shelves stored clothes and other personal items and, on the floor, laid a double mattress. 

You kicked out your shoes and, not bothering to change clothes, slid under the sheets. The factory was always chilly at night, but this night, it seemed to even more so. You curled yourself into a ball, knees to your chest, chin resting on top of them. You could hear the faint murmuring of the television and the Joker’s laugh coming from down stairs, He’s probably watching one of his stupid old comedy shows. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the noise, focusing instead on how tired you were. It seemed it took you hours to fall asleep, but when you finally did, you were rewarded with a dreamless night.

* * *

The night you ran away with the Joker was the most exciting one of your life. You felt free, as if you had escaped from a prison. Except that the Joker didn’t care about anything, and you soon realized you had got out of the frying pan and into the fire. You drowned the disappointment of this new life in whiskey and vodka. 

But Roman didn’t take the break-up easily, and, feeling like you had been stolen from him, soon was chasing after you. During the months that followed, there was a waging war between Sionis and the Joker, with hundreds of innocents dying from the cross-fire. And while it would have been much simpler to just hand you back to Roman, the Joker protected you. And you began to think there was something in him after all, maybe you hadn’t been mistaken. Perhaps there was a chance of a better life by his side. The end of the war came only when the Joker shot Roman in the heart.

And then, just like Bonnie and Clyde, you and your new lover raided Gotham, killing and stealing, partying and drinking. Nothing could stand in your way, not the cops and not even Batman.  

* * *

You woke up to an empty bed. Sunlight crept in through the cracks in the wall, making the metal floor glint. You quickly changed clothes and threw the old ones in the growing pile of dirty laundry.

Downstairs, the Joker slept soundly on the couch, the television still on, displaying an old cartoon. Empty beer cans littered the floor, and there was a large bloodstain on the carpet. You avoided looking at it as you walked towards the kitchen, where you prepared a cup of coffee for yourself. You jumped back as a mouse squeaked and ran past you and into a hole in the cabinet. 

You looked around the decrepit place, and couldn’t help but think it was a perfect parallel with your relationship. It was a ruin of what it once had been. There was no saving. And if you stayed, you would go down with it.

Returning to the living room, you watched as the Joker chest rose and lowered with his breathing. Forgotten by his side, the large bag containing the profits of yesterday rested. Not far from it, the car keys laid on a table. 

Taking one last gulp of the bitter coffee, you picked up the keys, leaving the empty mug on its place. Not making a noise, you crept near where he slept and collected the bag, which felt light on your hand. Since there was still space in it, you walked back upstairs and into the room in which the Joker hid his safe. You had seen him opening it so many times that you had memorized the combination. Typing the code, the door unlocked and you shoved as much money as you could into the bag.

You didn’t leave a note. He had to know this day was coming, you had met him running away from somebody else. He had to have seen it coming. You glanced at the factory one last time before speeding away. Not a tear fell from your eyes.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Best Medicine

Rated: E

The Best Medicine

“Ugh. Anton, give me a gin and tonic, please. Actually, just the bottle of gin. It’s been one of those days.”

The man at the bar beside Belle chuckled as Anton put down her glass of gin and tonic, swirling the whisky in his tumbler around before downing it and ordering another.

“Drowning your sorrows as well?” Belle asked. The man nodded.

“Yep. Just got done being yelled at by my ex-wife in our attorney’s office for two hours. You?”

“My boss is a jerk. Well, she’s not technically my boss, but she likes to think that because she’s a doctor and I’m a nurse, the sun shines out of her ass and she can boss me around like I’m nothing.”

The stranger considered this for a moment and nodded. “I can understand your frustration. Sounds a lot like my ex, actually.”

Belle laughed, and she held out a hand. “I’m Belle.”

“Cameron. Cam to my friends.”

“Am I a friend?” Belle teased.

“Well, I think that might depend on whether or not I get to know you better.” Cameron indicated her half-empty glass. “Can I get you another?”

Belle looked at the very tempting bottle of gin behind the bar. One the one hand, she had an early shift the next morning and she didn’t want to be giving a batch of flu shots with a pounding headache. On the other hand, Milah Cassidy, the bane of Belle and all her colleagues’ existences, had made her day so miserable that when Dr Cassidy had finished her shift and finally left them alone, a collective cheer had gone up around the clinic.

On yet another hand, Ruby had been on at her to get back into the dating game for months now, and whilst Belle was in no way looking for anything remotely committed or long term, she had an itch to scratch just like any other woman with sexual desires, and if Cameron was willing to spend a little time with her scratching that itch, then why shouldn’t she indulge.

“All right,” she said.

Fresh drinks procured, Belle scooted along the bar to Cameron and leaned in a little closer.

“So, tell me about this terrible ex of yours.”

Cameron grimaced. “Ugh. I’d rather not, any more than you’d want to talk about your terrible boss.”

“True enough. Shall we leave aside the reasons why we’re drinking and talk about other things instead?”

Cameron chinked his glass against hers. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

They talked for what felt like hours, although Belle was keeping an eye on the time and knew that it could not have been so long. She found out all sorts of things about Cam – his tastes in books and music and movies, his favourite food, the name of his childhood goldfish.

But not, she recalled after the fact, his last name.

It was getting towards the end of the evening and Belle was going to get up and leave. That was when the kiss happened. She wasn’t quite sure which of them had initiated it or if it had been a mutual reaction to a heavy and suggestive pause in the conversation. All she knew was that Cam was an excellent kisser and she was getting this man back to her place tonight by hook or by crook.

Cam, thankfully, was all too eager to go along with her suggestion to go back to hers, his voice low and husky, Scottish accent twice as strong now as he whispered all kinds of filthy promises in her ear and Belle’s knees nearly turned to jelly at the thought of it all.

Once inside her flat, they didn’t make it as far as the bed. Belle tackled Cameron down onto the sofa, wrestling with his tie and waistcoat buttons as he pulled her shirt open and yanked her bra cups down to free her breasts, tugging at her nipples and pinching them gently. Belle groaned above him, rocking her hips up against his and feeling his cock twitch and harden against her thigh. She finally succeeded in getting his shirt open and she raked her fingers over his chest, flicking at his own nipples and receiving a growl of lust in return for her efforts.

Belle grinned, sitting up to hitch her skirt up around her waist and pull her panties down, and letting Cameron undo his belt and fly, taking out his cock and stroking himself quickly to full hardness. There was an easy confidence in the way he moved, showing himself off for her evaluation almost, but as her fingers closed over his and increased the pressure on his shaft, pumping harder, she could tell that he was only holding on to his self-control by a thread. She grabbed her purse and rifled in it for a condom.

“Now I think it’s my turn.” Belle sat back on her knees, parting her folds with two fingers and unhooding her clit, already swollen and aching to be touched. She could feel the wetness gathering at her entrance, and she groaned as Cam took her up on her hint and pressed his thumb firmly against her pearl, rubbing in circles and making her hips jerk up against his touch, pushing her sex into his hand and welcoming one finger, then two, pressing up inside her, inner walls clutching desperately around them and pulling them in deeper towards her sweet spot. Cam’s other hand reached up for her breast, tugging at her nipple again, and Belle moaned unashamedly, digging her fingers into his chest. Oh yes, this was definitely enough to scratch that itch.

“Oh yes, yes, like that. Oh yes, Cam!”

Belle wondered if she’d scared her neighbours with her scream, before deciding that she really didn’t care, not when the orgasm had been so good. She took a few moments to get her breath aback and then shifted her weight, sinking down onto Cam’s cock and rolling her hips. His own thrust up to meet her, urging her on harder and faster until she was panting again, almost but not quite reaching the edge.

Then Cam found her clit again and squeezed roughly, making her see stars, her inner walls fluttering around his cock and pulling him over with her, a hoarse shout of her name echoing through the small apartment.

On shaking knees, Belle pushed herself up and let Cam pull out and get rid of the condom.

“Well, I think that satisfied an urge,” she murmured.

“Most definitely.” Cam pulled her down for long kiss, much softer and more sensual than the heated frenzy that they’d shared on the way back from the bar.

“Maybe we can actually make it to the bed for round two?” Belle suggested.

“As wonderful as that sounds, and as absolutely delicious as this evening has been, unfortunately I have a babysitter on the clock and she’s only paid up till midnight.” It was with obvious reluctance that Cam rolled off the sofa and began to set his clothes to rights. “But if you’re ever in the mood to share another evening like this, then I can usually be found at Anton’s if I’ve had a bad day. Which, let’s face it, is most days.”

Belle laughed, lying back on the sofa and getting one final appreciative glimpse of Cam’s ass before he pulled his trousers back up. “Me too.”

He kissed her again before he left, and Belle continued to lie on the sofa for a while, smiling at what had transpired.

She was still smiling all the way through her morning clinic shift, and Ruby immediately guessed that she’d finally had decent sex with another human being. In fact, Belle was smiling right up until the moment that Dr Cassidy spoke to her.

“Nurse French, I’ve just seen that your next patient is my son; my ex-husband’s bringing him in. He’s terrified of needles and he’ll probably scream the place down, but just stick the little drama queen. He’ll be fine.”

With this, Dr Cassidy moved away, and Belle was left completely stunned that someone with so little compassion, especially for scared children and especially for her own scared child, had become a doctor in the first place. Still, she was on a tight appointment schedule and she couldn’t just stand there in astonishment all day. She went out into the waiting room to call her next patient.

“Bae Gold?”

Bae did indeed look terrified at the prospect of getting his flu shot, but for a few seconds, Belle couldn’t heed him as she was too busy staring in amazement at his father.

“Hello, Cameron,” she said eventually.

“Hello, Belle.” He gave a slightly shy smile, which Belle returned. Bae looked up at his father.

“Do you know Nurse Belle, Daddy?”

“Erm, yes. We met yesterday. Nurse Belle is a… very special friend.”

“Oh.” Bae looked far too sage for his six years. “Did you go on a date?”

“Erm, sort of.”

“Are you going to go on another one? Tilly from next door can look after me again like she did yesterday.”

Cam looked at Belle, his eyes questioning, and she nodded.

“I would love to go on another date with your daddy, Bae. Come on, let’s get your flu shot done. It’ll only take a second.”

With the fascinating new knowledge that his daddy knew Nurse Belle, and completely absorbed in planning their date for them, Bae received his shot with no fuss at all, and after he and Cam had left, Cam giving her his number, Belle had to laugh out loud. Not only had she had great sex last night, she now had a date, and she could think of better revenge on Dr Cassidy than by sleeping with her ex-husband.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 48: To The Secret Lab!

Becoming The Mask

Stephan's footsteps echoed more loudly than usual in the base's deserted hallways. He was tempted to change his gait, to step lightly so he'd make less noise, but on the other hand it wasn't smart to sneak up on a Changeling you weren't planning to fight. Anyway, the bag of canned goods he was carrying would clank no matter how he carried it.

"Bernie? It's Stephan," he called when he neared the laboratory. The doors were standing open.

"Excellent timing, I need some fresh eyes."

Stephan gulped. He was pretty sure Bernie meant 'a new person to look over things, because fresh perspective can catch something an older, more tired perspective missed', but it was also possible the Alchemist actually needed eyeballs for something.

"There's goggles by the door," Bernie continued.

Stephan put on a set, and after a moment's thought grabbed a hairnet as well.

His hair wasn't long enough to tie back easily but it was long enough to potentially get caught on something. It felt a bit silly to put goggles over his mask, but the lab safety rules were clearly displayed by the goggle rack – goggles and close-toed shoes were mandatory for entrance. There were some modified goggles and plastic booties for use while troll-shaped.

He left the grocery bag on an empty shoe-rack. It would be out of the way there.

"I wasn't sure what your food situation was, so I brought some stuff. Canned tuna, mostly." Cans were shelf-stable and could be eaten in troll or human shape.

"Thanks, Stephan. I'm well supplied, but it was thoughtful of you." Bernie was currently human-shaped, surrounded by neatly sorted rubble and writing something on a clipboard. "Xe/xir at the moment, by the way."

"Is that with an X or with a Z?" asked Stephan, not sure if there was a significant difference, but ready to believe there could be since Bernie was bothering to bring this up.

"An X. You know, you're one of maybe five people who've ever asked me that."

"Okay. Cool. Uh, he/him for me, still."

"Got it." Bernie made a decisive last pen stroke, clicked the pen, and turned to xir guest-slash-assistant. "I've been sorting pieces, checking to see if anything's recognizable. As you can see," gesturing towards on grouping of stones, "the hooves, legs, and loincloth can mostly be identified, as can the claws," indicating another, pointier collection. "But I can't seem to find Bular's horns or face. I keep recounting the skulls from his belt and checking our video footage of him to make sure I didn't mix him up with one of them somehow."

A set of skulls, on the table in front of Bernie beside the probably-legs, were either surprisingly intact or mostly reassembled.

Stephan was suddenly, vividly reminded of his early days on the surface, sorting jigsaw puzzles with his Familiar's family. His youngest sister in particular had had a knack for seeing which edges ought to match up.

"Do I need gloves?"

"Wouldn't hurt. I haven't been using them. They don't switch over properly." Bernie crackled blue, and the tall, hefty human became a tall, hefty troll – still small compared to a Gumm-Gumm, but probably quite respectably sized for whichever group xe'd been taken from – and held up xir hands to demonstrate.

Stephan could see why Bernie might have trouble with gloves. Xir hands were bigger now, for one, which would stretch out the latex if xe carried the gloves over through the transformation rather than having different gloves on as a troll, and then xe would have to change xir gloves once they changed to human – plus, Bernie had four-digit rather than five-digit hands as a troll, so the extra glove finger would either flap loose or need to be taped down, which would also increase the odds of the gloves being damaged after shapeshifting back and forth.

It was a lot of trouble to go through when you weren't working with something caustic or reactive to the oils in human skin.

"Why are you wearing … that, though?" Stephan asked, gesturing up and down.

Bernie's lab coat had carried over between forms. It was loose on xir as a human, and now fit better. The lime green coat, with neon pink and yellow flowers printed around the hem and on the cloth-covered buttons, had looked odd on a human and even stranger on a purplish-blue troll.

"Oh, I keep a bunch of colourful ones in stock, in case I'm ever running tests on someone who's had a bad experience in a lab and doesn't like the white coats. Attempted vivisection, usually. Gets people all mixed up, conflating Mad Scientists and Evil Scientists."

Bernie shook xir head.

"Vivisection is the stupidest starting point for a xenobiological study. Surgery is complicated. Aside from risk of infection and the complications of dosing anesthesia for an unknown organism – since they'll definitely die of traumatic shock if you don't anesthetize – looking at organs only makes sense if you already know what you're supposed to be seeing."

Xe paced around the lab, gesturing with the clipboard.

"At best, you'll set yourself up for confirmation bias about any superficial parallels between the new and the known, and at worst you'll have no idea what you're looking at and kill off your test subject. I mean, I understand if it's just a thinly-veiled excuse to commit torture for the sake of torture, but as a scientist that offends me for other reasons."

"… So, why are you wearing it now?" Stephan looked around, suddenly wary. "Do you have a live test subject down here?" How restrained are they? How vengeful are they?

Bernie seemed startled at the reminder xe was having a conversation rather than talking to xirself.

"Oh – no, I just got bored of how monochromatic the base is. Plus changing how I'm dressed helps keep the days from blurring together."

"Ah."

Stephan made a mental note to visit more often.

He started looking through the shattered remains. He didn't shapeshift. Stephan had a lot of protruding teeth in troll form, not just tusks, and it could be a challenge not to drool on things. His mask would catch some of it if he kept it on, but then he's be stuck in a slimy mask when he changed back.

He picked up each stone, one by one, and turned it this way and that. Sometimes he found an identifiable feature – an elbow spur, a shoulder ridge – and pointed it out to Bernie. That got part of one arm put back together, or maybe a smaller percentage of both arms. If Stephan didn't find anything distinct, he would carefully put the stone back exactly where Bernie'd had it before, and move on to the next one.

"It's weird that his swords aren't here," said Stephan after a while.

"He could've been disarmed in the fight."

"Yeah, but then Stricklander would've brought the swords back along with the body. And if they'd turned to stone with him, there should be – some sheets, or plates, or something. Flat rocks matching up to the blades. Those things were huge."

Unless …

"Unless the Trollhunter took them, after killing him," Stephan said slowly. "You know, battle trophies." His eyes were drawn to the row of skulls Bular had worn to show off his own battle prowess. "Hunting trophies … What if the reason we can't find his head, is because the Trollhunter has it?"

"Well, that would probably narrow down the cause of death to decapitation," said Bernie, in a detached, academic sort of tone. "Although that can also be done post-mortem, it would be more difficult to remove an intact head, since the stone is more brittle once it dies."

"Which could explain the state of the rest of the body." Stephan shuddered. Gunmar was going to be so angry …

+=+

After two searches through Bular's remains, Stephan could barely tell the stones apart anymore. It looked like there should be more than enough to rebuild Bular, but jigsaws always looked bigger than they were when the pieces were all spread out, and Stephan and Bernie still couldn't find Bular's head.

Stephan was leaning on his 'hunting trophy' theory. There had to be a reason their greatest enemy was called the Trollhunter, right?

Something beeped. Stephan, more tightly wound than he'd realized, jumped and turned trollish in a flash of silver.

He was dark grey, as a troll, with a crown of stubby lighter grey horns instead of hair. His mask got pushed away from his face by his overlong teeth. His goggles clattered to the floor. His ears went back at the additional noise.

"It's okay, Stephan," said Bernie, gently, as though to a spooked animal. "That just means it's break time. Come on." Bernie reached out as though to pat Stephan on the arm, though they were on opposite sides of the room. "I'm going to meditate. I'd rather not leave you alone in the lab, no offence."

Stephan blinked a few times and tried breathing slow and deep, to settle his heart rate.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's go."

Both of them changed to human form as they left the laboratory. Bernie sealed the blast doors and herded Stephan to the next floor up, to a small square room with a gramophone in the center and low white benches around the walls.

Stephan picked the bench opposite Bernie's, both Changelings with their sides to the door.

The record was moving slowly, though the needle wasn't touching it and neither Changeling had wound the crank on the side.

Bernie seemed entirely at ease, waiting, listening for the Pale Lady's voice.

Stephan tried to let go of the resentment that kept bubbling up inside him.

For all Bernie had seemed to be lonely and pining for conversation when Stephan first arrived, xe certainly didn't seem to need Stephan around anymore. Stephan had hardly proven his mettle with how he'd overreacted to a harmless alarm. Helping with the 'rebuild Bular' project was the one thing Stephan could do for the Order right now, and he had barely contributed.

He didn't know how to help.

He just wanted to help.

Please … he begged Morgana in his mind. My Queen. Your Ladyship. Mother. Tell me what you need of me. Let me know how I can help you.

A side compartment of the gramophone table opened. A drawer slid out.

Both Changelings got up and leaned in to look without touching anything.

The drawer held an orange crystal, faintly glowing. The room hadn't changed temperature or décor, but somehow felt more comfortable. Bernie got out a pen and touched the crystal with the button end. Nothing happened.

"Is this …" for us? Stephan couldn't quite say out loud. "Are we supposed to take it? Do something with it?"

"I think it's Heartstone." Bernie touched it with a pinkie finger this time. Again, nothing appeared to happen.

Stephan backed off and sat back down. Heartstone? Really? Here? How? That stuff was legendary. He'd only half-believed it was real.

Bernie turned trollish and touched the stone with xir last finger, to no visible effect, and then picked it up. The drawer closed itself and the compartment shut over it.

Bernie held the crystal out to Stephan and urged, "Touch it."

Stephan got up and followed Bernie's lead, transforming and tapping the crystal cautiously with one finger. He staggered back and sat again.

"Whoa."

If Heartstone was a thing, that was definitely what this thing was. Stephan had been overloaded with a sense of safety and contentment. It was actually kind of scary to think about once he wasn't touching it anymore – he would have let his guard down entirely to bask in whatever the stone was radiating.

Maybe it was actually some kind of trap?

Except a trap – if it was a lotus-eater type trap – the trap would logically drain his energy, and Stephan felt invigorated. He wanted to do something. He felt like he could do anything.

"It's supposed to enhance a troll's life force, somehow," said Bernie, waving vaguely with xir free hand. "Possibly like how reptiles need warmth to regulate their metabolism, or how humans need sunlight to produce Vitamin D. Or it could just be a stimulant."

"I heard Lord Gunmar was born from the first one," said Stephan. "Maybe that was a metaphor and trolls need … Heartstone radiation … to be fertile? That would explain why we aren't."

'We' meaning 'Changelings'. Although, if Stephan was right, maybe that meant Changelings could … become fertile? Probably not from a brief touch of a small stone, but, in the future, with regular contact?

Bernie was still holding it.

"If it feeds trolls, maybe it eats them as well," xe speculated. "Feeding troll remains into it could make it grow. Like how plants do best if there's decaying animal matter in the soil."

Stephan nodded. He'd skimmed an article in a gardening magazine a while back about using blood meal to grow better roses.

"There's some connection, I don't know what exactly, but I know it's there." Bernie turned the stone over with a thoughtful expression. "I wish I had more to experiment with. Ideally five. A control group with nothing, of course, one fed with analogous minerals that weren't sourced from a troll, one fed with Changeling dust –"

"You have –? What am I saying, of course you do."

"– one with Grave Sand, and one with Bular's remains."

Wait, what?

"I don't know if Otto would like that."

"That experiment would have to wait until after the autopsy," said Bernie, reminded once more that xe wasn't just talking to xirself.

"… Do you think it could bring him back to life?"

"Unlikely but possible."

Stephan had never encountered the undead, to his knowledge, but he made a point of bringing garlic-rich food into work at the crematorium, and keeping a box of salt in his desk. (He'd read somewhere that, if a zombie tasted salt, they would remember they were dead, go back into their grave, and resist further attempts to summon them.) He probably wouldn't have much to worry about in his troll form, but his coworkers did not share this advantage.

"You know," said Bernie, "if this is emitting anything, I could probably adjust a Geiger counter to pick up on it. Let's get it back to the lab."

+=+

Bernie's first step was to scan the Heartstone with every instrument the Janus Order had and record its exact dimensions. Stephan was more of a witness than an assistant for that part.

He felt much more useful during the Geiger counter modifications. Bernie needed an extra pair of hands for some steps, and neither of them were a troll type with more than two arms. Stephan did have a prehensile tail, but it had broken a few times back in the Darklands and he couldn't flex it very well anymore to deal with things in front of him.

The alterations to the machine were more magic than tech. Bernie opened up a few sections and moved things around, extracting wires and inserting crystals and writing tiny cramped symbols here and there. Stephan held things out of the way that weren't being fully removed, and balanced pieces while Bernie attached them, and moved the Heartstone around the room for Bernie to recalibrate various settings.

Bernie put in something like a compass below the dial, so the holder couldn't only see how strong and close the Heartstone's readings were, but also which direction it was in. The compass was a sphere of rutilated quartz, with the gold-coloured acicular inclusions all going the same way. The sphere's mounting let it indicate directions in three dimensions.

It took four tries and six hours to cobble together a working model. Short-range only. Despite the Heartstone's properties, which did not seem to fade after prolonged contact, Stephan was barely keeping his eyes open.

n a surprising show of trust, Bernie let him nap in the apartment connected to the lab while Bernie typed up a report on today's findings.

Well, maybe it wasn't so surprising. Stephan, asleep, would be in a far more vulnerable position than Bernie would be from allowing another Changeling unsupervised in xir private space. If Stephan tried to leave some sort of trap, or go snooping while tired and set off a trap Bernie had left, well …

Bernie was also the Changeling primarily in charge of making any poisons the local Janus Order branch couldn't get through human channels. Stephan taking advantage of Bernie's trust would end far worse for him then it would for xir.

In any case, Stephan accepted the risk and took the nap, not wanting to drive home while tired. Bernie woke him half an hour later, and they went together to return the Heartstone piece to the gramophone room and to drop off a report in Otto's office.

Stephan carried the Geiger counter so Bernie could get a better idea of its range. It lost track of the Heartstone piece once they were most of the way down the hall. Bernie's hands were occupied with paperwork and a set of lockpicks. It was funny to see lockpicks carried so openly.

"Do you often break into the offices?" asked Stephan.

"I'm nearly certain I've been in every room of this base at least once."

"Recently?"

"I have been living down here. It's in my interests to double-check the security systems."

Stephan kept his eyes from rolling too obviously, but felt his mouth twitch in a small, brief grin.

When Otto's door opened, the Geiger counter – Bernie said xe was going to rename it, xe just hadn't yet – began beeping up a storm. The Changelings looked at each other and followed the compass needle to a bookcase, then a specific shelf, and finally behind a book.

"Well," said Bernie, "now I can double-check all my readings. I'll have to revise my report."

"How many more Heartstones are hidden around the base?" Stephan wondered.

"We should do a sweep. It'll probably take a couple of days. When do you have to leave and when can you next be here?"

"I have this week off. I can stay until," Stephan checked the date on his phone, "nine tomorrow evening before I'm expected anywhere." He and some work friends were planning to go to a bar for trivia night.

"Alright. We'll head back to the lab and you can take another nap while I do the scans and report revisions, and once you're awake we can sort out the order of the sweep."

"I should be good to go for –"

"You can't collect accurate data while sleep deprived."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"I woke up about ten minutes before you got here."

That explained why the laboratory had smelled of coffee.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Shattered King backstory, as commemorated by the Quagawumps)

Table Of Contents

Next Chapter (Jim gets Gunmar's Eye)

[kyberphilosopher]

Seven: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

“What happened to the Exception?” Adelicia questions. Her voice is smooth and low as usual, but underneath is a layer of malice and anger and accusing. Even with her back to me, I can feel this.

          “He killed himself,” I say. I meant for my own voice to come out flat, but it cracks a little somewhere in the middle, much to my annoyance.

          “It,” Adelicia corrects. “It self-destructed.”

          “Yes,” I say with a little dip of my head. “It self-destructed.”

          Adelicia turns around to face me. Her stern face is kept strict and together. Her blond hair is curled professionally towards the ends, right by her chin. Today, her suit is a bright white. It matches the walls of the room and the other modern architecture of the place. “Why did it do that? Hmm?”

          I fiddle with my fingers behind my back. I’ve never done that before, but it feels natural to do. “Exceptions have unpredictable behavior.”

          “So you’re saying there was nothing you could’ve done?”

          This accusation makes something prick in my circuits. Adelicia must know what she’s playing at. She is the type of person to do so. To berate people for disappointing her no matter the circumstances. I just never considered the possibility that I would disappoint her. I was designed specifically to not do that. “Maybe,” I say, even though I don’t really think so.

          Adelicia inhales and slowly turns around, seemingly composing herself. “And how would you say your first day was overall?”

          I don’t actually have the time to answer because as soon as I open my mouth, she’s asking a new question. “How would you define Callan Kennedy?”

          That’s a good question, actually. My circuits whir for a moment as I think about my answer. “I think it’s an added… challenge, working with him,” I say honestly. “He clearly has some issues he needs to sort out. But he’s unpredictable. He’s not so bad.”

          I can practically hear the frown gracing the older woman’s lips. “And your relationship with him?”  

          He showed me how to curse in the car today. He laughed about it. I kind of wanted to laugh too. There is some kind of rapport developing between us, it seems. Though for now it’s mostly negative. “I’m not sure there is a relationship, yet. Though that is less important to me than the mission.”

          I add the last part quickly. Maybe that is what eased the tension in Adelicia’s shoulders. “If it’s so important to you,” she begins. “Then go do it.”

          Then she kicks me out of her program.

          I open my eyes slowly, my led yellow before going white. It is no longer Thursday, October 14th. It is now Friday, October 15th. It is 9 am. Detective Kennedy will be here soon. Or he should be, at least. Whether or not he actually does that is up for debate.

          I look around, moving only my head. I can see Officer Shovelman and Ho-Kim in a corner, sipping coffee and talking casually. Officer Blackwell disappears into a door with stairs on it. Celeste emerges from the meeting room with a huff, adjusting her navy blue cap. Captain Ericson is in his office, typing away at something. Everyone else bustles about, a quite hum of talking and phone calls filling up the place.

          Something sinks into my biocomponents. A kind of comfort. I’m not sure from what. Maybe it’s because the environment.

          A new objective appears in front of me where only I can see.

Make Yourself Presentable

     One step forward, I fiddle with my cuffs on my jacket. Moving to the side of the room so I can go down the hallway to the bathroom. I don’t have to do my hair or brush my teeth or anything, but I quickly straighten out my clothes and tighten my black tie. When that’s finished, I tilt my head in different directions to observe my face.

          I would look completely human, if not for the led by my eyebrow. You can see the fake pores in my skin. The individual strands of soft brown hair. The little cracks in my lips like they’re slightly chapped. Despite that, I am feminine and soft and calm and nice to look at. This is a stark contrast to Cal, I think, because he is obviously more masculine and rough around the edges. Very hard boiled, too.

          I finish observing myself and turn back around. Two other women in the bathroom shuffle in their stalls. Their heels click and scratch across the floor. I’ve never had to use the bathroom. Not like a real girl.

          I leave the bathroom. Even when I come back, Cal isn’t there. I don’t know what to do without him. I already understand the layout of the precinct, so there’s no need to explore anything. Well… maybe there is. I could explore Cal’s desk.

          My feet take me to the left, into the break room. It’s not overtly large, but it has a few vending machines and a counter with coffee making materials. At one of the tables is Shovelman and Ho-Kim, which makes me feel a little better. They’re familiar faces. I don’t think it’s likely they’ll attack me or berate me.

          “Hello,” I greet, putting my hands behind my back and smiling politely. The two officers jump and look up to me, anxiety rushing through the both of them. “I’m Aleksandra, but you can call me Aleks.”

          “I-uh…” Shovelman begins.

          “I detect an increase in your heart rate that indicates fear, or anxiety. This happens when I come near you… I hope I don’t frighten you.”

          Both of their heartrates relax slightly. Officer Ho-Kim’s shoulders sink as a sort of tension leaves him. “No,” Shovelman says. “Of course not… I’m Blaise. This is Tom.”

          “Nice to meet you,” I dip my head with a smile, pretending like I didn’t already analyze them and know all this information already. “I hope we can work harmoniously together.”

          “Yeah,” Tom says dryly, swallowing nervously.

          “So, uh, you’re working with Kennedy,” Blaise says, still anxious but trying.

          “Yes,” I tell him.

          “And what do you think about that?”

          “Well,” I lower my head, my fingers dancing against each other behind me. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

          Tom lets out a quick laugh, but then seems to realize whose company he’s in and he clears it off with a cough. It makes my mouth twitch into a small smile before disappearing too. “He doesn’t really seem to like anybody. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

          “Bet Celeste has been giving you a lot of shit though,” Blaise says, raising his eyebrows and sipping from his coffee cup.

          “Correct,” I tell them. “Did I do something wrong?”

          “No, no. It’s not your fault. I mean, being a… you know… doesn’t help, but it’s about Kennedy. Not you.”

          “You’d think they were married, the way she’s around him,” I mutter. There’s silence for a few seconds before the two officers in front of me let out a series of giggles that makes me want to join too.

S0ftware 1nStability ^

          “She’s not so bad, is she?” Tom says through his chuckles.

S0ftware 1nStability ^

     I smile a little. The officers return to their conversation, still laughing a bit. I decide to leave as they’re distracted, but I don’t mind so much. Our interaction was pleasant. Certainly better than the other interactions I’ve had with the humans so far.

          Upon leaving the break room, I make my way over to Cal’s desk. Unlike the others, he has no pictures on his desk at all. There are only a few trinkets- a rubber band ball, several broken pencils, an overflowing garbage can next to his desk. A flower pot sits there. I recognize the seeds to be one of a sunflower. Cal has completely neglected the plant, however. It is shriveled up, dying, turning brown and crumpling in on itself.

          “Oh, fuck,” I hear behind me. I turn around and a warm smile appears on my face.

          “Hello, Cal,” I greet.

          The man in front of me, however, is not as hospitable as I am. He rolls his eyes without subtlety. In his hand is a coffee cup, which he clutches to him closely. His shirt is dark red today instead of green, but other than that his outfit is the same. “Jesus Christ, so it wasn’t a bad dream.”

          “I’m afraid not,” I tell him.

          Cal groans and rolls his head. “Did I tell you I don’t like you?”        

          “Yes.”

          “Move please,” he orders tiredly. I sidestep and watch him take his chair out from his desk, setting himself in it.

          I don’t think he realized it, or even cares at all, but he said ‘please’ to me. He used manners. It was still an order he gave me, but it was… kinder. More polite, I guess. “Did you get enough sleep last night, Detective?”

          Cal rubs the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “Guess not. Not that I ever do…”

          My Social Relations program tells me to stop hanging around him just standing, so I do. Instead I move around to the other desk I sat in yesterday, plopping myself in the chair. To my surprise, it immediately zips down from my weight. Not because I’m extraordinarily heavy, but because of a loose screw or something.

          Cal looks over his desk to catch my eyeline. Out of something like embarrassment, I put my hand under the chair and to the little pump, raising the chair back up and into position. “That was funny,” Cal says without emotion.

          “Thank you.”

          “Hey, did you really spend the night here?”

          I nod once to him. “Correct.”

          Cal shrugs mockingly. “Was it… comfortable?”

          Was it? “I powered myself down standing up. It would be uncomfortable for humans.”

          “Heh,” Cal turns his attention from me and to his computer. I can see his fingers type ‘fuckingpassword!’ in again. “Androids don’t know what they’re missing.”

          “What are we missing?” I ask curiously. My led flickers yellow.

          “You know, warmth. Like, from a bed.”

          A few minutes of silence go by. Cal continues clicking away, his grumpy face stuck in a frown.

          “I was wondering…” I lean forward. “Is there a method to your madness?”

          “Madness?” Cal says with one eyebrow raised.

          “Your desk,” I explain quickly. “It’s filthy.”

          Cal doesn’t answer immediately. His mouth curls into a light smile. “Whatever,” he says. Even through his nonchalant response, I can tell our relationship has shifted ever so slightly at that. It feels like it’s for the better. Maybe. Just maybe.

          A few more minutes go by before our next line of dialogue.

          “Your birthday is in less than a week,” I tell him. “Do you have any plans.”

          Cal’s face goes still. He squints at his computer. I fear I’ve touched a nerve. “I’m seeing my father and brother.”

          “I don’t have a father or brother,” I think out loud. Cal’s eyes shift to me now. “Or a mother.”

          “I know about the mother bit,” the Detective mutters. “Wish I knew about the father and brother.”

          I want to ask what he means. He meets my eyes in a piercing gaze. My led runs yellow. In real time, I can confirm that, yes, his mother died a while ago. His father and brother are alive. His brother is younger than him.

          Cal Kennedy is no Android. He can’t analyze like I can. But the way his eyes flit left and right makes me think he’s searching me for something. I can’t possibly imagine what.

          “Hey, listen to this,” Cal snaps suddenly, turning away from me. “We got a serial killer on the loose. We think it’s an Android going after humans. That’s pretty saucy, eh?”

          “Yes. It sounds very sauce like.”

                      “You fucking coming?”

          I snap my eyes open, then turn my head to the left and towards the drivers seat. Cal stares at me with his eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer. Have I been silent the whole car ride? No. I couldn’t have been. I don’t remember even closing my eyes.

          “Yes,” I say. “Of course.”

          Cal rolls his eyes for about the millionth time. “So fucking annoying…” he grumbles as he opens the door and steps out.

          I glance out the window. We’re in what seems to be an abandoned parking lot, with a brick building laced with graffiti. This is surely the more industrial, less modern part of Seattle. Could’ve been an old apartment building.

          Rain falls much lighter than yesterday. The clouds are gray still but closer to white. Almost heavenly. Sunlight doesn’t stream through them like I thought it would, but I don’t mind. As long as there’s rain, I’m content with it.

          I open the car door and step outside. My boots land in a little puddle that splashes quietly. I pay no mind and close the door.

          Looking up at the building now makes me feel something. Something different and unsettling in my gears and biocomponents. The insides of my system grinds and whirs around like thousands of little bullets trying to stop or slow something.

          “I have a bad feeling about this,” I say, forgetting for a second that I’m with a hard boiled, angsty cop. “Something feels wrong.”

          “Bad feeling?” Cal questions, keeping his pace in front of me. He doesn’t have to turn around and let me see his face for me to detect some level of sarcasm. “You sure you’re not becoming an Exception on me now? You almost sound like a real person.”

          I don’t answer him, because something inside of me clicks. He certainly has a point. Another stupid thing to say on my part. Maybe from now on I just shouldn’t say anything to anyone, including myself. Adelicia will be furious if she finds out what I said. I would hate to disappoint her. I can imagine the look of disdain on her face now.

          I follow Cal into the building and into a lobby. Nobody is inside but a bunch of birds, bugs, and most likely rats. My partner observes a sign hanging in front of the elevator. A simple, bright yellow one with the words “OUT OF ORDER” written on it boldly. He sighs and flicks it with his hand before sauntering over to the stairs on the right and starting up them. I follow shortly, the feeling in my abdominal biocomponent only increasing.

          “So here’s what we know, Robocop,” Cal says as we round a flight of stairs. “For the past few weeks, three different people have been found dead.”

          “Humans?”

          “Yep. At first we thought it was just any other serial killer. We’ve had plenty of them here already. But then we found out all the stab marks were too perfect, ya know? Like a fucking painting or something.”

          Paintings aren’t perfect. That’s why so many people like them. The flaws inside of them reflect a certain kind of humanity Androids such as myself just wouldn’t understand. Still, the comment makes me wonder if maybe Cal likes to paint or simply look at art. Although Cal really doesn’t seem the type, the image of the gruff man holding a dainty little paintbrush enters into my circuits.

          “We think it’s an Android,” he continues explaining as we reach the top of the stairs. “A while ago we thought we cracked a code with this address, but we couldn’t check it out for whatever shitty reason.”

          “Anything else?” I question, absorbing all the information I can with my yellow led.

          “Yeah,” he says. We walk down a grimy hallway. Cal stops next to a dirty, tan door with a dark brown stain smeared against it. A quick analyzation tells me that this is simply dried blood. Matches up with the serial killer story described to me. “This is the door.”

          I glance between Cal and the entrance to the apartment. The feeling of discomfort and anguish only grows in the pit of me. I do not like this. I do not like this at all. Still, I reach a hand forward to knock on the door, but the slightest touch from my plastic hand makes the door creak and push open.

          I look to Cal with wide eyes. His expression mirrors my own. In a flash, he draws his gun and holds it firmly in both hands. “Get back,” he orders.

Softwa!e !Instabilit!! ^

          “Got it.”

          Cal enters the door cautiously, one foot in front of the other slowly and quietly. I follow suit, heightening my senses so no sound or movement can slip past me.

          We stand in a large, open room with a few windows and one door. Against one of the walls is a small kitchenette. A torn up mattress is on the floor, nearly deflated. The walls are all scuffed up. I see a few knives missing from the knife rack over the sink. I see by the mattress, dried and crystalized against the floor, a puddle of urine.

          “There’s urine on the floor,” I say.

          “Where?” Cal questions, snapping his head around wildly.

          “By the mattress. There.”

          Cal moves over to the side, still alert. “I can’t see it.”

          “It’s my visual programming,” I tell him, glancing around. “I can see things you can’t.”

          Cal glances over to me. I expect an angry look, but there’s only a determined and curious one. “Can you search around for anything else then?”

          “Yeah,” I say, moving to the left. Cal’s gun clicks as he moves, observing the area.

          We know the suspect took a knife. The urine by the bed is human. The suspect could’ve scared or kept a victim there. I don’t think anyone was killed there, because there’s no traces of blood. Only urine.

          On the wall by the mattress is a shoeprint. This makes me scrunch my eyebrows. How would that get there? Did someone kick the wall? No. It’s not in the right position to do that, unless the leg was put on backwards. I consider the possibility that maybe this Android’s leg was put on wrong or bent, but I rule that out. The Android wouldn’t be in working order at all if that was the case.

          The dent in the deflated mattress though… what if the suspect used it to climb on the wall? Like something to jump off to? But then if we leveraged himself onto the wall, where could he have gone?

          I raise my head up to the ceiling. Question answered. There’s a hole in the ceiling that would take you to some kind of attic.

Calculating Route…

          “Cal, can you give me a hand?”

          Cal turns to me. “What? You got something?”

          “I think so,” I say. “Could you find the pump for this bed?”

          Cal looks around for a few seconds, then leans down and throws me a little black cord. “Thank you,” I mutter. The mattress inflates slowly but surely. My heightened hearing picks up on some shuffling in the attic above me.

          “You have a lead?” Cal asks, nudging the door on the other side of the apartment open.

          I don’t answer him. I place the pump down because the air mattress is at the peak of being full of air. If I want to have this done right the first time, I have to be careful. I can’t step down on the mattress too hard, or too lightly.

Calculating Route…

Route Calculated

          I quickly mash my feet against the floor. I jump onto the mattress, sinking down momentarily before launching one foot against the wall. My right foot presses down against it, then pushing me off and into the air. My fingers spread out as my hands reach for some part of the hole to grab onto.

          I reach it. Pieces of wood slide into my synthetic skin. I feel them enter but no pain comes. Androids don’t feel pain. I clamber myself up and onto the ceiling, one leg at the time. It’s a bit of struggle against my abdomen, but I make it work.

          Crouching on the unsteady ‘floor’ beneath me, I observe my surroundings. There is darkness all around except for one, small, swirling led light in the distance.

          I stand up slowly, my eyes fixed on the led. My own goes yellow, then green when I confirm what I’m seeing. I narrow my eyes, letting my Android vision clear the way for me in the dark.

          “You’re on their side,” he says in the dark.

          His pale, Android skin stands out against his dark cap. I can see tufts of black hair underneath. Warm brown eyes swirl around with intelligence. Thin lips, a stocky build. I recognize the model: SK300. An Android designed for sex clubs.

          “Did you kill those people?” I question out to him. His led runs red. Then it goes yellow. Then green, back to red, and finally white.

          “I never killed anybody who didn’t deserve it.”

          My eyebrow twitches. “Androids are not permitted to endanger a human life under any circumstances. You have violated the law.”

          The Android swallows, almost nervously. I can see how uncomfortable he is. This Exception is remaining calm though, unlike Robin.

          “They deserved it,” he says hoarsely. “I promise you they deserved it. Don’t tell the humans.”

          I open my mouth to call for Cal, but then something in me stops. My lips close and my circuits spark. Led turns crimson in some type of alarm or active feeling.

          “What did they do…?” I ask. “What did they do to deserve it?”

          The Android’s led goes red, then returns to white. “The first one was abusing another Android in a club.”

          “You killed them?”           “He was gonna kill her. I had to. The second was a woman who spiked several men’s drinks. The third was a-”

          “Stop,” I say. “Stop right there.”

          I don’t know what to do. I am supposed to detain him. I have to detain him. I should detain him. So why am I not detaining him? I’m not calling for my partner. I’m not yelling or fighting or tackling him.

          Instead, I back away. I don’t break eye contact. I identify him as Bryan, an Android reported missing a month ago by a sex club.

          I lower myself down the hole I entered through. When I drop down, I land in the air mattress standing up. Bryan’s figure fades into the darkness above me, his led the only sign of his presence.

          “Did you find anything?” Cal asks, his hands still wrapped firmly around his handgun.

          “No,” I answer him, not even looking. “There’s nothing there. Our man is gone.”

[catchester]

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Epiphany 

Authors: @evieplease​​​​ and @catchester​​​​

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Epiphany 

I’m not much of a cook. I mean, I can feed myself but that cordon bleu shit is way out of my wheelhouse. I don’t really have the time or patience for it anyway. Tom beats me like a drum in the cooking stakes, but if there’s one thing I can cook perfectly, it’s a steak. 

I also make wonderful, fat chips—twice cooked so they’re lovely and crispy outside, but fluffy inside. And I’ve mastered a couple of sauces, but creamy pepper is Tom’s favourite, so we’ll be having that.

I’d also bought a little bit of broccoli to ‘show willing’, as my gran used to say. It was an afterthought, but it looks pretty on the plate, so. . .

Normally I’d cook a ribeye but tonight I was going all out and had bought three, fat, juicy sirloin steaks. I was salivating just thinking about them. 

I’d even bought a new dress, a little red dress—a nice companion for my overworked little black dress. I kind of love it. It’s figure hugging, but with a little flirty flare at the hem, and an almost exact match for my crimson Sephora lip stain. Looks great with my boots too. And I know that Tom will appreciate the back view. Just wearing the thing made me want to wiggle my arse for him!

I’d spent much of the day in my workshop, which is just a fancy way of saying the garage I rent near my flat that I store my spares and heavier equipment in. I knew I was pushing things time wise, but I was nervous, okay?

The fresh layer of snow didn't help matters, snarling up traffic and meaning my errand took twice as long as it should have. 

I ended up having to leave my chips boiling while I got ready, and kept darting back to poke them with a knife. I was damn lucky I didn't overcook them and end up with mash, but somehow I didn’t. 

I had just slid into my new dress when the buzzer went, and I scrambled to do the zip up before Tom and Diana reached my front door. 

I didn’t quite make it, and had to greet Diana with my bra strap hanging out. Luckily Tom spotted my predicament and zipped me up the rest of the way, but not before Diana commented on how chilly I must be! But I got a kiss on the back of my neck from Tom, so it’s all good.

My flat might only be two bedrooms, but it was pretty spacious. I’d improved it a lot over the last five years and it was worth a small fortune thanks to London prices. I would never have been able to afford a flat in London if not for my Dad. Growing up, we’d lived in a council house, which Dad bought at a vastly reduced rate back in the 80s when Right to Buy came in. As such, his small mortgage was long paid off, and the prices had skyrocketed over the years, so when all three of his kids had flown the coop, he sold the four bedroom place and bought two flats in the same estate, but different blocks. 

We’d drawn up a contract and when I reached what he’d paid for it, he’d transfer ownership to me, or it would come to me on his death, whichever came first. My brothers would get his larger flat to share between them. Good luck to ‘em! Those boys haven’t agreed on anything but the MCU since they were ten and twelve, and I can just about predict the rows they’ll have deciding to renovate or sell Dad’s place. I plan on sitting back and enjoying the show.

One of my improvements to my place was to knock down the wall between the living room and kitchen. Where the wall used to be I kept a narrow, oblong table that folded out into one that could comfortably seat four. My extra folding chairs were kept in a cupboard. In my defence, they’re very nice folding chairs and I have cushions I can tie on… 

How naff. I’d hang my head in shame, but I know Diana will appreciate the irony.

Thank god I hadn't had time to worry like this earlier, or they’d likely have arrived to find me sloshed again! Speaking of which... 

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked, my stomach swooping, suddenly realising I should have picked up an extra bottle of wine! Bollocks! Wait, didn’t I have a nice one Tom bought as a gift a few months ago lurking at the back of a cupboard somewhere? I’d have to get it in the fridge ASAP. 

“I don't have any red wine, I’m afraid, only rosé.” I worried my lip. I’m not really a fan of red wine,  but red meat goes with red wine, and Diana would know that! 

“Oh lovely, I like a nice rosé.” Diana to the rescue! God, I love that woman. She’s so polite. 

I did find the bottle Tom had brought around before. It too was pink, but it was prosecco, not wine. Aah well, maybe that would work better as a dessert wine. Or, with luck, a fizzy celebration wine. I put it in the top of the fridge and opened the cold bottle of rosé. 

“Here you go.” I handed them each a glass, but decided to have a beer myself so the wine would go further. I did decant my bottle contents into a tall glass for a change though because I’m at least attempting to be civilised tonight. 

“You have a lovely home,” Diana said as I sat down on my L-shaped unit. It was a bargain I’d found on freecycle then re-upholstered, but it was a quality piece and looked expensive. 

It’s not that I can’t afford a new sofa, even an expensive one—my business does well and my rent to my Dad is whatever I want to pay him. I pay quite a lot because I want him to get his investment in the flat back quickly, but he wouldn't mind at all if I took a whole year off payments because he trusts me. Plus, he’s semi retired now so all he does is answer the phones and do the books, for which he claims 30% of the profits. He started the business so I don’t begrudge him, and it means he isn't desperate for my rent as his income. 

The real reason I upcycled my sofa is that she had such lovely bones, and I love crafty activities. After the renovations on the flat were done, I’d set about finding pieces I could give new life to. My bed mattress was brand new, but the headboard was second hand and recovered in a print to compliment the aqua and white paint in there. I’d stripped the old varnish off the wood parts and stained it new.

I asked Diana about the exhibition she was going to see and she explained it was actually a workshop where she’d be learning something called blackwork embroidery. I’d gathered from looking around her home that she was quite arty, but I hadn’t realised she enjoyed crafting too. It was nice to know we had something in common and I told her about a couple of my projects in the flat. I even told her the story of stapling my finger to the sofa she was sitting on, the very first time I used an upholstery gun, and she told me about some of her past projects. 

After topping up their glasses, I began preparing the meal, but I could still chat to them as I worked. They wanted their steaks medium, which everyone defines differently but after some probing I determined that they liked it red inside, but not bloody cold, which was my preference too. Okay, maybe I like mine a little bloody, but it went on the skillet only 60 seconds after theirs. 

I served my very fat chips in a sort of jenga tower with the middle bricks missing, being very careful not to wipe my greasy fingers on my red dress,  then the steaks, a very healthy dollop of peppercorn sauce, and the broccoli topped with a knob of butter on the side. 

“You led me to believe you weren’t a very good cook,” Diana gently chided me as we ate. 

“I’m not,” I assured her. “I know how to cook, like, three things really well, this, lasagne, and a cheesecake, which we’re having for desert. Everything else falls somewhere between okay and inedible.” 

“Do not ask her to cook fish,” Tom winked at me conspiratorially.

I laughed. He’d once said something about liking salmon, so I got a recipe and tried to cook it for him. It was all new to me, the only fish Dad or the boys would eat came from the fish and chips shop down the corner. Unfortunately no matter what I did the stuff tasted like dirt! Very fishy dirt! I ended up over seasoning, then overcooking it so much that it dried out and it really was inedible. 

And it still tasted like dirt!

We’d ordered a curry instead. 

“Well, these potatoes are amazing, you must give me the recipe,” Diana told me, smiling warmly at me. 

It wasn't hard, so I explained it to her as we ate. 

As well as complimenting me, Diana ooh’d and ah’d as she ate. Tom just ate steadily as if afraid someone might nick his plate if he slowed down, glancing up at me with a warm appreciative smile now and then, so I think they genuinely liked it. 

Good, Diana would probably not like it if I poisoned her boy. 

Talk of the salmon disaster naturally led onto other food related disasters, and I quickly learned I was in good company. 

“Do you remember when you left some steaks out to defrost?” Tom asked his mum. 

Apparently their neighbour’s cat had neatly chewed away all but the rind of fat while they were in the garden. Then there was the story of a time they’d been visiting a friend, and another friend’s dog had eaten the shepherd’s pie they were to be served! 

The Guinness pie was my favourite story though. It was apparently a steak pie made with Guinness gravy, that Diana loved as a child. It was her father’s recipe, basically the only thing he cooked, and then only once or twice a year, on special occasions. She swore she followed the recipe her father gave her to the letter but it was awful. 

“Turned my stomach, honestly,” she admitted, turning pink even after all these years. 

Tom was grinning. “She served us all first, then she realised she’d forgotten the pot of English mustard and told us to all tuck in. Well we did, and there’s me, my sisters and my dad just looking at each other. We all knew she’d spent all day on this and was really looking forward to it. None of us had the heart to tell her we couldn't eat it. She came back and we all plastered smiles on and told her how wonderful it was, while helping ourselves to carrots.”

“That should have been my first clue,” Diana laughed. “Honestly, you’d have thought this one was allergic to vegetables, given how hard he tried to avoid them, and there he was larding his plate with carrots!”

“Then she took one mouthful and her face just turned grey,” Tom laughed. Diana reached out and playfully smacked his shoulder.

“I still tried it a second and third time, in case I’d made a mistake, although I didn't make the family try it. I thought that perhaps the stout needed to marinate longer, or be cooked at a higher temperature so it burned off, but each attempt was just as inedible as my first bite. My father was adamant that he’d given me the exact recipe he used. I gave up in  the end and concluded that he must have substituted something else for the stout, possibly something like cider. I’ve tried other recipes with cider gravy over the years but never quite managed to replicate the same taste.”

I cleared the plates from the table but everyone wanted a little break before desert, which was fine with me. 

“Has Tom told you about our 12 days gifts?” I asked Diana as I grabbed a box from a kitchen drawer.

Suddenly I had a sort of out of body experience where I was watching myself sit with Tom and his mum, I must be mad for even considering what I was about to do...

“He’s told me all about it,” she grinned. “What a lark! It sounds like you had great fun.”

“We did, but more than that, those gifts, specifically the thought Tom had put into his, had really brought home how much he cares for me.” 

I handed Diana a gift box, about 6 inches by four, and maybe two deep. It wasn't wrapped but I had done it up in a fancy ribbon. Eventually she freed it from it’s ribbon prison and opened the lid. 

There in the middle, nestling among some tissue paper (which was hiding some printer paper because I didn't have enough tissue paper, and I wasn’t using bog paper) sat a ring box. 

“This looks interesting,” she murmured, reaching for the ring box.

I could hardly hear her over the hammering of my heart, and I couldn’t look at Tom. My hands were sweating, and my leg was jittering under the table.

As I got off my chair, my knees were trembling but I managed to move beside Diana’s chair before I collapsed to my knees. I barely made eye contact with Tom, who looked curious. 

“It’s a. . . a ring?” 

I had found an incredible rose gold, tungsten ring with a gorgeous burl wood inlay for Tom. I thought it would look warm and elegant on his left hand. It’s unusual, but once I saw it, I couldn’t even look at any bog standard men’s wedding bands. I hope he likes it. Diana’s finger traced thoughtfully over the design, so I think she liked it.

Diana looked up at me, eyebrows up and questions in her eyes. I shuffled around, less gracefully than I’d like until I was on one knee before her, in the traditional pose of a proposer. 

I desperately wanted to look at Tom to see his reaction but I didn’t dare. I’d lose my bottle, if I did...

I took the ring box from her, but I was shaking so much I had to hold it with both hands. I cleared my throat, and sternly ordered myself not to tear up out of sheer nerves.

“This last year taught me a lot about Tom and our relationship, and I suppose you could say I’d had an epiphany about how much your son has come to mean to me. With that in mind, Diana, I..” My voice cracked and I had to clear it and try again.  “I wonder if you would do me the honour of becoming my Mother-in-Law? 

The next three seconds seemed to last an hour. Diana’s mouth opened in surprise as she stared down at the ring. Not unpleasantly surprised, but, oh god, she also wasn't answering me... 

I shouldn't have done it this way, I shouldn't have brought Diana into this. I’d just thought it was a funny and quirky way to include her, but of course, she couldn't answer for Tom. This was such a stupid idea! 

I saw Diana’s gaze flick in Tom’s direction and still couldn’t look at him. I kept my eyes steady on hers and wished the ground would open up to swallow me whole. Hell, it could take my whole apartment, as long as this nightmare stopped! 

I could feel my eyes pricking with tears of humiliation. I should have got drunk again, then I’d probably be passed out and unable to make a fool of myself. Again. I lifted my chin and grabbed courage with both hands, waiting for the verdict.

Suddenly there was an arm around my shoulder and I realised Tom was kneeling beside me. 

“Please, Mum, say yes!” 

I’ve never felt so much relief as when I heard him say that. I swayed on my knees and my surroundings spun briefly as all the air seemed to rush back into the room.

Diana’s hand moved to her chest, patting it as if she’d had heart palpitations, her eyes twinkling down at me.

“Well I don’t know…” she deliberately drew out her response, the tease! “Don’t you think this is... awfully sudden, dear?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. What was she on about? She looked just exactly like Tom when he was about to spring a horrible pun on me, the same sly little smile lurking about her lips. 

“I’m trying to think what those vows would be... ‘Do you, Rocky, take this woman, Diana, as your Awful Wedded Mother-in-Law? To poke and to prod, to stick her nose in where it isn’t wanted, and to generally make herself a pain in your arse? So help you baby Jesus?’

I grinned. Yep, I definitely wanted her! Tom choked beside me, laughing.

“Diana, that is exactly what I had in mind!” I nodded my head hard, my hair bouncing wildly around my head. “So, um, will you?”

Diana reached down and carefully pulled a strand of hair from my mouth, tenderly tucking it behind my ear, her eyes softened into the exact shade Tom’s get. Her hand cupped my cheek gently.

“Yes Rocky, I’d be delighted to be your Mother-in-Law.” she said softly. I heard Tom’s breath gust out in relief beside me. I knelt up, throwing my arms around her and squeezing hard. “Thank you,” I whispered into her hair. I cleared my throat, because I was not going to cry on Tom’s mum.

Diana put her hands on my arms, gently pushing me away, her eyes going behind me.

“I think there’s someone who wants his turn…”

Before I could even look his way, Tom had pulled me onto his thighs, wrapping his arms around me tightly and hugging me hard. One hand went into my hair and pulled my face up to his. There were tears in his eyes, and a crooked smile on his lips.

“Yes please, Rocky.”

Then he was kissing me fiercely, and by god, I was giving back, my hands clutching his shirt.

“Ahem…” Diana cleared her throat. I pulled away from Tom long enough to glance round at her.

“But you said I could have him!” I grumbled at her, hiding my elated laugh. Her eyes laughed right back at me.

“Yes dear, but not right now, if you please! I believe I was promised cheesecake!”

***

We put Diana in a cab back to Tom’s for the night, hugs and kisses all around. She even pinched my cheek! Tom and I stood, arms around each other’s waists, waving goodbye to her as she drove off 

“What would you have done if she’d said ‘no’?” Tom’s tone was slyly curious as we made our way back up the stairs to my second floor flat. I blanched.

“Died of humiliation?” Even thinking of the possibility gave me cold shivers. But Tom had slid to his knees next to me.

“What would you have done?” I turned my face up to his, wondering if he’d have gone along with his mum. Tom scowled.

“Rocky, you know I love my mum. But I’d have told her to…” Tom stalled out as he considered his words. I cocked my head, waiting.

“I’d have told her to bugger off,” said the very civilised, posh idiot. I gasped, only then realising that I’d been holding my breath. 

“But Rocky,” Tom stopped before the door to my flat and raised my chin to look into my eyes. “That was never going to happen, my love. Because Mum loves me, and she knows I love you. Also,” he grinned, “Mum likes you. And now she finds you very engaging.”

Well shit. My eyes teared up at least as much from the sentiment as from the pun. I stood on my toes and kissed him.

Tom opened my door and ushered me in, turning to close the door behind us. When he turned back, I pushed him against it, holding him there with a hand in the center of  his chest.

My other hand slid down his torso to the waistband of his trousers, flicking the button open and sliding the zip down, ratcheting slowly.

I stared into his eyes, watching them darken from their Caribbean blue to steel, the creases at the corners of his eyes tightening.

“Rocky…” he breathed.

“Shhh…” I replied, slipping my hand into his trousers to grasp him. The posh idiot never wore pants, which was calculated to make me rethink the ‘posh’ part. Somehow, knowing that he was bare behind that zipper made me hard.

When my hand encountered all that hard, silky steel. Practically leaping into my hand, I could feel my pussy clench in sheer anticipation. I wanted that hard cock inside me, like, yesterday! 

Oh wait. It was inside me yesterday!

I wrapped my hand carefully and firmly around his shaft, my thumb extending over his bell end to protect him from any chance zip or harsh denim scraping against that tender, sensitive tip.

I like that cock. I wasn’t going to allow it to be hurt on my watch! Besides, if it was going to be mine for the rest of my natural life, forsaking all others, it was in my best interest to see to its proper care and feeding!

My hand tightened around him, just thinking what I wanted to feed it into. Tom lifted a hand and set it onto the column of my throat. I swallowed, feeling my throat move against his palm.

Tom’s head was tilted down watching me as I blindly explored his cock with my hand, palming his length and running my fingertips up his shaft, all the way to the edge of his foreskin. I ran my finger around the rim, gently pushing it down and freeing the vulnerable, delicate bit of skin right beneath his cock head.

I lifted my forefinger, dipping it into the drop of precome waiting there for me, dropping down and letting my finger glide around the edge of his foreskin on the slick fluid, being sure to slide over the tender skin of his bell. How can something so soft be so hard?

I think of myself as hard, but I’m soft for Tom. Really, the only thing to do is to make him mine. Thank god he said yes. Or…

“Um…”  I cleared my throat as I continued to glide my finger over him. “You did say yes, didn’t you? I mean, you get that having your mum as my mother-in-law actually entails you marrying me, right?” I lifted my eyes and searched his.

The blue of his eyes softened. His nose nuzzled below my ear.

“I do, Rocky. And yes, I will.”

All the air left my body and my fingers clenched on him, one hand on his chest, my nails digging into his skin, the other around his cock.

Tom hissed, and his hips shot forward into my fist, forcing his cock through the tight ring of my fingers.

“God, Rocky…” he groaned, his hands moving into my hair, thumbs on my jaw as he leaned down to kiss me roughly.

I stroked that silky smooth, incredibly hard length against my palm. Tom tore his mouth away, breaking our kiss and breathing hard. I took my opportunity to slip to my knees in front of him.

“Rocky...you don’t have-” He gasped.

“Tom,” I said sharply, “if you finish that sentence with ‘don’t have to suck my cock’, I might do you an injury!”

I squeezed his shaft, just to be clear what part might be injured.

“Right,” Tom gasped, “carry on, then.” He swallowed audibly hard, his hands clenching in my hair.

I grinned cheekily at him. “Don’t mind if I do!”

I dragged my free hand down his torso, firmly pushing his back against the door. I took a quick swipe at him with my tongue from stalk to tip and grinned up at him.

“I do what I want!”

I wrapped my lips around the head and gave a suck, swirling my tongue tip over and around the head.

I felt Tom’s deep throated groan vibrate through his body and onto my tongue. Stopping for a second, I looked up at him, for once with no quip on the tip of my tongue.

“I love you, Tom.”

Tom’s eyes completely dilated and he thrust into my fist, his cockhead pushing between my lips, and suddenly he was coming against my mouth. 

My hand pumped over his cock, squeezing and pulling his climax from him, licking his come from around my lips and working the rest out in hot ropes onto my neck and chest.

Tom made a tortured noise, his hands clenching in my hair and hips thrusting helplessly. I gentled my hand, holding it still and warm over his softening shaft as he panted above me.

“Rocky…”

I tore my eyes away from the sight softening in my hand and looked up.

“You undo me, my love.”

His hands moved to my arms and lifted me to stand, wrapping his arms and body around me like a loving cloak.

I nuzzled my nose into the patch of hair in the center of his chest.

“Love you, Tom,” I murmured into his skin, speaking directly to his thumping heart. The arms around me tightened.

“Come along. I have something for you.”

“I hope it’s a hot flannel!”

Tom snickered and trod across the room into the kitchen, dragging me to the sink and wetting a tea towel. He wiped us both clean, and tossed the towel on the side.

He’d left his tablet on the table. Pulling a chair out, he sat, tugging me down onto his lap. He reached for the tablet.

I was wondering if he planned to treat me to porn, or puppies. I never know with Tom, which is of course, one of the things I love about him. He swiftly swiped through a few screens and brought up a file.

“Here, what do you think?” He pushed the tablet into my hands and set his chin on my shoulder, looking over me at the screen.

My hand flew to my mouth, fingers trembling over it as I stared down at a page of gorgeous, conflict free, diamond engagement rings.

“I didn’t want to choose one without you, and I honestly didn’t know what sort you’d like, since you never wear rings or other jewelry,” Tom murmured.

My hand dropped down to the partridge in a pear tree necklace Tom had given me on the First Day of Christmas. 

“Except your partridge,” he acknowledged. “But I chose that, so I really have no idea what your taste in jewelry is.

I was speechless as Tom slowly scrolled through several pages of rings, all sorts, my eyes filling as it finally dawned on me that Tom had been planning to ask me, or was at least thinking about it, when a teardrop landed on the screen. His arm stole around my waist as he turned his head and kissed my neck.

I sniffled, slightly embarrassed, and let out a watery laugh.

“What’s funny, love?”

I sniffled again. “I got engaged today, and here you are, making me cry.”

Tom chuckled.

“Though it might just be PMS.” 

Tom lifted his head with a great shout of laughter. “Oh darling, with you it’s probably the entire alphabet!” Tom teased.

He brought up another page, this time with rubies and sapphires and such. My breath caught at a dark red, square cut stone with two smaller, smokey coloured square cut stones set on either side, all swirled about in a fanciful gold setting. It was stunning,

I reached out a finger and touched it. The image changed, showing other angles of the ring.

“Ooh, I like that one!” Tom wriggled a bit under me in his enthusiasm. “You like coloured stones? Unusual settings? So much better than boring old diamonds, don’t you think? Bloody marvelous, aren’t they?”

I nodded, my throat tight. I hadn’t even given any thought to a ring for me, yet. 

“Tom, I must tell you though, it’s unlikely that I’ll wear it much. With my job, my hands are in and out of all sorts of muck…”

“That’s alright then.” Tom hugged me. “There are plenty of times that I can’t wear jewelry on my job, too. On stage or filming, and so forth. We’ll just have to work out a routine for taking them off before going to work, and putting them back on when we get home. Think of it as putting on and taking off your shoes, only in reverse!”

My head spun with all the things that we haven’t talked about. Oh my god, I don’t know how to throw a wedding! Budget, guest list, venue, flowers, bridesmaids, grooms men,  catering, open or closed bar, the dress… the list seemed endless and I knew I was probably forgetting a dozen other things. 

“I guess there’s still loads of things to work out before we do this thing, right?”

“We can take as long as we need,” he soothed, sensing my unease. “And if we want, there are people we can hire who take care of the organisation.” 

“Okay,” I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “As long as you don’t expect me to look like some giant, frothy meringue.” 

“Never,” he laughed. “And if you get one of those dresses with a thousand pearly buttons down the back, expect them to get torn off on the wedding night.”

The idea of being torn out of my wedding dress actually turned me on a little. Is that bad? 

“Oh, you like that idea,” Tom purred. 

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”

“Well I’ll have to practice,” he told me, his face the picture of sincerity. “We’ll start easy, maybe try ripping a robe off, then we’ll graduate to t-shirts and shirt-shirts and before you know it’ I’ll be ready to destroy your wedding dress in my haste to get to you.” 

“Or,” I said, holding a finger up as I presented my counter argument, “You could just destroy me right now and I’ll wear a white string bikini on the wedding day.” 

“Only if I get to wear white speedos.”

“Fine, but you also need a white bow tie.” 

Imagining literally the worst of the worst white trash wedding was kind of fun. 

“And white flip-flops,” Tom added. 

“What about if we want a winter wedding?” I asked. 

“White wet suits,” he answered without missing a beat. “I’ll draw a string bikini on yours in Sharpie marker pen.”

“And I’ll be sure to outline your English countryside. Very much looking forward to shading in your arse crack.”

That was the remark that made us lose it and we laughed until our sides hurt. 

Eventually we calmed down, with just the occasional giggle reemerging as we lay there. 

“Now correct me if I’m wrong,” Tom purred, “but I believe there was some mention of me destroying you?” 

“Well yes. I’d hate for you to be embarrassed on the wedding night because we hadn’t practised.”

I swear I heard him growl as he pounced on me, his smile positively wolfish. 

Oh dear, I had awoken the beast and now I was doing to pay. 

I shivered in anticipation. 

[7-wonders]

Kiss of Fire

Summary: You only want what’s best for Jim, and that includes staying clean of drugs. Jim, who’s been bottling up his true feelings for so long, finally snaps after he finds out you flushed his stash. 

Word Count: 2583

A/N: TWs for SMUT, knife play, bondage, vague dub-con, dark!Jim, drug mentions, threatening pregnancy, and vague toxicity. Story will be under a cut due to the multiple potential triggers. I’ve been wanting to writing something for dark!Jim for the longest time, and this is the best I could come up with right now tbh. Smutty, dark goodness. Let me know what you think; feedback of all kinds is always appreciated, and my requests are always open!

The distant salt air of the sea wafts in through the open windows, but it’s overshadowed by the pungent smell of weed that covers Jim’s clothes. He hasn’t smoked in a week, he’s promised you that, but he also hasn’t stopped hanging around his buddies that smoke weed like they need it to live. When Jim realizes your mind has drifted, he presses you harder into the door. Your shoulders twinge with a slight pain but it’s a pain that, against all better judgement, makes your knees weak.

“What the fuck, Jim?” You hiss through clenched teeth, glaring up at him. His blue eyes are blown, and if you hadn’t been with him all night you would have thought that he had snuck off to do a line or two in the bathroom of whoever’s house was party central tonight. He’s breathing heavily, likely from hauling you up the stairs after driving like a bat out of hell to get to his place.

Ever since Jim had been found half-dead on the beach two years ago, his parents tended to give in to what he wanted; they assumed that they hadn’t cared enough which, while true, was only the tip of the iceberg that was Jim’s problems. Sandy and Phil hadn’t reconciled, not by any means, but they managed to be civil in order to make sure that Jim wouldn’t go off the rails again. Jim wanted to go to Paris with his dad and sister? They were on an international flight the next week. Jim wanted a new surfboard? Phil made sure that Jim had a new board to replace the other new one, just in case something happened to it. That’s how Jim had gotten his house: He claimed that he and Medina needed to live alone now that they were college students. Since Medina would be living with and, presumably, watching over him, the Mason parents were more than happy to oblige.

If only Medina was able to look past the healthy brother act and see the signs that were right in front of her. Jim had remained sober when it came to the prescription drugs, which was good enough for Medina. As long as she didn’t have to lock pills up, she figured her brother was recovered. But what she refused to acknowledge was all of the other drugs that Jim was dabbling in. Lately, he’s been fond of the ‘party drugs,’ like ecstasy and molly. They cost more money than the opiods he had previously been using, but he reasoned that it was a small price to pay to keep from getting addicted and remain under the radar.

Medina’s out, gone to a professional surfing competition in Australia for the week. Sometimes you want to shake her, to make her see what’s happening right in front of her eyes. But a part of you gets why she’s turning a blind eye, just as her mother and father did years ago when Jim was first on drugs. This is her brother, her twin, her best friend since they were born. Medina herself had told you how devastating it was to do nothing but wait while Jim clung to life in the ICU. Maybe you’re enabling her, allowing her to believe that nothing’s wrong while trying to deal with the growing issue yourself. But you’re protecting her, really, and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“What’s wrong? I thought your goal was to get me away from that party? Well, mission accomplished!” He declares, huffing angrily.

“I was only trying to-”

“To make sure that I don’t run off to go smoke a bowl? To keep me from getting a clean high by flushing my stash down the toilet?” You didn’t know that he knew you had found his ecstasy, tucked behind a picture frame hanging on the wall.

“I’m trying to help you, Jim! You should know better than anyone how easy it is to relapse!”

“I know my limits. Why don’t you know yours, you nosy brat?” Your jaw drops at the insult, frozen even after Jim removes his hands from your shoulders. “You really wanna help me?”

“You know I do.” His jaw tightens, and you can see a vein on his neck sticking out.

“Let me try something.” He waits for your confirmation, only moving when you nod. “You remember the safe word?”

Jim had always been extremely gentle with you when it came to sex, treating you more like a fragile glass than like a woman with needs and desires. The one time you had placed his hand on your throat and begged him to choke you a little, he placed a minute amount of pressure upon the soft skin of your neck before proclaiming that he couldn’t hurt you like that and stopped. Still, he insisted that the two of you have a safe word, just in case the gentle sex got to be too much (something that you still roll your eyes at).

“Lunada.” Jim hears the bemusement in your voice, but hums his approval at your knowledge of the safe word. You gasp when he snatches your chin, forcing your face close to his.

“Be a good girl for once in your life, take your clothes off, and get on the bed.” His voice barely rises above a whisper, but it carries with it a very real threat that has you shivering with a fear you’ve never felt before.

Your hands shake, a result of not knowing what’s going to happen next, as you fumble with the jeans and shirt that cover you. Jim impatiently removes your clothes for you, leaving you shivering in just your underwear. You allow yourself to fall backwards, the bed stopping your momentum as you stare at the man who now lords over you.

“Jim?” You ask, voice quivering.

“I didn’t say you could talk.” He sneers, pushing you until you’re flat on your back against the mattress. “Hold out your arms.”

You do as he says, extending your arms out in front of you. You hold them there while Jim leaves the room to search for something, heart rate picking up when he reappears with a silk scarf that he must have taken from Medina’s room. His tongue slightly pokes out of his mouth while he focuses on tying your wrists together, an intricate knot making you wonder if he grew up being a Boy Scout. When he yanks your bound wrists above your head to tie them to the headboard, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out.

“You look so beautiful, all tied up and vulnerable for me.” Jim moans out, palming at the bulge in his jeans while he slides your panties down your legs. You want to roll your eyes when he shoves the fabric in his back pocket, but you really don’t know how he’d react if he caught you doing it. “Hmm, how will I get your bra off?” He muses, pacing back and forth at the end of the bed.

When he reaches into his nightstand, he doesn’t pull out a condom, which is what you’re expecting; instead, he holds the sleek handle of a pocket knife that you weren’t aware he owned.

“W-what…?” You trail off upon realizing that he warned you not to speak. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to realize that he made that rule only minutes ago. Jim flips the blade of the knife out, inspecting it with a sharp precision. Your breathing hitches as Jim crawls towards you, tracing the sharp metal lightly along the swell of your breasts.

“Don’t worry (Y/N),” Jim grins wolfishly at you. “I won’t hurt you. Not unless you ask for it.” He cuts through the straps of your bra with fluid movements, discarding the knife on the nightstand so he can have both hands free to fully rip your bra off of you.

Terror courses through you, and you find yourself a little disgusted at how wet you are from it. Your boyfriend, the recovering drug addict, is pissed at you for making him leave a potentially dangerous situation and retaliates by manhandling you, tying you up, and using a knife to cut off your clothes. You can only feel a little ashamed at the way Jim’s 180 personality flip gets you going, the shame leaving your body when he starts trailing hot kisses down your body.

You can prepare yourself all you want, attempt to brace your body as Jim hovers right above your cunt, but you still can’t help the gasp that leaves you when his tongue starts to work at your clit. Jim loves foreplay, more than anyone you’ve met, and he knows the exact movements to get your toes curling. You want to reach down and tangle your fingers through his chocolate locks, forgetting that your hands are currently bound above your head. Huffing with frustration, you tug at your restraints. Jim peeks up at you and laughs, momentarily breaking this ‘dark’ facade he’s adopted.

“I’m sorry baby, I know how much you love pulling my hair.” He grins, swallowing your angry breaths with his own mouth. He peeled off his clothes without you noticing, likely while he was going down on you, and enters you with one swift thrust. Your walls burn pleasurably as they stretch around him, Jim’s eyes fluttering shut as your walls adjust to his length.

It doesn’t take him long to set a brutally fast pace, your hips snapping up in a frantic attempt to meet his. Jim moves his kisses from your mouth to your throat, making new bruises blossom over the old ones that have almost faded completely.

“Oh Jim, I…” A loud moan cuts you off, and you toss your head back against the pillows. He continues to rock in and out of you, gritting his teeth to try and stifle his own moans.

“Yeah? You’re taking me so well, you always do. Couldn’t resist this sweet pussy, even when you are being a brat.” You want to retort, but a strong hand gripping your throat has your eyes lighting up in glee instead. Jim smirks at your excitement, shaking his head. “Of course you wanted this.”

You can feel it coming, feel yourself teetering on the edge of a sweet release. All of the sensations you’re currently feeling are only heightened at your lightheadedness, and your mouth falls open in a breathy moan.

“Jim, I need-” You rasp out as you start to clench around him. Jim nods, understanding what you’re saying without needing you to finish the sentence. He removes his hand from your neck and starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, causing you to jolt up against him.

He’s grinning down at you, sweat beading on his brow as he speeds up his thrusts.

“God, look at you, completely helpless beneath me. I could cum in you right now and there’s not a thing you could do about it.” Your eyes widen; you’re on birth control, of course, but he’s never wanted to chance the 1% that doesn’t work. He doesn’t notice you looking at him, instead babbling on as he gets closer to his own release. “Could you imagine what would happen if you got pregnant? I’d take care of you so well, you wouldn’t need to worry about anything but growing our healthy baby. I used to think you couldn’t get any hotter, but the thought of you swollen with a child that I gave you is fucking angelic.”

You want to fire back with a retort, but your orgasm washes over you quicker than a sentence could be formed in your head. Your back arches against the bed, wrists tugging painfully above you as you try to reach for something, anything, to help keep you grounded. Jim reaches his own release moments after he slips out of you, painting your abdomen with his cum. He collapses on top of you, being careful not to crush you with his weight.

After your breathing’s slowed down and he’s softened, he kisses you. It’s gentle, entirely unlike how he’s been the rest of the night before this, and it has you swooning. The pocket knife appears in his hand again, and he cuts the scarf off of your hands. Your shoulders pop as you stretch out, wrists a bright red and fingers tingling while the blood rushes back into them. Sliding his finger across your stomach to collect some of his seed, you dutifully open your mouth and suckle it off of his long digit.

“Thank you for letting me do this.” He says while cleaning you off with the the ripped scarf that was still hanging around the headboard. “I’ve been wanting to try that for a while, but I got nervous you’d get freaked out by it.”

“Was I taken off guard? Yes. Freaked out? No.” You answer after a moment. “Is it just, like, a sex thing? You got a little dark there.”

Jim shrugs. “I feel like there’s two sides to me. The beach boy that everyone knows, sweet, recovering-addict Jim Mason who likes to surf. And then there’s a part that I have to keep hidden, the side that you saw. Even Medina gets scared when I get like that; she stole my sketchbook once, maybe three years ago? We had a fight, and she stole it and claimed that she was gonna throw all of my sketches away. I just lost it, started yelling at her and blaming her for all my problems. I went on a bender after that, and I don’t think I came down for two weeks. That anger, that...that darkness has been with me for as long as I can remember. After that fight with my sister, I promised myself that I would never get like that again.”

“So why tonight, of all nights?”

“It’s been building up, festering right below the surface. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any coke to help me easily cope anymore, I’m not sure. But tonight, watching you try to help me, it made me realize how easy I could lose you. What if you get fed up with having to constantly make sure I don’t use again, and leave me for someone else? (Y/N), I’d die without you.”

Your hand, which has been stroking Jim’s hair, freezes in place. He’d die without you? You love him, but you never thought things were this serious in his mind. Surely he must be exaggerating, feeling sappy after the sex you just had. Maybe the insecurities he felt tonight brought out these deeper feelings, ones that he couldn’t possibly mean. Jim looks up at you, confused.

“Did I scare you?”

“No Jimmy, you didn’t scare me. Let’s...we’ll just have to work on making sure you can control these emotions. And maybe don’t threaten to get me pregnant right before we both come? I’m sure we’d both make great parents, but we’re way too young right now.” Jim nods, yawning and settling his head against your side.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Jim.” You mutter, watching as his eyes flutter closed. You eventually close your eyes too, drifting off as you worry about how to save Jim Mason. You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t feel Jim getting up two hours later so he can grab his phone and search ways to cancel out birth control.

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