#mild social discomfort and mild amusement

[chatdae]

honestly it doesn't bug me that Jerry Seinfeld is bad at acting because the other main cast of Seinfeld are so good, Jerry's acting becomes a joke in and of itself.

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: DC, Tampa, Athens [5/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Late September means things are only accelerating as election day grows closer. Steve is picking up momentum in the polls, and things heat up on multiple fronts before you hit a bump that may shake up the progress between you and your husband.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: You get another West Wing cameo in this chapter (but totally unnecessary to have ever watched the show). This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 26 - WASHINGTON, DC]

The late September sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the campaign's official DC headquarters, casting long shadows across the bustling office space. You're leaning against a desk, watching with amusement as Peter Parker, the youth outreach coordinator who's also become the campaign's unofficial creative director of the TikTok segment of the social media team, attempts to explain the concept for the video to Steve.

"Okay, Cap," Peter says, his enthusiasm palpable as he holds up his phone. "We're going to do a quick transition video. It's super easy, I promise!"

Steve stands in the middle of the room, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined. He's dressed casually in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a stark contrast to his usual campaign attire. The goal is to remind the voters that Steve is relatable to the everyday American at the end of the day.

Steve nods, a mixture of bemusement and determination on his face. "Alright, Peter. Walk me through it."

Peter's face lights up. "Okay, so you're going to start in your casual clothes, then you'll spin around. As you spin, we'll cut and you'll change into your suit. When you finish the spin, you'll be in full Captain America mode, then we’ll have you spin and change one more time, and we’ll end the video with you in your presidential get up."

"And this will... resonate with young voters?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

You can't help but chuckle. "It's about showing your versatility, Steve. From everyday guy to national hero to the next president in the blink of an eye."

Steve shoots you a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one spinning like a top."

Peter positions Steve in front of the camera. "Okay, Cap. Just spin naturally, and we'll take care of the angles and editing.”

As Steve prepares for his first take, Bucky saunters into the room, a smirk playing on his lips. He sidles up next to you, crossing his arms as he watches his best friend awkwardly position himself in front of the camera.

"I'm sure Steve must be loving this," Bucky murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, suppressing a chuckle. "It's written all over his face."

Indeed, Steve's expression is a fascinating mix of determination and mild discomfort, his brow is furrowed in concentration.

The rapport that’s been developing with Bucky over the last few weeks has also been nice. It’s its own brand of friendship, and it’s not rock solid yet, but it’s growing.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, phone at the ready. "On three. One... two... three!"

Steve begins to spin, his movements a bit stiff in the first take.

Peter's enthusiastic voice cuts through the air. "That was great, Cap! Let's try again,” he encourages, not leaving a beat for Steve to feel awkward or like he’s done it wrong. You can tell his approach will make all the difference with Steve.

As Steve prepares for another take, you can't help but admire his willingness to step out of his comfort zone. It's one of the things that's made him such an effective candidate - his ability to adapt and connect with people across generations.

"Okay, this time, try to relax a bit more," Peter suggests. "Just have fun with it!"

Steve spares a glance at you and Bucky, then takes a deep breath, shaking out his arms. "Right. Fun. I can do fun."

Bucky snorts beside you. "This ought to be good."

As Peter counts down again, Steve starts his spin. This time, his movements are smoother, more natural.

"Perfect!" Peter exclaims. "That's the one. Now, let's get you into your tac suit for the next part."

Steve nods, heading towards the makeshift changing area set up in the corner of the room. As he disappears behind the partition, Bucky leans in closer to you.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Steve would be doing social media stunts," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "He's come a long way from the kid who could barely talk to girls in Brooklyn."

You smile, picturing a young Steve Rogers, all skinny limbs and earnest determination. "I bet he was endearing," you say.

Bucky chuckles. "Oh, he was. A real charmer. Couldn't string two words together around a pretty dame, but he had a heart of gold." He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "It's good to see him like this, you know? Engaged with the world, trying new things and connecting with people again. For a while after the Blip, I worried he’d ride off into the sunset forever before the sunset was even really here. We’re out of the century we were supposed to live in, but we’re still here, y’know? Didn’t think it would be this, but it’s not all bad. Pepper wasn’t wrong in choosing him for who he is inside.”

You nod, understanding. “When I met with her about the campaign, she’d sent me the policy materials, the plans, the opposition research detailing his strengths and weaknesses as a candidate, and I was on board to take any position she offered me on the campaign team. I never imagined working on a presidential run, but her vision, her approach? I knew I wanted to be part of it.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “I thought… wait…” he’s mulling over what you said. “So, when you came in, you didn’t know she wanted you to marry Steve?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh, no! Because that would have been crazy! Who would agree to that?”

Bucky's eyes widen slightly at your revelation. "But you just... agreed on the spot when she proposed it?"

You pause, considering how to respond. The truth is, it had been a whirlwind decision, one that you sometimes still can't believe you made. "Not exactly on the spot," you say carefully. "But...pretty quickly, yeah. It was a lot to take in, but something about it just felt right, you know?"

Bucky nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I get it. Steve has that effect on people. Makes you want to follow him into any fight, even if it's not your own."

Before you can respond, Sam walks in, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. "How’re things going here? I hear we’re starting a dance troupe?"

Bucky chuckles. "Social media campaign. Apparently, the kids these days like watching people spin around and change clothes."

Sam shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Glad I’m not going to miss it.”

“I’m suggesting you go in as back up dancer.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Barnes! You know I’d do it!”

You laugh at the easy banter between Steve’s two best friends, but then the man himself emerges from behind the partition, now clad in his tactical suit. The sight of him in the red, white, and blue outfit isn’t new, but as it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed as Captain America in person, it unexpectedly takes your breath away a little.

Steve takes his position again, looking more at ease now in his familiar uniform. "How's this, Peter?" Steve calls out, adjusting the shield on his arm.

Peter gives him a thumbs up and starts the countdown. This time, Steve's spin is confident and fluid, ending with a slight smirk that's pure Captain America.

"Nailed it!" Peter cheers. "Okay, one more outfit change and we're done."

“Hang on!” Sam calls out. His eyes light up as he looks between you and Steve, a grin spreading across his face. "We've got a golden opportunity here."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Sam rubs his hands together. "Picture this: Captain America, in full uniform, getting a kiss from his lovely wife. It's the perfect Instagram moment!"

Steve's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sam, I don't think-"

"No, no, hear me out," Sam interrupts, warming to his theme. "We've been pushing the whole 'relatable Steve' angle, right? Well, what's more relatable than a guy getting a kiss from his wife? Plus, it ties in the Cap persona.”

Peter's face lights up at the suggestion. "Oh man, that's genius! The engagement would be off the charts!"

Steve looks slightly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and you don’t know how to feel about it either. "I don't know, guys. Isn't that a bit... much?"

Bucky chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, give the people what they want."

“Et tu, Brute?” you direct this to Bucky, not at all surprised at the enthusiasm from Sam and Peter, but genuinely shocked he’s jumping on board as well.

Sam turns to you, his expression a mix of excitement and mischief. "What do you say? Want to break the internet with a kiss from Captain America?"

You hesitate, feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, the idea of kissing Steve - even for a staged photo - sends a flutter through your stomach. On the other, you're acutely aware of the artificiality of the situation and the potential implications for the campaign.

You glance at Steve. His expression is unreadable, but you can see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sam, sensing your hesitation, softens his approach. "Look, I know it might seem a bit much, but think about it. We've been working so hard to show Steve as both the hero and the everyday man. This could be a perfect blend of both."

Peter nods enthusiastically. "I think a good candid shot would be a great way to humanize the campaign. Show that even Captain America has a soft side."

You look back at Steve, and he gives a small nod. You see a mix of emotions in his eyes - uncertainty, but also a hint of something else. Trust, perhaps. "If you're okay with it, I am."

"I’m good," you agree, your heart rate picking up slightly.

Sam claps his hands together. "Great! Peter, get ready with that camera."

As Peter positions himself, you step closer to Steve. He reaches out, gently placing his hands on your waist. The tactical suit feels cool under your fingertips as you place a hand on his chest. You can feel the slight tension in his muscles.

"Ready?" Steve murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, managing a small smile. "Let’s do this," you reply once more because this is its own ‘public appearance’, and so the customary exchange only seems fitting.

Steve’s hands move from your waist around to your back, and he takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes.

You stop breathing for a moment, suspended there in his arms.

“Kiss her, punk!” Bucky shouts, and the electric moment is broken, but you both laugh, and then Steve dips you dramatically and kisses you soundly as you clutch his shoulders. The three men cheer enthusiastically and cat call you when the kiss goes on just another moment or two.

As Steve stands you back up, you both burst into laughter, the tension of the moment dissolving into genuine mirth and camaraderie. His arm is still around your waist, steadying you as you regain your balance. The warmth of his body radiates through the tactical suit, and you find yourself leaning into him slightly, your soft, round body pressing into his hard muscles.

"So, Peter," Steve calls out, his voice still tinged with amusement, "did we nail that shot, or do you need us to try again?" There's a playful glint in his eye as he says this, and you can't help but grin up at him.

Peter, looking slightly flustered but undeniably excited, nods enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, Cap! That was perfect! The internet is going to go crazy over this!"

You start to step away, ready to return to your spot by the desk, but Steve surprises you by gently pulling you back, his arm wrapping around your waist once more. The room seems to fall away as he gazes into your eyes, a softness in his expression that you've rarely seen before. Time slows as he leans in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

His touch is feather-light, his calloused thumb brushing across your cheekbone with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The scent of him envelops you - a mixture of leather from the suit, a hint of aftershave, and something uniquely Steve.

Your heart races as Steve leans in, his breath warm against your lips. For a moment, you forget about the cameras, the campaign, everything except the man in front of you.

Steve's lips brush yours, soft and tentative at first. It's different from the performative kiss moments ago - this feels real, intimate. You respond instinctively, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. The kiss deepens, and you feel a warmth spreading through your body.

Suddenly, you're jolted back to reality by the sound of a throat clearing loudly.

You and Steve break apart, both slightly breathless. The room crashes back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the others watching. Sam has a knowing smirk on his face. Peter looks like he might explode from excitement.

"Well," Sam says, breaking the silence. "I think we've got more than enough material for social media now."

You step back from Steve, feeling the heat creep up your neck. Steve clears his throat, looking slightly flustered himself.

"Right," he says, his voice a bit rough. "I should, uh, go change for the final spin shot."

As Steve disappears behind the partition again, you catch Bucky's eye. He gives you a subtle nod, his expression unreadable. You're not sure what to make of it, but there's no time to dwell on it as Peter starts setting up for the final shot.

You return to your spot by the desk and try compose yourself. Your lips still tingle from the kiss, and you can't shake the memory of Steve's touch.

Bucky sidles up next to you, his voice low as Sam and Peter talk next to you. "That was quite a show," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. "It's all part of the job, right?" you say, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark.

Bucky gives you a long look, then nods slowly. "Right. The job."

Before you can say anything else, Steve emerges from behind the partition, now dressed in one of his presidential suits - a sharp navy number that accentuates his broad shoulders. You can't help but admire how he carries himself. He exudes a quiet confidence, as ever, a perfect blend of the everyday man and the leader of the free world.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, "let's nail this final spin!"

Steve takes his position, and as he begins to turn, you find yourself holding your breath. The transformation is mesmerizing - from casual Rogers to Captain America to Presidential Candidate, but all of them undeniably Steve.

[SEPTEMBER 27 - TAMPA, FLORIDA]

The campaign has rented out an entire floor of a hotel for debate prep, transforming the spacious suites into makeshift war rooms as Tampa provides some key and convenient access to key southern cities by plane. Maps, charts, and policy briefings cover every available surface, and the air hums with the energy of a team on a mission.

Jake Sullivan, Steve's chief strategist, has pulled out all the stops for this crucial phase of debate preparation. He's brought in Amy Gardner, a seasoned political operative known for her sharp wit and take-no-prisoners approach. Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy commands the room, even though she sits rather casually in an armchair ten feet from Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy paces the room, firing off rapid-fire questions at Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

"What's your plan for addressing climate change?" Jake asks, his voice stern.

Steve responds confidently, "We need to transition to clean energy sources while also supporting workers in traditional energy sectors. My plan includes..."

Amy cuts him off, her tone brusque. "Too long. You've got 60 seconds max. Hit the key points and move on."

Steve nods, taking a deep breath. "Right. Clean energy transition. Support for affected workers. Immediate action on emissions reduction."

“Too succinct,” she says.

Steve frowns, clearly trying to find the right balance. Squaring his shoulders, he goes again. "Our climate plan has three key components: First, an aggressive transition to clean energy sources like wind and solar. Second, robust support and retraining for workers in affected industries. And third, immediate action to reduce emissions across all sectors. This isn't just about saving the planet - it's about creating jobs and securing America's energy independence for generations to come."

Amy nods approvingly. "Better. Now, pivot to how this contrasts with your opponent's stance."

Steve's brow furrows in concentration. "Unlike my Republican opponent, who continues to deny the reality of climate change, my plan acknowledges the crisis we face while also prioritizing American workers and innovation. We can't afford to stick our heads in the sand any longer."

"Decent," Amy says, her tone softening slightly.

“Only decent?”

“You didn’t address the Democrats’ policy. Your battle is to convince enough voters in America to break with over two hundred years of choosing between red or blue.”

You can see Steve is fighting back a sigh of frustration.

"Mr. Rogers, your opponent claims your lack of formal political experience makes you unqualified for the presidency. How do you respond?"

Steve takes a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "My experience may not be traditional, but it's been forged in the crucible of protecting this nation and its values. I've led teams through impossible situations, made tough decisions with global consequences, and always put the American people first. That's the kind of leadership experience that truly matters."

Amy nods, but doesn't let up. "Good, but tighten it up. You need to hit harder on your unique qualifications. How do you respond to critics who say your experience is outdated?"

"I'd say that my unique perspective allows me to see both where we've been and where we need to go," Steve begins, his voice steady. "I've seen this country at its best and its worst. I understand the challenges we face because I've lived through similar ones before. But I also understand the incredible potential of our future because I've seen how far we've come."

You can’t help but feel inspired by that answer, but Amy's eyes narrow, her expression sharpening. "Not bad, but you're still playing it too safe. Your opponents will come at you hard. Let's ramp this up."

She stands and begins pacing in front of Steve like a shark. "Mr. Rogers, your critics say you're nothing more than a science experiment gone right. How can you claim to represent the average American when you're literally superhuman?"

Steve's jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "I may have enhanced abilities, but my values and my heart are as human as anyone's. I grew up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression. I know what it's like to struggle, to feel powerless. The serum didn't change that part of me."

Your heart swells, but again Any interjects again.

"Weak," she says, her voice cutting. "You're not connecting. Try again."

Your mouth drops open slightly. That was powerful. You know it was.

Steve takes a deep breath, his knuckles whitening as he grips the podium. “I’m not a monkey on a unicycle.”

“Well, what a great start. No one wants a monkey in the White House,” she deadpans.

“I don’t need this. We did just fine in the first debate without you,” Steve nearly growls.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were aiming for just fine, I thought you wanted to win.”

Steve's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and frustration. The tension in the room is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. You can see the muscles in his jaw working as he grinds his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.

"I'm not here to play games or put on a show," Steve says, his voice low and controlled, but with an undercurrent of steel. "I'm here because I believe in this country and what it can be. I've fought for it, bled for it, and yes, even died for it. So don't tell me I'm not connecting."

Amy opens her mouth to retort, but Steve cuts her off.

"I've seen this nation at its best and its worst," Steve goes again, his voice growing louder, more impassioned as he speaks. "I've watched it rise from the ashes of the Great Depression, triumph over fascism, and push the boundaries of human achievement. But I've also seen it torn apart by fear, prejudice, and greed."

His eyes blaze with an intensity that seems to electrify the air around him. The room falls silent, everyone transfixed by the raw emotion in his words.

"I may have been enhanced by science, but my heart, my values - they come from growing up as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn who couldn't stand by and watch bullies win. They come from the men and women I fought alongside, who gave their lives for the ideals this country stands for."

Steve's fist comes down on the podium with a resounding thud, causing several people to jump.

"I'm running for president not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because I believe in the promise of America - a promise that's been broken too many times for too many people. I've seen what this country can do when we come together, when we fight for what's right. And I'm here to tell you, we can do it again."

Steve's voice rings out, filled with passion and conviction. The room is dead silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

"So no, I'm not a traditional politician. I don't have decades of experience playing political games or making backroom deals. What I have is a lifetime of standing up for what's right, of putting others before myself, of believing that we can always be better. I'm running because I believe in the power of ordinary people to do extraordinary things when given the chance."

He pauses, his chest heaving slightly as he looks around the room. The silence is deafening, everyone ensnared by the raw power of his words.

"That's what this campaign is about," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "It's about reminding every American that they have the power to shape this nation's future. That their voice matters, their dreams matter, this country over politicians and political agendas. It’s not a show to me.”

Steve strides away from the podium and walks out, and no one stops him. No one even moves until the weighted door to the suite swings closed again. Jake and Elsa begin conferring. Amy seems unconcerned. You’re sitting with Bucky and Sam, who exchange a look, and Bucky moves to stand, but you’re quicker.

“Let me go after him,” you find yourself saying, surprised at how fast you were to seize this situation, almost like a natural instinct.

You hurry out of the room, scanning the hallway for any sign of Steve. You catch a glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around a corner and quicken your pace to catch up.

"Steve!" you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

He stops, his back still to you, shoulders tense. As you approach, he turns slowly to face you. The fire in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that tugs at your heart.

"Hey," you say softly, closing the distance between you. "That was... intense back there."

Steve runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. It's just..." He trails off, shaking his head.

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Amy was pushing hard. Maybe too hard."

He looks down at your hand, then up to your face. “I’m fine.”

“I think you’ve told everyone you’re fine every day of your life, Steve Rogers, and no one needs to exist like that.”

Steve cocks his chin slightly. “But the President of the United States should have it together, shouldn’t they? People want a leader they can trust.”

You smile, but it’s not a happy smile, and his expression matches yours.

“Can I ask…?” you venture cautiously.

He nods. “Wife privileges. You can ask whatever you want. Wife duties, probably, to ask me questions I don’t want to hear.”

Wife. A flutter flares in your stomach, but you force yourself to concentrate on the moment, furiously tamping down your reaction.

He resumes walking down the hallway, but more slowly this time, and you fall into step with him as you pursue your curiosity. “A monkey on a unicycle is an oddly specific and highly uncommon comparison to bring up. Is that some reference from your time?”

Steve huffs and his eyes fill with a mix of nostalgia and resentment as he begins to speak. His voice is heavy with emotion as he remembers his past. “I used to sketch a lot when I was young. We didn't have much during the depression, but my ma always managed to scrimp and save enough to buy me a notebook for Christmas or my birthday. It stuck with me up through joining the Army.”

His expression turns somber as he continues, "And after the serum changed my body but I was put on tour to encourage people to buy bonds, it just felt...underwhelming. Discouraging. I knew I could be doing more, making a real difference. But I did what I could - I knew raising money still helped.”

You reach the end of the hallway and stand next to each other, looking out the window.

“When they sent us out to Europe to entertain the troops, it only got worse. The last day I performed, for the 107th regiment, I was heckled and booed off stage."

Steve's hands clench into fists at his sides, "I drew a silly picture of a monkey riding a unicycle; it felt like that's all I was worth to them - just another pawn in their production."

You want to reach for his hand, but it doesn’t seem like the moment. So you simply continue to listen.

“That ended up being the last day I performed a show. I found out part of the company had been captured, stuck behind enemy lines. I disobeyed direct orders, found the men, saved Bucky. After that, everything finally changed, and we got to go to work, doing good, fighting Nazis and Hydra.”

A slight smile tugs at Steve's lips as he finishes his story, "I never wanted to feel like that monkey again. But the closer we get to election day, the more this feels like just a production.”

You stay silent for a moment, mulling over the pieces of his past and the feelings he’s just shared. This isn’t an easy conversation, and it’s not the conversation you thought you would have coming out here, but you’re grateful the two of you are having it together.

You aren’t by any means a seasoned politician either, but you had seen and had to at some points play at politics in your own work. “It’s all a show, there’s no denying that. But you’re not the monkey unless you sit back and let that be the reality.”

“How do you figure that?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Steve, you knew from the beginning that this campaign would be a production. You agreed to it - all of it. Including," you gesture between the two of you, your voice softening, "this arrangement. Marrying a woman you'd never even met before."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passing through them. You continue, your voice gentle but firm.

"You didn't do all this just to be a figurehead or a puppet. You did it because you want to be president. You want to be the one steering the strategy, calling the shots, making real change." You pause, making sure he's really listening. "This campaign isn't just about winning an election. It's preparation for the presidency itself."

You turn to face him fully, your eyes never leaving his. "This campaign, as frustrating and exhausting as it can be, is its own kind of preparation for the presidency. Think about it - you're dealing with conflicting advice, responding to the platforms from the candidates and how they overlap and differ from your own, connecting directly with the people across the country, making tough calls on what is and is not a priority.”

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considers your words. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing this perspective.

"You're right," he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I did agree to all of this." He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you've noticed he has when he's deep in thought. "I just want it to mean something. To be more than just sound bites and photo ops."

You nod, understanding his frustration. "It does mean something, Steve. Every interaction you have, every speech you give, every policy you propose - it all matters. You're not just going through the motions. You're shaping the conversation, influencing people's thoughts and beliefs about what this country can be."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper there.

"She’s right, Rogers,” a voice behind you makes you both jump and turn.

“This isn't just about winning,” Amy emphasizes. “It's about learning how to navigate the complexities of leading a nation, finding your presence as the leader of the free world, as commander in chief, winning the trust of the American people.

“The debates, the press conferences, the tough decisions you'll have to make as president - they won't always be fair or comfortable. That’s why I pushed you. You won’t answer every debate question like that, but I needed to know you could go there. That’s the kind of president America wants, but they don’t know it until they see it. If you can shake them to their bones, you’ll change hearts and minds.”

Steve smiles at her half in kindness, half in disbelief. “You say all of that pretty casually.”

Amy shrugs and returns the smile. “Because it’s true. I’m done beating you up now that I know you can go the rounds. If you want me to leave, I will, but I’m game to stay if you’re game for slightly less intense verbal sparring.”

“Oh, I can do this all day.”

[SEPTEMBER 28 - ATHENS, GEORGIA]

The campaign plane hums with activity in the minutes before take off. This cabin is filled with members of the press corps, their laptops open and fingers poised over keyboards, eager for any morsel of information they can turn into their next headlines.

Steve looks almost relaxed. His tie is loosened and sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The energy from the successful event you just wrapped up at the University of Georgia still lingers in the air. This was the fourth event of its kind - a town hall format called College Q&A limited to students and granting them access to dialogue with Steve. You can't help but feel a sense of pride as you recall how he connected with the students, his earnest answers and quick wit seeming to win over even the most skeptical audience members.

It’s become routine that Steve always takes questions from the press corps when he boards the plane before heading to the campaign team cabin, and he’s truly at ease with them in this interaction.

“We’ll take one more,” the campaign spokesperson announces to let both Steve and the reporters know it’s almost time for take off.

“Andy,” Steve calls on one of the familiar faces - the reporter from The Washington Post.

“Yes, Captain, do you have any response to Jeff Connor’s comments about your relationship with Mrs. Rogers?”

Steve's whole demeanor immediately turns serious, his jaw clenching. "I haven't heard Connor's specific comments, so I can't respond directly. My relationship with my wife is personal, and it's not up for debate or speculation."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the cabin before continuing. "What I will say is that she has been an incredible partner, both personally and for this campaign. Her intelligence, compassion, and dedication inspire me every day to be a better person and a better leader."

Steve's gaze softens a fraction as he glances in your direction. "I'm grateful she agreed to take this journey with me."

The press corps erupts with follow-up questions, but Jake holds up a hand. "That's all for now, folks, you know they won’t take off until we’re all seated and we don’t want to miss our take-off window. Thank you."

You, Steve, and the rest of your staff head into the first campaign cabin, and as soon as the door is shut, the atmosphere shifts. The professional masks slip away, replaced by a mix of concern, curiosity, and irritation. Jake immediately pulls out his phone, you assume to get the quote in question.

Elsa, your communications director, is already pulling out her laptop as she settles into a seat across from Steve. "That was the perfect response back there. Quick and heartfelt. It'll play well, especially given the context of Connor's comments."

Your personal aide Sophia is already handing you a tablet to read the quote. "Here, ma’am. It came out during the Q&A, and everyone got wind of it as we were boarding the plane."

You take the tablet, your eyes quickly scanning the headline: "Jeff Connor Speaks Out: 'I Hope They're Happy Together'" The article features a quote from Connor: "I wish them both the best. Marriage isn't easy, especially in the public eye. I just hope they've found happiness together."

You pass it over to Steve and then chew on your lip, pulling out your own phone.

It only takes him a moment to read as well. "Thanks,” Steve's brow furrows as he loosens his tie further and passes the tablet back to Sophia. “This seems fine, unless I’m missing something. But who is this guy, and why would we care what he thinks of our marriage more than anyone else?"

A beat of silence falls over the cabin. You can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you, a mixture of surprise and shock in their gazes.

“Okay, I’m clearly the only one who doesn’t know,” Steve concedes, a shade of irritation bleeding through his tone, “Anyone care to enlighten me?”

You take a steadying breath, then look up at Steve and say, “Jeff Connor is my former husband.”

next part: ATHENS TO MIAMI

I'll just say that I've been waiting for this chapter in the story almost from the beginning. 😌

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[nervous-tic]

touch to talk

After narrowly escaping the explosion at Liberty Ranch, Spencer seeks out physical therapy. He develops a crush on his physiotherapist, but what does it mean for them as he nears recovery?

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader/ofc

category: fluff, a little hurt/comfort

content warning: descriptions of physiotherapy/acupuncture, power imbalance relationship, brief implications of past drug use, making out, smidge of possessive!spencer at the end (lmk if i missed anything!)

word count: 8.6k

a/n: everyday i am fighting for my life to not just sit and write about spencer. can’t believe a 15 season crime procedural made me do this. but uh i’ve never posted fanfiction on tumblr before??? not exactly proofread, nor do i really write anymore so, sorry for the rusty prose!

masterlist

. . .

The catastrophe that was the explosion at Liberty Ranch left both Emily and Spencer battered and bruised. Their bodies bore the injuries home like unwelcome souvenirs; she, a black eye and a fractured rib, while scrapes and burns decorated his body. Eventually, scars formed, and bruises faded yellow. But Spencer’s most annoying injury was his wrist, a seemingly innocuous ache having taken the brunt of his fall. But still—

“It could’ve been worse,” she told him.

Unable to watch the way she cradled his swollen wrist, Spencer opted to stare out the window overlooking a barren parking lot. It was 6am. Clinics were typically booked weeks in advance, but Derek had told him about his own physiotherapist — one who was flexible with scheduling, reliable, and most importantly, sympathetic to the necessary risks of a job.

Though, in the moment, Spencer questioned Derek’s definition of reliable. He hissed when she gently turned his hand. The pain prompted an unusually candid reaction from him: “But it’s my dominant hand. And I have paperwork.”

Something about his comment amused her. The mortification crept in slow as he registered the inflection of his words. Spencer had whined. It was nasally and childish — and now undoubtedly part of her first impression of him.

He tucked his bottom lip between teeth to suppress a pout.

She snickered. “Are you unfamiliar with a keyboard, Doctor?”

Spencer spotted the first pair of headlights pulling into the vacant lot. “Prefer a pen and paper, s’all,” he grumbled.

She dubiously hummed, “uh huh,” before pushing his sleeve further up his arm. Spencer tensed from the unexpected contact, but the mild discomfort was trumped by a spark of pain in his wrist. With the way the tendons in his hands jumped under his skin, she noticed and offered a mumbled apology.

From her experience, Spencer resembled touch-averse patients. He had, in fact, initially rejected her attempt at a handshake. But what bothered her about Spencer was his determination to silently suffer through the necessary contact. Maybe it was pride or hyperrationality that drove him to cross his own boundaries around social etiquette. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t doing him any good. She needed a way to sow a little trust in him, an approach to reassure him that nothing had to be at expense of his physical comfort.

Despite having never met Spencer before this morning, a detailed and likely biased image of him had been painted for her during Derek’s multiple visits over the years. She just wished Derek would’ve maybe painted a physical description of his colleague because, considering how much she knew about the social shortcomings and extraordinary intelligence, he really buried the lede.

So how does one put a socially awkward yet unassumingly handsome individual at ease?

“I’m sure the FBI could get you a pretty young intern to, y’know,” her eyes flicked to his face, “help with paperwork.”

For the first time since Spencer had hopped onto the examination table, he held her gaze. It was unintentional, spurred by surprise more than anything. He saw her playfulness and reacted with a curt glance away, hoping his skin didn’t feel as warm as he perceived it to be.

Yeah, he could see why Derek liked her so much.

“I don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”

She turned her attention back to his hand, but still asked, “Hm? What am I implying?” Rhetorical or not, Spencer was prepared to deliver a berating when she interrupted him. “Does this hurt?”

Spencer didn’t find himself grimacing in anticipation. In fact, there was a second where he saw her hand, so small, unable to wrap the circumference of his forearm, and he was captured by a sense of wonderment. Then, she dug her small and delicate thumb into a tendon and he yelped.

It took a lot to not yank his hand away.

“Ow! Yeah, that hurts!” Spencer jerked his arm to the side. Not enough to break from her hold, but more so to disrupt her examination in a fit of childish retaliation.

Despite causing Spencer pain, her shoulders shook with a chuckle, and it paused him. Her laugh was untethered. Charming. It wasn’t burdened by the need to appear impartial or stoic. Even her eyes wrinkled with it.

The only certainty Spencer could untangle from the knot in his stomach was that he wasn’t being laughed at.

She gently gripped his fingers, and again, he was moved to draw a comparison between them; how his four fingers alone, from index to pinky, spanned larger than her palm. It stirred something much less innocent than a mere blush, soon exacerbated when she began to smooth her other hand over his forearm, massaging the spot where she had weeded out the pain. Spencer held his breath.

Being physically soothed was an unfamiliar experience for him.

And as much as Spencer tried to remind himself that this was just her job, he latched onto the idea that touch could come this easy. With a little practice, maybe.

The apology from her was more genuine this time, though a smile still teased at the corner of her lips. “M’sorry. Again.”

The examination table was just tall enough for Spencer’s legs to dangle, allowing him the rare opportunity to lazily kick his feet without touching the ground. It was a juvenile delight, likely borne from afternoons alone on park swings. It was also the closest thing he had to fidgeting at the moment.

She gave his hand and forearm one final squeeze, a sensation that was barely there, before she released him and went to search her desk. Spencer hurriedly unrolled his wrinkled sleeve and returned his hand to the safety of his lap, though she was too preoccupied with scribbling onto a pad of paper to see his flustered movement.

The scratching of a pen nib continued as she asked Spencer, “Would you like to see me again?” At his silence, her head perked up to look at him. “For...an appointment,” she clarified. “Because I can refer you to another physiotherapist if you’d like.”

Spencer squinted at her from across the room. His legs were still swinging. “Why would I see someone else?”

“I don’t know. Say, if there’s a more convenient location for you, or...,” she trailed, smirking, “...or if you don’t like me very much. Things like that.”

His eyes fell to his lap, his cheeks warm, and his legs kicking with more force. “Your clinic is on the way to work. And you’re fine.”

“Oh, I’m just fine?”

She had already returned to writing when he his head snapped up.

“I just meant th-that you’re perfectly acceptable as a physical therapist,” he huffed, though stunned by the fact that someone beyond his team was comfortable enough to press his buttons. “And Derek speaks highly of you, so...”

A sheet was torn from the pad before she returned to Spencer.

“Ah, right, Derek,” she sighed a little dreamily. Folding the slip of paper thrice, she lamented in jest, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Tell him to get hurt, will ya?”

Spencer accepted the paper without comment, shoving it into his front pocket.

There was an old irritation festering in him, one that developed over years of watching swathes of people swoon over Derek. But Spencer figured out the root of his annoyance long ago. It wasn’t about the amount of attention directed toward Derek, but rather, how blatantly people signaled their interest in him. There was no shame to openly wanting Derek.

If his cold reaction was obvious, she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes lit up. “Oh, which reminds me! Since you work with Derek, I’m assuming you have the same crazy schedule as him. So – and please know that I do this for everyone – I’m open to house calls. Y’know, if the commute’s ever an issue, or if it’s a weird time of day – any reason, really.”

Which was shocking, to say the least. And suspicious. Neither of which was remedied when she included, “Weather permitting, and if I’m free, of course. My number’s on the paper.”

As if that cleared anything up.

“I’ll be fine, thank you. But you haven’t told me what’s wrong with my wrist yet.”

Her mouth fell open, just a little, staring back at him owlishly. She finally slapped a hand over her face and began to giggle. Spencer was at a loss for words, unsure of the social protocol for dealing with a) likely the most unprofessional health practitioner he’d ever encountered, and b) someone very, very cute.

When her hand fell away, Spencer noticed how the friction had rubbed her cheeks red. She gave him a lopsided grin, saying, “God, sorry. Again, for like the third time. It’s just a little early for me.”

And Spencer really couldn’t fault her for that.

. . .

Turns out, it wasn’t just his wrist. The injury somehow extended from his knuckles to the tendons in his forearm, and after idly flexing his hand around while on his way to work, Spencer decided that yeah, everything did in fact hurt.

“If it isn’t my twelfth favourite doctor!” Penelope chirped from Derek’s chair. The rightful owner of that chair was propped against his desk, also beaming.

Heading for his desk, Spencer returned the smile, albeit a bit confused. “Twelfth? There’s only ten incarnations, Garcia.”

“Duh, but I’m not only talking about–”

Derek raised a hand, desperately pleading, “It is eight in the morning, you absolute lunatics. Do not start.”

A coy look was traded between the two, but they respected their friend’s request and put a pin in the exchange.

Taking a sip from his mug, Derek casually asked, “So? How was therapy this morning?”

But it was almost too casual. It was just the right amount of half-hearted interest. Anyone else might’ve missed it had the question not been directed to Spencer.

Dropping his bag onto his desk, Spencer groaned, “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Penelope and Derek shared a look before the latter shrugged with an air of nonchalance. “What’re you talking about, Reid?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, expecting the conversation to be like pulling teeth. And perhaps, if it was only Derek, that might’ve been true, but Penelope was positively vibrating in her seat.

Spencer grimly started, “Derek, she’s we–”

“Pretty!”

Penelope bit down on a finger to stop herself, though the outburst was irreversible, and she didn’t appear all that embarrassed about it.

Spencer expected to feel triumphant about the revelation — about unearthing Derek’s plan so early, but instead, he was just tired. Penelope and Derek were the worst about finding Spencer a significant other. Not that either of them ever overstepped, but they were just persistent. And mischievous.

“Yes, Penelope,” Spencer muttered, collapsing into his seat, “she is pretty. But she’s also weird.” He glared at the smirking matchmaker.

“To be clear, she is who I see for physio,” Derek explained. “But yeah, she’s a little weird and a lot pretty — which I thought might shake up your morning, pretty boy, but I’m not trying to set you up here.” He held up three fingers and sternly said, “Scout’s honor.”

Spencer folded his arms. As far as he could tell, Derek was telling the truth.

“Okay, but house calls, Derek? What’s that about?”

Scandalized, Penelope gasped, turning to jab at Derek’s side. He swatted her away while she parroted, “House calls?!”

“Wh– yes, yes! House calls!” Derek admitted easily. “She does it for everyone who works unusual hours!”

“Oh, so you mean you?” Spencer scoffed.

Derek retorted, now exasperated, “Yeah Reid, and also nurses, truckers, flight attendants – pretty much anyone who doesn’t do nine-to-five! Including you.”

Spencer deflated, knowing there was no winning this. The options were to appear either foolish or ungrateful – neither of which were a good look. But before a reluctant apology could be offered, Penelope sprung out of Derek’s chair. Relief washed over Spencer as he recognized the modicum of professionalism she reserved only for their boss.

“Good morning, sir!”

Today was one of the rare occasions where their unit chief wasn’t the first one in the office. He gruffly and hastily greeted the bullpen before disappearing into his office. The sight of Hotch reminded Spencer about the paper scratching through his pocket and the vague explanation from this morning: “Oh, remember to give Agent Hotchner that doctor’s note. Might help to lighten all that burdensome paperwork.”

Watching as JJ swept Derek and Penelope into a hushed conversation to speculate about their boss’ tardiness, Spencer dug the paper out, spinning around to flatten the note against his desk. In the milliseconds it took Spencer to read it, he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t blindly delivered the paper to Hotch.

He went to ball up the note and chuck it into the recycling, but a phone number was scribbled at the top of the page, one that didn’t appear to be the clinic’s official number and was accompanied by strokes that spelt out: For HCs – text first please!

Making loose deductions about strangers always felt invasive and reckless to Spencer, but it was different with graphology. Handwriting was tactile, so wholly honest about an individual’s personality and state of mind. And at a glance, he noted the contrast of her wide, sharp letters printed with featherlight pressure – in green ink, no less. It was an intriguing sample, purely in a graphological sense.

This was what Spencer told himself as he slipped the so-called prescription into a drawer of miscellaneous items. This was what he told himself because otherwise, it’d be silly to keep it.

Because it was nonsense and ridiculous and it made him smile for the remainder of the morning.

Right arm: sprained wrist + injury of major knuckles + unusual tension/pain of tendons extending from forearm to hand.

Use of arm should be avoided, including writing, use of firearms, driving, etc. For work, please see that Spencer receives accommodations such as assistive technology (ie speech-to-text), or an assistant/intern – preferably blonde, pretty & efficient.

(& good w/ her hands)

. . .

Derek wasn’t kidding when he mentioned her flexibility with a patient’s hectic work life. No, no house calls were made over the course of the month, but Spencer found himself in the clinic at absurd hours of the morning or late in the evenings.

“Did you know that you’re my favourite patient?” she cooed as he passed her a paper cup. Few people would’ve been so gracious to receive caffeine at 10pm on a Wednesday night, but she seemed to be powered by the stuff. It’s why after the second appointment, Spencer began to order an extra coffee while on his way to physio, carrying the two cups to the clinic in a tray. He discovered she was punctual, but always at the cost of the minutes required to dash around the corner for something that wasn’t instant mix.

Amused, Spencer pressed his lips into thin line before quipping, “Not that it earns me any favours.”

She took a long, deep sip from her cup. Spencer tried to ignore the length of her throat when she gulped.

“Well, you haven’t tried to cash in any favours yet, have you?”

He pursed his lips, feigning annoyance, while in reality, his more honest reaction was the heat beneath his collar. The word yet lingered.

Before Spencer could reply, she placed her coffee down and slid closer to him on a rolling stool. With her hands folded in her lap, she inquired, “Have you been doing the exercises?”

Spencer’s wrist was the first to heal. It was, unexpectedly, his forearm that continued to bother him with its dull ache and propensity for fatigue. On more than one occasion, his grip had fallen limp, leaving a number of items to drop from his hand. Hotch eventually forbode him from writing on whiteboards — which sucked more than Spencer would’ve liked to admit.

“Yes, regularly and exactly as instructed,” Spencer nodded.

“Good boy,” she praised with grin. He rolled his eyes, but peevishly and so conspicuously, he hid a blush.

It was merciful of her to spare him the teasing, choosing instead to officially begin their appointment by asking, “Do you remember what I suggested for today?”

Nervously, Spencer eyed the box sat beside him on the examination table. Anyone might’ve guessed that a rabid animal was inside the box with the way it made him squirm. “Uh, y-yeah.”

She drew his attention back to her with a soft hum of his name. When he glanced up from beneath his lashes, she smiled with enough reassurance for two. “I know some people think it’s hokey, but I’ve done it for years. You’ll be okay with me. And if you hate it— no, if you’re even lukewarm about it, we won’t ever do it again.”

Spencer froze. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘okay’ because what would he even be saying it to? There was a larger sentiment buried in her nesting of promises. All he knew was that any ‘okay’ he returned would have to be confident. Monumental, even.

So, Spencer did what he always did when he lacked his own words. He rambled.

“Many people still look down on Eastern medical practices today, but it would be remiss of Western medicine to not attempt an understanding of treatments and theories developed before the common era, especially through the recontextualization of what they consider to be pseudoscientific language and concepts. Personally, I think it’s just a matter of translation th-that’s an...,” he paused when he saw the gentle tilt of her head, revealing an attentiveness that was as warm as it was patient.

Spencer’s self-consciousness manifested as a choked laugh. He gave up the string of facts that he’d begun to unravel, and instead, meekly asked, “And if it does?” He cleared his throat before specifying, “Uh, hurts. If it hurts, I mean.”

She fleetingly felt astonished by his ability to leave a thought unfinished, particularly when it seemed to burst from him like a dam breached.

Cracking open the box to reveal its contents, she kindly teased, “Then I’ll let ya poke me back.”

Spencer peered into the box and cringed. He wasn’t afraid of needles, per se. Quite the opposite, in fact. But acupuncture? All the research and encouragement in the world couldn’t prepare him for the idea of multiple needles prodding into his flesh, and then being left there.

He jumped when she stood up to move the box to a cart. She laughed before instructing, “Lay down for me, please?”

Spencer almost leapt again when she accidentally bumped his knee with the side of her hip. Groaning, he managed an incredulous, “why?”

“What, would you rather watch me jab you twelve times?”

“Twelve?!” he squeaked, though he succumbed to her direction and the daydream of a faster recovery. Still, when he twisted his torso to kick his feet up and lie down, it was reminiscent of a beetle on its back, left to writhe and wriggle, completely vulnerable. His eyes focused on the speckled ceiling.

She pushed his sleeve further up, and he prayed she wouldn’t comment on anything she saw. Which she didn’t. Instead, there was the cold sensation of disinfectant on his arm.

Her voice was melodic when she sought his attention, softly crooning, “Hey, Spencer?” He turned his head follow her voice, to which he was rewarded with soft eyes. “What were you saying earlier, about it being a matter of translation?”

Something crumpled in Spencer’s chest. He pushed aside the irrational image of his ribcage collapsing like a cave-in. He watched her return to work, dazed and unable to pinpoint which part of him was giddier and more dumbstruck by her prompt – his brain or his heart. The two organs sped off anyway; his brain, churning out facts by rote, and his heart, desperately trying to leap out of his chest.

Too eager to share (“See, when you compare the Eastern belief of ‘hot’ and ‘cold’ air in the body, its descriptions are almost identical to how our bodies react to acidity! And with meridian lines...”), Spencer was unaware of the first needle breaking skin.

. . .

Twice a week became weekly. Weekly became biweekly. Biweekly became whenever Spencer took a spill while on the job or when he held his mug a little funny. Bodies are fickle little things, after all.

Almost half a year had passed since the case at Liberty Ranch. Spencer’s wrist was on the trajectory of recovery, and for times of inflammation, he knew exactly how to care for himself. He knew what to avoid doing and which exercises were appropriate for each type of pain. He thought less and less about the injury and that in itself was a success. By all accounts, Spencer was ready to bid physical therapy farewell and move on.

And to his dismay, even she thought so.

Spencer was escorting her across the parking lot to her car when she cheerily stated, “Our next appointment should be our last, just for a final round of acupuncture. Unless of course, you’re caught in another explosion.”

Spencer stopped as they reached the driver side door, awkwardly shuffling his feet against the gravel. Had she not been clawing through her bag in search of her keys, she might’ve caught the disappointment crammed into Spencer’s two syllables of, “Really?”

She retrieved the jingling keyring and looked back up at Spencer, giving him an enthusiastic nod. “Of course! You’re almost in tiptop shape.”

And she sounded so proud. Proud enough to have Spencer grinning back and joking, “No thanks to you.”

She splayed a hand over her chest, gawking at him with mock offense. The sternness was weak in her voice as she reprimanded, “Spencer, that’s rude,” but her laughter spilled over. He eventually joined in, the sound of their delight echoing across an empty parking lot at the crest of dawn.

Anyway. That was over a month ago.

A lot could be blamed on serial killers, but no matter how many times Spencer convinced himself serial killers were to blame for this, it simply wasn’t true. This being the constant rescheduling of his final appointment with her. Guilt slowly ate away at him each time he texted her to postpone the inevitable end, largely because her responses were always kind and curious.

It was no surprise that Spencer finally caved after their latest exchange.

This time, his own message spun a loose lie about the team needing to leave ASAP (lie) for Boulder, Colorado (true) to profile a serial arsonist (true), and he suspected they’d be back in a week (lie).

After hitting send, Spencer couldn’t help but scroll through her half of the conversation, reading the text messages like childhood Valentine’s cards from a shoebox under the bed. Messages like:

Where to this time?

Enjoy the weather!

Don’t get into any fist fights :-)

Blegh, tell me less. Wait wait wait! Explain what peacocking is first.

Oooh, let me find the address for this amaaaazing taco place.

None of them were tonally romantic, but they weren’t entirely innocuous either. He wondered if they were toeing the line to something more friendly, perhaps even more permanent. And boy, did she muddle that line further with her latest response.

The team wasn’t actually taking off until the morning, so when his phone pinged with a new message, Spencer hesitated to read it from the warmth of his bed.

The self-restraint lasted all but a minute.

Gosh, it’s like you DON’T enjoy holding my hand while I repeatedly stab you.

It took a second to click. Spencer smothered his face into his pillow, a frustrated groan escaping his mouth. What was he supposed to say to that? He could read twenty-thousand words per minute, but unfortunately, this gift did not extend to writing. It was one of many reasons for why he hated texting.

The sentence went through an inordinate number of rewrites until Spencer hit send, responding, I admittedly do not hate it as much as I initially did.

Her reply was near instant. Holding my hand or being stabbed?

It bothered him, knowing she was probably lounging around her home while conversing with him – all while believing him to be boarding a plane. But adoration was a good cure-all for overthinking, and Spencer became fixated on the idea that this was almost certainly what it felt like to be passing notes with your crush during class.

Spencer typed back, Being stabbed, obviously.

Her response was less hasty this time. The message was composed of the single word and emoticon – Weirdo :-). Granted, it wasn’t a lot to work with, so Spencer began to systematically consider appropriate responses, approaching it as a game of textual and possibly flirtatious chess. It ultimately didn’t matter however, because his phone buzzed again.

Well don’t get into too much trouble and please make it home safe! Lest you deprive me of one final session to stab my favourite patient.

The words came easier to Spencer this time.

Thank you. I’ll see you as soon as I’m back on Virginian soil.

Only, it didn’t occur to Spencer that he hadn’t meant it in the context of rescheduling a medical appointment. He just really wanted to see her.

. . .

And when the jet smoothly touched down after three days away, Spencer wanted to stay true to his word.

Emily offered to drive him on account of his dominant hand being restricted by medical tape. Well, his fingers at least, but it still made carrying his go-bag a challenge.

“So,” Emily drawled, navigating his apartment with ease to drop his duffle onto his desk, “are you gonna contact her?”

Spencer busied himself by cautiously shucking his coat, which his teammate more than happily stood by to observe.

He had to actively unclench his jaw before innocently asking, “Who?”

“Uh, the only person you regularly see who isn’t us,” Emily smugly droned. She walked back over to Spencer, where he was now hanging up his scarf with his back to her. He was forced to look at her when she leaned up against his front door, goading, “The person who’s been taking care of you for six months.”

He did everything in his power to maintain their eye contact despite his cheeks warming.

Emily was prone to teasing Spencer like the rest of the team, but rarely did she revel in his discomfort. Spencer happened to be at his most transparent while happy, and that was when she liked to toy with him. It was genuinely pleasing to see moments where he became bashful about good things, things that he deserved.

Weakly, Spencer retorted with a blink, “Because she’s paid to care for me.” He figured lying was his best bet at this point – because he had in fact already texted her upon his arrival. Still, he relented with a dishonest grumbling. “I don’t know. I’ll reach out in the morning, I guess.”

Emily brushed by him to pat down his coat from where it hung. He watched curiously as she reached into a pocket while scolding, “Spence, I just saw you neck half a pot of coffee on the plane. It might as well be morning for you.”

Perhaps with a little too much force, she slapped his phone against his chest. He fumbled his grip on it with his unhindered hand, barely managing to catch it.

“House call,” was all Emily said.

Spencer groaned. “How do you also know?!”

She chuckled, prepared to explain when three rapid knocks had them both flinching.

At the sight of Spencer’s horrified expression, it dawned on Emily before she even pried open the door.

A familiar voice greeted them with surprise. “Agent Prentiss!”

Emily welcomed her in with a sweeping gesture, subtly eyeing Spencer with something akin to pride. He glared back, but Emily’s attention shifted when the other woman reached for a handshake, one which Emily happily gave.

“Nice to see you again! Everything still going alright?”

Emily shrugged, unconsciously pressing the heel of her palm into her thigh. “Oh, you know. The cold weather doesn’t help, but I still follow the regimen we decided on.”

Ah. So, it was possible that Spencer owed Derek an apology. Maybe Derek did recommend his physiotherapist to anyone who needed it. There was a relief to that, but also an aftertaste of disappointment. Meeting her hadn’t been special after all. In fact, almost his entire team seemed to be acquainted with her already.

Spencer didn’t even know about Emily sustaining a leg injury.

With intrigue, he watched the conversation unfold, squinting at the easy body language and humour shared between the two. It was...cordial, but still professional. The interaction even concluded in a timely manner, Emily being sent off with, “Well, you’ve got my number if it ever acts up.”

“I might take you up on that,” Emily grimaced. She stepped into the hall with a lazy wave. “I won’t take up anymore of Dr. Reid’s precious time with you,” she spoke, though Spencer caught the inkling of mischief in her tone. Any credit Spencer was willing to grant Emily for subtlety was chucked out the window when she had the gall to wink at the two of them before descending the stairs.

He shut the door a little too loudly, his body now thrumming with frenetic energy. It was an odd concoction of respite from Emily’s teasing mixed with nerves from finally seeing her again after a month. He tried to stoke the courage he found on the plane, the one that amounted to him asking for a house call, but to no avail.

She set down a large rectangular bag, oblivious to Spencer’s internal meltdown. Oblivious to how much worse she made it when she spotted his taped hand and reached out to cradle it for examination, letting slip a soft, “oh no...”

Spencer shouldn’t have been surprised when she asked him, “Are you okay?” because it’s not like the question fell beyond the realm of her medical responsibility, but it was difficult to not mistake it for something more personal when she peered at him with wide, concerned eyes.

“I-I’m fine. Just fired my weapon a few times, and uh, it hurt my fingers? That’s never happened before, but...,” Spencer swallowed when she took to unravelling the tape, “...Derek helped me buddy tape them.”

She lightheartedly tutted, “For someone who played college football, he’s surprisingly bad at it,” while balling up the strips of adhesive. Spencer held his breath as she delicately folded and stroked his fingers, occasionally asking him if something hurt.

Finally, she concluded, “Just a little swollen. The soreness should go away in a few days. Nothing serious.”

It wasn’t a proud moment when Spencer almost pouted as she released his hand.

Taking in Spencer’s apartment for the first time, she asked, “Where can we sit?”

“Right, um. Do you want me sitting or l-lying down?”

“Lying down, if possible. But sitting’s also fine.”

Spencer quickly realized how unaccommodating his apartment was to another person. Sure, his home was cozy, but it wasn’t inviting or ideal for company. The only areas where he could really lie down were his bed, his bathtub, and his couch.

Spencer pictured himself horizontal on his bed with her hovering at his side, stroking his arm and holding his hand. That was a slippery slope.

Then he imagined the bathtub and almost combusted.

“The couch,” he croaked. “I’ll uh, drag over a chair.”

“No need,” she chirped. “Mind if I hang my coat up?”

Spencer gave her a small nod, taking advantage of her brief distraction to move the bag of supplies over to the couch.

“Um, a-are you sure you don’t want a chair? Because–”

At the sight of him lugging her things, she rushed over just as he placed it on the coffee table, chastising, “Sit! Rest!”

Spencer was overwhelmingly taken by the way she pried his fingers from the handle of the bag despite it being his uninjured hand; she uncurled his fingers, delicately and one by one.

It was too honest when he bashfully mumbled, “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

It took her head tilting up for Spencer to grasp how close they were standing. His heart picked up as she clasped his one hand between her two. Their proximity didn’t seem to phase her because she scoffed at him in disbelief, giving him a squeeze before sarcastically remarking, “Yeah, because catching criminals for a living isn’t helpful enough.”

In a blink, she released him and spun around to unpack her bag. Spencer was frozen, his hand still poised midair. His lack of movement was apparent however, because she loosely gestured behind her, sternly directing him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

And it was the strangest thing. Their appointment progressed as if they were back at the clinic; Spencer pointed her to the kitchen where she could wash her hands before he hunkered down on his couch. She planted herself on the carpet beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world, beginning to clean his arm as she posed a familiar question: “What will I be learning about today, Dr. Reid?”

He hummed, staring at his ceiling. “Nothing today.”

“Oh?” she responded with a quirked brow. There was the sound of a needle being unpackaged. “Really? Nothing?”

“Mhm, really,” Spencer echoed, though his next thought was stalled by the sensation of the first prick. He would usually be a lungful into an ad hoc lecture by now. Wriggling his nose at the lack of distraction, he stated, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation before.”

Another prick. “You don’t think? You mean you don’t remember?” she teased.

“Okay fine,” he yielded with a stiff chuckle. “We have definitively never had a conversation during a session. It’s always just been me, going off on a– sss...,” he sharply inhaled when a muscle reflexively twitched at a jab. He finished lamely, “...a tangent. It’s always me on a tangent.”

She ran a delicate finger over his skin, seeking out the next spot. “And you don’t think that’s by design?”

“Um, no.” Spencer probed, “But is it?”

“Sorta.” She shrugged, explaining, “Just don’t think I have anything interesting to talk about. Especially when it’s a conversation with a certified genius who already knows everything.”

The last word was punctuated by another prick. Spencer hardly felt it, caught up by the implications of what she had just shared.

He scoffed. “So, what – you think the sole reason to have a conversation is to learn something?”

“Well, broadly speaking, it’s to exchange information, so yeah. But it sounds stupid when you put it like that...”

There was a pang of guilt. Spencer hadn’t intended on making her feel like that. His uninjured hand, resting flat on his chest, began to arrhythmically tap. It was the most movement he was willing to risk.

“Fine. Then tell me about yourself.”

Maybe it was the rasp in his voice that made him seem disingenuous, an embarrassing result of his nerves drying his mouth, because her hands continued to move. Unphased, she let out a dubious, “mhm, okay then.”

“I’m serious,” he frowned. “I think your coffee order’s told me more about you than anything you’ve actually said.”

She returned a snicker at the exaggeration and little else, swiftly tapping the final needle into his skin.

During any other appointment, Spencer might’ve left it alone, but tonight, she was in his home with finite time. So, he pushed a little harder, softly asking, “Please? You know how antsy I get if I’m not distracted.”

And it wasn’t necessarily a lie.

A moment of contemplation passed before he heard a jokingly exasperated huff. Spencer craned his neck to the side, watching as she scooted herself directly in front of him. With Spencer lying on the couch and her seated on the ground, they were at eye level.

She smiled sweetly, offering him a plain, “Hello.”

Spencer returned the greeting with a bashful, goofy grin.

“Y’know...,” she trailed, “you make it sound like I’m the one withholding information about myself, but it’s not like I know that much more about you.”

“You raise a very fair point,” Spencer chuckled. It was – and he knew the hypocrisy of it – entirely purposeful on his part, though their reasons differed; because while she believed herself unable to contribute to a meaningful conversation with a walking encyclopedia, Spencer feared revealing something that would give her reason to dislike him.

“Indeed, I do raise a fair point,” she firmly nodded. “So, why don’t I ask you a question, and then you can ask me a question?”

Spencer gaped, sputtering a laugh. “You can’t just turn this around on me!”

“I absolutely can! And I just did,” she triumphantly smirked.

Spencer reined in his glee, doing his best impression of concern. “Is this a cry for help? Because no one in their right mind would listen to me for thirty-two weeks – and then encourage me to speak more.”

Of course, it was a joke, but there was an edge to Spencer’s tone that resonated oddly with her. When her eyes darted away, he grew worried, an apology without reason already at the tip of his tongue. The only thing that stopped him was the soft blush that coloured her cheeks, and then the hurried way she brushed her hair behind her ears. Spencer had never seen her so...demure before. His lip almost trembled at the sight, unable to remember his next words.

She was on the brink of a nervous giggle when she confessed, “You make everything interesting, Spencer.”

The sentence was simple, but one that was thoughtfully pieced together. It was as heavy for her to say as it was for him to hear.

“I know you wanted to ask the first question, but, uh. May I?”

The non sequitur surprised her, jolting out a shaky, “S-Sure, of course.”

“Could you please take the needles out?”

Her timid expression smoothed into the professional demeanor that Spencer was more accustomed to. When she moved back down to his arm, he released a shaky breath and chanced a look at her.

She bit her lip, entirely focused on his arm as she began to deftly pluck out the intrusions to his skin. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “did they start to bother you? Did something hurt?”

The needles dully clattered in the biohazard bin she’d also brought. Awe passed over his features as he watched her perform all this with steady hands and in under thirty seconds flat. She looked back at him from where she kneeled and mistook his distant and glazed look for discomfort.

Placing a tentative hand on his bicep, she grounded his attention with her fretting. “Are you okay, Spencer? Can I get you some water? Soda? Do you want to sit up?”

Spencer prayed this wasn’t merely professional concern because he shifted onto his side and moved the hand from his chest to her cheek, his heart thrumming at how still she’d become. He stroked the angle of her cheekbone with his thumb and watched her eyes grow round. The grip on his bicep tightened.

Then she removed her hand and dropped her eyes.

He drew back his arm.

As Spencer scanned her downturned face and expression, he thought about how emotions influenced behaviour and how it greatly varied from person to person. But through his work, he learned that displays of guilt were the most consistent across the spectrum of people. He saw it in criminals, victims, witnesses, himself – and now her.

Spencer pushed himself up on the couch, ignoring the careless pressure he applied to his slightly swollen fingers. She started to protest, and whether it was in reaction to his departure or the mistreatment of his injury, he wasn’t sure.

“That was–,” he interrupted her, “um, I overstepped. I’m sorry.” The other end of his couch, the side furthest from her, welcomed his weight. “Let’s just forget it. I’m going to, er– no, I just mean that you’ve been great. I’ve appreciated your help over the past few months.”

If he wasn’t so caught up in his own panic, he would’ve seen her internal conflict bubble over in the form of a palm pressed into the warm leather where he’d just been.

Spencer’s smile was thin and forced. “So yeah, thanks. It’s been a– um, been a pleasure.”

Her lips mimicked his overexerted smile, and she returned his tense glance. Only, the façade felt impossible to maintain for her. Spencer was anxiously backed into the corner of his couch in his own home, and she had done that.

Scrambling onto the couch herself (knees sunk into where it was still warm from him), she managed, “Spencer...,” before he cut her off again.

“Y-You don’t have to say whatever you’re...about to say.”

“Spencer,” she tried again, lifting her hand for him to shake, “I just wanted to say it was also a pleasure.”

It was strikingly reminiscent of their first meeting; how Spencer had rebuffed her handshake, and how she mercilessly teased him for a minute because his presence at the clinic was solely to seek physical therapy for his hand. In jest, she made a show of washing her hands, but he had never expressed his gratitude for how she still asked to touch him before the first examination. And how she continued to ask and check in with him every appointment without fail, up until the point when their days together crept toward the double digits and Spencer had assured her that such diligence was no longer necessary.

Staring at her hand now, Spencer thought it to be bittersweet because a handshake would be the most appropriate way to conclude their stint of a relationship. But he always had a knack for jumping the gun while nervous.

Out of habit, Spencer reached forward with his uninjured hand. Her fingers twitched at the sight of his left hand mirroring her right, clearly incompatible.

Spencer grew flustered by the fact that he’d somehow managed to screw up a simple handshake, but she seized the opportunity. She slipped her fingers into his palm and turned his hand over, her thumb running over the hills and valleys of his knuckles. For the briefest of moments, he thought she might kiss the back of his hand, and his cheeks burned brighter.

“Sorry,” he hurriedly reasoned, “that was...incredibly odd. I’ve just grown used to using my left hand by default.”

“It’s okay,” she giggled. The accumulated awkwardness from the past few minutes was unable to taint her laugh. Spencer was thinking about how he’d miss the joyous sound just as she reassured him, “It’s nice. And warm.”

Her sincerity was devastating. He’d have to miss that as well. What else about her had he grown attached to?

Spencer spent so long with his hand in hers, trying his best to memorize every quality of her personhood, that he forgot to conceal any of his desire. It gave him away so quickly. Arguably more quickly than when he’d cradled her face in his palm minutes ago – an action that was imbued with ambiguity and indecisiveness because of how she felt him tremble. But this stare? She saw it for the simple and unadulterated want that it was – and it undid her hours of careful consideration.

Gingerly, she dropped their hands onto the leather between them, though their fingers remained in contact.

With a level voice, she asserted, “I believe I’m still owed a question.”

It snapped Spencer out of his impossible endeavor to somehow archive her in his mind. She squirmed as he took a considerable amount of time to think on her demand, squinting suspiciously at her. And yet, the corner of his lips twitched at the idea that she wasn’t leaving right away.

“Okay,” he nodded, “shoot.”

Her question was spring loaded, tumbling out immediately.

“Can I kiss you?”

Spencer stared at her, ears warm and mouth ajar. Her stomach knotted.

The accompanying warmth of his hand disappeared from her grasp, but only so he could motion her closer with a curl of his fingers. Softly, he mumbled, “C’mere.”

To which she obeyed with speed and fervor.

Spencer looped his arm around her waist as she clambered toward him, pulling her into his lap. They might as well have been touching for the first time. Months of sly handholding and calming strokes along his arm couldn’t have prepared either of them for how they melted into each other with such immediacy.

Ever the good patient, Spencer left his hurt arm slung along the back of the couch, but he made sure to compensate with his single arm as it wrapped even tighter around her. She gasped not because of how they slotted together, but because he’d snuck his fingertips under her shirt, stroking patterns into her skin.

She took it upon herself to elicit a similar response from Spencer, which she accomplished easily with a hand at the nape of his neck and the other pressed flat against his chest, two fingers slipping into a gap between the buttons. She heard a sharp exhale, followed by a shudder. At her fingertips was skin and bone and muscle, everything alive and pulsing.

Glancing up, she realized Spencer was also watching her fingers disappear into his shirt.

His eyes slowly trailed up, lips parting when he saw the fierce blush creeping up her neck. She chased the wet flicker of his tongue.

Spencer was reluctant to open up at first. He had, after all, taken a brief nap on the jet before consuming an inhuman amount of coffee. But she was convincing – if convincing meant capitalizing on the moment she tugged on his hair to eke out a moan. The paranoia about how he tasted vanished as he felt her lick into his mouth, discovering they were one and the same, both afflicted by the lingering taste of bad coffee.

Despite the months of building tension, the kiss was languid and lazy on account of it being late in the evening, eventually tapering off into wet pecks and playful licks. The impulse to push their activities further crossed their minds, but they were also happy – satiated even, by their embrace alone.

Spencer comfortably slumped further into the couch, nuzzling into the crook of her neck as she remained straddling his lap. When she heard his voice muffled against her skin, she giggled. “What was that?”

“I said,” he enunciated with a kiss to her jaw before leaning back, “as much as I’m enjoying this, I can’t help but also feel like I’m receiving mixed signals.”

While there was no judgement in Spencer’s voice, she still winced at the fresh memory of Spencer dropping his hand from her cheek. There was no roundabout way to lie about her terribly lame and responsible reasoning.

“Have you ever crossed a line with a– oh, I don’t know. A witness before? Or victim, or something? While uh, on the job?”

Perplexed, Spencer squeaked out a guilty, “what?” before getting a handle on his pitch. Overly cool, he asked, “Are we still asking each other questions?”

That was a line of questioning to revisit later, she decided. But his glaringly obvious answer did wonders for her own nerves.

She smiled, embarrassed, but also the tiniest bit smug as she droned, “Okay, well I have never crossed that line before – unlike some people.” Spencer disrupted her with a roll of his eyes and a hard squeeze to her thigh that had them both laughing. “And...,” she chided, wrenching his hand away with a disapproving glare, but he took no offense as she guided his palm back to her waist. “...I wasn’t going to either.”

Spencer quirked a brow.

She sighed, trying to draw out her foolish little plan for him.

“I was going to come over and do my job, before maybe – and I seriously mean maybe – putting out some feelers for whether you...liked me or not.” Spencer broke into another grin, one that was so shamelessly self-gratifying that it moved her to blanket his mouth with her hand. In protest, he sharply exhaled through his nose, but it was all for show. If anything, Spencer appeared downright content to just exist in her hands – and it was an idea that made her shiver.

Her voice was scratchy as she pressed on.

“Then, I was going to be a responsible little worker. Y’know – trot on home, email the invoice to your insurance, and then mope in bed about a certain federal agent.” Spencer chuckled into her palm. “After, and only after an appropriate amount of time when you could no longer be considered a patient of mine, I might’ve called you. For dinner, or something.”

At the conclusion, she removed her hand to discover a small, endearing smile.

“I get it now,” Spencer said, peering up at her. For a moment, he reconsidered his next words because her eyes were so thoughtful, so curious. But seldom did anyone find him charming or funny, and he was excited to map out this newfound confidence with her.

And so, Spencer chose to smirk. “I get why you never spoke during our appointments, because my god, you don’t–” She gasped his name, barely holding her faux outrage together as she loosely grappled his collar. “– you don’t stop! I knew you were mouthy, but you almost overthink as much as I do!”

She shook him by the shirt, threatening, “Take it back!” as he continued to cackle.

Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t actually angry, or maybe it was his arm that hugged her closer, but the two eventually folded together in a fit of a laughter.

As they caught their breaths, she snuggled into his chest, and Spencer held her tight, her head tucked under his chin. Turning to press his cheek into her hair, he indulged in the scent of sweet florals in her hair, slightly baffled by how instinctive physical affection could be. Had he always been capable of this?

“I’m glad you didn’t follow through with your plan,” he sighed. “Because if you didn’t call...I don’t know if I could’ve.”

She chuckled into his chest. “Well, there was also a Plan B.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she playfully hummed, “especially since I do physio for, hm, basically your whole team.”

She turned her head upward just as Spencer scrunched his neck back to peer down at her.

“Could you quantify ‘basically your whole team’ for me?” he prodded.

A tempting smile slowly unfurled as she popped the ‘p’ in her curt, “Nope!” There was a glint in her eye. “Why? Is it not enough to know I’ve done house calls for Derek?” she teased. And while Spencer was decidedly not bothered, the way she bit her lip as her eyes wandered to his own mouth ignited him.

Spencer was hypnotized by her, nearly missing the quiet taunt. “Or would you say showing up at Agent Hotchner’s door is worse?” The mention of his boss easily captured his attention – with his jaw going limp at her salacious tone.

From the childish wiggle of her brows, Spencer knew it wasn’t to be taken seriously. Still, he relished in the flare of jealousy she had sparked. Considering his lack of dating life, this jealousy was new, and the prospect of this seemed to equally thrill her.

Which is why he softly pinched her chin between the fingers of the hand that had been out of commission for the better part of six months. She noticed, and with a knitted brow, began to warn him, but he didn’t give her the chance. She was docile at his utterance of, “Shut up,” feeling the words evaporate in her mouth.

Her chin was tugged forward, and between each whisper of, “mouthy, so mouthy,” Spencer nipped her lips plump and kissed them both quiet.

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Kaeya Alberich

Words: 3,162

Tws: General yandere content, Kaeya being a dick

Summary: You’ve been trying to avoid the Favonius captain. He’s convinced you’re unsafe without him. If you don’t believe that, he’ll prove it to you.

"Traveler."

Your muscles tensed. The hairs on your skin raised up. How?

You turned your head towards the voice, a strained smile across your face. "Captain Kaeya!" You pushed with all your effort to make your voice sound pleasantly surprised, excited, sing-songy in the way anyone who knew you would expect upon being greeted with a familiar face. "What are you doing so far out?" You said it so very playfully, casually, as if it was a casual conversation maker and not a genuine question that burned in your mind.

What the hell was he doing so far out of his jurisdiction? What need does he have to be out all the way in Liyue?

Why did he have to show up when you specifically went out of your way to avoid him?

"Oh, I was looking for you. Asked around. Heard you were hanging around the area," He said, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of you, effectively cornering you in your little spot in the corner of the small tavern. He smiled, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. "I just sent a couple knights out to look for you."

He made no effort to even try to hide it. He was completely shameless. That explained the Favonius knight that had appeared in the tavern earlier - you'd felt uneasy as you saw the man gaze around, halting when he made eye contact with you, before abruptly stepping out as quickly as he'd come in. You should have trusted your gut and left as soon as you could - but here you were.

When you'd first met Kaeya, you'd admired the young captain. He was brave, skilled, charming, and undeniably a very attractive man. His charisma made him a well-respected, well-liked person throughout Mondstadt, even if his reputation did include an arrogance that was just as well-known as his skill.

That was the issue - you'd noticed that trait, that one characteristic about the man that made you uneasy, that upset you so greatly that you had resolved to avoid him entirely. Well, three traits.

One, he was obsessive, clingy, attached to a degree far too unnatural for someone who had known you for such a short time.

Two, Kaeya was a little overly touchy. It was just on the border of your discomfort, too noticeable for you to feel okay with it, but too mild to feel justified in confronting him about it. Everywhere you went with him, you could always feel his hands somewhere on your person.

And three, Kaeya was perhaps the most condescending, self-righteous person you'd ever met. He was always, always right. You never knew what you were talking about. He always knew better. He was always smarter, you were always dumber. Or so he seemed to believe. You'd grown to be increasingly irked, insulted whenever he would treat you like some naive idiot, reminding you how you, some foreigner, had no grasp on reality in this world. Really, you were hopeless, you really should let him stay by your side, help your poor naive little self navigate the world, since you were so incapable on your own.

"Oh," you finally responded, snapping out of your thoughts, smile straining, trying to come up with some response to the utterly creepy truth he'd been so shameless to reveal. "Yeah, I came out here for a few days. Really, uh, pretty area."

"Mm. That it is. This place attracts a good deal of tourists," he tilted his head. "The route here is... Particularly dangerous, though. You didn't travel here all by yourself, did you?" His eye contact was unwavering, and you found yourself breaking away, opting to gaze downward. "Or were you... Accompanied?"

"Ah, I came here by myself," you answered. "I didn't encounter any dangers... Outside a few hilichurls."

"Hilichurls are responsible for quite a few deaths in the area. You shouldn't underestimate them," he remarked. "Really, that's an unwise decision, coming here alone... You really should have sought some protection."

"Oh, I'm pretty good with a sword. I can take care of myself."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Is that so?" His voice was amused. Condescending. As if you were a child, some little kid insisting on your competence. "I'm sure you'd fare well, if you found yourself surrounded by them. Or worse," his voice darkened, "some... Other forces. Plenty of bandits and other criminals walk the roads in the Mondstat region."

Isn't it your and your knights' job to deal with that?

"O-oh, I see. Well, it's a good thing I didn't run across any of those..."

"Yes, it is." The blunt statement left you feeling your stomach churn with awkward silence that followed. The undertone - the clear hint of frustration - of his voice made you shiver. "They could easily catch you off guard..."

You'd left Mondstadt almost solely to get away from him for a few days. You needed some respite. The irritation in you boiled over ever so slightly. "It's ok, I'm pretty sharp. I'm always on guard."

Since meeting him, Kaeya had been attached to you virtually every waking moment of the day - no, he insisted on being near when you slept, too. On the very day of your arrival, he'd insisted you sleep in the knight headquarters, despite how many times you repeated that an inn was perfectly suitable. It was safer, he claimed. Safest in the little spare room just down the hall from his own, where he could come check on you before you settled down for the night. The first time, you'd been startled, flushing as he stood in your door frame, thinking that the moment he realized you were barely clothed in your sleeping gown, he'd surely get flustered and leave, but he didn't, opting to talk to you for several minutes before turning away. That experience had been... uncomfortable.

He'd been everywhere you were, both inside of Mondstadt and, albeit a bit less, in the wilderness. You weren't even sure how he kept appearing exactly wherever you were - you'd be minding your own business, and a knight of Favonius would appear in your line of sight - soon after, Kaeya would always appear. No matter what time of day, no matter how far out you were, no matter what you wore or who you were with. Even if you had other people in a party with you, he insisted on showing up, as he claimed, for your safety. Sure, you had other companions that could try to guard you, but really, were they any valid comparison for a swordsman of his caliber?

You didn't need them, he could easily be more than enough, surpass any other companions you could take with you.

"Excuse me miss," a waitress approached. Oh no. "Did you and your friend need anything else?"

You knew what was coming, but he moved to speak before you could, snapping his head towards the woman. "No. Could you kindly leave us alone?"

The poor girl's eyes widened. "O-of course. My apologies." She quickly scurried off.

You'd never seen him be anything short of rude, even downright nasty, towards anyone that entered his presence. Somehow, you felt that he likely wasn't like that when it was just him - he was too clearly well-liked to be so rude all the time.

"Anyhow," he turned back to you, "I came here primarily to fetch you... Extremely important matters happening back in Mondstadt. That bard is looking for you. Something about Stormterror?"

Oh. That changed things.

"Something's wrong with him?"

"Mhm. Apparently so, but I don't have any details. Your assistance is needed immediately, apparently. Come," he smiled again, rising and extending his hand, "I'll take you back."

It shouldn't bother you - you should be grateful. You should simply sigh, and acknowledge that even if he was clingy, even if he was unnecessarily protective, there was nothing wrong here, there was nothing about the situation that should give you the feeling that it did.

It was a weight in your stomach, a twisting in your gut. Something instinctive, something in your deepest, most primal senses, was set off, a chill seeping through your blood. An innate sense in your very core that directed your actions, told you to get away.

But your trained sense of social decency rejected such an idea. He was being gracious, kind, helpful, and although he might put you at unease sometimes, Kaeya was known for being an upstanding person. And besides, logically, someone who seemed to like you so much wouldn't do anything to harm you.

You realized that you had frozen in place, briefly lost in your thoughts. He cocked his head. "Something the matter...?"

"N-no! No, I'm fine, I'm coming," you stood hurriedly, pushing the chair back as you did. "Thank you, Captain Kaeya."

He hummed in approval. "Of course. What kind of knight would I be, letting a defenseless girl wander back alone?" He paused. "I'll always protect you, so long as you actually bother to tell me when you plan to disappear." Despite his smile, there was an obvious hint of passive aggressive irritation in his voice, and you tried not to cringe in discomfort.

"Oh, aha, I'll be sure to let you know next time."

"I'd appreciate that."

You wondered how you'd apologize next time when you conveniently forgot your promise.

As you exited the little tavern, dropping mora on the bar for the owner, you felt a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the doorframe. The touch made you shiver, and it lingered, like a brand against your skin.

The walk back was lively, you weren't bored with Kaeya to talk to. Even if his conversation was primarily bragging about this or that, telling you all the oh-so-wonderful feats he'd accomplished in his time, it was better than silence, you supposed. You were back to Mondstadt fairly quickly - no hilichurl encounters, although you did briefly run across a few slimes that he insisted on taking down by himself.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" He stopped in the middle of whatever he had been going on about - honestly, you weren't paying that great of attention. 

"What? I-I'm fine," you responded, eyes wide.

"Really?" he looked at you with something like concern in his uncovered eye, brows furrowing with worry. "You look... a little sick." Suddenly, he pushed the back of his hand against your forehead. "You feel hot, too."

Well, now you did feel warm, his touch leaving a searing feeling on your skin. "A-are you sure? I don't think I'm..."

"No, you're definitely coming down with something." He glanced over in the opposite direction, where the city walls were not too far off. "You probably haven't even realized it yet. I could carry you the rest of the way, if you'd like."

"O-oh, ah, no, that's fine! I can walk... just... fine..." You found yourself trailing off, embarrassment making your face burn. 

"Well, why don't we stop by the Knights' Headquarters before we go to meet that... Venti, was it? We have a nurse there that could see to you."

"I..." you paused. Once again, that dreadful, sickly feeling rose in your stomach. Something telling you that something was wrong.

And again, you pushed it back. "Ok, sure."

He hummed in acknowledgement, swiftly moving towards the gates. "Let's hurry, then. Let me know if you change your mind and want me to carry you." He added a slight smirk to his last sentence. You weren't sure if you found it endearing or irritating.

Once you got back, as expected, Kaeya began directing you to the Knights of Favonius headquarters. And you followed him, all the way in, all the way down the stairs, all the way into the hall -- wait.

You figured perhaps he was absent-mindedly headed that way out of force of habit. "Uh... Kaeya, are you sure we're going the right way? This is..."

The same little tucked-away hallway that your rooms were in. In fact, you were literally coming up on your room.

He stopped, turning his head your way with a soft smile. "No worries. You're really starting to look like the blood is draining from your face... I just figured I can bring the nurse down here." He paused next to your room, then took a step back, motioning his head, as if to tell you to go in. "Just sit down, I'll find her and bring her this way."

The churning was stronger than before. Every hair on your body stood up. Every instinct you had told you something was not right.

Nonetheless, yet again, you didn't listen.

Your feet clicked on the stone floor as you walked through the door. It all occurred so quickly, your mind spun. It felt like a punch to the gut, the air knocked out of you, the impact pain pulsing as your back was slammed into the wall. Strong hands kept a bruising grip on your shoulders. The room spun around you, head dizzy and struggling to process. What snapped you into awareness was a cold, sharp chill pressed right up against your neck, and a firm knee pressed between your legs.

He had you pinned to the wall, sword hovering ever so slightly above the skin on top of your veins. You gasped for air from the impact. "K-Kaeya!" You managed to choke out. You couldn't form anything beyond that. Panic was surging through your body, mind overwhelmed as survival instinct tried and failed to find a quick way to get away.

"What's that?" He pressed his face forward, almost nuzzling it into your neck. You could feel him smirking against your skin. "I believe I remember you saying something about how you couldn't be caught off guard...?" 

You were vaguely aware that you would normally be angry - furious - over whatever was happening here, but primal fear still controlled your brain at the moment, unable to feel anything but panic. You trembled.

"This is what I meant when I said you should be more careful," he muttered. "You think you're so capable and strong, but look at how easily I could trap you... I could kill you, right now, so easily."

Your body shook fiercely. You felt tears begin to gather around your eyes. "I-I just... Trust... You..." Your voice was weak, frail, trembling harder than your body. "You're, you're my, m-my friend..."

"Mm, plenty of people will come along pretending to be your friend, (y/n). You're very, very lucky that I actually do have your best interest in mind." Finally, he lowered the sword from your throat. You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding in, and you felt your knees give way, stumbling forward, quite literally falling into his arms. He dropped the sword in order to catch you, and it clattered to the ground.

Your shaking hands grasped his arms, fingers digging firmly into his skin, desperate for some sturdy stillness to cling to. There was a moment of silence.

"You see, (y/n)? Think about all the people that wouldn't just be proving a point like I am... All the people that might want to really hurt you... Do awful things to you... Aren't you grateful I'm not like that?" His voice was deeper than its usual tone, and you felt his chest vibrate as he spoke from where your head was pressed against him. It was low yet soft, almost a growl, yet almost a whisper.

You were breathing rapidly, forehead pressed against his chest. You didn't respond.

"I said, aren't you grateful that I don't want to hurt you?"

"Y-yes," you found your voice. You didn't know what else to say.

"And you understand now... You need me. You need me there to protect you from bad people. You're so easy to trick and overpower... So naive... Imagine what could happen if you get into this situation again, but for real... And I'm not there?" He reached one hand up, stroking the back of your head. "Surely, you understand that now, don't you?"

You nodded.

"That's good. I hope you remember that, next time you try to run off." He tsk-ed, tilting his head to rest his chin on top of your head, grip on your shoulder increasing, almost crushing. "Honestly, you should really just be guarded full time. I could probably arrange that."

As you began to calm down, the reality of the situation began to dawn on you. Anger rose in place of the fear. He had the audacity to do something like this, and blame you for trusting him? You wanted to speak up, say something, but that same primal instinct told you it was a bad idea.

This time, you listened. 

He gently shifted, setting you down on the bed. "Now, you really do look sick, truly. Tell you what, I'll just go see that bard in your stead, tell him you couldn't make it. We'll have to just figure something out. I'll tell the nurse to come down here."

"Wh-what?" You started to stand on your shaking legs. "No, I-"

"You really can't be going out," he grabbed your shoulders and firmly pushed you back. "Really. You'll just get worse. Better to recover faster, than prolong your illness, no?"

"I don't feel si-"

"You are sick." Once again, his smile was betrayed by the irritation in his voice. "Don't tell me you don't know about the Mondstadt influenza? No wonder. You're foreign, so you're probably highly susceptible to illnesses you've never encountered."

You'd been given a rundown of local illnesses by Lisa, actually, but didn't recall such a thing. "I've... Never heard -"

"You won't feel symptoms for several days after first showing signs. You're very lucky I'm used to seeing it." He pulled out a watch, eyebrows rising. "Oh, look at that. It's already time to meet the bard. I'll be back in a little bit."

"Wait-" 

"It'll only be a few minutes. I'll be back soon."

"Captain Ka-"

"Get some rest now."

The door shut firmly. You heard his heavy footsteps quickly sprint down the hall.

A nurse never came. Ten minutes passed, half an hour. You thought about trying to go find her yourself. Maybe he was actually being honest. Maybe you were sick. You almost wanted him to be right. You would prefer being sick to the idea that he might be lying to you.

You preferred worrying about being sick to worrying about the implications and meanings of the situation if he was lying to you.

You finally stood, resolving to go find a knight yourself, ask for directions to the nurse. Something. Anything to get your mind away from this, distract yourself from your brain's racing to process what had happened just before.

The metal lock rattled against the wood as you tried and failed, with increasing desperation, increasing heartbeat, increasing rapid breaths, to open the door.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hi! If you're doing promts, how about one where gender expectations where inversed: the laws of heritage still follow the male line, but the social expectation is that the sect is under the wife control, and with a strong expectation that there must be a wife - single heirs whose parent die are pushed very strongly for mariage.

“The elders have started talking,” Nie Mingjue said as Lan Xichen poured tea for him. His hands were folded in front of him, fingers tight and knuckles white even though he was in the safety of the Cloud Recesses – Lan Xichen wasn’t sure he’d seen him at anything less than tense since his father was murdered.

It was a good reason to be tense.

“What about?” he asked, since his uncle seemed to already understand and was nodding gravely.

“My marriage,” Nie Mingjue explained. He didn’t drink the tea, which was rude but, again, understandable. “You know my father ruled as sect leader after the death of my mother, and Nie Huaisang’s as well – the wife rules the home, everyone knows that. But all my father’s wives died, and in the end they let him run the sect himself for a while so as to let us grow up untroubled.”

“Unusual, but not unheard of,” Lan Qiren interjected. “I understand he had finally resigned himself to searching for another wife now that you were old enough.”

“He was. And now I’m bereaved of a father, and my heir is my brother – I have the three years of mourning for a father’s death, but then I’ll need to get married.”

Lan Xichen had always thought it was a bit of a strange rule: the idea of growing up in a sect, learning all about it, and then having to hand over control to some stranger from another place, seemed truly absurd. But it had been established as a measure of safety, to prevent war, and it had mostly done it – no one wanted to risk a fight with someone who might in the next generation rule their sect for them – so he supposed his ancestors knew what they were on about.

“Okay,” he said, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of it. Nie Mingjue was only three years older than he was, and while fifteen had once seemed ages away, he knew he wouldn’t be ready for marriage in so short a time. At least Nie Mingjue had three more years before he had to actually do it. “Congratulations?”

Lan Qiren lifted his eyes to the ceiling while Nie Mingjue snorted in pained amusement. “The elders want to set up the engagement now, even if the marriage won’t be finalized until then. And I’m not marrying one of Wen Ruohan’s sons!”

“Certainly not,” Lan Qiren agreed. “It would be inappropriate, given your questions about your father’s death.”

It wasn’t questions, it was outright accusations, but the Lan sect had to keep their neutrality.

Lan Xichen looked between the two of them, the discomfort growing stronger as he realized that Nie Mingjue had come all this way to try to find – to find an alternative. Wen Xu was married already to some distant branch cousin (no one approved, but Wen Ruohan didn’t care), but Wen Chao was the only one who was Lan Xichen’s age, and other than Jiang Yanli, who was already engaged herself, he couldn’t think of any other options that were old enough. 

But…while he liked Nie Mingjue very much, they were good friends, Lan Xichen definitely didn’t want to marry him.

Nie Mingjue must have noticed his expression because he shook his head. “You’re the heir,” he reminded Lan Xichen. “You have to stay here to prepare your sect for your wife.”

“Right,” Lan Xichen said, relief flooding him. And then he realized – “Wait. You mean –”

“Wangji is too young to marry now,” Lan Qiren said simply. “But not in three years.”

“I want to ask him first,” Nie Mingjue said before Lan Xichen could say any more. “If he doesn’t agree, I’ll think of something else. But the Lan sect’s support would be very useful right now, so I had to try.”

Lan Xichen thought of the stars in his brother’s eyes every time he looked at Nie Mingjue whenever he came to visit, that old crush of his from childhood not having fully faded away.

“I think,” he said dryly, “that we’ll be able to work something out.”

-

“You’ll need to marry, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, releasing Lan Xichen from his embrace.

Lan Xichen was still clinging onto Lan Wangji, unbelievably happy in retrospect that his brother had married out before the Wen sect had attacked – he didn’t want to think about what stubborn Lan Wangji would have done, whether he would have insisted on staying and fighting…what they might have done to him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Marriage,” Nie Mingjue said. “The word we’ve gotten from Gusu is that your father is in a coma, not dead, but the doctors don’t see much hope, and that means you’ll be sect leader next. With the Lan sect weakened by the Wen attack, it is critical for you to establish an alliance with another sect to help bolster you.”

“In addition to the support you will have from us,” Lan Wangji added, and Nie Mingjue nodded in agreement. They were a good match, it turned out – Lan Wangji’s steadiness was a good balance to Nie Mingjue’s hot temper, they were both highly principled and zealous in their pursuit of justice and righteousness, and it turned out that they were both…passionate.

Very passionate.

Lan Xichen hadn’t needed to know that about his brother.

“Right,” he said, and exhaled. He hadn’t even had time to rest, but there wasn’t time to rest – not with the Wen sect acting the way it was. “So not Nie Huaisang, then.”

He’d toyed with the idea a little – Nie Huaisang had at least something of the right sort of views. The values of the Lan sect were careful contemplation and kindness, and if Nie Huaisang was lacking in the former then he was rich in the latter; someone more martially inclined than him would be miserable in the Cloud Recesses. Besides, that way, Lan Xichen’s children would be cousins to the Nie sect twice over.

But his brother and best friend were right: what he needed now was an alliance.

More than that: he needed to signal to the world that the Lan sect would not be trampled underneath the Wen sect – that it would continue, that it would persist in pursuing its values without hesitation, that it wouldn’t discard its ancestral ways all in favor of something more aggressive.

Marrying a Nie, however mild-tempered, would be the wrong gesture.

“I have an idea, actually,” Nie Huaiang interjected. “Not quite as good as me, of course, but possibly more to your taste.”

Lan Xichen was already running through names in his head, but no one was coming to mind – he would need to do as Nie Mingjue did and ally with a Great Sect rather than a small one, the circumstances required it, but…“Who?”

“The young mistress of the Jiang sect, Jiang Yanli,” Nie Huaisang said promptly.

“But she’s…” Lan Xichen’s voice trailed off.

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled. “Her engagement was called off, and that means she’s free.”

“She’d be a good fit for you,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “I’ve met her a few times at the Discussion Conferences in Yunmeng: she’s kind and caring, thoughtful, but also insistent when she needs to be.”

“Would the Jiang sect agree? Madame Yu had always intended for her to marry into Lanling Jin, and she was most displeased when the engagement was broken –”

“She gave her husband authority to negotiate in her place, and he used it,” Lan Wangji pointed out. Do not gossip about other people’s families, he meant, and Lan Xichen nodded in acknowledgment of the well-placed chastisement. “She sees the situation as well as we: Qishan Wen against the world, Qinghe Nie against Qishan Wen, and Lanling Jin trying to play both sides...it is not a good look for them. I do not think she will refuse your suit at this time.”

Jiang Yanli, Lan Xichen thought, rolling the thought around in his mouth to savor it. She wasn’t the most beautiful, but he never cared much about that. No, more importantly, she was kind and caring, with a sweet sense of humor – and an excellent cook. All things that would fit very well in at the Cloud Recesses.

“All right,” he said. “How do we do it, given the circumstances?”

“I’ll go to Yunmeng myself,” Nie Mingjue volunteered, and glanced over to Lan Wangji for approval – Lan Wangji nodded. “I would need to anyway, to discuss the state of politics. I’ll bring your suit with me, and if Madame Yu approves, she - and the Jiang sect - will be committed to helping you regain your home.”

“Wouldn’t do to send a bride to a place without one,” Nie Huaisang chimed in, and Lan Wangji nodded again, this time to Lan Xichen.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen said, and smiled. “Let’s ask.”

-

“Honestly, I think it’ll work out very well,” Lan Xichen told Nie Mingjue, who was pacing again. “Everyone supports it - no one wants the tension between the Jin sect and Nie sect to continue.”

Jiang Yanli chuckled. She was sitting next to him – he had his arm tucked around her shoulders, which they both liked – and she leaned her head against his shoulders. “A-Chen, I think he’s more concerned about his brother’s happiness.”

“Of course he is,” Lan Xichen said. “I was just saying. And anyway, it’ll work out well in that way, too – there’s nothing Nie Huaisang likes more than spending money, and, as the heir to the Jin sect, Jin Zixuan has plenty of that.”

That even got Nie Mingjue to laugh.

“He does like that, I’ll grant you,” he said, settling down next to Lan Wangji. “And underneath his façade of uselessness, he’s actually quite bright – in a contest of scheming wits, I would bet on him over every single one of those treacherous dogs in Lanling.”

“Probably better than me,” Jiang Yanli agreed, looking a bit rueful at the thought of her past engagement. “I would have let them step all over me if I thought it meant we could have some peace.”

Peace was something the Cloud Recesses – now in the process of rebuilding – had in no short supply, and Lan Xichen was pleased that he could offer his beautiful wife exactly what she most desired.

Well, except for the matter of ensuring the safety of Wei Wuxian after he had established himself as Yiling Patriarch, but Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji’s unexpected offer to have him join their sect as a concubine – an offer that Wei Wuxian had been, reportedly, thrilled to receive – had taken care of that lingering concern.

“Now there’s only A-Cheng left,” she added. “I’m amazed he didn’t get engaged ages ago.”

“Yunmeng Jiang was hurt too badly,” Lan Wangji said, and Nie Mingjue nodded.

“Who would have married him then? The Jiang sect needed to preserve its independence long enough to show that it could even properly host a wife,” he agreed. “It wasn’t like the Cloud Recesses, where the sect was intact, if scattered – he had to rebuild it almost entirely.”

“But who can he marry?” Lan Xichen asked. “If he doesn’t marry one of the Great Sects, he’s at a disadvantage to the rest of us.”

“And there are no children left,” Jiang Yanli said, frowning a little.

“That’s not quite true,” Nie Mingjue said, and shared a glance with Lan Wangji. “We sent him a suggestion a little while ago – a way for him to build ties with the Nie and Jin sects.”

“Nie and Jin?”

“I had a deputy by the name of Meng Yao,” he said. “Now going by Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Xichen brightened. “A-Yao? What a wonderful idea! Do you think he’ll agree?”

“I think Meng Yao would love to be in charge of a sect,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “He doesn’t have the training for it, of course, since he wasn’t raised inside the sect, but that’s something that can be remedied with a small expansion of the household.”

“Having a concubine must suit you very well, da-ge,” Lan Xichen teased. “Since you’re already recommending it to the rest of us.”

“Not us,” Jiang Yanli said primly, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek in confirmation. “Who were you thinking?”

“Wen Qionglin – one of Dafan Wen, the branch that defected during the war,” Lan Wangji said. “Wei Ying said he helped rescue Jiang Wanyin from the Lotus Pier, so they have a connection already.”

“He has the training, but he’s toothless,” Nie Mingjue opined. “Meng Yao won’t feel threatened by him, and Jiang Wanyin…could probably stand to have two calm people by his side.”

“He could,” Jiang Yanli agreed, a little ruefully.

“It would be good for A-Yao, too,” Lan Xichen said. “I sometimes find he’s a bit better at mimicking gentleness than actually recognizing it, and having someone sweet by his side would make him feel needed…doesn’t Wen Qionglin have an older sister, though? What about her?”

“After marrying Wen Xu, she deserves to have a wife, not be one,” Nie Mingjue opined. “She’s courting a very nice girl from the Jin sect – what’s her name again?”

“Luo Qingyang,” Lan Wangji said, and he looked unusually smug about it. “Also called Mianmian.”

Wait, that Mianmian? The one Lan Wangji had been so irrationally annoyed at for flirting with Wei Wuxian all those years ago?

So much was explained.

“That’ll be good,” he said instead of commenting. “That way we’ll all be one family. Won’t that be wonderful?”

“Until the family reunions, anyway,” Nie Mingjue grumbled.

“Don’t you mean Discussion Conferences?” Jiang Yanli said, lips twitching.

“Oh no…”

[sapphirelycoris]

𝑨 𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 & 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕: 𝑰

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Suggestive lines, pining (like a lot because Enji's a simp), enemies to lovers style writing, weird 19th century type dialogue but I think it's still readable. Please tell me if I missed any.

Ship: Enji Todoroki x female reader (she/her)

Word count:  2,707

Music: Pride & Prejudice Music & Ambiance

Author's note: I know some of the character's relationships with others are kind of weird but I casted them according to personality. For example, Ryuko reminds me of Charlotte Lucas and Nejire reminds me of her little sister, Maria. I just kind of threw names around haha... A NSFW and continuation soon to come. God, it's been a while since I posted anything on this blog.

Written/created for: @pleasantanathema's Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab

Summary: A Pride and Prejudice inspired piece, featuring Enji Todoroki as the male love interest. Loosely following the plot of the actual novel with a few twists on the actual story's dialogue, characters, & events. When you meet Mr. Enji Todoroki, he was the last man in the world you'd ever want to be around. However, as your paths cross more and more, you see that your first impression of him was inaccurate.

"The world works in mysterious ways. He doesn’t know what happened and when it began. Suddenly, Enji cannot stop longing to be in the same room with you. To go one more moment without you seemed like a sin or some unbearable divine punishment for his greatest flaw: pride."

𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑙𝑦. 𝐴 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠; 𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑠. -𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒 𝐴𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛

The world works in mysterious ways. He doesn’t know what happened and when it began. Suddenly, Enji cannot stop longing to be in the same room with you. He dreamed about the sight of your eyes, glancing at him with mild contempt. You occupied his thoughts, both innocent and indecent… He was going to go mad if you didn’t share the same affections that he did. He didn’t want you. Not at all. He needed you by his side. To go one more moment without you seemed like a sin or some unbearable divine punishment for his greatest flaw: pride.

When he blatantly insulted you at the first gathering he attended and saw you laugh about it with Ryuko, for once, he felt uneasy. The same woman he had slighted was now the one who controlled him. He noticed the way you looked embarrassed at your family’s antics. It disgusted him that he was obsessing over someone with that kind of background.

It certainly shocked Enji when you stood him up at Sir Yorio’s gathering. How dare you! For him to stoop down and offer to dance with you, only for you to reject him, was truly offensive. A woman far below his social status, refusing to stand up with him. The nerve. 

Every single snarky quip that left your lips swam around in his mind. Your sharp tongue was attractive. The moment he saw you with mud on your dress, walking from your home to Toshinori’s country estate, he was taken aback. For some reason, he couldn’t get rid of that image. The sun hit your face perfectly, creating an enchanting glow that accompanied your delightful countenance. 

“Ms. (L/N).” Your name rolled off his lips so naturally. 

The regrettable moment you had to leave Toshinori’s estate, he helped you into the carriage which would take you home. Something transpired, far beyond his comprehension. Your hand fit so perfectly in his, he couldn’t help but want it to stay there forever. The missing piece to a puzzling man such as himself finally found its way to its rightful spot. It seemed you wished for the same thing. His grip was secure, he felt safe, and you were trapped, staring into the most beautiful cerulean eyes. At the same time, Enji could drown in your eyes forever. The confused look you gave him was endearing when he refused to let go. 

His actions also startled him. Why was he so stuck on you? He flexed his hand, imagining that yours never left as he watched the carriage shrink, moving further from the manor and into the distance. When was the next time he would be allowed to see you? What was it going to take to cure this infatuation?

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next time he saw you, was under more unfortunate circumstances. He was riding downtown with Toshinori when he spotted your little party. Unlike his friend, Enji looked unhappy when he saw who you were talking with. You briefly exchanged eye contact with him before he had a clear look of disdain displayed on his face. 

Keigo’s eyes followed yours. He tipped his hat, but Enji made no attempt to return the friendly gesture. He hurried away on his horse without saying a word. The encounter was certainly unusual. Keigo looked discomforted by the interaction. You wondered what could have transpired between the two men that caused such tension. 

That night, at your aunt’s home, you sat down and heard what Keigo had to say about his reunion with Enji. He told his side of the story. He painted Enji as the villain in his narrative. Seeing as how you already found the man so disagreeable, you couldn’t help but believe Keigo’s words. He was much more forthcoming than his old friend; he didn’t seem capable of telling a lie. This new story caused you to see Enji in a new light, only deepening your dislike for the man. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Toshinori was a man of his word and held the ball that he promised your sisters. Enji was less unenthusiastic than he usually was. Knowing that he’d get to see you there was the night’s one redeeming feature. He was excited at the thought of getting to lay his eyes on you once more, and it sickened him.

Many of the officers were attending the ball. While linking arms with Toshinori and walking around the ballroom, you searched for Keigo among the redcoats the officers wore. Instead of finding him, you found a pair of familiar blue eyes that looked at you with well-hidden passion and yearning. Enji wanted to tear you away from Toshinori’s arms and have you all to himself. He had many selfish desires, and he usually got what he wanted, but you were the exception. 

Women fawned over him, trying to get a taste of his money. Even Rei tried being overly friendly with him. He cared little for them; he wasn’t looking to fall in love. He was not in search of a wife. Enji was quite content with the life he had. Everything he wanted was in his grasp. But you? You were so close yet so far. There was an uncomfortable amount of emotional space between you and he wanted to close it. Being in the same room wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted to touch you, feel your skin, claim those alluring lips for himself. He wanted to see your whole being without any pesky fabric in the way. If only he could rip that dress off of your body after forcefully pulling you into a vacant bedroom. 

He made his way over to you, but an officer blocked his view. He informed you that Keigo would not be in attendance. Part of it was because of an assignment he had to do, but he also wanted to avoid a certain man… Your younger sisters drug the officer away, leaving you alone in the middle of a crowded room. 

Fortunately, you spotted Ryuko, who was standing alone in the corner. You went to inform her of everything that had happened lately. An unwelcome guest interrupted you. 

“Ryuko, may I introduce you to my cousin, Mr. Tobita?” While remaining civil, you introduced them to each other. He took your hand and led you to dance. As it turns out, the man can’t dance. He went the wrong way, bumping into another lady. It was embarrassing, to say the least. 

Enji watched in amusement as he saw you struggle to keep a smile. You made eye contact with him again, almost sending him a look of desperation. Dancing with him would be better than your current situation. He simply smirked and waltzed around the room, observing everyone. 

While you were busy venting to Ryuko, the very man you were talking about came up to you. The two of you exchanged glances and bowed. “If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?” Enji’s odd invitation made your eyes widen slightly.

There was no way out of it. You tried coming up with an excuse, but nothing came to mind. He smiled slyly as you fumbled over your words. “I- well I hadn’t... yes. Thank you…” With no escape, you were trapped. He walked off, and you lingered behind for a minute.

“You’d be a fool if you didn’t take him up on his offer. It’s a great compliment that he singled you out.” Ryuko commented. 

“The last time he singled me out was to slander me. Hateful man…” you hissed before going to follow him. 

As the music started to play, you studied Enji’s face. It was the first time you’d ever really taken the time to analyze all of his features. You hated to admit it, but he was handsome. Unusually handsome. 

Finally, your hand had made its way back into his. Even if it was only for a brief moment, that feeling would stick with him until the end of the night. The two of you danced around with your words, conversing back and forth when the time was appropriate. You simply couldn’t bear the silence. 

Couples pranced around the dance floor elegantly, stepping where they needed to. You two moved in sync, never letting your eyes wander. There was a burning passion for the man that you couldn’t get rid of. Whether it was burning hatred, lust, or love, you couldn’t tell. Hostility and tension seemed to be all that came out of your encounters with him. The sexual tension was the one thing that kept you from completely despising Enji and you hated it. 

In an attempt to rile him up, you remarked on Keigo and the last time Enji saw you. “The last time I was in town, I was forming a new acquaintance.” A sly grin spread across your face as the words came out. 

“Mr. Takami’s friendly personality is what allows him to make friends so easily. Though his ability to keep them is debatable.” 

“How unfortunate he must be, to lose your friendship, a loss I am sure he will regret for the rest of his life.” You mocked in an airy and hushed tone. Before Enji could snap back, Mr. Toyomitsu came over to hint at a marriage between your sister and Toshinori. The two of you glanced at the smiling pair before dancing again. “Didn’t you say that you rarely ever forgave? That your hatred, once set in stone, was set indefinitely? Surely a man such as yourself is careful when breeding such hatred.” 

“Of course I am.” Enji scoffed. 

“And I presume you do not let prejudice blind you?” 

“No. What is the purpose of these questions, if I may ask?” He grumbled, disliking your inquiries. 

“Simply a means to figure out your constitution.” You laughed, “Trying to get a good idea of your character.”

“And your findings?” 

“None. I have heard of you on different accounts by different people with different views of you. You shall remain a mystery until I comprehend you.” 

With the dance ending, Enji remained silent. Once the music faded, he supported your hand as you lightly held it over his. “I request that you do not attempt to perceive my character right now. It would do us no favors if you judged wrong.” He claimed as you left the dance floor.

“I may not get another opportunity, so I might as well try while I have the chance.” 

Enji placed himself right next to you and leaned to whisper in your ear. He lowered his voice, making sure only you could hear. “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.” His finger brushed against your arm as he walked away. All the heat in your body rushed to that spot. You wanted his warmth against your skin, you didn’t want him to go. 

And yet, you were standing alone in the corner of a crowded room, fixated on the man who you swore to never like. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Much had happened over a short amount of time. You had rejected Mr. Tobita’s marriage proposal and got an earful from your mother. Keigo got engaged to a rich young lady, and Ryuko had gotten engaged to Mr. Tobita. Enji and Toshinori’s party had left his estate, and your sister was disheartened. Everyone had such high expectations for her and Toshinori, only for him to up and leave. 

Now, you were on your own adventure. You, Sir Yorio, and Nejire were going to visit her and Mr. Tobita. They lived in a small house on Lady Chiyo’s property. Greenery grew on the stone, adding to the natural feel of the house. It was a quaint little grey structure with a clear blue sky in the background.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Ryuko and her husband rushed out the door to greet you. They showed you to your rooms while Mr. Tobita kept on about Lady Chiyo’s house and how grand it was. It seemed he was more in love with Chiyo than his own wife.

“Are you happy here?” You asked Ryuko as you watched the other three walk around the garden.

“I am quite content with my situation. I barely see him during the day. He sits in his book room, walks to Lady Chiyo’s every day, and-”

“And you prefer to sit in your own wing of the house.” You finished. Whether it was what she was going to say or not, you stated your mind. Ryuko smiled wistfully, “Yes.” 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

While you and Ryuko were walking through the woods, along with Nejire, Mr. Tobita came running after you. He was clearly out of breath but told you his news, anyway. Enji and his cousin, Kugo, had arrived. He urged you to make your way back to the house, since they wanted to visit with them.

“Pleasure to finally meet you Ms. (L/N).” Kugo smiled.

“Oh? ‘Finally’, sir?” 

“My cousin speaks of you often.” He informed.

“Ah…” You sighed, looking over at Enji who met your gaze, only hungrier. 

Enji’s eyes never left you, though. There was a protective aura emitting from him. Just in case Kugo spoke or acted out of line, he was ready to come to your aid at any moment. He rested his knuckles against his mouth. Instead of addressing anyone else in the room, he was intently watching and listening to your conversation. 

“Pray tell, why is Mr. Todoroki staring at me?” You asked Kugo, having enough of being watched over like you were some kind of prey, “Have I done or said something he finds offensive?” 

The man stood up from the sofa and meandered over to the table you were seated at. He had no control of his own actions. It was quite an impulsive move, and now he didn’t know what to say. “How is your family?” He choked out. 

“Well.” You replied, “My sister has been in town for quite some time. Have you happened to see her?” 

“No.” Enji lied, “Unfortunately not.” 

“As you can tell, Mr. Todoroki and I are not very close.” 

“Really? I find that hard to believe.” Kugo exclaimed.

“Truly? I believe in first impressions, however, Mr. Todoroki’s good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.” Your words caused him to turn around, and he saw your smiling face, making a joke of him. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The grounds of Lady Chiyo’s property were breathtaking. When the weather allowed, you took advantage of the sprawling greenery and went out for as many walks as you could. Without a cloud in the sky, an endless sea of blue, and shining sun, you wasted no time in getting outside. It was much more productive and enjoyable than sitting in the house.

A beautiful little trail, hidden by the estate’s magnificent trees, was the path you found yourself walking along. You looked up to admire how tall the trees had grown. They stood proud and provided you with shade. The birds sang a lovely little tune, supplying you with a unique sound that rivaled that of the best musicians. 

Enji came trotting through the path from the side. He halted his horse once he saw you. No painting could do you justice, even one made by the best painter in the world could compare to your beauty in person. The sight of you admiring the picture in front of you made his heart pound. Though you said nothing, he believed that you, taking the time to simply look at him, was the greatest compliment he would ever receive. 

And for those few precious minutes, he drank in your appearance. He was hopelessly in love with you. Being in your presence was the best part of his day. He found himself looking forward to seeing you. He always prayed for you to cross paths with him. Even if he simply caught a glimpse of you, suddenly it brightened his entire day. 

Unfortunately, he had other things to do. Enji spurred his horse forward and trotted away. Your presence in his life was much bigger than he expected when he first met you. And somehow… he didn’t mind it. He hated yet loved the feeling of being in love.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 3

Hello all, here I am, once again, presenting you with more of Midnight Striga. Thank you for your consideration.

Eda grumbled, awkwardly shifting in her seat. The fact that she was stuck here, in this den of propaganda and conformity grated on every fiber of her being. Still, the chance to loot this place after the fact was incredibly enticing, feeling herself grin at the thought. Glancing to the kids next to her, Eda took stock of what Luz had shared about them; the Plant Girl had serious power to her, enough to wipe the floor with full adults if she felt like it, and the Illusion Boy was a genuine prodigy, something rare, much like herself. ‘It made sense they would end up in Luz’s odd gravity,’ she mused. As the lights started to dim, signalling the start, Eda grumbled again, longing for it to end.

Bump strode forth to his place on the terrace, raising a mic to his face. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Witches and demons of all ages!” His voice boomed, echoing across the excited crowd. “It is my pleasure,” ‘Suck it up and think of the funding Bump, think of the funding!’ “To present to you… The Emperor’s Coven!!” With an explosion of fog and light, three Guards sauntered forth, with one even launching themselves into the air for the spectacle. Bump groaned internally at the theatrics, reminding himself once again of the funding this would net him and the school. The crowd roared.

“Now, I must ask you, do you all wish to know what the pinnacle of magic is?” He called out, hamming it up.

“Is it this!?” One of Bump’s students, one of the transfers from Glandus if he recalled correctly, excitedly shouted, before magically enlarging their head, collapsing on another student and prompting chuckles from his group.

“Wow, I have failed you as a principal.” Bump bluntly stated at the off-putting sight, not entirely sure how to process it. Brushing the uncomfortable moment aside, Bump regained his momentum. “No, it stands before you! The Emperor’s Coven possesses the ability to use not one, not two, but ALL Forms of magic!!” He boldly proclaimed, as the guards below unleashed dazzling displays of power. Privately, after his conversation that day of Boscha’s brief rampage, Bump wasn’t too sure about the Emperor’s personal followers being the pinnacle they were described as.

“Whoo! Luz, did you see that!” Gus excitedly yelled, bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Eh.” Luz shrugged her shoulders, before critiquing the group below. “Powerful, but overly flashy, and not particularly quick. Wasteful of energy, and not much technique that I can see. I give it a 6 out of 10.” She clinically listed off, marking each point with a raised finger, raising an extra finger to give the score, resulting in Gus and Willow deflating over her disinterest.

Oblivious to the musings of those who had started the change that was slowly encroaching Bonesburough, and the Isles at large, Bump continued his presentation. “And now, it is my honor to present to you,” and this time he wasn’t just speaking out of his rear, “an individual who stands at the top. You know her,” light and mist pooled around his feet, “you love her,” a massive, translucent raven cawed and swooped down next to him, tucking into itself, “give it up for Emperor’s Coven Head, Lilith Clawthorne!!” The raven burst away, revealing Lilith standing next to him as he quickly stepped back, wearing the traditional cloak of the EC and a stylized mask, black-painted lips quirked up in a smile.

Eda choked on her drink (that she’d stolen), desperately sucking for air. She eeked out a hushed, “Lily?”

“You know her?” Luz asked, Willow and Gus sparing Eda a glance of light concern.

Eda gave a resigned nod. “She’s my sister.” This elicited widened eyes from the three, and Eda just knew they’d be asking questions afterward. Ugh.

Lilith walked up to the front of the terrace, mildly glad for her former principal’s presence and his glowing introduction, she would NEVER admit it aloud but she always gained the worst jitters when it came to public speaking, even if she was skilled in it. She smoothly pulled away her mask, allowing her features to be seen and admired by the crowd. She felt a smug glow of satisfaction over her looks, before focusing on the present situation. “Citizens of the Boiling Isles!!” Her voice boomed, a neat little trick she had learned for just these sorts of situations. “I am proud to stand before you today, humbled by the exaltation you have displayed.” She gave an elaborate bow, prompting a roar of enthusiasm from the crowd. 

“It wasn’t easy to rise as far as I have. I too started from humble beginnings.” This prompted some muttering from the assembled crowd, particularly from those students who were themselves from rather humble backgrounds. “But now, I possess the highest honor of enforcing the Emperor’s will!” An honor that would all be worth it when he saved her sister, her stubborn, arrogant, bleeding-heart sister. “And today, I am pleased to present my protege!” She announced, raising her hand. In a burst of light, there she stood. “Amity Blight!” As the crowd went wild, she allowed her student to bask in it, a smirk playing across her face at the barely hidden giddiness. “She has taken the steps to excel, to ascend to the highest level! Work hard, and the Emperor’s Coven awaits you!” She shouted, slamming her staff down, and with a flash, she and Amity vanished into the depths of the Center, the crowd crowing in delight behind them.

Smirking, she and Amity waltzed into the main area of the center, watching in satisfaction as the excited crowd poured from the stadium area. Turning to her with gleaming eyes, Amity said. “That was amazing Miss Lilith! You were incredible out there.” She said with a grin, before turning serious. “I must ask, when will our next lesson take place?”

Lilith hid a smirk. The girl was eager, ambitious, skilled, and dedicated; even just one of those traits would serve her well in life, but all? She would truly be a monster to contend with as she grew older. She just needed to look into subtlety a bit more. “I believe I can schedule a lesson to take place in a weeks time, sometime around the weekend. If that’s acceptable of course.” She raised an eyebrow. She knew it would be, but politeness and social expectations existed for a reason.

Amity gave a solemn nod. “Of course. I will take my leave.” She said, walking off into the crowd, entering from the area containing those who had not exited the stadium, a smart way to avoid being mobbed by the crowd.

“Take care, Amity Blight.” Lilith murmured. “It would not do for your potential to be cut short.” With her musings over, she wandered into the main body of the Covention, prepared to meet and greet her public. Ah, the sacrifices made for a life such as hers.

Amity wandered through the center, idly taking note of the various Covens that had set up today. None truly interested her, but seeing the dedication on display, the willingness to restrict oneself so deeply in pursuit of one’s personal passions was admirable in its own way. She wondered what path she would’ve taken, had she not been born a Blight; would she still have this intense drive to excel, or would she be content with simpler things? She would never truly know, but it was an interesting thought. Lost in her musings, she was rightfully started when she crashed into someone.

As she fell, Amity caught a glimpse of the person who had also taken a plunge in their collision, and her eyes widened. Chocolaty brown skin. Smooth, swirled brunette hair. A light blue shirt with a stylized picture of a cat, tucked beneath a hybrid vest and jacket of gleaming white with a climbing vine decal. Well worn beige pants, and sporty looking shoes. Wide expressive eyes. And, most telling, rounded ears. In a flash, Amity had essentially memorized her appearance. Now if only she could puzzle out why she had done so…

With a small gasp of slight pain, Amity crashed to the ground, the human girl doing so not a second later. Growling at the discomfort, Amity quickly moved to her feet, wrestling control from her temper before it reacted over an accident. “Oh man, I am so sorry for that.” The human groaned, clambering to her feet. Stretching herself out briefly, the girl gave Amity a discerning look, before familiarity dawned on her. “Oh yeah, you were at the school that day! Amity, right?” She asked, holding out a hand for a shake.

Amity glanced at the hand, and briefly contemplated not shaking, before stifling the impulse, giving the girl a firm grip. “Indeed. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, however.” She said, cocking an eyebrow. She gave a shallow bow. “I am Amity Blight, youngest of the Blight family and heir-apparent of our name and company, Blight Industries. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She recited, keeping the kind of bland, formal tone you’d expect from a meeting between politicians, prompting a mild look of surprise from Luz.

The human grinned, almost amused, much to Amity’s confusion. “Well, Miss Blight, it is a pleasure to officially meet you when you aren’t acting like a bitch.” She said bluntly, but without a hint of malice or mocking that Amity could detect.

Amity awkwardly clutched her shirt, feeling small at the reminder of her conduct from that day, however lacking in harshness that reminder was. “Indeed. Speaking of which, may I know your name?” She requested.

The human arched an eyebrow, but shrugged, agreeing. “Eh, why not. The name’s Luz Noceda. Why did you ask?”

Amity internally sighed in relief that she’d be able to finish part of her mission so quickly. “For this.” Stepping back, Amity once again bowed, this time a full bow at the waist, head parallel to the ground. “Luz Noceda, I, Amity Blight, offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct towards you prior to today. I allowed anger, suspicion, and bias to cloud my judgement, but that is no excuse for what I said to you. I was dismissive, rude, and judgmental. If my apology is insufficient, I will do anything within reason to make amends.” Amity shut her eyes tight, desperately begging to the Titan that she wouldn’t be ridiculed, that her words would be accepted. The fact that this was so public… it burned her, how many people might try and hurt her with this.

“Aw man, could you get up? There’s no need for that.” Amity cracked an eye open, spying Luz’s sardonic expression.

“I beg your pardon?” Amity started.

“Look,” Luz began, giving a loose shrug, “I’ve been called way worse before by much more horrible people than you. Was I mad when you said those things? Oh absolutely. But, I got over it, because it wasn’t worth holding a grudge against someone who probably ended up regretting it, if they hadn’t already regretted it after saying it, and had been punished enough. You okay with just forgetting about it all?”

Amity huffed, amused at Luz’s candidness. “Very well.” Her face grew serious. “However, I would like to make a request, if it isn’t too presumptuous of me.”

“Oh?” Luz mused, cocking her head. “That depends on what your request is.”

“What are you?” Amity asked, Luz pulling up short, dumbfounded. Amity continued on. “I know you’re human. But strange things have surrounded you. You helped Willow gain an immense increase in skill after just a short conversation, and was able to oversee her application of her new skill level. You were able to survive a confrontation against Boscha while she was wielding those flames. And there have been rumors about someone matching your expression appearing around town.” She slowly walked around Luz, allowing herself to gain a better look all around. “I want answers for the mysteries surrounding you. Please.” She finished, fixing a strong, unwavering stare on Luz.

Luz sighed, scratching her head. “Ugh, fine, but it’ll cost you.” She said, opening a single eye to look at Amity.

Amity nodded firmly. “How much.” She had told herself she wouldn’t be leaving the girl without answers, and even if her mother was annoyed at the expense, it would be well worth it to give Amity peace of mind.

“An apology.”

Amity paused, perplexed. “But I already gave you one?”

Luz shook her head, elaborating. “Not for me. For Willow. If you want answers, you have to apologize to Willow.”

Amity gave a smirk. “Well lucky for me I was already planning on doing just that.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Provided she grants me an apology as well.”

“Huh, looks like things’ll work out pretty easily! She wanted to give you one too.”

“In that case, I see no reason we shouldn’t look for her. Care to join me?” Amity finished, gesturing for Luz to follow her. Shrugging, the human girl followed the witch through the crowd, unaware of the elongated figure looming in the shadows.

Eda stormed through the Covention, nimble fingers snatching up odds and ends as she shifted through the crowd, looking for her quarry. As she finished stashing the last of her loot in her hair, her eyes sharpened, spotting her target. Gliding forth, she stopped dead center in front of her prey.

“Hey Lily.” Eda grinned, all teeth.

“Ah, Edalyn!” Lilith drawled, pulling herself up from where she had been signing a little Witchling’s poster. “You came after all!” She placed a hand under her chin, looking smug. “Still rooting around in the trash in that shack of yours?” She chuckled at her little ‘joke.’

Eda rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, real funny.” Getting an idea, she leaned over to the kids, she whispered. “Hey, did you kids know Lily used to wet her bed until she was-”

“Edalyn!” Lilith yelped in embarrassment as the children giggled.

Eda smirked, before pulling out her wallet (one of them anyway), and gave each child a small snail bill. “Hey, why don’t you kids all get yourselves a treat and go back to your parents, okay?” As the children eagerly nodded, rushing off, she turned to Lilith, her smile dropping into cool seriousness.

“Ugh, what do you want, Edalyn?” Lilith scoffed, folding her arms. Suddenly, she blinked, eyes brightening. “Unless… you’re finally here to join the Coven!” She cheered, a childish delight gleaming in her eyes.

“No.” Eda flatly stated.

“Oh.” Lilith said just as flatly, her excitement dead already. “Well, in that case-”

“I learned something pretty interesting, Lily.” Eda began, grabbing her sister’s attention. “About how the Emperor’s Coven presented what happened to me to the public.”

Lilith felt her blood chill; she had never really agreed with that decision, but it had been out of her hands. If Edalyn was bringing this up now… “And this holds bearing, how?” She asked, trying to play it off.

“I want you to set the record straight, Lily.” Eda said, a note of barely contained fury in her voice. “Now. If not sooner.”

Lilith reeled back. “I couldn’t possibly do such a thing! It is the Emperor’s Will!”

“Nuts to the Emperor, Lily!!” Eda shouted, slamming her fist against the wall nearest to them. “He used my pain, my trauma, my public humiliation as a way to get people to fall in line. I hate the Coven System, but I’m willing to accept that for most people, they choose to be a part of it. But using what happened to me as a way of scaring kids into falling in step!? I won’t stand for it!!”

“It’s not my decision to make, Edalyn.” Lilith coldly replied. “And really, you have no one but yourself to blame; if you just joined a Coven all that silliness would just drift away.” She firmly replied, internally begging that Edalyn would finally see reason, to agree with her, to admit she was right!!!

Eda paused. Then she chuckled. “Okay. I really didn’t want to do this. But! It looks like you aren’t giving me a real choice.” With a sigh, Eda stepped back, just enough to where she could point at Lilith at full extension. “Lilith Clawthorne, I challenge you to a Witch’s Duel.”

Nearby Witches and Demons gasped, reeling back, even as Lilith herself blinked in shock.

“Edalyn, you can’t possibly be serious!” She said, shock still coursing through her body.

“The terms are as follows,” Eda said, steadfastly ignoring the increasing mutters of the crowd. “If I win, you have to publicly admit the truth behind my curse, not that crap the Emperor peddles. If you win, I’ll join Bonehead’s little club.” She finishes, crossing her arms in defiance.

“Edalyn, you can’t be-” Lilith starts, only to cut herself off with a choke, as Eda formed the glowing white circle of an unbreakable vow, already sticking her hand through. “You really are serious.” Lilith breathes out.

“I am.” Eda says grimly. Staring at her sister’s hand trepidatiously, Lilith’s eyes flash with fear, shock, longing, pride, and finally, determination. Reaching out, she joins hands with her sister, for the first time in years… and completes the vow. The duel is officially on.

“A Witch’s Duel, eh?” A cold voice mutters in the dark, shadowed figures lurking behind them. “Well, won’t that be a fun way to start this operation.” They chuckled, their entourage cackling behind them, the cooling corpse of a Coven Guard behind them.

[timexistsnow]

my baby (oh my pup)

Chapter 7: remembering (the good)

Techno takes care of Tasha's nail wound and tells her a story.

It was late, Techno could imagine without opening his eyes. The moon was high in the sky, maybe full, maybe close. If it were either, the snow would be glowing and the wind would be howling and sweeping the snow around like glitter.

Perhaps, Techno chuckled into his arms, he was in a poetic mood. A literary mood. Or, just maybe, the fact that he had been tossing ideas around in his head for the past couple of hours about the next part of his story would allude to his apparent mood.

It felt wrong to leave the story he had written for Tasha at only one part, unfinished and abandoned. Techno didn’t do things halfway. He did, on the other hand, not feel like moving from Tasha’s side and out into the cold and lonely expanse that was across the room to get his notebook.

So he’d have to remember all of this for later when he was ready to move. His memory was pretty good.

Right now, though, Techno kept his eyes softly closed. His back would be sore in the morning, all of the hunching he was doing almost made him want to move- almost.

Tasha had remained burrowed in the blankets, small on the mattress meant for one- or two. She deserved her rest, from getting stabbed to throwing up all in one afternoon. When tomorrow came, they’d have to work on her condition: clean her, rebandage her wound, and figure out the potion… situation. The hole in Tasha’s hand wasn’t gapping or anything, but it would still be a comfort to get some assistance from a potion.

Techno tossed that aside for the time being and drifted back to his writing.

The beast- Techno was unsure if he liked that metaphor or not- would need motivation for kidnapping the piglet-

Tasha stirred, a grumbled slipping through her lips. Techno lifted his head enough to peer at her over his forearm. She was tucked in to the bottom of her snout, just a pale rosy face in a blue bed. Now, however, the face was screwed up, milky eyes glowing in the moonlight through bleary blinks.

Techno brushed a hand over her forehead, fuzz catching on his calluses, “Go back to sleep, get some rest.” He hummed a melody he had heard Wilbur once sing, and Tasha’s eyes closed. He sighed, cutting himself off.

When the breath left his snout, Tasha jolted, face catching the moonlight. “Not. Want. To.” She studied Techno for a moment, “Should… Not?”

It was an obvious question, but Techno didn’t get why it was asked, “Who told you that, kiddo?”

The studious look again, “You,” Tasha whispered.

Techno drew back and tilted his head. Had he? No, “Well, if I did say something, I’m sure I didn’t mean it like that. I want you to get better as fast as you can.”

Tasha’s mouth opened in an oh, “Back. To. Fun?”

“Exactly.”

With the confusion dissipated, Tasha dropped herself back into the nest of wool, the arm she used to prop herself up snaking back out of the covers. Techno took it, and settled back down onto his forearm.

Or, until Tasha slithered her hand away and tossed and turned, making discomfort noises after each switch. Techno sluggishly raised his head again, squared his shoulders, and gruffed out: “Kiddo, sleep.”

She flopped to her side, facing Techno, “Take. To. Long.”

Techno embraced the darkness and grabbed his notebook from where it was leaning against the wall. He padded not too gently to his library chair, gathered up his ink, and once back to his seat on the floor, dipped his quill in the ink. “If you don’t sleep… then just sit quietly or something,” Techno did not have the social energy to talk baby to her.

Sit quietly she did, crisscross and hovering above the book, watching him scratch away at the paper, ink blotting and splashing when he jumped to a different line to annotate his writing. It was deep in the night, the beast, just as the piglet had hoped, was slumbering-

“What…” Tasha broke the silence, gesturing at… everything. Ah, she couldn’t read. Maybe it was time to fix that.

“This is the written form of English. It’s- It’s a little complicated, but I can show you the basics.” Techno flipped to a new page, but Tasha squealed and turned it back, running her finger along the first sentence. “That’s for the story I wrote for you.”

“Again… Make? Copy?” She struggled to find meaningful words. Techno frowned, as good at English she was, the language would still have to be taught.

“Do you mean rewrite, like write the same thing again?” he tried.

“Why. Rewrite? Not. Good?”

Firstly, “No, I’m writing the next part.” And after a pause and thought, “I suppose I could always make it better, but… with this I don’t need to, you know? It doesn’t matter that much.”

Tasha hummed at that, stared at what was a line or scribbles for her, and murmured, “Make. Me. Better.” She brushed her three fingers across the bandages on her left hand.

Taking her hand in his, Techno smoothed the bandages she had rustled and said back oh so softly, “Of course, anything for you.” He stilled, entranced by her stubby fingers and her wrapped palm.

Without slipping her hand out of his, Tasha crawled over the book and slid down into his lap. Techno smiled, yeah, anything for her.

A pup in his lap and an idea in his mind, Techno picked back up where he had left off, handwriting nearly illegible with how the page was sliding around. But Techno did nothing to fix it, his hand occupied with Tasha’s.

The night passed, the moon falling and the sun rising. Techno only knew this once he unstuck his face to the page, drool sliding down his cheek.

He had fallen asleep on the book, Tasha still curled up and a heater in his lap.

His hand was sweaty after letting go of hers, and he carried her to the dining room. Techno gnawed at his lip, wondering if it was a good idea for her to be so close to him with her mild fever. It wasn’t quite to a temperature of concern, so Techno, with Tasha pressing her snout into his chest, figured she’d be fine.

The creak of the chest didn’t awaken Tasha, but the smell of gold did. She snorted and twisted around to grabby hand at the carrots. Down in the Pig Throne she was lowered, two carrots slid across the table to her frantic hand. “Relax, kiddo,” he chuckled, observing as the piglin in her cronched down on one carrot and admired the other. “We really need to harvest the potatoes before you eat everything in the pantry.”

Speaking of the potatoes, there were nails hidden in the snow, waiting like a bear trap. It was inevitable that someone would hurt themselves. Or hurt themselves more, Techno thought, taking Tasha’s hand from across the table and unwrapping it.

The wound hadn't quite scabbed over yet, he sighed. Throwing up the last potion must have nullified any of its effects, only stopping the bleeding instead of sealing the wound.

“Bad?” Tasha asked, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand.

“No,” Techno shrugged, “Just not preferable, I guess.” He left her hand unwrapped at the table and dug through his potion chests. Instant Health was… a bad idea, but there were other, while less preferable, options. Regeneration was slower, but: “I think we’ve got a solution, kiddo.”

She was apprehensive, eyeing the bottle with obvious distrust. When Techno reassured her it wasn’t the nasty potion, her hand was dunked. A second of contemplation, “Not. Nasty,” Tasha decided. The dunking continued and Techno took Tasha’s hand in his.

It was slow and a little nauseating to watch, but the puncture was scabbing over, her skin starting to weave itself back together. The healing was nowhere near done, of course, but that didn’t stop Techno from leaning over the table and ruffling Tasha’s fur.

New gauze was wrapped and Tasha was looking… not great, still a little pale, but not crying or dying, so that was an improvement.

The nails had to be gathered up, though, so outside time it was. They got dressed and Tasha banished herself to the ever-burning fire pit, watching from afar.

As Techno picked his way through the snow, nails started to poke their way through the crunchy snow. One made its way known by being under Techno’s foot, but his tough hoof stopped another incident from occurring.

Thinking back to the early morning, Techno mused, “What’s got you so interested in writing, Tasha?”

“You… Make. Up. Story.” It was a statement, but Techno could tell she wanted to say more. He took a guess:

“Thinking about writing your own? Being an author?” He joked. Turning back around after picking out another nail, he watched Tasha glare into the fire, hands groping at the warmth.

“Maybe…” gears clearly turning, but she trailed off, switching subjects, “What. About. Not. Made. Up?”

Techno shook his head, “Boring, too personal, and I don’t think you’d exactly find it… amusing or entertaining.”

Tasha blinked at the voice, picking the conversation back up. “Techno. Boring?” she gasped comically.

Snorting, Techno scoffed, “What! Never, everyone else is just lame.”

“Who. Everyone?”

Techno hummed absently shrugging and continuing to pick up nails. When the last one was found- at least as far as Techno could tell, he put a torch down just in case- he meandered to Tasha and the fire, snow turning to slush turning to grass. Tasha repeated the question, then hesitated, whispering “Bad?”

Flopping himself down to the grass next to Tasha, their backs to the house, Techno groped for an answer, “No- They are- were just-” he breathed in and tried again, “Yes and no, Tasha. My time with them was… mixed… good and bad and worse.”

“Tell. Good.”

Huh. That was… a solution, perhaps. And Tasha was rather convincing, but it’s not like he had any good stories to tell-

“Please.”

In and out, Techno breathed, and picked out a moment that he cherished? missed? regretted because of later situations that unfolded? Either way: “This guy- called himself a Big Man- who I used to… work for- well, no really, but he hired me- was kinda, no, really stupid. And annoying to the ends of the world, Tasha, believe me. So one day, he and this other guy named Wilbur- uhh, he’s dead now. Not by my fault!,” Techno rushed, gauging Tasha’s reaction as captivated but not accusing, “get in a fight, something silly, I was sure.

“It goes on for a while- all unimportant, don’t worry the comedy is coming soon- and the idiot, in his rage, builds himself a tiny room and decorates it with the blocks he stole from Wil.”

Techno leaning in close to Tasha like he was conspiring. Tasha oinked in glee. “The blocks, though, they were pistons and red stone blocks, smooshed him right to the floor.” He used his hands to mimic the arm coming down and pressing his hand flap into the grass, Tasha gasping. “He wasn’t harmed, physically at least, but he was stuck! Right in a trap of his own making! And he couldn’t get out!

“There was this other kid, an absolute gremlin, named Tubbo, you might’ve liked him.” Tasha nodded, mouthing the name. “Tubbo was the sweetest and best friends with the Big Man himself. Instead of helping him out though, he tried to drown him! Right in front of us: put down a water bucket and cackled, ‘Now he can’t breathe!’” He did his best impression of the absolute masterpiece that Tubbo said. Tasha giggled, holding a hand over her mouth to contain her snorts.

Techno wheezed alongside her at the memory, he could still hear Tommy’s astonished screeches.

Through snorts, Tasha asked, “Meet. Them?”

Techno tossed the idea around for only a second, “Probably never, if I can help it. Like I said: good and bad and worse.”

The mood sombered.

Tasha mumbled, “Take. Techno? From. Me?”

“No, Tasha,” Techno sputtered, “They couldn’t take me from you. I’m not in their good graces anymore, so they wouldn’t even try to talk to me.” They were really not in his good graces. And Tommy was exiled, as far as Techno knew, so he might not even be heard from again.

When Tasha stayed mute, Techno stuck out his pinky. Tasha lit up at that whispering, “Promise?”

“That’s what the pinky means. You can’t break those.”

They linked fingers and Techno pulled Tasha in for a hug. She sniffled into his shirt, white ruffles brushing the top of her head.

Techno used one of his hands to snuggle her closer. The other reached to left for a snowball and dumped it ceremoniously onto Tasha’s head. She squealed but ended it with a smile, reaching for her own snowball. Her injured hand stayed tucked against her coat, slowing her down, but she made up for it by scrambling away from another one of Techno’s snowballs.

Her small stature was an advantage, the warrior in him grumbled, but Techno had fought foes of all sizes. Grabbing a handful of snow, Techno didn’t pack this one, instead throwing it like sand. When it made Tasha stumble and drop her snowball, Techno let out his war cry and lightly pelted her with snowballs. “That’s the tactic that won me my crown!” he ended his volley with a cackle.

From the pile of loose snow, Tasha squealed “Pig! In! Crown!” with an audible smile.

“I’m the best pig in a crown there is!”

Tasha brushed herself off and glared up at him, “Only. One?”

Techno scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder in response. A little fist banged at his back and hoofs got dangerously close to his snout. The oinking ruined whatever fight she was trying to pull, Techno smiled.

As Techno carried her back inside, her endless energy left, replaced by a floppy noodle of a pup. It was a perfect time to get a bath in.

Techno helped maneuver her so she was sitting on his shoulders, using his head as a support for her wobbly body. With his hands free, Techno warmed up water over the fire and brought the buckets up the ladder. It was tedious, but Tasha on his shoulders kept his mind occupied and entertained.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, it’ll be quite the tumble,” he warned. He set a bucket down to poke at her leg, jolting her to awareness.

Tasha yawned and leaned over his crown to get a look at his face, “Catch. Me.”

“Fair point,” but he continued to poke her leg whenever she wavered in her grasp of him.

Soon the bath was full enough for Tasha to bathe in. Techno helped her out of her pants and sweater, new but not the one Tasha had been knitting, that one still sitting unfinished on a shelf. He set her in the water and let her play with the bubbles.

“What do you find so interesting about the bubbles?”

Tasha popped one with a soft clap and showed a hand full to Techno, “Water. But. Float.”

Sighing, Techno nodded, “Yup, they definitely do that.”

“Nether. Bubbled. But. Hot.” she screwed up her face, “Burned.” Her arm was shoved into Techno’s personal space, and Techno lurched back in surprise-

Her arm was littered with burns. Techno ran a delicate finger along the expanse of the burns, ones from years to months old marring her otherwise smooth pink skin. Techno had always figured she would have old wounds and scars, but this was the first time he had really been shown them, the first time he had really looked. “Tasha-”

“No! Me… Silly. Made. Mistake,” she pulled her arm back and clapped more bubbles, “Have. Worse.”

Techno hesitated, she was just a pup, a child, a baby, but, “You’ll just have to stay away from burning things from now on.”

“Fire?”

“Oh,” Techno stuttered, “apart from that one. But my point still stands! No lava.”

Tasha nodded and blew bubbles into Techno’s face, he held in a sneeze at the tickling and grabbed the sponge. The water would grow cold soon.

Scolding himself for being negligent, Techno scrubbed away at the blood that stained Tasha’s skin. He should have bathed her earlier. An infection could have seeped into Tasha and Techno almost gave it the chance.

The scrubbing ceased once the dirt and blood had been scrubbed into grimy suds, the water now just barely turning a translucent brown.

Out came Tasha from the bath and a towel wrapped around her before the frigid air could hit. The bathroom was the furthest away from the central hearth in the kitchen, and Techno was beginning to regret his design of the cabin.

Techno would have to wash the clothes soon, he realized once Tasha was dressed in his last sleep shirt and shorts. He would also have to finish the growing project of sewing clothes for both of them. Techno’s batch hadn't even been started, he sighed at himself.

Tucking Tasha into the bed even though it was only mid-afternoon, Techno worried for a moment. Were pups her age supposed to have naps?

Or, more importantly, what was Tasha’s age?

The question was asked and Tasha blinked at him, “What. Year?” There weren’t seasons in the Nether, he grasped. No years. No ages. Just pups and adults. That ended his quest for knowledge just as suddenly as it had started.

Oh well.

Techno kissed her to sleep and drew the curtain closed. Tasha patted his face before he had the chance to draw away to the library, and Techno ruffled her fluff.

Oink-snores soon filled the room alongside the scratch of quill on notebook paper. Techno had a story to get through.

[cynicalrainbows]

Hey! I’ve got a fix request if that’s ok! After a long day at the theatre everyone’s tired but during the megasix Anne goes into sensory overload?

So I should preface this with the fact that I don’t actually know what a sensory overload feels like. So it’s more ‘Anne gets overwhelmed with all the noise etc’ which is something I can write about.

Anyway, enjoy!

**

It’s been a long week, one of those weeks where everything seems determined to go wrong in as many ways as possible, often at the most inopportune moments.

Because of this, everyone is more on edge than usual, everyone is irritable: Catalina snaps and Kitty sulks. Jane puts things down with more force than is strictly necessary and Cathy holds her book up in front of her eyes to discourage attempts at communication and flicks pages obnoxiously loudly.

 Even Anna, far and away the calmest and least rufflable of them all, has started to feel the strain and by Thursday is far gone enough that she actually snaps at Kitty for taking her clothes without asking and then at Jane for taking Kitty’s side. The difference of course is that Anna at least has an excuse because that same evening, she comes down with what is officially called A Cold but that feels (she assures Anne) rather an awful lot like the pneumonic Plague.

 Anne is glad for Anna’s sake when she finally agrees to take a couple of days off to recover properly but she also can't help but feel a bit abandoned too. The dressing room isn’t the same without Anna to diffuse the tension and while she normally enjoys Catalina’s company, it scarcely counts as company when all the two do is snap at one another. Anna is like a balm- she smooths out rough edges, she can diffuse almost anything with a joke or a comment. Without her, everything feels ever so slightly off balance.

 As bad as the snapping is though, the silence in the dressing room once Anna finally gives in and goes home to bed is worse. Anne knows Catalina isn’t angry with her specifically, that the woman is just not really in the mood to talk and is staying quiet to avoid starting off yet another disagreement, but it still makes things uncomfortably tense.

 Even when Saturday rolls around, it isn’t much comfort to think about the fact that Sunday is just around the corner because Saturday is always the hardest day of the week- the biggest workload, just when everyone is least prepared for it, the rowdiest audiences just when everyone is at their lowest ebb, the most hours spent waiting around at the theatre when really all anyone wants is to go home and take a nap.

 Sometimes the exhaustion works in their favour, on the days that the tiredness makes everything somehow seem that bit funnier. Tired-drunk, Cathay calls it, when one or other of the queens finds themselves giggling half hysterically over something that in the cold light of a Monday morning would really seem not that amusing at all. At least they get some good social media videos out of it.

 Mostly though, being tired just makes everyone shorter and snappier and more prone to storming out of the dressing room to sulk- or cry or walk around angrily slamming doors or lurk in corridors muttering darkly about how much better things will be when they got their book deal and cam write full time.

 Nobody is sleeping well, nobody can be bothered to eat proper meals, let alone actually cook them, and they all feel like they haven’t seen the sun in months.

  In short, they are in dire need of a day off.

 By Saturday’s second show, Anne is almost counting the seconds til she can go home.

She feels like her shoes are made of lead, her head is pounding, her costume is sticking to her uncomfortably and she is bitterly regretting the energy drink she’d downed in lieu of lunch on Cathy's perhaps slightly misguided advice. Not that she can blame Cathy- it’s her own fault for taking advice from a woman who not only occasionally substitutes coffee for milk on her cereal but actually professes to prefer it.

 The discomfort distracts her and makes her come rather too close- unpleasantly close, dangerously close- to missing a couple of cues during Ex Wives. It’s nothing the audience will have noticed, even if they have seen the show before, and perhaps even the other queens won't pick up on it, but she knows and the thought gives her a horrible flustered feeling, like she’s falling behind and needs to catch up to something.

 Except there is no chance to catch up. Sometimes the lack of interval doesn’t bother her at all-  they’re all rather glad of it at times because it does away with having to worry about recapturing the audience's attention and goodwill after twenty minutes of all 200 of them getting irritated over overpriced wine and tiny-tubbed ice cream- but now she would kill for five minutes to sit down for a moment and collect herself.

 Even the show gets harder as it continues- she's unsettled by having someone who isn't Anna in Anna's place, the songs get longer, the dialogues get more heated and shouty, and Haus of Holbein...well, Haus of Holbein just exists.

She has never been less prepared for the flashing lights and pounding bass, and even when it’s over, she can feel the tension building up inside herself, the feeling of her last threads of control beginning to dry out, stretch thin and snap.

 Finally, finally, they strike their ending poses, fists thrust in the air. Anne can feel her arm trembling slightly and hopes that no one else will notice. She doesn’t feel like fielding questions off stage.

 Although she’s been hoping for a moment to collect herself, the split second of reprieve granted before the music starts again and the Megasix begins, if anything, make her feel more overwhelmed rather than less, as if her body, having tasted peace and quiet for a moment, is protesting bitterly by making everything that much louder.

 The dancing- not even really being able to rely on muscle memory because it’s apparently important that they keep an informality to the Megasix that can only be achieved by insisting that everybody dance freestyle- begins to feel like a rather unusual and exquisite form of torture.

 And then the confetti starts and it’s in her face and under her feet and god someone's going to break their neck one of these days and the front row fans are screaming particularly loudly- not just screaming but screaming words too, and as much as she knows they are most likely positive things, the words are lapping over one another like waves coming too quickly on the beach, sucking away her control, and the effort of keeping a smile on her face as she tries to focus on different parts of the audience so that everyone, even those people in further back seats feel included, are making her face hurt and her costume is prickling with sweat and god she just wants to rip it off and someone must have decided now was a good time to give themselves a quick douse of perfume in the front few rows because now it’s tickling her nose, it’s far too strong, and it’s all too loud, too bright, too much, too much for her to deal with all in one go, and in the midst of it all, she feels herself left as small and pink and vulnerable as an oyster, pried open and squirted with lemon juice, cringing in the remains of its broken shell.

 When the last note sounds and the stage goes mercifully dark and the curtain comes down, she can't move from her final pose. At last, at last, at last she can breathe for a second- but Kitty is already pulling on her arm and telling her to hurry up, come on, get changed so we can get to the pub- and maybe it’s Kitty shrieking in her ear, and maybe it’s the very sensation of being pulled and maybe it’s the thought of having to endure yet another noisy, bright, crowded space after everything, but to her mild surprise, Anne finds that rather than just pushing Kitty away like she would have had no problem doing normally, she’s wrenching herself away with such force that Kitty lets out a squeak of surprise and then she’s curling up right there on the confetti-strewn stage with her hands clasped so tightly over her ears it hurts and her eyes screwed shut so that she can almost see stars, folded up tightly to protect the very very tiny fragile hold on reality that she still has left.

 ‘Anne?’

 ‘Anne are you alright?’

 The others crowd round her immediately. 

 ‘What’s the matter, are you hurt?’

 She can't find the words to ask them to be quiet- but when Cathy’s concerned hand presses the scratchy material of her costume harder against her shoulder, she squirms and whines unhappily, cringing away. She’d be embarrassed, she thinks distantly, if she had any space in her head for anything other than panic.

 ‘…..can’t stay here.’

 ‘You can’t be thinking of moving her.’

 ‘It’s horrible to move her if she doesn't want to-’

 ‘Look she won’t want to stay here either, she’ll calm down quicker if she’s somewhere quiet-’

 After a minute or two of bickering, Catalina effectively ends the argument by scooping Anne into her arms and bearing her off to the dressing room.

 The added contact, the spikiness of Catalina’s costume, the noise the other queens are making makes her wriggle unhappily in Catalina’s arms but she doesn’t fight too hard, not really.

 She isn’t sure what she’d do if Catalina DID put her down. Curl back up into a ball until things got quieter, probably.

 In the dressing room, Catalina sets her gently on the carpet- or starts too. When Anne cringes away at the scratchy nylon, Jane spreads Kitty’s hoody and her own coat on the floor.

 ‘There, that’s better-’

 ‘What should we do…?’

 ‘I don't think we should all stay-’

 ‘Should we leave her alone?’

 Their voices are piling up again and it hurts, they hurt, muddling her already overburdened mind, and she’s just beginning to feel a scream tickling the back of her throat when Catalina holds up a hand.

 ‘Can't we have this conversation in the corridor?’

 Cathy nods; Kitty opens the door, casting worried looks back at Anne even as Jane tugs her outside.

 And then they are all out into the corridor. 

 Cathy makes a brief return to flick off the lights….and then she too withdraws, and Anne is left in peace.

 She curls up on her side in the welcome darkness. Her hands are still over her ears but slightly less tightly now. 

 Breath. Breathe. Breathe.

 She's still shaking, shaking even harder than before. Her teeth are chattering.

 Sweat dries on her skin.

 The tremors make her arms and legs ache but the pain is almost soothing- something else to focus on, at least.

 Slowly, slowly, she begins to relax her tensed-tight muscles, one by one.

 At least now it’s quiet.

 *

 They leave her alone for as long as they can- although really she can’t say how much time has passed- and then the door opens. Light spills in from the corridor.

 ‘Anne?’

 It’s Catalina.

 ‘Mija, it’s time to go home.’

 She curls up tighter and Catalina comes properly into the room, holding the door open with her foot.

 ‘Anne, it’s getting late. You’ll be more comfortable at home where you can rest.’

 She’s afraid that if she moves, all the light and noise of the theatre will engulf her again, flood her and suck her down; she’s feeling better now, she doesn't want to take the risk of moving.

 But Catalina doesn’t move. Her face is anguished- she looks pained, unhappy. She doesn't want to be the one having to make Anne move, and it gives her no pleasure when Anne eventually gets shakily to her feet.

 On the way to the car, she keeps her distance, gives her breathing room. She asks quietly if Anne would like help when she stumbles and when she shakes her head, she can see how that bothers Catalina too.

She’s not used to not being able to give comfort, she’s used to having to almost peel Cathy off, she’s used to Jane trailing around after her like a shadow. She’s used to being able to help.

 But she doesn’t press it and Anne is grateful.

 *

 When they get home, the others are awake and clustered in the living room but the hum of conversation falls silent when the front door opens and closes.

 Jane pops into the hall to say that she's welcome to join them if she’d like but that they completely understand if Anne would rather have some time on her own.

 She nods but when she goes upstairs it's not her own door she stops at but Anna's.

 She knocks, quietly, in case Anna is asleep- and then very gently nudges open the door. She's still shaking slightly.

 Anna’s room is half lit from the open laptop on the floor by the bed. The laptop is silent, the darkness is soft and welcoming. All is quiet and calm. She takes her first proper breath in what feels like hours.

  Anna herself is dozing- but opens her eyes just as Anne is making up her mind to resigning herself to going back to her own room.

 ‘Anne?’

 She gives a shaky half smile.

 ‘What time is it?’

 She nudges Anna's digital clock to face her: the lighted dial shows nearly 11pm.

  She isn’t sure if the others have filled Anna in, if she knows anything at all. (She decides not to ask, she’d rather not know.)

 ‘Oh’. Anna rolls onto her back and takes some tissues to blow her nose. ‘Are you ok?’

 She hesitates, trying to strip away the layers of meaning- she isn't sure whether to say yes or no, so after a minute she just shrugs.

 Anna sits up a bit and pats the bed next to her, flipping back the duvet.

 ‘Want to come keep me company in my bed of sickness?’

 She can't be sure but she feels like Anna is deliberately talking more softly than usual.

 Suddenly she wants nothing more than to take refuge here, in the peaceful semi darkness, where she has Anna next to her to do her talking for her until she feels up to talking for herself.

 She nods.

 ‘Come on then.’

  She crosses the room and gets under the covers in the sweats and tshirt Catalina helped her change into before going to the car. 

 Under the duvet, she burrows into Anna's side: it's warm and dark, it feels like a good place to recover.

 Anna lies down next to her, fitting her body around Anne's and wrapping an arm around her.

  It feels heavy, in the best way. Grounding.

 There's no way she’ll be able to float off into her own head with Anna here.

 ‘I missed you.’

 It’s quieter than a whisper, almost a breath, but Anna hears because she always does.

 ‘Missed you too, babes.’

  Anna’s arm tightens around her; her breath tickles Anne’s neck but it doesn’t bother her as much as it would have done an hour or two earlier. It’s a nice reminder that she isn’t alone.

 She closes her eyes, counts her breaths- in and out, like she’s learned to do at times like this- and waits to readjust to the world outside.

[bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzereh]

--7 mins

7 mins

It was going to be another peaceful night for you. You had your tea, a diffuser full of lavender oil going in your room, your headphones, and your laptop. All you wanted to do on the weekends was binge Netflix and have a moment to yourself. Since the new semester started, you were up to your elbows with work from all your classes. Being that your freshman year had gone so-so regarding your grades, you were determined to do better for your sophomore year. You had your routine and you stuck to it. Although it put a bit of a dent into your social life, you were convinced that this was for the best. 

What the hell could this year bring you that was new anyway? 

You sipped on your drink and started to slip your headphones over your ear when your roommate Hitch barged in. 

“Hey,” she said as she closed the door behind her. 

Without waiting for your answer, Hitch stripped off all her clothes and started to rummage through her dresser for something new. You learned early on that living with Hitch meant you’d be seeing her nude more times than you wanted. 

She was comfortable and confident with herself, though, and you had to admire that. 

“Another cozy night in?” she teased as she looked over her shoulder. 

“Yes. Another night out?” you countered, making her stick her tongue out at you. 

Your roommate during your freshman year was quiet and kept to herself. Naturally, the two of you got along. But then she transferred and you were reassigned a new roommate for the next year. Although you liked Hitch in your own way, she was different from your old roommate. Hitch was far from quiet, and she couldn’t keep to herself to save her own life. She loved talking to you even when you wanted quiet, and there was nothing more that she liked than being in your business. That was, when she wasn’t going to parties nightly, or bringing different guys and girls back to the room. 

You got so used to seeing scrunchies tied around the doorknob in the middle of the day, that the library almost became your second dorm. 

She at least had the decency to never take them back to the room when you were asleep though. Then again, you were always asleep before she was. 

“God damn it, that’s not the dress I want,” Hitch muttered to herself. 

She tip-toed over to her hamper full of dirty laundry and started to pull through the clothes there. You shook your head as you tried to hold your judgement, but you knew Hitch couldn’t care less. Your gaze wandered back to your laptop and the movie you had loaded up, but you were pulled out of your thoughts again when you heard Hitch yell.  

“YES, PERFECT!” 

Your eyes darted up to see she was holding up the tightest, shortest piece of clothing she owned. While you were sure it was a simple black tube dress, you swore that from far away it looked more like a top. Hitch jumped into the dress as soon as she found it, then sprayed perfume on it. She gave you a wink when she caught your eye, and grabbed her makeup bag so she could sit on your bed with you as she got ready. 

“What movie are you watching tonight?” she asked as she applied some mascara to her lashes. 

Unbothered, you simply looked over at her with a smile, both amused and horrified by how unkempt she looked. Her hair looked matted as if she’d just gotten back from a romp with some random person, and as amusing as it was to you, you couldn’t let her go out like that. 

“Something from Netflix’s top 10,” you sighed, getting up so you could get a hairbrush for her. 

“Thanks, babes. Which gloss?” she beamed at you as she held up two lip glosses that looked a shade or two off from one another. 

You jutted your head towards the pinker one in her left hand, and she praised your decision before pinching your cheeks. 

“You know you’re invited to come with me,” Hitch sang out to you. 

She began applying glue to a strip of lashes, while you brushed her hair out, and you had to admit a tinge of envy bloomed in your stomach. Even though Hitch partied and hooked up with people left and right — she still managed to go to work, keep up with her classes, and maintain a decent GPA. It wasn’t even as if you didn’t go to your fair share of parties. Your freshman year had more than enough. But after almost failing a class and getting the verbal lashing of your life from your parents, you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to that. This wasn’t going to be the year for fun, and you had to be okay with it. 

“Helloooo,” Hitch called your name out. 

“What? I heard you, I just didn’t say anything.”

Hitch pinched her lashes together and started to flutter her lashes at you as she adjusted to the feeling of the fake lashes over her real ones. 

“I know. And I’m telling you that you are invited.” 

Her hands were intertwined with yours now as she gave you a gentle tug towards her chest. 

“Babe. You are young. Hot. Single. Smart. Whatever. You deserve to have some fun sometimes. I’m not saying you have to be like me, but just come out with meeee. For like two hours, and then we can go. Please. I hate thinking about you all alone in this fucking room every weekend. PLEEEEASE.” 

Hitch was full on pouting at this point, bouncing up and down in your bed as she tried to beg you to come out with her. From the look on your face, she could tell that you were musing it over. Your teeth met your bottom lip as you contemplated more about the decision, and she didn’t stop her begging.

“Please. Please. Please. Let loose for once. Relieve some stress with me. You don’t have to stay the whole time, just try. I’ll even do your makeup,” she pleaded. “I think I have a dress you can borrow, too.”

“Is it clean?” you jested, letting go of her hands. 

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Wait. Is that a yes?!” 

A sigh left your lips and you glanced at her for a second too long. Truthfully, you were stressed. It sounded appealing. The nights when Hitch would come in and out of the dorm made you envious sometimes. Although you weren’t the biggest partier, you still enjoyed them from time to time. 

Kind of. 

Your yes was quiet, but Hitch tackled you with a hug before you even got the full word out. 

“For real, you’re coming? Tell me you’re not joking!” she cheered your name and poked your chest repeatedly out of excitement. 

“Yes, Hitch. I’m serious - get off, I can’t breathe,” you muffled into her bony shoulder. 

She popped off you and clapped her hands together, but you held a hand up to her before she could say any more. 

“I can do my own makeup, though. And I have my own clothes,” you laughed. 

“FUCK YES!!” Hitch screamed. She then started to dance around the room while she tapped on her phone, completely giddy like a schoolgirl over the fact that you would be joining her for the night. 

Grabbing your shower caddy from your bedside, you merely shook your head at her in laughter and ran off to the shared bathrooms so you could at least get clean before arriving. 

The party Hitch wanted to take you to was at one of the frat houses on campus, supposedly known for throwing some of the best parties at your university. You had remembered hearing stories about the Ekato Tessera chapter, but you never had a chance to go to any of their parties before. The house itself wasn’t too far away from where your dormitory building was, so you and Hitch chose to walk the short distance. 

You briefly cursed yourself as the cold wind brushed against your bare legs. While you didn’t wear a dress as short as Hitch, you still chose one of your most flattering dresses. When you had finished with your hair and make up, Hitch wolf-whistled at you, making off-color compliments about how pretty you looked. She joked that you were going to steal all the guys from her, and that there’d better be girls there for her to make up for that.

You couldn’t lie — it did boost your confidence. While you were no blushing virgin, it had been a while since you had gotten laid. The last time was with some random guy you had English Composition with, and it was nothing but disappointment. A few strokes with no attempts to touch your clit, and he was done. 

You swore off casual hook-ups since then. 

As the two of you got closer to the house, you could see swaths of people entering the door. The house was booming with music, and a few people were already passed out on the front lawn next to a few keg barrels. Some of the rowdier frat boys started to whistle as more girls passed the door, and sensing your discomfort, Hitch grabbed your arm and stood in front of you protectively while she led you inside the house. 

“Don’t mind them,” she muttered, turning her head to you and keeping her grip on you the entire time. “They’re just freshmen or idiot pledge-wannabes.” 

You laughed at the mere idea of Greek life, and thanked your lucky stars for a friend like Hitch in that moment. Although she intruded on you more than you liked, you couldn’t deny that she had a good heart and at least cared about you. 

When you entered the interior of the house, you could see people dancing in one room, drinking, making out, grinding against each other, and packed back to back like sardines. Sensing your mild discomfort again at the sheer size of the party, Hitch moved to hook her arm around yours and leaned in. 

“Don’t worry, these aren’t the people we’re partying with. Luckily for us, I know the president. He doesn’t even bother being up here half the time,” she frowned as the two of you walked past a couple who looked like they were trying to swallow each other’s faces.

A few more passes between crowds of people, and Hitch finally led you to a space in the back of the house that was closed off for entrance. Standing outside the door was a big, braulic blonde guy who looked like he could crush someone’s head with one hand. Hitch gave you a sly wink as the two of you got closer, and unlooped her arm from yours. 

“Hey Reiner, tell Jean I’m here. I brought a friend, too. Hope that’s okay,” Hitch tilted her shoulders towards him, letting her fingers dance across his bicep all while she spoke. 

You couldn’t even hold in your laugh, especially because the guy called Reiner folded for her so easily and the stern look on his face faded away. He unclipped the walkie talkie hanging from his belt loop and phoned in for Jean, whoever that was. 

“President,” Hitch whispered in your ear, reading your mind. 

“Of course,” you giggled. 

“What? We hooked up once or twice,” she shrugged. “It was good, too. Obviously trying to get some again tonight. Oh my god, I have to tell you about this one time when he ate my -” 

“You girls can head in,” Reiner said, interrupting Hitch and jerking his head toward the door. 

The two of you stepped past him and you could see stairs leading down to what looked like the basement. Hitch led you down the entire time, refusing to let go of your hand out of support.

If you thought the upstairs of the frat house was huge, you underestimated how big the rest of the house was. The basement was just as spacious, with a living room, its own individual kitchen, what looked like two bathrooms, and a few closed doors you assumed to be bedrooms. The music down here was a lot softer and chill, a mix of R&B and alternative. Not to mention there were way less people. It seemed as if this space was reserved for those higher up in the fraternity hierarchy and their friends.  

“President and VP live down here,” Hitch giggled, reading your mind. 

“Let me guess, you’ve been fortunate enough to hook up with the VP, too?” you asked, turning to her with a smile. 

“What?! No. He’s a fuckboy, I would never. And if you’re smart, you wouldn’t either,” she warned, her face turning rather serious. 

 “Well at least let me know who -” 

“Hitch! Glad you made it,” a voice called out. 

The two of you turned to see a tall, sandy-haired boy approaching and you assumed it had to be Jean from the overly friendly embrace they gave each other. 

“Jean, this is my roommate,” Hitch introduced you by your name and ushered you closer. 

“Hey. Hope you’re enjoying yourself so far,” he said with a kind smile. “Sorry for whatever you may have seen upstairs. It’s my job to be the professional babysitter for seventy idiots and I’m off on the weekends.” 

Jean said this with his hands on his hip like an annoyed mom, and neither you nor Hitch could suppress your laughter. 

“It’s fine, Jean. Thanks for having me,” you grinned. 

“Sure. Any friend of Hitch is a friend of mine. If you girls want drinks, that’s your guy,” he said, gesturing to a short, semi-bald kid in the corner who was mixing at least four different bottles of liquor together with soda. 

All of you grimaced at the sight, and Jean shook his head in disbelief and disgust. 

Was he mixing clear liquors with dark ones?! 

“Or...there’s drinks in the fridge if you want to head to the kitchen,” Jean finished, reading everyone’s mind. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out in relief. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jean said, the annoyance still clear on his face. 

You could tell he almost had half a mind to walk over to Connie to stop him, but Hitch interrupted him before he could as she whispered into his ear, and Jean relaxed in her touch. 

“Babe, we’re going to...step away for a moment. Will you be okay?” Hitch asked as she stood in front of him.

She started to bug her eyes out at you and mouthed “please”, and you laughed and nodded. 

Who were you to cock-block her?

“I’ll be fine. Go. See you later.” 

“Okay, love you!” she giggled before walking away with Jean. 

The two of them left to go to his room, no doubt, and you had to admit they were a very cute couple. Even though she left you alone at the party with no one to talk to, you were more than capable of being at a party by yourself.  

Even if you hated it. 

With your roommate out of sight, you decided to make your way to the kitchen to find some food and drinks. The basement could’ve passed off as its own separate apartment, and you grew envious the more you explored it. When you finally made your way to the kitchen, you saw that no one was in there, shy of one girl who was pouring a bag of pretzels into a bowl for herself. On the kitchen counter were bags of chips, water, and other snacks. You smiled and made your way past her, and there you were — alone for just a second. 

Really, just a second. 

By the time you found a drink you didn’t hate from the fridge and had a bag of chips in your hands, you heard someone scrambling into the kitchen. You tried to turn your back to them so you wouldn’t be forced into a conversation you didn’t want, and you prayed that whoever was coming in wouldn’t be much of a “talker”.  bc

All you wanted was a moment of peace to finish your drink, and eat your chips.

“Eren, grab me a water,” you heard a voice say. 

“No, Connie - get it yourself. What the fuck do I look like?” the other voice replied. “Annoying as shit,” the voice continued to mutter as they got closer to the kitchen. 

Whoever it was that entered made their way into the kitchen without acknowledging you, but their mood quickly changed once they got to where you were standing. 

Please don’t talk to me, you thought. 

“Oh. Hey,” the voice said. 

Just your luck. 

You turned to your side to see who it was, and you could safely say you had never seen him before. Clad in nothing but simple black sweats, sneakers, and a white t-shirt — you could tell the guy next to you clearly didn’t give a shit about impressing anyone at the party. He had his brown hair tied back in a messy, loose bun further indicating to you how little he cared about his appearance. And you couldn’t miss his bright, teal-green eyes which were looking down at your bare legs without any shame. They were half-lidded and a little red, and you could smell the faintest whiff of weed when he came close. When you met his gaze, he gave you a cheeky, boyish grin.    

“Never seen you before. I’m Eren.” 

You turned to face him and gave him your name, which he repeated about three times before giving you another smile. Oddly sweet for a frat boy, you thought.

“Nice to meet you. So,” Eren started to climb up to the counters so he could sit on it while he talked to you. He was so close to you, his thigh was practically touching your arm. “Why haven’t I seen you around? You new?” 

“No, I’ve just never been to one of these parties before,” you shrugged, popping a chip into your mouth. 

“Ohhh. Not much of a partier? Makes sense. You don’t look like one,” he tilted his head trying to study you. 

What the fuck was he on about? You had your fair share of parties. You went to a ton last year. Sure, none of them were like this but who the fuck was this guy to judge you about anything anyway?

“I didn’t say that,” you said defensively, stepping back.  

“Chill out,” Eren laughed. “It’s not a bad thing. If that’s not you, then it’s not you.” 

You recoiled another step back from him, annoyed by how he was trying to analyze you despite having just met you. Eren was so...weird. How  could someone be so charming one moment then obnoxious the next? 

“I said I’ve never been to one of these parties, not that I don’t party at all.” 

“Really? I wonder if we’ve ever met at other parties and you just didn’t know,” Eren challenged. “I think I would’ve remembered someone like you. I mean, these aren’t the only ones I go to. Did you go to Floch’s party last week?” 

You had to roll your eyes. Was this boy always so annoying? Did he always talk this fucking much? You were about to open your mouth to reply but Eren    stole one of your chips before you could and let out a laugh. When he tossed his head back to do so, you could see the faintest sliver of silver on his tongue indicating to you that he had a tongue ring, which was unexpected yet oddly fitting for him. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said with a mouthful of food.

“Are you always like this?” you snapped. Eren reached out for your chips again, but you held it out of his grasp. 

“Always like what?” he asked innocently, furrowing his brows at you and tilting his head again.

“Annoying.” 

“Damn. It’s like that?” Eren held his hand to his chest as if he were wounded by your comment. 

You were about to respond but got cut off when someone called out for Eren again. You weren’t sure if you were grateful for that or not. 

“I’ll be right there,” Eren shouted back. He hopped off the counter and stretched his arm out over you for another chip, giving you the widest grin while you glared at him. Eren continued to chew the food he had stolen from you loudly (and on purpose), then reached behind your waist to grab two water bottles. He was uncomfortably close yet still distant. Almost like he was respecting your space but testing the waters with you all at the same time. 

“Well, partier or not - it’s nice to see you here,” he said, giving you a smile once your name left his lips. 

With that, he left you alone in the kitchen. 

And there it was again. 

That weird charm he oozed, without meaning to. The moment he said your name with sincerity and a smile, he reminded you of a boy-next-door. The kind you’d grow up with and crush on for ages. But just seconds ago when he was purposely pushing your buttons and trying to get you to admit that you actually weren’t a huge party-goer, he reminded you of the jocks that used to prowl around your high school. The idiotic kinds who’d crush soda cans against their heads just to prove that they could. 

You weren’t sure how you felt about him, but he was...interesting. 

That was for sure.

“Yo,” a voice called into the kitchen. 

You recognized him as the bartender who Jean introduced you to earlier when he stepped in. 

“We’re about to play 7 minutes in heaven, wanna join?”

You suppressed an eye roll. Were we all in high school? 

“It’s either that or strip poker, and I see these guys naked all the time without wanting to. Take your pick,” he shrugged as he read the look on your face. 

You sighed and slapped your hand to your head, and tossed your nearly empty chip bag into a nearby wastebasket. You were here to relieve stress. So what if that meant getting a little tipsy and making out with a stranger? Walking to the fridge now, you grabbed another one of the hard lemonades tucked away in the back and popped the cap off so you could take a sip. While you drank, you pulled your phone out to check for any messages, and saw that you had one from Hitch. 

It simply said, “Busy....getting busy. XO.” 

Seemed like you had no choice but to hang around for a little while anyway. 

When you made your way out to the living room, everyone was either sitting on the floor with their drinks or sitting on the couches. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Eren making his way over to the couch so he could lay his head down onto some random girl’s lap. And while she playfully protested at first, all he had to do was give her that sweet grin of his and she acquiesced with no real fight. 

He really was a charming bastard, wasn’t he? 

You found a cozy spot near the corner by the girl who you saw in the kitchen earlier. She was sitting on a loveseat with the bowl of pretzels between her lap, and as soon as you sat down, she offered you some and introduced herself. You introduced yourself back to her and politely declined in favor of your drink, but you appreciated it nonetheless. 

Connie seemed to be in charge of the game, and he read out the rules to everyone — half of whom weren’t even paying attention. If they weren’t on their phones, their eyes were glued to the television screen, which was playing a movie ripped from the theaters. 

But the rules were simple enough. 

Everyone had to write down their names and place it into a bucket. Connie would randomly draw out two papers, and whoever he picked, had to go into the closet for seven whole minutes to either make out, fuck, or do whatever they wanted to. The only rule was they had to be in there for the entire seven minutes. 

It was more entertaining than you thought it would be. As the night went on, girls went in with guys, guys with guys, girls with girls, and so on and so forth. Cheers and claps were given to every person brave enough to exit and enter, but it was nothing too rowdy, surprisingly. You’d hear the occasional moan and a few thumps against the closet door, but no one seemed particularly lewd with anything they did. Everyone just wanted to hang out and do something to pass the time, for the most part. Then again, you supposed if they wanted to fuck, the guys all had their individual rooms for that. 

Why bother doing it in a closet? 

“Alright, next pair’s gonna be...Eren.” 

Eren looked up from his phone, but didn’t pick his head up off the girl’s lap as he waited to hear who else he’d be paired with. You couldn’t lie, you anticipated it, too. You wondered how he’d react or if he’d bother going in anyway. He was kind of unpredictable to you. He was so -

“Hey,” Sasha, the girl who was next to you, elbowed you and said your name. 

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear Connie? You’re paired with Eren, go!” 

You had, in fact, not heard Connie. You were too busy thinking about Eren that it never even registered to you that you’d have no time to do that. When Sasha was able to get your attention, Eren popped up off the couch and sauntered over to the closet with a slight smile on his face. He folded his arms as he waited for you to get there, and you could feel your heart hammering in your chest with every step you took.

Why were you so nervous? 

Eren looked at you out of the corner of his eye once you stood next to him, and both of you waited for Connie to unlock the door. Once he did, you both stepped in and faced Connie and the rest of the people in the room. Connie gave both of you a thumbs up as he did for every other pair, then set the timer on his phone. 

“Alright, kids. Have fun,” he beamed. 

Then the door shut behind you, and you heard the faint ‘click’ of the lock. 

The closet was cramped and tight, leaving you and Eren with barely any room to move. Although there wasn’t any source of light around you, you could still make out his face in the midst of the darkness. He was standing so close to you that you could smell his scent with every inhale you took. The smell of weed had dissipated off his clothes, and all you could smell was a mix of vanilla, musk, and mint. You started to fidget in place as you thought about how attractive he was up close, and Eren seemed to notice your discomfort.

“We don’t actually have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he whispered. 

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, which was such a welcomed change from the way he spoke to you when he first met you in the kitchen. It was soft, and gentle. Even the way he stood in front of you was different. He was leaning off to the side, trying to give you as much space as he could, which was saying a lot considering how small the closet was. The two of you were still close to each other anyway, but he tried. Although you appreciated the gesture, you couldn’t help but count down time in your head. Seven minutes was quickly passing, and you were about to pass up the chance to make out with a hot guy. The more you thought it over, the more appealing it was — just to be touched, even for a little bit. Eren was attractive enough, and he seemed to respect your boundaries, at least in this moment. It was odd, but the shyness that he seemed to exude when the two of you were behind closed doors only made you want him more. 

“It’s okay, actually. I want to…” you murmured back as you moved closer to him so the two of you were chest to chest. 

You wrapped your arms around Eren’s neck cautiously, feeling your pulse quicken the moment he leaned into your embrace. Your lips found Eren’s first as you slotted your mouth against his, and neither of you wasted time offering your tongues to one another as you were both on the same wavelength of acknowledging what little time you had. You admittedly had filthy thoughts about what that tongue ring would feel like, and your fantasies could not surpass the reality of the situation. The mixture of his soft, warm tongue combined with the cold metal made your toes curl, and he hadn’t even touched you. Not really, anyway. You wondered how long it had been for you as you felt your underwear getting slick with arousal, and you could feel your clit pulsating with anticipation just from kissing him. 

Eren pulled you closer to him by placing his hands on your lower back, and the warmth of his large hands made you whine softly. While you should’ve cared about making so much noise, you didn’t. Some hot, cocky bastard was groping you with his talented tongue and hands, and he seemed to want you as much as you wanted him. 

When Eren’s tongue teased your lower lip, and his hands started to travel over the fleshy globes of your ass — you let out a small moan into his mouth. You couldn’t control yourself as you rutted your hips against his front, making him pull away from you. He let out a breathy exhale and just stared at you while you stood there confused. 

“What’s wro -”

“Can I do something?” he interrupted quietly, stepping back from you to try to create some space between the two of you. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion, and Eren tilted his head at you. He started to lower himself down onto his knees, and that was when it clicked. 

Oh.

“Yes or no?” he whispered your name as he inched up to your bare legs. 

You could feel his heated breath fanning across your skin as his nose was face to face with your hips. Internally, you thought of the clock and wondered how much time you had with him because at this point, you didn’t want it to end. You chewed on your lower lip, and gave Eren a nod of consent, and a cocky little grin stretched on his face. Eren placed his hands on both sides of your waist, not missing the way you trembled under his touch, and in that moment — you realized that the obnoxious little shit you’d met in the kitchen was very present with you right then and there.  

Maybe the shy thing was an act. Maybe the cocky bastard never went away. Or worse. Maybe he was both of those things, and you just got to see them all at the same time. 

With a smirk, Eren pushed your skirt up and grinned as he savored the damp spot on your underwear. You wished you wore something cuter and rolled your eyes as you thought of the plain cotton panties you had on. But that thought left you the moment Eren put his mouth over your clothed sex and started to lick. You could feel a protrusion from where his tongue ring was, and immediately threw your head back at the new, foreign sensation. It was far from unwelcomed. Somehow the barrier made you even slicker with desire, and Eren could taste every bit of it as he teased you through your underwear with his mouth. When your hands reached out to grab his hair, he let out a breathy laugh. 

“Hang on,” he muttered softly. “I got you.” 

You flushed over how eager you were, but Eren didn’t seem to mind. He was surprisingly gentle with the way he pulled your underwear off, making sure to trail his fingers down the sides of your thighs with a tender touch. But that faded once he saw your bare, slick cunt right in front of his face and before you knew it — his mouth was back on you — this time, with a fury. 

The unfamiliar feeling of the cold metal ball against your clit made you yank on his hair again, which only encouraged Eren to bring you even closer to his face. It added additional pressure on top of the muscle that was his tongue, and you had never felt so many sensations against your body at once. Eren gripped your hips with a bruising force while he licked and sucked on your clit, burying his nose and mouth deep into your wet folds. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasped out as quietly as you could.

You could feel Eren smirking against your pussy as he licked lazy circles around your clit but before you could ask for more, he hoisted one of your legs up over his shoulder. He thrusted his tongue back into you and nuzzled his nose into your clit, making you squirm under his touch. Eren kept his eyes on you the whole time he ate you out. His hands never wavered from massaging your ass and thighs, and he kept pushing you closer and closer to his mouth as if he wanted you to be his last fucking meal. “Don’t stop” was the soft chant that left your lips the more he suckled and played with your aching bundle  of nerves, and you could feel the fuzzy, dizzy sensation overcoming you as your orgasm approached. When the pit in your stomach unraveled, you almost fell over from the shock as you tried to ride out each wave of pleasure that washed over you. 

Eren smirked into you again as you came down from your high, and moved his mouth off your pussy onto your inner thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses across you. You were still quivering and breathless by the time Eren stood back up. He was kind enough to pull your underwear back up for you, and when he saw that you were still shaky, he leaned in to give you a gentle kiss. The slick of your juices were still coated on his mouth, and it took everything in you not to moan when you thought of how sinful it all was. As you grinded against his leg, you could feel the tent of his erection against your thigh. You tried to reach down for him, but Eren held your chin with his free hand to force you to look at him and he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. We don’t have that much time left anyway, annnd I don’t have a condom on me,” he laughed. 

“Oh, but…” you chewed on your lip in shame as you realized you were the only one who came from this encounter. 

It felt kind of in bad taste. You knew what it felt like to be the one left with no orgasm, you hated the idea of being the kind of person who only took and didn’t give. A timer going off outside signaled to the two of you that time was up, and you could feel a wave of disappointment washing over you as you realized just how short seven minutes was. Eren laughed again at the pouty look you had, and cupped your face in his hands.

“I -” he started to say.

“Eren, get the fuck out of there! Time’s up.” 

“God damn it.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored the pounding on the door, but never took his hands off your face. 

“Are you sure, I mean -” you stammered.

“HEY! GET OUT, LOVEBIRDS!”

“Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Connie!” Eren turned his head and yelled back. 

He rolled his eyes again and leaned in to give you a sweet peck on the corner of your mouth. 

“Eren, I -”

“It’s fine. And honestly?” Eren leaned into your ear. “I just wanted a taste.”

Eren pulled away with a smile and started to exit the closet. You swore you could see him wiping your remaining juices off his mouth with his thumb and sucking it off as he left you. And while you heard the ooh’s and ahh’s as the door opened slightly, you ignored that over the sound of your heart beating in your ear. 

Never in your life did you think 7 minutes in heaven would lead to something like that

lol chapter 2

It had been a week since your encounter with Eren, and you still couldn’t get him off your mind. When Hitch would leave for class and you had the afternoon alone in the dorm, you’d often find your hands traveling down past your leggings, and you would be lost in thought. You thought about Eren’s warm mouth against your core, his silky hair, the cool metal of his tongue ring against your flesh, and the tender way he kissed you as if you were more than a one-time thing. 

You had more of those mornings than you were proud to admit, and today was another one of them. 

While you had no problem bringing yourself to pleasure either, it wasn’t the same kind of relief. Not the same relief that Eren gave you. Maybe it was the freedom in letting go of your inhibitions. Maybe it was the secrecy of orgasming behind closed doors with a handsome stranger while people gathered outside, no doubt fully aware of what the two of you were up to. The thought of voyeurism never even appealed to you until you had that moment with Eren. It felt salacious to even think about in your day-to-day. Then again, you couldn’t say you’d ever done anything like that before in your life, and a part of you was convinced that was the appeal.

Maybe that was why you couldn’t get Eren Yeager off your mind.

Sighing to yourself with a pleased but exhausted exhale, you removed your hands from your pants and reached for a tissue from your nightstand. As you cleaned yourself up, you decided to give yourself a pep talk. 

You were not about to be hung up over a guy after one encounter. 

The day was still early, you had shit to do, and most importantly, you had to focus on school. 

That was your priority.

Not some guy. 

Seeing that you had finished all of your classes early for the day, you figured that you could get some studying and work done in the library. You were going to have the entire day to yourself anyway, as Hitch texted you earlier to let you know she’d be with Jean for the weekend. There was no sense in being cooped up in your dorm any longer than you already had been, thinking about stuff that didn’t hold any weight over your life. 

Whatever happened with Eren was fun, but you reassured yourself that it was only a (wondrous) one-time thing. 

You hadn’t even seen him after the party even though your eyes shamelessly looked for him everywhere. It seemed like he barely existed on campus shy of the frat house. 

Perhaps it was all for the best anyway.

At least that’s what you told yourself out of comfort. 

After all, what were the odds that you were ever going to see him again? 

You had been tucked away in the library for what felt like hours now. When you walked in, you quickly found the quietest spot you could, lucking out with a snug little alcove towards the back. It was the ideal studying spot, and you were lucky enough to have a view of the outside. 

There was hardly anyone on campus, being that it was a Friday, and it was pouring rain outside. The rain was strong enough that deep puddles began to form where the campus grounds had natural dips, and you watched in amusement as students jumped into them like kids. 

You always loved the rain. 

That was why you went sans headphones today, as the pitter-patters of the rain slapping against the window was the perfect soundtrack for studying and focusing. This was more you than a party, and you had to admit, it felt nice to be back in your natural milieu. 

Nothing could tear you away from the peace and quiet of -

“Hey, party animal,” you heard a familiar voice say. 

Well, except for that. 

That could definitely tear you away from...anything, if you were being honest. 

When you looked up from your lap, you saw Eren waving at you with a smile. He was wearing a gray hoodie with jeans and sneakers today, with his hair tied back in his usual messy bun. His attire and hair were both drenched with rain water, and it was almost unfair how cute he still looked despite that. 

What were the odds? 

“Um, hi,” you waved back, making Eren’s face stretch into a sweet grin. 

He strutted over to you with a confident swagger in his steps, then plopped right next to you. When he sat down next to you against the wall, he shook the water out of his hair like a dog coming into the house after going out into the rain, which made you giggle. 

“What’s up?” he asked with a cocky smile as he watched the way your eyes lingered on his face. 

The question admittedly threw you off, as it was the last thing you expected him to say to you. 

After days of not seeing each other, Eren was going to act as if he wasn’t buried between your legs a week ago and attempt to have… a normal conversation with you? 

Shaking your head, you tilted your head to the side to meet his stare and paused.

“Not much. I was just studying…” you started to trail off quietly as you watched the smile on Eren’s face stretch wide. 

In that moment, you realized why he addressed you as “party animal” instead of your name at first. At the party, you defended that you did go to parties when you initially met him. But here you were, studying in the library, on a damn Friday night. 

Damn him. 

A small laugh left Eren’s lips when he realized you caught on, but he quickly pulled himself back together. In an instant, he scooched closer to you, so much so that his thigh was about a centimeter away from yours. When you didn’t push him away or indicate that you were uncomfortable, Eren then leaned over your shoulder to look at the book in your lap. 

You could feel his breath close to your cheeks, making you warm all over, but he was still never too close for comfort. He always seemed to toe the line of being close enough, but never crossing the line exactly. Not unless you wanted him to. You appreciated that, and that was putting it lightly. 

As he studied your book with intent, you noticed that his breath smelled like mints as if he’d tossed an entire tin of it away into his mouth before coming here. You shuddered as you remembered the way his tongue felt cool and sweet in your mouth...the way he smelled and tasted like mint then…and you silently prayed that Eren didn’t notice the way you squeezed your thighs together. 

It seemed as if he didn’t, because he began reading lines aloud from your Public Health Ethics book, not even bothering to lower the volume in his voice. This got the attention of the librarian, who glared at the two of you from above the small book cart she was organizing, but Eren wasn’t fazed. When he did catch her eye, he continued to read from your book and gave her a little wave before smiling at you again, making you laugh. 

What a dork. 

You tucked some hair behind your ear and watched as Eren read your book with his tongue caught behind his teeth, almost as if he were trying to concentrate as hard as he could, even though you were sure he didn’t know what he was reading. 

How could one person be so adorable?

When the librarian shushed at you and Eren again, you gave her an apologetic wave, then met Eren’s gaze again once he was finished. His eyes darted to the librarian once more, and he shook his head and laughed when she stormed off with a huff.

“Uh...I have no idea what I just read. What’s this for?” 

There was genuine curiosity written all over his face, and his eyes gleamed bright as he stared at you in wait. You noticed that they lacked the redness they had when you first met, and you had to admit that a clearer, bright-eyed Eren was even more attractive than one who was high. 

Not that you minded either one. 

“Ethics in public health,” you said, smiling over his excitement. 

“Cool. Is that your major?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Yes, it is,” you laughed, still unsure of where this conversation was headed. 

“What do you like -” 

“Yo, Yeager-meister!” 

The sudden interruption prompted the two of you to look up, only to see a red-headed boy standing before you. 

“Hey Floch,” Eren replied back, lifting up two fingers to greet him in a half-hearted manner. 

“Are you coming to my party tonight?” 

You watched in amusement as Eren and his friend spoke but not because of their conversation. You were mostly amused because of the librarian who was lurking in the corner behind Floch. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you that she rounded the corner once more to spy on your section, especially because neither Eren nor Floch cared to lower their voices. You giggled as you watched her anger bubble over, and mentally calculated when she’d lose her temper and come over again. 

“Yeah, man. You missed it, it was cool though. I’m serious, you should come to the one tonight. It’s gonna be even crazier,” you heard Floch say as you came back from tuning him out. 

“Eh...I might skip this one, actually,” Eren shrugged. 

“Why, you busy?” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eren’s eyes flicker over to you, then back to his friend, but he didn’t respond. The warmth that spread over your body met more than just your cheeks this time, but you said nothing and tried to hold in the smile that wanted to make an appearance on your face. Taking Eren’s silence as an answer, Floch shrugged and continued to talk. 

“Either way, it’s cool, just text me if you decide to drop by, man,” Floch finished with a wave. 

“Yeah, man. I will. See ya.” 

With that, Floch left, and Eren turned to you. You shook your head, then pointed to the angry librarian across from the two of you in the hopes that Eren would actually try to lower his voice when he spoke to you again. Dropping his head close to your shoulder again, Eren let out a soft laugh. He refused to look at the librarian, and chose to look at you instead. When he met your gaze, he scrunched up his eyebrows in an adorable manner, making you giggle. 

“Sorry about that,” he actually whispered. 

“Don’t be. I didn’t know you were staying in on Friday. That’s unlike you,” you jested quietly, poking his firm bicep with your index finger. 

“I know how to stay inside sometimes,” Eren shrugged, not giving into your teasing. “I mean, I was indoors when I met you. Doesn’t that count?”

You rolled your eyes over his cheeky, idiotic joke which prompted him to laugh to himself again. There was something oddly charming about the way he carried himself, that you found yourself comfortable in his presence. From his dorky jokes, to his self-assured swagger mixed with his strange sense of self-awareness — there was no denying that Eren was a charmer. 

The more you studied him and his mannerisms, the more you realized that you liked it. 

And if you had to be honest with yourself, you had to say that you liked it a lot. 

“What are you doing in the library anyway?” you asked, leaning your head to the side. 

“Had to get a book,” he shrugged. 

“So where is -”

Before you could finish your sentence, you heard another voice greeting Eren. When you looked up, you recognized it to be the girl from the party — the one whose lap Eren was lying on moments before your shared seven minutes together.

“Hey Christa, what’s up?” Eren greeted kindly. 

“Not much, just heading to work but I had to return a book. Are you going to Floch’s party tonight?” Christa asked with anticipation in her voice. 

Once again, you tuned out the conversation to observe your surroundings; only this time, you focused on everyone behind Christa. While they spoke with each other, you noted that a lot of the people who were coming and going from the library all took a moment to say hi to Eren. 

It was odd, seeing how popular he was. But then again, you figured he had to have been from around the area along with most of the people who attended your college. You learned early on in your freshman year that more than half of students at Shinganshina University also all went to the same high school together, which wasn’t even thirty minutes away from the campus. Briefly, you wondered if Eren was just like this when he was in high school, too, then focused your attention back to the conversation before you. 

“Alright, Eren. Let me know if you decide to drop by. Bye!” you heard Christa chirp. 

When she left, she waved goodbye to the both of you and Eren gave you a shy grin again as he readied himself to apologize to you once more for the constant interruptions. Before he could even try to do that , the two of you heard kitten heels stomping across the carpeted floor, forcing you to look up again. 

“Oh...hey, Ms. Reeves,” Eren gave the librarian a wide grin as she glowered down at the two of you, unimpressed.

“Mr. Yeager. People out here are trying to study. If you want to continue to talk, I suggest going into one of the study rooms with your girlfriend,” the librarian gritted out through pursed lips.  

“Oh I’m not his -” 

“You’re right. Sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again. Come on, beautiful. Let’s go,” Eren laughed, reaching over to grab your book and bag with urgency.

He slung it over his shoulder before you could protest, then grabbed your hand so he could lead you towards one of the private study rooms. When the two of you walked in, the automatic lights flicked on and Eren set your bag and notebook down gently onto the table, shutting the door behind him with a sigh. He said your name, and scrunched his eyebrows at you again like he did earlier when he was apologizing. 

“I’m really sorry about that. I don’t even remember what we were talking about now,” he ran his hand over the back of his hair. 

You laughed at his sincerity, then pulled out some chairs so you could both sit down. Patting the wooden seat beside you, you signaled to Eren to come over and he did with a smile plastered on his face. 

“We were talking about my major.” 

“Oh, yeah. Public Health, right? Do you like it?” he leaned forward onto the table and put his chin in his hand like an eager little kid, making you giggle at his enthusiasm.��

“I do. A lot actually,” you mirrored his actions, and leaned forward onto the table yourself. 

Eren seemed happy with your answer, as he gave you another grin then grabbed your notebook off the table. 

“Eren, what are you doi-” 

“Tell me all about it. Why do you like it?” Eren continued, ignoring your protests as he pulled a pen from his pocket and began searching for an empty page in your notebook.

You furrowed your brows in confusion as you tried to make sense of what was going on, but Eren roused you away from your own mind with a gentle poke to your thigh. 

“Why did you decide to major in public health?” he asked again as he started to doodle in your notebook, this time covering his work with one hand. 

“Why can’t I see what you’re drawing in my notebook?” you quipped, trying to peek over his shoulder to get a better look.

“Cause it’s a surprise. I’ll let you see if you answer my question,” Eren said, practically giggling to himself as he maneuvered the notebook out of your view.

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair and studied Eren, curious to know what exactly his intentions were. You watched as Eren rocked back and forth in his chair, unable to keep his focus as he drew in the pages of your notebook, and wondered if he was always this energetic about things. 

You blew some hair out of your face, and spoke.  

“I wanted to major in public health because I want to help people,” you answered. 

Eren briefly paused in his doodling so he could shoot you a sweet grin. He seemed genuinely interested in the matter, and it was endearing to you. 

“That’s amazing. How does that work? Sorry, I don’t know anything about public health.” 

“No, no. It’s fine. Umm, how do I explain it? You know how doctors treat illnesses and injuries?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, public health focuses on prevention instead. We focus on wellness and safety, and try to figure out how we can better society to keep people protected. Like seatbelt laws and stuff? That’s public health.” 

Eren momentarily set his pen down, then turned to you with a sincere, sweet look in his eyes. 

“That’s...really cool. You sound like you love it.” 

“I do! What’s your major?” you asked, trying to lean over his shoulder once more to get a peek, but with no luck. His arm covered up the drawing well enough, and it was honestly useless to even try.  

The longer you leaned over him, the more you could smell his scent. And there it was — the faintest hint of his musky vanilla cologne again. You felt your face warm once more when Eren turned to face you, keeping his face inches away from yours. Always too close for comfort but never more than necessary. His stare darted back and forth between your eyes and lips, and the involuntary lip bite you gave him drove Eren crazier than you knew. But he found his composure quickly, and answered you. 

“Don’t have one,” he leaned in, letting out a soft laugh. “I’m undecided. Not surprising, I know.” 

You laughed lightly, once again intoxicated by the smell of mints emanating from his mouth. It was odd, how the two of you were acting right now. You wondered if he was ever going to bring up the situation again, or if he also saw you as a one-time thing, and was just being friendly right now. 

You chewed on your lower lip, making Eren’s eyes flicker downwards to them once more. 

You had to change the subject. 

“...why does your breath smell so minty, Eren?” you asked, looking back up at him again, trying to shake off the tingle that shot up your spine.  

When you asked him this, Eren tossed his head back, letting out a hearty laugh. He put his pen back in his pocket, then closed your notebook. 

“Oh, yeah. That. I ate a roll of mentos when I was coming down from my high,” Eren ran his hand over the back of his head then stood up to standing. 

A loud giggle left your lips as you imagined a high Eren alone in his bedroom, completely demolishing rolls of mentos, one after the other. He was so odd. 

“Why did you do that, weirdo?” you asked, still giggling as you stood up with him. 

Eren shrugged, then handed you your notebook, which you accepted. 

He stepped closer to you to close the gap between the two of you, then paused as he mulled over his words carefully. 

“...cause I like the taste,” he said lowly, giving you a lazy, knowing grin. “See you around.” 

Eren gave you a small wave, then exited the room, shutting the door with gentle close. 

You were left absolutely dumbfounded. There was no doubt in your mind that Eren was being deliberate with his words, and he was doing a word play on the last thing he said to you after he ate you out, rather than talking about his love for mints. 

Still confused, you flipped through the empty pages of your notebook so you could try to find the page Eren drew in. 

When you got to it, you almost dropped the notebook to the floor out of shock. 

While you waxed and waned about your love for public health, and questioned him about useless things, Eren was busy drawing something much more important in your notebook. You thought he didn’t care to bring up what had happened between the two of you, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

It took up the entire page, and Eren took his time to draw it despite it being a doodle — but it was clear as day. 

On a single page, he had written down his number, and he even took his time to design out the words: “Call me

lol chapter 3

Two days had passed, and you still hadn’t reached out to Eren yet.

It wasn’t because you were shy. Hardly. It wasn’t rocket science to figure out that Eren probably wanted to hook up with you again, and you weren’t against the idea by any means. What you couldn’t figure out was what to expect.

Was it supposed to be a one-time thing? Did he want to be friends with benefits? If you agreed to that with him, what should you expect then?

You rolled your eyes at the thoughts, and flopped back onto your bed with a thud.

You had been in bed most of the day being that it was Sunday, but even that wasn’t the reprieve you were hoping for. Sunday’s were never the “relaxing” weekends that people made them out to be, especially not for you. All it meant to you was the wait of another long week. Another long week of classes. More assignments. Tests. Rinse and repeat.

In truth, you needed to relax. Really relax. And a huff of air escaped you the more you thought about it.

You weren’t sure you knew how to loosen up. You weren’t uptight…but you rarely let go of your inhibitions as easily as everyone else around you did. Besides, the last time you did let loose and let go...you ended up in the closet with Eren. And you knew how that was turning out.

Still, you sighed as you thought of him. You could picture him crystal clear in your mind. The way he’d tilt his head to the side when he asked you questions. The intoxicating scent of him. Everything about him.

It was silly, the magnetic pull he had on you.

Shutting your eyes in frustration now, you groaned.

You didn’t need to think about this any more or think about Eren either.

What you needed was a second opinion.

If only Hitch would come back, you thought.

“Hey hey, cutie,” the door opened with an ungraceful thud, making you sit straight up.

“Hitch! I thought you were going to be with Jean all weekend.”

She laughed at this and began to strip all her clothes off, searching for her bathrobe in the process. At the moment, her side of the dorm was nothing but a pile of clothes along with other things, so you were surprised to see her find her clothes with ease. At least she kept it away from your part of the room.

“I picked up a shift at work tonight. Gotta get that money, cutie,” she winked your way, rubbing her fingers together. “What’s up with you though? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

It was true.

Between classes, her working or otherwise not being in the dorm, the last time you actually spent any time with Hitch was when the two of you went to the party together. She stayed the night at the frat house and you returned back to the dorms on your own. In between that, the two of you saw each other here and there. You managed to let it slip that you hooked up with someone, but you never got a chance to tell her more or who it was with. Despite that, she was immensely happy for you. You laughed as you remembered her kissing you on the cheek over the news, proudly claiming, “That’s my girl.” If anyone could give you counsel on this, it was her.

“Not much,” you trailed off, moving aside to make space for her on your bed.

You knew she was inevitably going to lay claim to half the space on there, and when you felt the bed dip, your heart warmed. Admittedly, you missed her. Hitch was the only real friend you felt you had around the college. Everyone else was just a casual classmate who you were friendly with, but you felt that you could at least talk to Hitch about things. Most importantly, she seemed to care about you. Even if you had other people to turn to for advice, you didn’t want anyone’s input but hers.

“Ooooh, what’s on your mind? You’re looking all...pensive,” she giggled, poking at your cheek.

The heaviest sigh left your chest as you released all the tension you had over the last two days.

“You remember that guy I told you I hooked up with? In the closet for -”

“7 minutes in heaven!! Yes,” she squealed in excitement and squeezed your arm. “Oh my God, what happened? Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“I’m about to, woman!” you laughed. “I ran into him again, and he gave me his number and told me to call him. I mean, I’m pretty sure he wants to hook up with me again...”

Hitch studied you quietly this time, turning her head to the side so she could read the expression on your face. Her silence made you uncomfortable, but when she broke into a big smile, you relaxed.

“Heyyy,” she said softly. “What’s the worst thing that could happen, baby cakes?”

A million things, you thought.

“Besides whatever’s going on inside that head of yours,” she poked your temple, reading your mind. “Look, have some fun. Like last time!”

Hitch gave you a tight hug from the side and messed with your hair.

“Let go like you did at the party. Don’t take it so seriously. Just fuck this guy and look at it for what it is. Don’t worry about what it could be, will be, won’t be — blardy blar. So stressful - ew,” she scrunched up her face at the very thought of being introspective like you, and you giggled.

“You’re right. Thanks, Hitch,” you replied with a smile.

“See how easy that was?” she ruffled the hair on the top of your head with a smirk. “Just use the dorm, I’m going to Jean’s again after work.”

“What’s up with the two of you anyway?” you asked, sitting up as she jumped off your bed.

Hitch shrugged and didn’t bother to look for her own shower caddy, opting to steal the body washes from yours instead. You rolled your eyes but kept quiet. Seeing as she had just helped you out with something that had been on your mind for the last two days, it was the least you could do.

“I like being exclusive with only him right now, but there’s no label. We’re just having fun,” she smiled. “Maybe you should do the same thing with your guy if you’re up for it. I’ll return these later, by the way!” she shouted as she exited the dorm, holding up the caddy for you to see.

It was hard not to suppress a laugh at Hitch and her...overall Hitch-ness. Her encouragement always left you feeling better with your choices, and this was the boost you needed. She was right, too. Just like you had fun with Eren last time, you could keep having fun with him now. It wasn’t anything serious. And you didn’t have to make it serious if you didn’t want to.

You dropped your shoulders down, letting out a long exhale. Then you reached out for your phone. Your eyes glazed over as scrolled through your contacts until you came across the name that had been emblazoned on your mind for the past week and a half now. With your thumb hovering over his name like it had for the past two days, you finally reached a point of “fuck it,” and pressed down.

The dial tone barely rang for more than five seconds before he picked up.

“Uh, hey,” Eren’s voice entered your ears. “I didn’t think you’d call me...what’s up?”

You bit your lower lip at the sound of his voice. It was husky and groggy, like he had just woken up or gotten down from a high, or both. You laughed and shook your head.

“Nothing...do you want to hang out later tonight?”

The sound of him fumbling around was all you could hear, and it sounded like the phone dropped onto his bed with a thump. Then he spoke again.

“Sorry. Dropped my phone. But...uh, yeah sure. We can hang out. What did you wanna do?”

You rolled your eyes, but laughed at how cute he was being. Once again, he was being shy when the prospect of hooking up with you was right in front of his face. It was strange how he perfectly toed the line between being just cocky enough but still self-effacing at the same time. You were sure this was what made him so appealing to you, and probably to everyone else, too.

“Come over to my dorm around 8...I’ll text you,” you stated matter-of-factly with a shrug he couldn’t see.

You hung up on him before he could reply, then immediately texted him where your dormitory building was, and which room you were in. The reply from Eren was immediate as he ‘liked’ your message.

You flopped back onto your bed at his quick response, and sighed in contentment. It was happening. It was really happening.

And 8:00PM couldn’t come any sooner.

When Hitch returned with your stuff, you ran off to the showers so you could prep for the night with Eren. You spent a little more time in there than you normally would’ve. From washing to shaving to lotioning (more than usual) — the whole process took you about an hour. Although you were more forward than you’d usually be when you spoke to him on the phone, the closer the clock got to 8:00, the more nervous you began to feel. Even though this wasn’t your first casual hook-up, you still wanted it to go...well.

Better than your last one did anyway.

When it came time to getting dressed, you chose to go for some comfy lounge wear. No fancy underwear. No bra either. You figured if he was willing to get on his knees for you in a cramped closet, he wouldn’t even care what you had on (or didn’t have on, for that matter).

After throwing on your comfiest and cutest clothes, you glanced down at your phone.

7:48PM.

You had at least twelve minutes to yourself before Eren was supposed to come by. You supposed you could pass the time watching videos on YouTube, but before you could even pull up the app on your phone, you heard a soft knock at the door. Then you heard Eren’s voice on the other side, calling out your name.

He was early.

You let out a sharp exhale, then opened the door.

“Hey,” you smiled as you took in his appearance.

Clad in sweats himself, it seemed as if Eren wanted to keep the occasion as casual as you wanted to. His hair was slightly damp like he had just come from the showers himself, and he chose to tie it back in his usual style. A dreamy sigh left you, and the longer you stared at Eren without saying another word, the bigger his grin grew.

“Can I come in?” he asked, gesturing to your bedroom.

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” you laughed and opened the door wider for him. “Shoes off though, it’s kind of our policy.”

He nodded and toed his sneakers off, leaving them at the door with the rest of yours and Hitch’s shoes. When he fully stepped inside, you closed the door behind you and watched him as he surveyed the room. His eyes traveled to Hitch’s mess then to your cleaner side of the room, and he laughed.

“I’m guessing this is your side of the room. Can I sit?” he pointed to the chair at your computer desk, and you nodded.

Eren pulled out your chair with caution, almost as if he were apprehensive to get too comfortable in your space without your permission. If you weren’t as nervous as he was, you would’ve laughed. But instead, his apprehension put you at ease. It was sweet. But mostly, it was comforting.

You made your way over to your bed and sat down so you could face him, allowing a silence to settle between the two of you before speaking first.

“So,” you said slowly.

“So,” he repeated, grinning. “...what’s up?”

The two of you laughed at this because it was clear what you wanted — what he wanted. But instead of just saying it, you were tip-toeing around the topic around each other like two highschoolers. And as endearing as the awkwardness was at first, now you wanted to get right down to it. So without any further hesitation, you asked the question that had been lingering on your mind for the past few days.

“Why did you want me to call you?”

Eren looked down at the floor upon you asking this, and so did you. You knew why. He was sure you knew why, too. But despite all of that, you wanted to hear it coming straight from him instead of coming up with the supposed answer on your own.

“So...I had fun with you at the party. A lot of fun,” he ran his hand over the back of his head. “I’ve thought about you since then. Then I found you in the library and I dunno…”

“...you wanted to have some more fun again?” you tried to finish for him with a smile.

Your tone was light-hearted, but Eren either didn’t catch on or didn’t want to. His expression turned serious and he stood up from your desk to get closer to your bed, still opting to stand rather than sit. He looked down at you from his position, almost bashfully.

“No. When you put it like that - I. Shit. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything,” he said, looking off into the distance.

You could feel the butterflies blooming in your stomach upon his genuine admission.

You hadn’t expected him to be so...sweet or honest. It was refreshing to hear a guy tell you that, even though both of you knew what this exchange was all about. And you were no blushing virgin. Eren knew what you wanted. You knew what Eren wanted. And hearing him confirm it for you only made you feel more confident in your decision.

This could be exactly what you needed to loosen up. Just like Hitch said, this could be fun. No labels. No pressure. No stress. Just fun.

And if Eren’s tongue was any measure at all, you were sure having sex with him would be a fun experience as a whole.

*

“Sit on the bed, Eren,” you said gently.

Although he scratched at his temple in hesitation, Eren sat down onto the bed slowly. He seemed fine taking direction from you, and the quiet submissiveness he showed you admittedly made you want him more.

“How do you wanna start this?” he laughed softly, giving you more permission to take the reins.

The intense gaze he held for you had so much sincerity in it. That, coupled with the intoxicating smell of his body wash and natural scents made you feel dizzy with desire. The entire experience was already sweeter than you anticipated it being, and that only reaffirmed your decision.

“Sit back against the wall,” you directed, your voice still gentle.

Eren did as you told, moving back against your bed and keeping his legs straight out onto your bed. Once he situated himself against the wall, you slowly moved to straddle your legs over him. You caught the way his breath hitched in his throat when you sat down on him and grinded ever so slightly over his growing bulge.

Eren shook his head at the wicked grin plastered on your face.

“Not fair,” he murmured, leaning closer to your lips.

“I know,” you murmured back against his lips.

Although your lips were touching, neither of you made a move to kiss each other. Instead, you relished in each other’s body warmth for the moment. You were both taking things slow and easy. Eren’s eyes were trained on yours as he waited for your next move, and when your hips involuntarily shifted on their own, he pulled you even closer to him and captured your lips into his own. The sudden shift from Eren ground your pelvic bone across his growing erection, and you whined at the feeling.

Once again, you could feel the cool sensation of Eren’s tongue ring in your mouth. And fuck, how you missed it. Missed him. Or the feeling of him, rather. With every swipe of his tongue across your lower lip, you could feel the arousal pooling between your thighs. You tried to ease your growing desire for him by grinding up against his now fully erect cock, but the more the two of you made out, the harder it was to quell that need.

Your hands found purchase in his hair once he moved down to lick and kiss at the sensitive spot on your neck, but it still wasn’t enough. Although making out was fun, you wanted more. Needed more.

After a week and a half, you no longer wanted to imagine what it was like to fuck him fully.

“Eren,” you gasped when he playfully nibbled on your collarbone.

“Wha?” he muffled against your skin.

“You know what, you ass,” you muttered in frustration, making him laugh.

Eren pulled away from your neck, and leaned back against the wall as he paused to stare at you.

A beat of silence passed, and then he spoke.

“Take your shirt off,” he directed.

The shyness he had earlier had flown out the window, and once again you were met with the same cocky bastard you (shamefully) liked so much. Although you playfully rolled your eyes at the command, you also acquiesced and threw your shirt off without hesitation. His reaction couldn’t have been cuter. You watched in amusement as Eren’s brows tilted up in surprise upon seeing your breasts in full display.

“No bra?” he asked breathlessly, licking his lips and never taking his gaze off of your tits.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ in your reply, and Eren laughed at how confident you were.

You wanted him as much as he wanted you, and he liked it.

He started slow as he leaned in towards your chest, and you could feel your throat getting dry the closer he was. But before you knew it, his mouth was latched onto one nipple while his free hand kneaded your other breast. You shuddered at the sensation of his tongue ring against your nipple, and with every little gasp Eren pulled from you, he felt himself getting harder than he thought possible. You could feel his growing impatience as he grinded his hips along with yours, but despite that, he still took things easy with you.

When he was done playing with your breasts, he popped off you and pulled you in for a rougher kiss this time. You whined against his lips again, and he pulled away to shake his head no. Before you could reprimand him for holding off, you felt his hand slipping down your sweats. Still intent on teasing you, Eren never even made it past your underwear. His index and middle finger pressed firmly against your clothed clit, and you groaned upon contact, thrusting your hips forward to meet his fingers more.

You were about to say his name again to ask for more, but as if reading your mind, Eren cut you off.

“Make yourself cum first,” he whispered, rubbing at the wet spot on top of your underwear.

“Eren, I -”

“Come on, you’re already so wet,” he finished, kissing up your neck. “Please, beautiful?”

His tone was so dulcet and melodic, you found yourself nodding without meaning to. And once you did, Eren wasted no time slipping his fingers past your underwear and into your dripping core. You hissed at the sensation and cried his name out, letting out an extra mewl when his thumb found your clit.

“Come on, pretty girl,” Eren muttered against your lips while he fingered you. “Wanna see you come for me again.”

The praise and urge from him made you bounce up and down on his fingers with more urgency than you intended. The more you bounced, the more praise Eren offered you, nibbling on your earlobes all the while. His thumb never wavered from rubbing your clit, and it wasn’t long before you felt yourself cumming all over his fingers.

You dropped your head down on his shoulder as you came down from the high of your orgasm, and Eren waited patiently for you to catch your breath. When you finally did, he offered you a sweet kiss on the corner of your mouth then gently pulled his fingers out of you. The slick of your arousal was coated all over his fingers, and you admittedly had never seen yourself get so wet.

Not for yourself, and certainly not for someone else.

You would’ve been embarrassed upon seeing it so up close and personal if Eren hadn’t immediately put his fingers inside of his mouth once he pulled them out from you. While you watched with wonder, he pulled his fingers out of his mouth and gave you a cheeky grin.

“What? Did you forget I like the taste?” he joked, leaning in to kiss you again.

“No, weirdo,” you laughed against his mouth, unable to keep your giggles down as he bit your lower lip.

Not forgetting about him, you rubbed your palm over his erection while the two of you gave each other chase, urgent kisses. Eren pulled away and leaned back against the wall, leaving both hands to rest on your sides while you ground down on him. He hissed out a ‘fuck’ when your thumb brushed over what you were sure was the tip of his cock, and you giggled at the damp spot you felt.

“Do you have a condom?” you asked, never stopping your movements.

He nodded and pulled one out from his pockets.

“Move back,” he grit his teeth at the loss of sensation from you and your palm, then tugged his sweats down, making you gulp.

Like you, Eren had gone sans underwear elsewhere, too.

You didn’t bother to wear a bra. He didn’t bother to wear underwear.

You couldn’t help but lick your lips upon seeing his cock freed from its confines. The tip of it oozed with precum, and your eyes glazed over when you counted the number of veins on his cock. You were sure the feeling of him pulsing inside of you would almost be enough to send you over the edge.

Noticing the hungry way in which you watched him, Eren rolled the condom over himself slowly, just to tease you even more. You grinned at the motion then leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Before you could pull away to remove the rest of your clothes, Eren gripped your chin and pulled you back in for another kiss.

“Let me,” he murmured against your lips.

You shivered when his hands made contact with your waist again, and this time, Eren didn’t bother going easy or slow with you. He made quick work of removing your bottoms and your underwear, throwing it into Hitch’s pile of clothes across the room. Both of you watched as the underwear flung that way, and Eren scrunched his face up with an apologetic expression when you looked back at him.

“My bad...” he laughed.

“You’re an idiot,” you laughed in return, straddling his thighs again.

Although you were sure you could retrieve it later, Eren’s little fumble was the moment of humor the two of you needed. It broke whatever nerves you had around each other, and both of you found yourselves more comfortable around each other than ever before.

You gazed into his eyes and let your hands rest around his neck while his hands found your lower back. His thumbs rubbed quiet circles over your venus dimples for a bit, and when you leaned forward to press your head against his, he grabbed the base of his cock and positioned it against your aching core before sheathing himself inside of you fully.

After having not fucked someone for so long, the feeling of him inside you stung at first. But Eren remained patient with you, letting you adjust as you needed to. But having relaxed enough from Eren fingering you earlier, that didn’t take long. As if waiting for you to make the first move, Eren pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your mouth and whispered your name.

You hadn’t expected this to be as intimate as it was turning out to be, but you were hardly complaining. Most men never gave you permission to take charge in sex, often just choosing to jackhammer into you without regards for your pleasure.

But not Eren.

Your lips found his again as you began to bounce up and down onto his cock, and you moaned with every movement. The position had your clit pressed up against his pelvic bone, and every time you ground down, you could feel your orgasm growing. Every little mewl and moan from you made Eren growl your name out, and it was only when you grew tired that he began to take charge of the situation. When your head dropped down onto his shoulder, Eren began to lift you up and down onto his cock. He thrusted up with every drop, and you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs as the coil in your stomach began to snap.

“Fuck,” Eren panted out when you tightened around him.

Desperate to get you closer to your release so he could find his own, Eren started to piston up into you with a faster speed, this time rubbing circles over your clit with his free hand. To avoid screaming out his name, you muffled it into his shoulder. You chanted nothing but his name while you spasmed over his cock, and when you felt him twitching and heard him groan lowly, you squeezed around him once more to help milk his orgasm out to the fullest.

“Shiiiit,” Eren whined. “Don’t do that - fuck,” he laughed, making you laugh too.

Although both of you were fairly out of breath by now, you were still able to laugh at the situation. It felt like a pressure valve had been released between both of you, and amazing didn’t even begin to define what that felt like. When your breathing evened out, Eren only pressed his forehead against yours, but he never rushed to pull you off him.

You half expected Eren to immediately remove his condom, get dressed, and leave. But what he did next only continued to surprise you.

With one hand, he reached out to stroke your cheek with his thumb then gave you a smile.

“You okay?”

You bit your lip at the sweet question and nodded.

“I’m fine. I...need to pee though,” you grinned.

He nodded at this and gingerly pulled you off his cock. You weren’t surprised to see how quickly he worked to take the condom off and tie it into a knot, throwing it into your trash can once he did. It was clear Eren had a lot of experience with this, and you weren’t sure how that made you feel. But you didn’t want to think any more about it. Instead you watched as he pulled his sweats up, admiring the small v-line his stomach showed when he lifted his hips up.

Next time, you’d have to take his damn shirt off, you told yourself.

Eren hopped off your bed and headed towards Hitch’s pile of clothes, and no sooner when he did that, did he begin to fish around for your underwear. He gave you a wry grin when he found them, then returned them back to you. Although the air wasn’t awkward around the two of you anymore, there was still an unspoken shyness between the two of you.

You broke the silence first.

“You probably have to go to the bathroom, too, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably a good idea,” Eren muttered, scratching at his forehead.

“Okay. It’s down the hall to the -”

“Left,” he finished, growing bashful when your eyes widened over how he completed the sentence for you.

You lifted a brow up at him playfully.

“I’ve, uh, been in your dorm building before,” he replied, suddenly shy.

While you weren’t bothered by that aspect, you weren’t surprised either. You simply let your mouth form an “oh” shape, and watched as he put on his shoes and exited your room without another word.

Although you missed his presence, you didn’t expect a goodbye from him.

You both got what you wanted. And it was amazing.

So with a shrug, you scrambled to find the rest of your clothes and got dressed again so you could make your way to the bathroom. The trip was quick, and you were happy that you weren’t in any lingering pain thanks to Eren’s willingness to let you take the lead. Your first casual hookup was nothing but disappointment, jack hammering, and short strokes. Thankfully, that wasn’t your experience with Eren.

Everything with Eren hit different, and you liked every aspect of it.

After rinsing your hands off, you headed back to your dorm, already feeling the effects of post-sex exhaustion. You wanted nothing more than to drift off to bed so you could think about your mindblowing orgasms and Eren’s little groans and moans of your name. You shuddered at the very thought, and began to reach out for the door handle, but paused when you saw the door was still slightly ajar.

You grimaced. Not only did you forget to put the scrunchie on the door to signal someone was having sex in the room, but you hadn’t expected Hitch to get back so early. Truthfully speaking, you didn’t feel like telling her all the details just yet. You hadn’t even fully soaked in the moment yourself if you were being honest.

But when you opened the door fully, you were shocked not to see Hitch, but Eren. He was standing by your desk looking at your trinkets and pictures, only turning around to meet you once he heard your footsteps.

“Eren?” you asked in surprise.

“Sorry,” he immediately responded, pointing down to his shoes. “I was going to meet you at the door but I didn’t wanna scare the shit out of you.”

You weren’t even aware he was breaking the no shoes rule, but you smiled upon his remembrance of the rule and started to make your way over to him. Eren was quick to close the gap between the two of you, smiling the closer he got.

“Any reason you’re back in here?” you jested, poking at his chest.

He let out a little laugh, then placed his hands under your chin, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“Just wanted to say good night,” he said lowly, his voice husky.

It was stupid how easily that made you shudder, but you found yourself leaning into his touch like a magnet. When the gap between the two of you closed completely, Eren pressed his lips against yours to give you a deep, sweet kiss.

You sighed into his kiss, half-wishing he would stay a little longer. You didn’t dare ask him to do that, though. That felt too intimate for whatever the two of you had going on. Hell, even this kiss seemed to cross that line but once again, you weren’t complaining.

When he pulled away, he gave you another little peck on the corner of your mouth and whispered, “Night,” against your lips before finally taking his leave.

Your eyes lingered on his back as he exited the room, and you grinned when he turned back to give you one last wave. Reaching up to touch your still warm lips, you found yourself feeling floored.

You hadn’t expected Eren to come back, let alone say good night to you. The gesture alone was sweet and definitely too tender for what you anticipated having with him. But you never protested because not only did sex hit different with Eren, but he, himself, was so different.

It was not what you expected.

He was not what you expected.

But you weren’t against asking for more

[jovialyouthmusic]

Kiss from a Rose

A Valentine’s Day adventure

Pairing - Bastien Lykel and Sophia Turner from my TRR AU of Protect and Serve and Silver Service. 

This is a three part fic, the final chapter will be posted on Valentine’s day. Exceptionally fluffy with a good dose of smut in the final chapter - so 

NO UNDER 18s PLEASE

This chapter features my good Tumblr friend @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria​ or Erin, as it’s set in her home city, Edinburgh, which I visit regularly. Many thanks to her for letting me know the trendy places to go. I hope you enjoy it, darling xx

If you haven’t read any previous works with Sophia and Bastien, all you need to know is that this takes place after Anton has been on trial and locked away. Riley ended up with Drake and Liam is involved loosely with Olivia. Sophia is a member of staff at the Royal Palace in Cordonia who joined shortly before the social season that Riley took part in. She is English and the devoted LI of head of the King’s Guard Bastien Lykel. 

Word Count 4027

1 Athens of the North

‘What do you mean, you’ll be passing over us?’ Sophia’s mother’s voice was shrill at the other end of the phone line. ‘Are you flying in the Royal Jet?’ Sophia squeezed the bridge of her nose.

‘It’s okay Mum, don’t get so excited. King Liam will be visiting Queen Elizabeth at Holyrood later this year, and Bastien has to go over to liaise with her security team. I’m going with him – and yes, it will be in the Royal Jet so I’ll be in Edinburgh next week. I’m sorry we won’t be able to stop off and see you, time is tight - but if you want to fly up…’

‘Me, fly again?’ her mother’s voice was still shrill ‘I still haven’t got over that ghastly flight over the Alps in December’ Sophia groaned. Her mother was not a good traveller at the best of times, and Christmas time had not been a good choice. Her father had told her of the turbulence they had encountered on the way back, which made her mother fear another trip.

‘Well never mind, perhaps we can come and visit you later in the year’ Sophia sighed. Bastien frowned at her and tapped his wrist. ‘I’m sorry Mum, I have to go. Give my love to Dad – yes – love you lots – bye…’ She dropped her head in frustration.

‘I’m sorry theá mou, that didn’t sound harmonious’ Bastien said

‘No, she’s still going on about the flight back last time’ Sophia sighed ‘But it does mean we’ll have some time to ourselves in Edinburgh’ In the back of her mind she wondered what might be on the itinerary, as they would be there for Valentine’s day. She didn’t presume that her lover would do anything to celebrate it as he would be working a lot of the time, but she knew he never missed an opportunity to make her feel special. He walked over and drew her into his arms.

‘I’m sorry Sophia, I don’t know how much time I’ll have to spend with you’ he replied.

‘It’s fine, Erin and I can catch up. It will be good to see her again, and I can see my friend Les too’

She knew the city well, having spent some time researching for her college thesis in the library there and taking a job later on in her career. It would be cold compared to Cordonia, and possibly wet and windy, but you never could tell with British weather. They might be lucky and hit a mild spell, or it could very well feel like all four seasons in one day. The city wasn’t big, and a shopping trip or a tour of Art galleries were both possible in bad conditions. She was excited to be going back there with Bastien and her friends.

------

Sophia settled down into the plush leather seat and buckled herself in. It was her first time on the royal jet, and she was delighted to have so much space. Bastien sat facing her, and Drake and Riley had seats on the other side of the aisle. They would be staying in Edinburgh at a different hotel before carrying on to a regular flight to New York afterwards. It was the day before Valentine’s Day.

‘This is rather special’ she smiled, and Bastien squeezed her hand. She was not a nervous flyer, and looked forward to looking out at the view when they took off.

‘I barely travel on regular flights’ Bastien said ‘I must admit it’s good not to have to queue or check your bags in, and to have plenty of leg space.’

Happily, a plane journey with Bastien was more pleasant than a road trip. He pointed out various landmarks as they flew toward the English Channel, when she was thrilled to fly over the island where her parents still lived, and on which she grew up. After that it was Sophia who pointed things of significance out to the other three. Bastien smiled to see her so excited to be visiting her home country. She had been born in the Midlands and she and her parents had moved to the tiny island in the English channel when she was little. She had gone to university in the north of England, and worked in Scotland before she had applied for the job in Cordonia. Despite the length of the journey, it didn’t seem long before they were taxiing along the runway. They were only a short tram ride away from the city centre, but they took a taxi which dropped Drake and Riley off at their hotel on Regent’s Terrace before taking Bastien and Sophia to the prestigious Balmoral Hotel right in the centre of the city on the main thoroughfare, Princes Street.

Bastien would be visiting the palace the next day to liaise with his counterpart there, but they had the afternoon and evening to settle into their hotel and perhaps do a little sightseeing. The car drew into a service entrance before they could get out, and their luggage was whisked away to their rooms while they checked in at reception. Sophia was delighted with their suite, which looked out over the famous Edinburgh Castle and along Princes Street, taking in the tall monument to Sir Walter Scott, famous writer of many books in his time. They had their own lounge as well as a huge bathroom with a walk in shower and corner bathtub.

As soon as the door had closed, Sophia flung her arms around Bastien’s neck for a passionate kiss.

‘My goddess’ he smiled as they stopped for air ‘I feel you’re very eager to put me through my paces’

‘We didn’t manage to join the mile high club’ she said in a sultry tone ‘So the least you can do is make love to me in a five star hotel with a stunning view of a historic landmark or two’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure’ he growled, loosening his tie.

------

Sophia had a glow and a spring in her step as she and Bastien made their way up the steep steps of Calton Hill which overlooked the city and held the famous national monument, observatory and Nelson’s Tower. The observatory at the very top had been developed recently and featured a new restaurant with extensive views through a huge ninety degree picture window, and Bastien had booked a table for the two of them.

Sophia caught onto Bastien’s arm as he negotiated the steps with his cane, but it was more to offer support if he needed it than to drag at him. He smiled, knowing her little trick and appreciating how caring she was. The higher they went, the more his thigh ached, but it was not challenging enough to slow him down much. He believed it was improving, and were he to come in a year’s time, he might make it to the top without any discomfort.

They were soon sitting overlooking the lights of the city as the light faded. The sun had set quietly and without spectacle. The hill was very popular with tourists and photographers alike, and many a photo had been taken and posted online and shared around the world. Perhaps the morning would bring colour in the sky, or the next afternoon – as it was February the sun would set in the late afternoon and rise around eight in the morning, so it wasn’t challenging to try and catch a spectacular shot.

‘This place was more or less derelict when I worked here’ Sophia explained to Bastien. ‘This is such an improvement. I’m looking forward to seeing inside the observatory in the morning.’ Bastien was reading the menu, and she reached toward him over the table. He took her hand without even looking away from the menu. Her eyes prickled, her heart skipped a beat and she squeezed his fingers. He looked over at her, puzzled.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘I love you, Bastien Lykel’ she said softly. She picked his hand up and kissed it and he responded by taking hers and drawing it to his chest.

‘And I you – with all my heart, my goddess’ he affirmed. They smiled fondly, lost in each other’s gaze for a few moments.

‘Sir, Madam, are you ready to order?’ Sophia jumped as the waiter spoke. She wondered how long he had been standing waiting for them to notice him. She had barely skimmed the menu, but Bastien had it all under control

‘We’ll have a bottle of champagne – the Veuve Cliquot - and the tasting menu’ he said. The waiter nodded and turned away. ‘The tasting menu has a small portion of everything to try’ Bastien explained in a low voice. ‘The couple on the table in the corner have it – the portions aren’t over generous but I’m sure you won’t mind that’ His eyes sparked, and she coloured, knowing that he wasn’t talking about sating just one appetite. She rarely over ate because it meant less opportunity to make love – a full belly was not compatible with their libidos.

‘I don’t know’ she said in a low tone ‘we need to keep our strength up’ Underneath the table she stretched out her leg and rubbed his ankle with her foot.

‘Room service is available twenty four hours’ he rumbled, leaning toward her. At that point the waiter arrived with the champagne and poured a little for Bastien to test, and he leaned back in his chair.

‘For the lady too?’ the waiter asked when the guard looked up at him and frowned slightly. He nodded and poured a little for her too. There was a flash of amusement in Bastien’s eyes as they both sipped.

‘What do you think, my sweet?’ he asked, and she furrowed her brow, pausing for a moment as she kept the wine in her mouth and rolled it around. She wasn’t sure if it was the correct procedure for champagne, but she hoped her bluff convinced the waiter. She swallowed, making a face of approval. She certainly wasn’t about to spit it out as she had seen some doing. Casting her mind back, she remembered Riley had lessons in wine tasting with the Beaumonts back when she was representing them in the social season. She resolved to ask her about it later.

‘Acceptable’ she nodded gravely, and the waiter poured more for both of them before leaving them to drink it. The main feature of the menu was that every ingredient was locally sourced, and it made for a very interesting range of dishes. Before long, the starters arrived – three small plates bearing food, and an empty plate each to sample the dishes. The waiter described the dishes for them, and instead of serving any of it out onto their plates, Bastien gave her a little to taste. There was a dish of trout with an accompanying relish, one of artichoke, ricotta and hazelnuts, and one of raw beef with wild garlic. She decided she liked the trout best and the beef least, so Bastien served her a little of the beef, halved the artichoke dish, and gave her most of the trout.

The food was not over generous as Bastien had said, but what it lacked in quantity it more than made up for in taste and texture. Sophia rolled her eyes and curled her toes at the delicately balanced flavours. Bastien looked at her in amusement.

‘What is it?’ she asked. His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned closer to speak quietly.

‘You made that face only a couple of hours ago in our hotel suite’ Her eyes widened.

‘You mean – that’s my…’ she stopped ‘I make that expression when I…’ Bastien was trying hard not to laugh out loud, but he was very amused as his goddess flushed red. ‘You’re teasing me’ she hissed, but he shook his head and put his hand on his heart.

‘I speak the truth’ he whispered, and Sophia huffed.

‘Well you taste it’ she said, slightly miffed. Bastien was still trying not to laugh, but he took a small mouthful, rolling his eyes and mimicking her expression. She kicked him under the table, making sure it was his ‘good’ leg.

‘Just like that’ he teased. He gathered himself together ‘I’m sorry Sophia’ he said ‘Truly, it’s not exactly the same, but it is very similar’ She scowled a little, and he reached across the table to take her hand ‘It’s wonderful’ he said ‘I love that face. It means you’re happy, and if you’re happy, so am I’ Sophia tilted her head to the side, her expression softening a little.

‘Okay, I’ll consider forgiving you for laughing at me’ she said reluctantly. The waiter reappeared to clear their plates away, and it wasn’t long before the main course came. This time the options were scallops, crab and langoustine, and wild duck. Sophia was pleased at the selection of seafood, and this time Bastien just split each dish evenly. At the first taste, Sophia rolled her eyes again, but this time she exaggerated it, and under the table she slipped her shoe off and rubbed Bastien’s ankle. She made a sound of appreciation, and was rewarded by watching him nervously try to loosen his tie, looking sideways at the other diners.

‘This is divine’ she breathed, putting as much feeling into her words as she could. Bastien swallowed and his eyes darkened. He leaned over the table toward her

‘I think you’ve paid me back with interest’ he said quietly ‘any more of that and I’ll be tempted to clear the table and…’

‘Is everything okay with your meal, Sir?’ The waiter appeared at Bastien’s side, and he jumped. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat and answering

‘Yes, it’s excellent – pass our appreciation on to the chef please’

‘Certainly Sir – more champagne?’ he asked, as although their glasses were full, the bottle was empty.

‘No thankyou, but if you have a bottle of Glenkinchie I’ll have a glass with water on the side please.’ He glanced at Sophia ‘Will you try a glass of whiskey, my dear?’ Sophia smiled sweetly.

‘Of course, darling’ She gave Bastien’s ankle another nudge, and he drew it back out of her reach with a stern look. She sighed and carried on eating and sipping at the cool effervescent wine, savouring every mouthful. They finished their main course in silence, but they had attained a truce for the moment. The champagne finished, the whiskey was brought over in cut glass tumblers with a jug of water. Bastien took a tiny sip of the neat spirit before adding a drop of water, picking the glass up again and inhaling the aroma.

The dessert menu arrived, and Sophia beamed with anticipation. She had a sweet tooth though Bastien did not, but he often shared dishes with her, making the excuse that it would keep her waistline trim.

‘Though I would love you whatever shape you were’ he would affirm, and Sophia would eye him warily but say nothing. She looked at the menu in confusion. Bastien cocked an eyebrow at her. She leaned over and whispered

‘I have absolutely no idea what any of these things are’ she confided ‘or at least I can recognise the words – it is English after all – but it doesn’t sound very inspiring’ she looked down the list ‘What on earth is ‘Elric’s log’? I can’t tell you what I think it might be.’

‘I’m sure the waiter will enlighten us’ Bastien assured her, but she made a face. At that moment, Bastien’s phone chimed with a text message. He looked at it briefly, seeing it was a text from Drake. Sophia spoke before he could tell her.

‘Can we leave dessert?’ she asked, keeping her voice low ‘I have a much better idea’ Bastien frowned, but he saw her earnest expression. He looked over at the waiter and raised a hand to beckon him over.

‘Can we have the bill please?’ he asked

‘But sir, you haven’t had dessert yet’ Bastien pursed his lips and looked at his phone

‘Unfortunately I’ve been called away on important business, I have to go as soon as I can’

‘I’m so sorry Sir.’ The waiter said with concern ‘I’ll get the bill immediately’

 Minutes later, the two of them walked back down the hill arm in arm. Sophia was used to the cooler climate and wore a tweed jacket and a knitted cashmere hat, but Bastien found it cold and wore a stylish Italian wool coat that just skimmed his knees, and a woollen hat and thick scarf, whereas Sophia’s scarf was more for show than warmth. Their breath showed in the cool air, but it was still and the stars shone brightly.  

‘I’m sorry Bas – I know you’re not fond of dessert anyway, but it was just so - pretentious. I hope they didn’t charge you’ Sophia said apologetically

‘No, but they were a bit stressed trying to work out the new charges’ he said ‘I tipped them so they got almost the same as if we’d had everything and not tipped, so they can’t be too upset.’ He squeezed her hand ‘So, what was your idea for an alternative?’

‘Gelato’ her eyes shone ‘There’s an Italian restaurant very close – not even as far as the hotel – that makes award winning gelato’

‘I’m actually very partial’ he smiled. Her eyes it up

‘That’s wonderful! I used to go with Mark for pizza’ she said thoughtfully ‘The portions were so generous I never had room for gelato’ Bastien felt an unaccustomed stab of jealousy at the mention of her former lover. She felt him tense, and hugged his arm tighter.

‘I’m so happy to be here with you’ she said ‘There are lots of places to show you – we can make new memories together’ He smiled fondly, reassured of her affection.

‘I hope I won’t be kept too late tomorrow. You can show Drake and Riley round if you like, and with luck I’ll see you for dinner’

‘I’ve seen round Holyrood Palace’ she said ‘But of course you’ll be working in the parts the public don’t get to see’

‘I’m sorry they won’t allow me to take you round’ he said ‘They are extremely strict as to who enters, and with good cause’ Sophia shrugged as they came to the restaurant. The décor was oddly reminiscent of an American diner, but the staff were all Italian, and the menu was too.

‘Here we are’ she said, ‘Let’s hope they aren’t busy, it’s too cold to wander the streets with gelato’ Luckily it was quiet and they were able to take a table after ordering a scoop each. Sophia chose prosecco and strawberry and Bastien had panacotta and salted caramel, and they shared.

‘Really you can’t beat mint choc chip’ Sophia asserted ‘but I can’t resist trying this one’

‘I favour double chocolate chip’ Bastien said ‘but this is acceptable’

‘I’ll come in with Les tomorrow and try a sundae’ Sophia said ‘I don’t have room for one right now.’

‘That’s an excellent idea’ Bastien smiled ‘Drake and Riley are at a place called the Black Bull just around the corner, we can pick them up there. Where are we going next?’

‘We’re meeting Erin at a place called Tiger Lily on George Street’ she said ‘It’s about ten minutes’ walk away. I’ve not been there – it’s new, but places open and close all the time’ The two finished their dessert and met Drake and Riley at the Black Bull, which turned out to be similar to the place Riley used to work at in New York – a creditable dive bar frequented largely by bikers in studded leather jackets - before they set off across the city. Although the shops were closed, there were plenty of revellers walking around going to the many bars and restaurants and clubs. Soon they had reached their destination and her friend stood up from their table to wave them over. She was blonde and petite, and had similar looks to Sophia. Her partner was much taller – about the same height as Bastien. His hair was lighter, his shoulders as broad as the older man’s.

‘Sophia – it’s so good to see you’ Erin cried, throwing her arms around her before pulling away to introduce her partner ‘This is Sean – Sean, Sophia’

‘Nice to meet you’ Sophia replied, shaking his hand, and indicated the others ‘This is my partner Bastien, and I told you about Drake and Riley’ Erin’s eyes flicked to Bastien, and he reached out his hand and shook hers firmly. Her eyes widened a little in awe before she turned to Drake – and flushed red to the roots of her hair. Their handshake lingered a little longer, and Sophia nudged her, clearing her throat. She seemed to be having trouble tearing her eyes away from him, but at last she did, turning to Riley, who gave her a sharp look as they clasped hands. Erin looked back to Sean and took his arm affectionately as if to reassure him as he in turn shook hands with the others, and Riley visibly relaxed.

‘How are you finding Edinburgh? asked Erin as they all sat

‘I’ve been before, very briefly’ said Bastien. ‘I find it intriguing – the old town and the new town.’

‘It’s an incredible place’ Riley affirmed ‘It’s just oozing with history – and I can see where JK Rowling got her inspiration for Harry Potter’

‘You have some great dive bars’ grinned Drake ‘and the whiskey…’ he rolled his eyes ‘I’m in heaven’

‘This is a lovely place’ Bastien waved around at the plush surroundings – notably the ceiling covered in decorative cherry blossoms, the marble bar and dark wood tables, low walled booths upholstered with padded leather, the pillars covered with mosaic mirrors, the bright modern lighting.

‘It’s rather special’ Erin smiled, and looked thoughtful for a moment ‘I don’t know what you’re used to, but there’s no table service here - you need to go to the bar to order drinks’

‘Oh, I see - I’ll get the next round’ Bastien offered ‘What do you want, ladies?’ Sophia was looking at the cocktail menu, perplexed, but Erin was ready  

‘I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay please, Bastien’ He nodded and turned to Sophia

‘There’s far too much choice’ she said ‘I’ll have a glass of prosecco, that shouldn’t be too challenging’

‘Sophia honey, you need to live a little!’ cried Riley ‘Bastien may have to work tomorrow, but the rest of us are as free as birds, it’s the weekend’ She nudged her ‘I’ll choose for you, darling’

‘Really, I’ve already had champagne and whiskey’ she protested ‘and I hate hangovers, they’re such a waste of time’ She looked at the list again. Bastien was beginning to realise that Sophia was often overwhelmed when given a choice – the menu at the restaurant had been too much for her as well.

‘Have an old fashioned’ Bastien suggested ‘That’s whiskey based, but with soda so it’s a longer drink’

‘I’ll have a Manhatten’ grinned Riley

‘You should try a Gentleman’s Agreement, that’s whiskey based’ Sean piped up ‘I tried it first time I brought Erin here. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted’

‘It was our first date’ she smiled, squeezing his hand.

‘Thank you Sean, I like the name’ Bastien responded. ‘Does that sound good to you?’ he asked Drake, who nodded enthusiastically, and Bastien rose from his seat ‘I’ll be back shortly’ Sophia shifted toward the end of the leather upholstered bench.

‘I just need to go to the Ladies’ she said ‘Where is it, Erin?’

‘It’s past the bar to the right’ she replied, and Sophia made her way past the bar to find the bathroom.  She soon came back out to see Bastien still at the bar, waiting for his order. She was about to make her way over to help him carry the drinks back to their table, when she heard a familiar male voice that froze her in her tracks, hair on the back of her neck prickling.

‘Sophia? Sophia, is that you?’

[jawnjendes]

the truth hurts but secrets kill | shawn mendes

chapter 8/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: lol the taglist didnt work on my last chapter so if you havent read but i’ll show you my teeth pls do eet. anyways this chapter is an angsty buildup full of angst. my specialty.

***let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist coming soon

"Where do you live?" Annalise asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Do you even think she's capable of answering?" Patrick said, his arm supporting Alessia's waist as he helped her stumble down the university road.

The Lyft to campus went without any major issue. Alessia did not puke in the car, she merely leaned against the door in the backseat. Annalise had gotten annoyingly chatty with the driver, talking about childhood trauma and the inevitability of death. She claimed it was practice for when she's a real therapist, though the driver was trying to focus on the road. Patrick left the driver a generous tip through the app.

The three of them were left just close enough to the dorms, but there was still a walk to be had, and it felt like it was taking centuries with how much Alessia slowed them down. Annalise kept looking around at the dark surroundings as they paced with her pocket knife in hand. Alessia mumbled something incoherent, her head lolling from side to side.

"I've never heard of that building, where is it?" Annalise asked her.

"Dude, you're gonna have to take her back to your place," Patrick told her. "I don't even think she knows her own name."

With a reluctant sigh, Annalise closed her pocket knife and wrapped her arm around the smaller girl's waist. They were approaching the corner where she and Patrick would typically part ways. Alessia noticed the shift and leaned all her weight into Annalise, mumbling under her rancid breath. It wasn't her first time babysitting a drunk toddler, but that doesn't mean she likes doing it.

Patrick was kind enough to walk the two girls up to Annalise's dorm. Alessia was swaying ominously in the elevator, like she wanted to be cradled like a baby. She was definitely ready for bed.

"Ya casi, mi vida," Annalise said as they stumbled down the third floor corridor.

"Why do you call her that?" Patrick asked. "’Me veeda.’ Isn't that what you would call your boyfriend?"

"It's the same thing as a waitress would call you sweetie or something," she replied. "Or the way you'd talk to a toddler. A drunk one."

She managed to pull her key from her back pocket and give it to Patrick. He unlocked the appropriate door, and the three of them were met with more people and more loud music.

Apparently, Stella hadn't planned on staying alone this Saturday night. She was on the armchair, with Camila squished in right next to her. They weren't alone, either. Shawn and Brian were on the couch, each holding a beer. All four of them stared at the two goths holding the short normie up on two feet.

"Oh my god, you're right on time!" Stella exclaimed. "Shawn's working on an EP! He's giving a us a preview! And he made another duet with Camila!"

"Este guey se puso peda," Annalise said with mild snark, gesturing to the girl on her arm. "I'm gonna put her down."

"You're gonna kill her?" Patrick asked, his blue eyes wide. "Damn, I didn't know you hated her that much!"

"Shut up, I brought her here, didn't I?"

She did not look at the guests on the couch as she carefully led Alessia to her bedroom. She ignored Patrick starting up a conversation with everyone. She had things to do, and it was hard enough with her fluffy mind racing.

"There we go, my dear," she said as she sat the intoxicated girl on the bed. "Acuestate, mija. Tomorrow's gonna suck, but you can rest now."

She patted Alessia's head before moving to take off her sneakers. Then, Annalise took her phone from her jacket pocket and plugged it into the charger on then nightstand. Before she could sigh in relief that they all made it back alive, she heard a voice at the door.

"Hey, you."

When Annalise turned to face him, it was like a million fireworks went off at once. Her entire body froze in the best way, and the air in her lungs was knocked out of her. He's even prettier in person.

"Someone have too much fun?" he asked, nodding towards the now sleeping Alessia.

Annalise could not tear her eyes away from his face long enough to think of an answer. All she wanted to do was stare at him for the rest of eternity.

Then, Patrick came up from behind Shawn, an amused grin on his face. "Bro, she's high as a kite right now."

Shawn looked confused for a moment and then turned to him. "Ann doesn't smoke."

"She used to all the fucking time last year." Patrick was still grinning. "She wanted to have fun tonight, so I gave her a hit of my pen."

"So you drugged her up, eh?"

"Bro-"

"I'm not your bro. Don't you care about her health at all? Don't you remember she was in the hospital a couple of months ago?"

The grin faded. "I care about her and her freedom. Not that I have to explain that to you." Patrick excused himself.

Annalise heard every word, but her wide eyes were still on Shawn. She was stepping towards him before she even realized, and then her arms were going around his middle. He was still warm and soft and he smelled good. It was like personified crack. Annalise smiled as her head rested on his chest. "I love you, my baby."

Shawn hesitated, but he hugged her back. "Love you too." Then he pulled back, his hands on her shoulders. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

"The couch." Annalise's fingers were gripping the back of his t-shirt.

"You sure? Wouldn't you rather come stay with me? I'm leaving soon anyway."

Annalise giggled so much her voice squeaked. But she frowned almost instantly. "Don't be like Chad."

"Who's Chad?"

"No one important. I think sober Annalise is gonna be mad at you."

"What? Why?"

She pointed to the sleeping girl on the bed. "That one told high Annalise some things. Sober Annalise might not even remember, but if she does, she'll probably talk to you on check in day. Like, actual talking this time."

"Why can't we talk now?" Shawn asked. "I think high-you will be more understanding than sober-you."

"High Annalise is stupidly in love with you. We'll get nowhere, my dear."

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he gazed down at her. "Yeah, you always call me cute names when you're on drugs. Like that time in the hospital. And all those times you got high with me. Oh wait…" he trailed off. "Every time I asked you to smoke with me you said you didn't trust me enough. But tonight you trusted somebody else, eh?"

She giggled. "I knew you'd be mad at me too. We have much to talk about, baby boy."

~

In theory, the reason for Alessia's disappearance the following morning would be that she remembered the tea she spilled upon waking up and now she wanted to avoid the wrath of the goth girlfriend. In reality, she wouldn't be entirely wrong.

Even after sleeping for twelve hours, Annalise couldn't get those bits of forbidden information out of her head. She had dreams about catching Shawn and Alessia having really loud sex, but she woke up to hear her roommate doing exactly that. Then, she had a recurring dream of Shawn admitting to cheating on her, except this time he had twelve versions of Henry the orange tabby surrounding him. The last dream she remembered having was one where she ended up back in the hospital, and that she was given no anesthesia for her surgery. She had her stomach removed, and she watched every drop of blood and guts come out of the gaping hole in her body.

She woke with a start after every one of these vivid dreams. Maybe it was the after effects of being stoned, but she felt uneasy for that whole day. She typically binged to her heart's content, but the hospital dream was still on her mind. She allowed herself to have a Lunchables, but not much else.

Then, Monday rolled around and Annalise found it difficult to act like a person. She got out of bed, had an unsatisfying breakfast. She did it, and that's the only thing that matters right? Screw all the other feelings. The paranoia she felt after the Abnormal Psych lecture about eating disorders doesn't matter. The impending embarrassing discomfort  from sitting alone at a table in Bio Lab doesn't matter either. Who cares about the sad ache in her chest after seeing Shawn and Alessia leave their class together? Who cares if they're still in high spirits even though they knew that Annalise knew? Who cares?

Annalise doesn't, that's for damn sure. She was perfectly fine. She pushed herself out of bed today even though she wanted nothing more than to induce a coma on herself. Who cares if she still felt shitty after?

Although, she was putting off the impending chat with Shawn until check in on Saturday. He had to know it was coming, why else would he just stop texting her?

Unless he's already with Alessia, and therefore playing me like a violin. Maybe Shawn was just ignoring me to make me go crazy.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Annalise whispered as she put on her headphones. She was glad she caught herself slipping, she didn't want the wide-eyed crazies on display as she walked out of the Social Studies building.

Her steps were slower and more careful as she picked a song to play from her phone. After settling for Halsey, she pulled out her black, round sunglasses and put them on. Gotta hide them nightmare eyes.

Maybe… perhaps… I need to check in earlier than normal?

"Don't be stupid," she told herself.

It wouldn't hurt though, would it? Maybe he would be happy to see me since I would be breaking my own rule. Unless, of course, he's hanging around Alessia again. Perhaps he doesn't care anymore.

The only solution Annalise had was to dump herself on the couch in the dorm and play Tetris 99 until the thoughts and feelings sorted themselves out.

When Stella came home, she knew the drill. She sat on the couch and ranted about her day. She rambled on about her fascist history professor and the lack of a GSA club on campus. Then, she mentioned a Halloween party coming up at one of the frat houses, and that she needed a hot costume.

It was the month where Annalise and all her spooky darkness was socially acceptable, and she couldn't even be excited about it. A different type of darkness was taking over, and it was stupid that it was over a boy. Why did she have to be so dramatic? Why was she so goddamn crazy?

"I'll pick your costume," she said over Stella's rambling.

She paused, her brilliant hazel eyes wide. To say she was surprised that Annalise cracked so fast would be an understatement. But she smiled. "Would you? Ooo, can I pick yours?"

"Ah, I don't think I'm gonna do anything for Halloween this year."

"What? But it's your favorite holiday! You need to come to this party with me! Buddy system, remember?"

"Is that the only reason-"

"Of course not, you dummy! We haven't spent enough time together since the semester started! Let's go find some costumes, yeah? I'll even let you dress me up as scary as you want!"

Stella's a good friend. Annalise should really try harder to spend time with her. Why didn't she try to be a good friend in return?

They went to the local costume store that Friday. It gave Annalise a wonderful excuse to not go to the gaming club meeting. She really did not want to reflect on the Bart adventure, or see just how bad she fucked up Chad's nose.

After returning to campus with a dark but still cute witch costume, Stella was summoned to Camila's dorm. She thanked Annalise for the lovely costume choice and practically abandoned her. Annalise couldn't find it in her to really care. It was only a few more hours until Saturday.

She had barely settled herself on the couch when her phone buzzed. For the first time this week, Shawn had texted her. Annalise held her phone up, staring blankly at the screen. Her heart should be pounding right now, shouldn't it?

"Hey, I know check in is tomorrow but I can't make it at our usual time. I have a gig tomorrow night. You should come and we can talk after."

The next text was the address to the lounge he would be performing at.

Any other time, Annalise would have been happy to know Shawn was performing again. But he cancelled on her, knowing that he was in trouble. Is that what it took for him to start booking shows again? Was this just an elaborate way to avoid Annalise? Perhaps this was just some form of reverse psychology so she wouldn't go to the gig.

You can't psych out a psychology major. Of course Annalise was going to this gig.

However, she had a mostly sleepless night, really unable to shake the fact that Shawn was probably avoiding her. When she finally did sleep, she slept too much. Annalise woke up in the afternoon and was late for work. She had planned to ask if she could leave early, but she didn't dare try anything now. The gig was at eight, when her shift ended. She ended up going to the lounge in her work uniform, a button up with the dealership name on, and baggy slacks. Not exactly the sexy outfit she had planned during the late hours of insomnia.

The show had already started by the time she got there. As she was showing her ID to the bouncer, she heard Shawn's voice over the mic, and she felt something for the first time in days. Her stomach felt tight as she slowly stepped into the lounge.

The turnout was decent. Every single table and bar stool was occupied, and all eyes were on the band performing on the stage. Annalise looked around for any empty space; She wasn't dressed her best but she did want to be anywhere but against the wall opposite the stage. Her eyes spotted the group of people standing directly in front of the stage.

It was the normal group of girls who swooned every time Shawn blinked, but there were also three other girls that Annalise knew all too well. They were jumping and singing along to Lost in Japan, not a single care in the world. Annalise wondered why Stella didn't tell her that she was going to this event, but the way she looked at Camila as they sang to each other said enough. Maybe they chose Alessia to be their new third wheel too. So Alessia was too embarrassed to face Annalise, but not Shawn?

Annalise always stood in the back of every one of Shawn's shows, knowing she would stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of the usual fangirls. Not that that's a bad thing, it just wasn't her usual place to be. She figured that showing up at all would be enough.

Perhaps Shawn already had enough. Three of his friends were already cheering him on, and surely he had more of them scattered in the audience. Not to mention, the people here that didn't know him were going to adore him by the end of the night. Besides, Shawn most likely invited her as a ploy to get her to turn it down. She wasn't needed here. Annalise chewed the inside of her lip as she back up towards the exit. She stepped outside, away from the people trying to get in, and she pulled her phone out. She composed a new text:

"Hey, I'm drowning in work so I won't make it to your show. I'll meet you at your place later so we can talk🖤"

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @poppyshawn @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @ruinhoney @someoneunimportantxx @calyumthomas @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @shawmndes @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea 

[ft-dads-au]

Chance Encounter - Chapter 3

Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Sharing A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​ AO3 | FF.Net | Prev: Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Next: Ch 4

May 12, 2020

5:20 pm

It took a few adaptations to the usual schedule and extracting a promise from Sting to meet them there after work. Still, when Rogue arrived at the community center, both of his sons were fed, washed, and ready for bed, and the list of questions he had failed to prepare for yesterday’s interview was fully drafted on his phone.

The voice recorder was charged and equipped with an SD-card that had plenty of available memory left. The diaper bag contained everything it should and then some, and on top of it all, they arrived more than half an hour before the meeting was supposed to start so he’d have enough time to re-do the interview.

‘The things you can get done with good planning,’ he thought to himself as he wrestled the stroller through the entrance of the building.

Young girls could be heard singing and giggling over upbeat pop tunes. The sounds immediately drew the attention of the twins, especially Kuro, who started fighting against the stroller’s straps so he could lean towards the direction the sounds were coming from. He was still too young to be able to point his fingers, but he made his demands very clear by reaching out and giving a loud, vocal instruction.

“Buuhhh!”

“Sorry Cupcake, I don’t think that’s meant for us,” Rogue responded before turning to the receptionist. “Good evening, I’m here for the Dad’s Club. Could you please tell me where I can find its meeting room?”

The receptionist’s head snapped up at his voice. She looked frazzled, very much like someone who wasn’t having a good day, but just as she was about to speak, Haku made a noise that made her peer into the stroller.

“Oh my goodness, aren’t they sweet?” The receptionist made silly faces at the twins as Rogue watched with mild amusement. She finally looked back up at Rogue, her lips curled into a friendly smile, a welcome change from her previous dour expression.

“The Dad’s Club meetings are held in the daycare center, but that space is currently being used for rehearsals by a dance group. Unfortunately, the school holidays have led to the daycare center being double-booked, but the club meeting is still scheduled to take place as soon as possible.”

“I see. Do Mr. Conbolt and Mr. Clive happen to be present already?” Rogue asked, feeling discomfort settle in the pit of his stomach at the name Clive alone, “I’m supposed to meet them ahead of the club, but maybe I got here a little too early.”

Rogue startled as the doors of the community center suddenly slammed shut behind him. He looked into the stroller quickly to make sure the twins hadn’t been frightened, but it seemed as if they were still focused on the music coming from the daycare center.

He turned around only to see Macao and Gildarts walking towards him, arms laden with several supermarket bags.

“You bought too much food again,” Macao Conbolt complained, “What are we supposed to do with all this?”

“Stop worrying so much, someone will eat them, it’s a bunch of guys right?” Gildarts shrugged off Macao’s displeasure, “Seriously, I could probably eat all this on my own.”

They hadn’t seen Rogue yet, too intent on their bickering to notice anything around them. Soon they had reached the receptionist’s desk.

“Is that why you were trying to buy the booze rather than the juice boxes I asked for?” Macao challenged, and Gildarts flashed him a careless grin while simultaneously grabbing a rose from one of the bags.

“Running this club has aged you, Macao, you’ll never find a good woman this way,” Gildarts handed the rose over to the receptionist who could only gawk at it and then at Gildarts. A look that Rogue recognized well from hanging around the man when he was younger, “Wouldn’t you agree, Gladys?”

“When did you even get a rose?” Macao looked inside the remaining bags presumably to check for any additional contraband.

“A man is always ready,” Gildarts shrugged before once again, dazzling poor Gladys with his winning smile.

Rogue found himself feeling sorry for the receptionist, Gildarts was unlike anyone else Rogue had ever met. He was big, loud, and brash, but he could also be incredibly charming and fun.

Once, he’d been like an uncle to him. A rather annoying uncle that was always involving himself where he didn’t belong. Before he had much chance to think about the man, the receptionist ratted him out, probably to divert attention away from her.

“Uhm, that man over there was asking for both of you,” Gladys helpfully pointed him out, and suddenly he wished the stroller were larger so he could just hide behind it. He wasn’t sure how Gildarts was going to react when he saw him, considering their last interaction hadn’t been a very pleasant one, and that made him awfully nervous.

To his surprise, Gildarts regarded him with interest, observing him as well as his sons with keen eyes. Rogue’s unease began to mix with confusion, and an added layer of guilt to top it all off when he saw a familiar grin form on Gildarts’ face as if nothing had ever happened between them.

“Never thought I’d see the day when the half-pint had a half-pint of his own, and two at that!”

Before Rogue had a chance to protest the use of that most hated of nicknames, Gildarts had already put down the bags he was carrying and moved over to Rogue, surrounding him in one of his infamous bear hugs that Rogue had to admit he’d missed. He wrapped his arms around the larger man slowly, unsure of what was happening but not wanting to fight the affection he was receiving.

They separated, and Gildarts peered into the stroller, “And who are these fine lads?”

“Guys, we’re kind of blocking this area maybe we could move this reunion somewhere else until the room opens up? Gladys?”

“Let me check,” Gladys looked at a map on her desk that was filled with dry erase marker entries, identifying the available spaces within the community center, “It looks like the small meeting room across from the daycare center is open.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Gladys,” Macao began to move towards the room Gladys had indicated with Gildarts hurrying to grab his bags and follow along with Rogue, both remaining silent for the moment.

There were so many things Rogue wanted to ask, none of them related to the Dad’s Club. A glance at his watch, however, made him realize those questions would have to wait, they’d wasted too much time already.

The kids were being pleasantly agreeable for once, their eyes darting from place to place as they looked at all the new things. The building, which was used as a community space, was decorated in cheerful colors with murals painted by a local artist by the name of Reedus Jonah decorating many of the walls.

They entered a small room containing a conference table that could seat six with enough room left over to comfortably place the stroller near the door so the kids could listen to the music.

Once Rogue was sure the kids were settled, he took a seat at the head of the table with Gildarts and Macao sitting on either side of him. Rogue could feel Gildarts watching him but chose to ignore it, grabbing his recorder and briefly looking at his phone screen to review the questions he’d come up with. Placing the recorder on the table, he made sure to turn it on, waiting for the red LED to light up before asking his first question.

“I guess I should start by asking what the club is, what purpose does it hope to serve?”

Macao and Gildarts stared at each other briefly with Gildarts gesturing for Macao to answer.

“Well. Makarov Dreyar and his friend Yaj Ima were both having some issues with their kids, and when they went looking for help, all they found were groups geared towards women. This was back in the eighties. They talked to some of their other friends and found that a lot of them were also frustrated by the lack of resources geared towards them, so they all got together and formed the first incarnation of the Magnolia Dad’s Club.”

“The idea was to support each other through problems and provide help, however possible. For example, Gildarts here was a social worker so occasionally he would be asked questions on fostering, child visits, things like that. Everyone lent their skills and expertise to help others.”

Gildarts had been a social worker? For as long as he could remember, Rogue had heard his father complain about the dangerous missions his friend went on for work. Gildarts’ daughter, Cana, would stay with them, forcing Gray and Rogue to share a room until he returned. Both Cana and his dad would be nervous wrecks until Gildarts booming voice could once again be heard.

“Okay, so if I understand correctly, the club was founded in the eighties?” Rogue verified, “and you mentioned that was the first incarnation, so what happened to it?”

“What happened was you all grew up, “ Gildarts remarked, “I’m surprised you don’t remember the club at all. You, Cana and Gray used to come to some of the meetings with us. We’d go get fast food after.”

Now that Gildarts mentioned it, Rogue vaguely remembered something, but it was sort of hazy. He mostly recalled going to eat with their dads. That was always fun, especially when they were in a good mood and joking around together.

“Makarov and Yaj were getting old, they’re in their seventies now, so when they announced their retirement and no one stepped up to replace them, the club just kind of died. That was about ten years ago,” Macao added, an almost wistful expression on his face.

“So why start up again now after so much time had passed?”

Macao and Gildarts remained quiet for a moment, and this time it was Macao who gestured towards Gildarts, letting him answer.

“Well, Makarov reminded us that it was time for us to pay it forward, and he was right. It might be 2020, but the fact remains that for every one resource that exists for fathers out there, there are twenty for mothers,” Gildarts explained.

“When I found out I had a daughter, I had nowhere to go to ask for help. I ended up at your doorstep with a crying little girl who had no idea who I was to her. Your father introduced me to this club, to other men like me who were just trying their best to be good dads, and it helped. It made me a better father and a better person overall.”

“There are plenty of fathers out there who are lost, who knows maybe you’re one of them,” Gildarts gaze was intense as it fell on Rogue, “If I can help them out, don’t I have the responsibility to do so?”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say —”

“My wife left us when my son was very young,” Macao interrupted, trying to defuse the sudden tension that had taken over the room, “I was really lost until I found an ad for the club in the Teacher’s Lounge of the high school I teach at. It took me a couple of weeks to admit to myself that I wasn’t okay and that I needed help, but once I did, these guys took me in. They helped me get through arguably the toughest time in my life. I’d like to do that for others.”

“Yeah, I mean it’s not like Makarov fed us drinks until we agreed or something,” Gildarts scoffed while Macao glared, “That would be silly.”

Rogue wasn’t sure what to make of that last statement. With Gildarts, it was hard to tell what was fact and what was fiction sometimes.

“Okaaay, you mentioned yesterday there was babysitting, what other services do you provide?” Rogue tried to steer them back onto more neutral ground.

As Macao opened his mouth to answer the door to the daycare center opened and he scrambled to grab the bags. Rogue noticed Gildarts sneak something into the bag nearest him with an impish grin.

“I’ll go set up the snacks and get the coffee going before more people arrive,” Macao declared with his usual friendly smile, “I’ll be happy to answer any additional questions you might have after the meeting.”

Rogue nodded at him and gave him a sour smile in return. Gildarts showed no sign of moving, looking pretty comfortable in his seat, so that meant he was stuck with him for now. Not even the twins were going to save him this time, they were both completely focused on their toys. No crying, no screaming, no attempted escapes or diaper explosions. Of course, that only happened when it was highly inconvenient. Great.

“So-” Gildarts finally spoke up, drumming his fingers on the table, “Long time no see. How’ve you been doing? Looks like you’ve been busy.” He raised his eyebrows as he shot a quick but amused glance towards the twins. And while there weren’t many things that defined the word busy like caring for two very dependent, tiny humans did, knowing Gildarts that wasn’t what he was referring to.

The repetitive tapping of Gildarts’ fingers on the wood grated on Rogue’s nerves. It sounded unnatural, like fingernails scratching against a chalkboard. His eyes were instantly drawn to the offending digits only to realize he’d somehow managed to forget that Gildarts’ left arm and leg had been replaced with prosthetic limbs. A souvenir from one of his missions that had gone horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue ignored the comment, offering a long overdue apology instead, even as his eyes remained glued on Gildarts’ fingers. “I know you were just making sure I was okay back then, but I was just so angry for being left alone for so long. It—”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything, Rogue,” Gildarts interrupted him, the use of his actual name a clear indication that he was serious for once. “I should have gone sooner, I let myself get caught up in my own shit and — nevermind. Point is we’re fine.”

“I guess we both did,” Rogue thought aloud, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. He was glad that Gildarts had accepted his apology, but it didn’t make him feel any better about his actions. He’d been upset about being alone, but Gildarts had been dealing with his whole life being turned upside down. “You probably miss them too, huh?”

“Every day, kid,” Gildarts winked, but there was an underlying sadness that Rogue could relate to. He reached out with this right hand and ruffled Rogue’s head, messing up his ponytail and changing the topic. “I like this new look you’ve got going, it suits you.”

Rogue’s hands moved to his hair, gauging the damage before giving up and letting it down. He ran his fingers quickly through it, glaring as Gildarts began to chuckle at him.

“You are so annoying!” Rogue blurted out loudly, making Gildarts laugh even harder.

“There he is!” Gildarts exclaimed, his grin making him look younger than his fifty-five years, “I’m still me, you know. The prosthetics just make me harder to beat in a fight.” Gildarts pumped his fists in a pretend punching motion.

“When the hell were you a social worker?” Rogue didn’t know why that question felt so important, but it was in stark contrast with everything he thought he knew about the man.

“I’m insulted you didn’t know. I have a Master’s Degree in Social Work, but I enlisted in the Navy right after graduate school. Hmm, let’s see, that was right when I first found out about Cana. I did it for a few years, but I hated it. I got better results in the Navy.”

He looked down at his watch, “We’d best get moving, You’ll probably get most of what you need for your article from the meeting itself. Plus,” Gildarts rubbed his hands together in glee, “I don’t want to miss Macao’s face when he finds my little surprise.”

“What did you put in the bag?”

Gildarts gave one of his goofy grins as he stood up, “You’ll see.”

Rogue followed suit, collecting the recorder and slipping it into his pants pocket before walking over to the stroller and following Gildarts out.

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT/Baron Jitsu fanfiction: Dating… With Children - Chapter Six

(Also on AO3 if you want to leave a comment or kudos)

Plot:  Benjamin Draxum hardly considered himself a man of high social standing. Not because he was uncouth or unworthy of it, mind you, but simply because he didn’t have much of a social life. Hard to have one when he usually spent his days at work, cooped up in a lab for so long that he often had his lunches in there, and his nights at home reading or doing research for more personal projects. But perhaps meeting handsome semi-retired movie star - as well as his four young sons - could change all that…

((Mild warning for mentions of being sick/throwing up, though nothing super descriptive/disgusting or anything. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!))

Something was up…

Draxum stared down at his phone screen. No missed calls. No missed texts or voicemails. Not even a “Sorry, can't talk right now”. Nothing… Nothing on his side at least.

Opening up his call log, Draxum sighed through his nose as he looked through it all. One unanswered call to Lou Friday night, two unanswered calls on Saturday, and one that morning. That wasn't even including the texts he’d sent, not receiving a reply to any of them. At this point, he was beginning to feel like a stalker or something, or at the very least clingy-

“I'm not being clingy,” he mumbled to himself, “Just… Concerned, is all.” It was natural to feel concerned when your boyfriend wasn't talking to you, right? But then again, Lou could've just been unusually busy that weekend. Still, he couldn't help but feel like something was up. Something was wrong.

After a moment more of thinking, Draxum stood up from his couch, grabbed his keys and jacket and headed towards the door. A quick check-in wasn't unreasonable. Most likely this would all end up being something mundane anyway, and Lou would probably have a laugh about it later, or think it was amusing that he cared so much.

‘And if doing this annoys him?’ a part of Draxum asked, stubborn enough to ignore logic, ‘If all the missed calls and texts end up being his way of saying he's done with you?’

The scientist paused… And then continued on, nearly slamming the apartment door behind him. “I’ll just deal with that when it happens…” He took an extra second to put on his jacket - the cold front passing through New York was a bit harsher than usual for that time of year - and went on his way out into the cloudy afternoon.

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

“But I don't wannaaaaaaa!”

Lou sighed through his nose, trying to keep a grip on his child. “I know you don't want to, but I promise that it'll help you feel better! So please, Michalengel-”

“NO!” Mikey screamed back at him, startling his father enough to slip out of his arms. Mikey then dove back under his covers, letting out another muffled yell of frustration.

Lou rubbed his temples. “Alright fine, stay under there! But you will be getting a bath tonight, young man!” He could've sworn he heard his youngest actually hiss at that, before coughing several times. He knew being sick could make some kids cranky, but this was getting ridiculous! Still, it wasn't as if Lou could really blame him.

“Daddyyyyyy…” Another voice from the doorway called, sniffling slightly. Lou turned and saw Leo, looking at him with watery eyes. “If he's not gonna use the tub, can I have his bath instead?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Lou nodded, clearly seeing the boy’s shivering body as well as all the sweat stains on his son’s nightshirt despite just putting it on him a couple hours ago.

“Kay… Also, I threw up. In my room. Sorry…”

Lou closed his eyes for just a moment, just enough to recompose himself, before nodding. “It's fine, you are fine. I will run your bath first, and then I will clean it up, okay?” Leo nodded back at him and slowly made his way towards the bathroom.

As Lou traveled down the hall, he briefly checked on his other two kids. Raph, shirtless with discomfort clearly on his face, still managed to sleep in spite of his fever. He'd need to check his and Leo’s temperatures too when it was time to give all of them their next dose of medicine. “That's gonna be real fun,” he mumbled to himself, already dreading it.

As for Donnie, he was wide awake, sniffling and fiddling with his humidifier. “Donnie, please stop messing with that,” he told him, leading the boy back into bed.

“But it's not workingggg!” Donnie nearly sobbed, rubbing his tired eyes as he let out a couple tears, “I'm still all stuffed up!”

Lou turned the humidifier up one level before handing Donnie a box of tissues. “I know it's no fun being sick, but just try to relax, okay baby? Blow your nose a few times, that should-”

“I already blew my nose a hundred thousand times already!” Donnie growled, mood going from despairing to grouchy on a dime. “My dumb nose is STILL stuffed up, ‘cause you bought the wrong dumb machine! Cause you're dumb. Dumb Dad!” He tossed the box on his bed, kicking it slightly as he continued to sniffle. “Dummy dumb-dumb…”

Lou just patted his head. “I will make you some tea soon, Don. That’ll help clear things out.” Thankfully, Donnie seemed to accept that, still pouting and whimpering a bit but nonetheless laying back down and making sure to face the humidifier. Lou would make sure to make his purple pajama-wearing son his favorite flavor of tea as an added bonus. But first, bath time.

Leo was already waiting for him, undressed (save for a towel wrapped around his waist) and leaning against the toilet to try and keep cool. “Leonardo, don't, that's dirty,” Lou told him, gently pushing him off it. He then turned on the faucet and, out of the corner of his eye, noticed his son wincing at all the steam coming from the water. 

“Daddddd, I'm already super hot! If I take a hot bath I'm gonna die!”

“You're not gonna die,” Lou insisted, “A cold bath would just make your body sicker, and hot water will help your fever break. I promise that this'll help, and if you don't like it you won't have to stay in there for more than a couple minutes, okay?”

“Ugh, fiiiiine.” Lou gave him a small smile, quickly giving Leo a pat on the head as well. Soon enough the tub was filled, and Leo slipped into the water without any protest, already closing his eyes. Lou set a clean towel on the toilet lid in case Leo wanted out before he came back, and then set forth on his next task. There was still that mess in Leo’s room to clean up, but…

He heard Donnie let out a long whine (followed by a couple quick sneezes), and then heard Raph let out a low, raspy groan, waking up slightly from his fever induced nap. It nearly broke his heart, how miserable they sounded. “...Right. Tea first.” So, he headed downstairs, ignoring the tickle in his own throat and the fatigue pulling at his eyes. Not to mention his pounding headache… Unable to help himself, he closed his eyes again - and nearly tripped over a pillow that had been left on the living room floor. He managed to keep his footing at least - even if that meant stepping on one of Raph’s wrestling figures instead.

“You've got this, Lou,” he told himself, even as he limped into the kitchen, “You've got this. Just start the tea.” He made sure to make enough for three cups in case Mikey wanted some, as well. The process was easy enough, thankfully, though even the steam and pleasant scent of the soothing drink did nothing for him. If anything, his headache got worse, with it almost sounding like someone was knocking against his head!

...Wait, that knocking wasn't in his head. Or, was it? “Is someone there?” He shouted from the kitchen, nearly driving himself into a coughing fit, “I-If that’s you, O’Neil, door’s unlocked! Get whatever you need to borrow and go, okay?”

He heard the door open - good, he wasn't hallucinating - but the deep voice that answered him caught him completely off-guard. “Lou…? Is everythi-?”

“Ben?!” Lou moved to the kitchen doorway, and sure enough, there stood his boyfriend, looking confused and a bit shocked. “Uh, h-hey you!” Lou greeted, forcing a grin as he ran a hand through his (greasy, unwashed for who knows HOW long, ugh) hair, “Heh, what uh- what brings you?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Draxum answered, unable to help but stare. Even when wearing simple and casual outfits, Lou had always had a sort of ‘dressed to impressed’ vibe, always looking good and well put together, matching his life in that sense. He never seemed stressed, being able to roll with whatever came his way, his kids always behaving well enough - he just seemed like Mr. Perfect! Even him being a bit flustered as he explained his feelings in the diner parking lot or him explaining his past hadn't shattered that illusion to Draxum. But now…

Lou was wearing just an old grey tank top, a brown house robe and nothing on his feet. His hair was an absolute mess while his face had some stubble, indicating that he hadn't shaved in a couple days. His usual sunglasses were also missing, meaning there was nothing to hide the bags under his eyes. But more than just his outfit or appearance, Lou just looked tired. Completely exhausted and looking like he was barely keeping it together.

Lou seemed to realize this too, glancing away as he explained the situation. “Yeah, uhh… Things are a bit rough over here this weekend. Big flu outbreak at school. Apparently April caught it first, so thanks to a heads up from her father I was able to prepare somewhat, but…” But there was only so much you could prepare for when not just one or two, but ALL FOUR of your kids got sick. “Donnie and Mikey both have colds while Raph and Leo have fevers, and unlucky Raphael has a really sore throat too, it seems.”

“And you?” Draxum asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lou immediately waved him off. “Oh I'm fine! Completely well! You, you didn't need to come over, really!”

“Well, I tried to call-” “You did?” Lou went around his chair and picked up his phone from the coffee table. He tried three times to turn it on before realizing the phone was dead. “Right…” He sighed, tossing the phone over his shoulder, it bouncing a couple times on the cushion. “Well, I-I’ll just charge that later and we can talk maybe to-”

A high pitched whistle pierced through the air and Lou mumbled a Japanese curse under his breath as he scrambled back into the kitchen. Draxum followed, still a bit surprised. Because the fact was, as easy as it should have been for Draxum to realize, Lou was just as human as him - just as human as anyone. He wasn't the Lou Jitsu from his movies. He could be handsome and witty and unflappable as both a person and a parent, but also disheveled and stressed and even have days where he could hardly stay afloat.

This was certainly one of those days.

Taking a deep breath as he poured the hot tea, Lou granted himself one moment to relax before pushing himself back into ‘dad mode’. “I'm sorry, Ben, I just- I have a lot to take care of today and-”

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” he heard Draxum say suddenly, his tone funnily enough making his request almost sound like a demand.

Lou turned back at him. “Oh, no, Ben! You, you don't have to spend your day- W-We’ll be fine, really! I've got this, I've just got to get the boys their tea and medicine and clean up a few messes-”

“Then why don't I take care of the messes,” Draxum told him, taking another step forward before gesturing to the cups of tea, “While you take care of these.” Lou tried to argue but his boyfriend once again cut him off. “I'm not going to take no for an answer, Lou.”

Lou was silent for a moment before he managed a sheepish smile despite himself. “You uh… You know how to clean up puke?” He asked, his tone unsure, as if he expected the idea itself to make the taller man immediately regret his decision to help, and he was already ready to tell him once again that he didn't need to stay.

But Draxum simply put a hand on Lou’s shoulder, his touch steady and strong enough that even Lou’s tired back was able to straighten up at it. “I think I can manage,” Draxum told him, smiling ever so subtly. Lou stared back at him… And then nodded, accepting it. With that, the two went their separate ways and got to work.

And with perfect timing too. In that moment, they both heard a loud wail from upstairs. Lou knew it well - it sounded like his youngest had officially gone from ‘everyone leave me alone right now’ to ‘I'm sad and/or feeling bad and I wanna be hugged forever’. So he grabbed the tea tray and raced up the stairs as fast as he could go without spilling the precious cargo while Draxum headed towards the nearest closet.

Along with finding cleaning supplies, Draxum also spotted some masks and gloves by the family first-aid kit. He tried not to look too relieved about this. Once he was properly protected and had gathered all he needed, he too went upstairs. Finding Leo’s room was easy enough, as was cleaning up the mess, thankfully. By the time he had finished, Leo was out of the bath and dressed in a fluffy bright blue bathrobe of his own.

The boy blinked slowly at him, eyes still a bit weary and sick mind hazy. “...Are you a dream?”

Draxum smiled. “Nope,” he answered, “Just a doctor helping out.”

“Oh. ...Kay.” Too sick to ask curious questions, Leo just got back into bed while Draxum left with his supplies to go take care of his next task, wishing the poor boy a 'get well soon' as he went.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to run just as smoothly, with Lou and Draxum working opposite each other. While Lou worked on getting the kids to take their medicine and drink their tea, Draxum took care of the overflowing laundry pile. While Draxum handled their mountain of unwashed dishes, Lou checked temperatures and ran more baths or refilled humidifiers. Lou even managed to get a nice hot shower for himself while Draxum kept an eye on the kids. There would still be work to do later once he had more time to do it, but Draxum’s help still took a lot off Lou’s plate - and for that, the former movie star was especially thankful.

Speaking of plates, they ended up cooking the kids’ supper together, with Draxum handling the dry toast and Lou making the chicken noodle soup. Not the most exciting meal, but perfect for small, upset stomachs that still needed to eat something they could keep down.

Of course, the two of them would be able to have something a bit more flavorful. Using the last of a bag of rice along whatever bits of ingredients he could find, Draxum managed to make a decent fried rice (NOT overcooked or burnt, thank you very much!). Once he had a lid over the pan to keep it warm, he went upstairs to tell Lou that their meal was ready.

Though, as he got closer to Lou’s room, he heard a low melody, and his footsteps slowed.

“Nakiharashita me de hiza wo kakaeru… Wake wo kikasete subete hanashite… Daijoubu dokoemo ikanai yo… Nani ga atte mo issho ni iru yo…”

It was quite the scene, really. All four kids were tucked into Lou’s bed, snuggling up to each like it was a giant cuddle pile, their faces finally peaceful as they slipped into sleep. As for Lou, he sat on the edge of the bed, smiling softly and occasionally petting one of the boys’ heads as he sang. Lou had a good voice, and even if he was occasionally off-key, the sentiment was still very much there.

Smiling softly to himself, Draxum stood in silence as he listened, deciding that supper could wait a couple minutes…

Even with there still being some sunlight outside, the inside of the house was awash with comfortable darkness, save for the single light left on in the kitchen. As far as they could tell, as they sat together on the loveseat and ate their food in peace, they were the only ones awake in the world.

“...You know, I think we skipped a couple steps.”

“Hm?” Draxum questioned, his last bite of food still in his mouth.

Lou, bleary eyed and exhausted, still managed to flash him a cocky smile. “Aren't there supposed to be a lot more fun and/or sexy times before we get into the domestic stuff?”

His date rolled his eyes. “You're sick and half asleep, and you're still going to try and flirt?”

Lou hummed, nuzzling Draxum’s shoulder slightly. “You're a good man… You deserved to be flirted with…” He then sighed. “Thanks for your help today, Ben. You… You really didn't have to-”

“Oh yes, because leaving you to take care of your children and your house despite me being more than able to help you would've been the muchmore supportive option,” Draxum replied, his tone sarcastic yet without harshness, “Honestly, what was I thinking.”

Lou weakly nudged his side. “Baka. You know what I mean… You didn't have to help as much as you did, but you just… Did, without hesitation.” He smiled again, this time a bit warmer though still somewhat playful. “Guess I won the jackpot on boyfriends, hm?”

Draxum chuckled slightly. “I suppose so…” Though, as far as he was concerned, they both won.

“...I’d kiss you if I could. You know I would.”

“I’ll settle for you getting some rest and getting better. I’ll go find you a blanket-”

Lou groaned, leaning further on his date and even wrapping an arm around him. “Don't leave meeee… You're so comfortableeeee…”

“Yes, and I’m sure a proper pillow would be even more comfortable,” Draxum argued, amused as he managed to slip out of his pouting boyfriend’s grip. It took some time to find a spare pillow and blanket that hadn’t been used yet or wasn’t currently being used. Once he found them and went back downstairs, Lou was already fast asleep.

Shaking his head, Draxum put a pillow down by the man’s head and spread the blanket over his body. He stared at Lou for a moment, almost unable to look away… Only feeling just a bit silly, Draxum pressed two of his fingers to his lips, kissing them and then pressing them to Lou’s forehead.

“Sleep well, Lou Jitsu…”

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

“Uhhh, special delivery for a ‘Dr. Benjamin Draxum’?”

Being yanked out of his concentration so suddenly - there was a reason he hadn’t taken a break yet, but it seemed like SOME people just couldn’t respect that!  - Draxum couldn't help but scowl at his computer screen. “Ugh, I didn’t order any-!” He turned to look at the doorway, and stopped short.

Lou, grinning and holding up a bag from Draxum’s favorite sandwich place, just gave him a wink. Draxum saved his work, and within a minute they were both sitting at Draxum’s desk - Draxum in his chair, and Lou deciding to just sit on the desk itself, being sure to mind the few things on it.

“Looks like a few days of rest did you well,” Draxum commented as he checked his sandwich for any unwanted toppings.

“Oh yeah,” Lou nodded, “The boys are back in school and catching up on missed work, house is all back in order, and I just figured that this was the least I could do.”

Draxum hummed. “Oh, I don’t know…” He set the sandwich down, earning a curious look from Lou. “I think there’s something more you could do for me. After all…” He stood up, smirking now as he leaned forward. “I believe you still owe me that kiss.”

Lou smirked back. “Well, if I still owe you that, I may have to throw in a bit of ‘interest’...” Their lips quickly met, Lou’s arms back around his tall lover’s waist while Draxum settled for cupping Lou’s face, fingers in his black and grey-streaked hair.

“...So, you think that’s him?” Muninn whispered as he quickly moved away from the doorway.

“Uh, yeah dude,” Huginn replied, giving him a bit of a flat look, “Pretty sure the guy that’s kissing him is his boyfriend.”

“Hey, just making sure! He seems like a pretty good guy.” And his boss definitely looked happy. “Heh, you think they’d invite us to their wedding?” he joked.

“Tc'ch, yeah right,” Huginn chuckled, smirking back at his partner, “Draxum wouldn't want us anywhere near their wedding. Come on, let’s get going before they hear us.” Besides, if Draxum was busy with his own lunch break, maybe he wouldn’t notice if his two interns came back a bit late from theirs. Extra dessert from the good snack machine by the chemistry department, here they come!

((The song Lou was singing is called Mother's Song from 'Wolf Children' with the lyrics translating to "You hugged your knees, crying out your eyes, Tell me why, I'll listen to everything, Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, No matter what happens, I'll be with you".

Granted not all the lyrics of the lyrics fit with Lou, hence why I only took a small bit of it, but I just needed a song to set the mood of the scene and this song seemed like the perfect fit (plus I just love both the movie and the song SO much! So I couldn't help but include it, heh). Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this! ^v^))

[x688plsloveme]

Companions react to a fem!SS that enjoys (quietly) admiring them, like how they move and react to things, admiring the lines/curves of their faces/bodies/etc?

ADA: Ada never really questioned how Sole did things. This however, got her a bit curious. She would notice her companion watching her for minutes on end, assuming that she had an interest in robots, but she thinks not even the Mechanist had such a liking for her creations. This lead Ada to asking a question on day. A simple, “Why are you always watching me?” Sole just laughed and told her to not worry about it. Ada’s curiosity was left to fester.

CAIT: Cait knew she was good looking. She always has. But not even the creepy guys in bars wouldn’t dare continue to leer after she threatened to knock their teeth out. Which is why it is so perplexing to Cait whenever Sole would continue to gaze at her, even after sending her a signature death glare. She didn’t really mind the prolonged looks, but it was confusing as hell to how Sole didn’t even flinch.

CODSWORTH: Being used to this kind of behaviour from his mistress, Codsworth wasn’t bothered by her watchful gaze at all. It wasn’t until Ada inquired him as to why Sole does it that he bothered to ask her. Since she knew Codsworth better than just about anyone, she told him the truth. “Everyone that I’ve ever met acts in a different way. Their likes and dislikes are reflected in the slightest change in posture. Their life stories are mirrored in their eyes. I find it simply fascinating to see every different social cue a person has. Especially after waking up to post apocolyptia,” Codsworth could definitely understand where she was coming from. People now are so different than they were pre-war.

CURIE: Sole found Curie adapting to become a human of sorts was intriguing to say the least. Not having the experiences other humans had that made them guarded all the time, meant that Curie in particular was a very expressive person. Being a woman of science herself, Curie could definitely share the same love for observation as Sole. She found it flattering whenever her friend would choose her as a sort of “muse”. 

DANSE: Danse was used to being watched closely by all the drill sergeants back in the Brotherhood, so Sole watching him was no different. Although...He doesn’t get the same feeling from her as he did the drill sergeants. Where they watched him closely for any sign of mistake to point out, Sole watched him with what seemed like a mild curiosity. He never felt scrutinized under her gaze.

DEACON: Being the suspicious guy he is, Deacon thought that Sole was a secret institute spy when he first noticed her habit. The way she observed people was akin to how he does the same thing because of his wariness. What steered him off of that though, is the fact that he notices she does that to everyone, including X6. No reason for an institute spy to suspect a courser. Deacon decided that he could make a game out of it instead. Every once in a while, he’ll take up a new face and persona, and see if Sole notices. The only problem with this game is that he never loses. She’s just gotten to good with reading him.

DOGMEAT: Even Sole’s trusty canine companion couldn’t escape her habit for observation. Thanks to how closely she pays attention to him, she can tell right away whenever her dog is feeling stressed or unhappy, even when the cues aren’t obvious. This also comes in handy when the pair are out exploring and Sole picks up on Dogmeat’s signals for danger. Dogmeat is just happy to have such a caring owner who pays a lot of attention to him.

GAGE: He thought that her habit of people watching is a testament to how smart his overboss is. Get to know what makes a person tick, and they’ll be just to easy to manipulate. Knowing that she watches everyone didn’t stop his surprise when she commented on him. “Gage. When did you come to be so...different? Most raiders I see are hot headed and don’t take shit from anybody. Not that I’m saying you’re a pushover, it’s just that you always seem to have the upper hand with dealing with anybody. It’s nice to know that I don’t have an idiot as my second in command you know?” The surprising part of Sole’s speech was that she pointed out something no one else has ever pointed out before, figuring out his habits through her own.

HANCOCK: “What, see something you like?” Hancock must’ve asked this question to Sole a thousand times, and he always got the same answer. She dodges the question by laughing and leaving the room. This time was different. Sole actually answers back. “Yes. You’re a really interesting person. You carry yourself in public like you own the world, but I can tell you are insecure and uncertain about certain things. What chem you use is also almost always linked to how you’re feeling. Anyway, I gotta go. Bye!” Hancock just sat there, bewildered. He’s never known someone who could pick up on so many subtle things in his life. He just chalked it up to another one of Sole’s charms.

LONGFELLOW: At first, Longfellow found Sole’s habit of watching people (namely him) to be creepy. Then he realized that she actually had the same habit that he had when he was out hunting, just in a less dangerous sense. Sole could tell the miniscule movements of people and read what they mean just as well as he could read different animals. He ended up finding her admirable for it.

MACCREADY: Being a sniper, MacCready wasn't used to people watching him for long periods of time. It was usually the other way around. Whenever the pair ventured out together, if they were in a safe spot, Sole’s eyes were glued to him. Much to her amusement, he tried hard to hide his discomfort even as his body got tense whenever he felt her eyes on him. Some of the others would tease him for it, but he always refuses to bring up the topic with Sole, as if she hadn’t noticed already.

PRESTON: Sole’s habit was simply exasperating for Preston. She would always be watching him or some other person when she should be looking out for danger. Codsworth told him long ago the explanation that she gave him long ago, but it didn’t make a difference in his eyes. At this point, he though that she’d watched him enough to not need to anymore, but that never seemed to be the case. Eventually, Sole just keeps doing it around Preston because she thinks the sight of him being all huffy is hilarious.

PIPER: Piper always felt kind of weird when people watched her. She didn’t like the thought of people judging her when all she wanted to do is the right thing. She voiced her anxiety to Sole one day, and after many comments like, “You’re gorgeous and interesting to watch,” Piper allowed her to continue her habit. At least she didn’t have any bad reason for watching her. Plus, Sole always made sure to ask beforehand whenever she decided to watch her friend. Piper really appreciated the care she gave to her worries.

STRONG: Needless to say, Strong hated it when he caught Sole staring yet again. He didn’t care that he was “literally the only super mutant that I can observe without getting killed!” He just plain didn’t like Sole wasting her time with what he though were completely useless skills.

VALENTINE: Nick was used to being watched, so it never bothered him that Sole had a fondness for observing people. In fact, it was quiet useful whenever he had someone to interrogate. Sole could tell him if someone was lying or not. He was always telling her that with her attention to detail and her ability to read people, she’d make a great detective.

X6-88: Saying that X6 was a challenge when it came to reading him was an understatement. Sole could attest to that. She could spend many long minutes trying to decipher the enigma that was X6, but even she had trouble sometimes. X6 thought that he was perfect at keeping his reactions in check. Until one day when Sole walked up to him to give him some Fancy Lad Snack Cakes then left with a smirk. He thought that it was unfair that anyone could be as good at what they do as she is.

Requested by the lovely @akarigoshihime

I honestly don’t know if this is any good or not, but I hope you like it regardless.

[rorykillmore]

so i have an extraordinary number of friends with march/april birthdays, and now that it’s technically the 26th, it’s @tailsthesales!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIZ!!! they asked me to write a little leon/laura thing for our panfandom site soooo i gave it a shot! luv that alliteration they have goin’ on,

but first, to get mushy for a second... giz, i know you deal with a lot. you’re not one to complain very much or put it on other people but.... i know you do and i also know that you work so hard to stay strong and positive and kind for your friends and i love that SO MUCH about you. thank you so so much especially for everything you’ve helped me with staff-wise on denny lately and just, in general, for making my life a little brighter and better. i hope you have a wonderful birthday because you deserve the WORLD <3 <3 <3

anyway now enjoy leon and laura laughing alone with salad(tm) at the gala event 

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

In life, Laura had never considered herself a self-conscious person.

In death, she’s sheer, walking defiance. Mad Sweeney cracks his seventieth dead wife joke, and she doesn’t give a fuck. Random passersby stare to her pale, discolored face half-masked by the usual giant pair of sunglasses she wears, and she doesn’t give a fuck.

As a rule: she generally does not give a fuck. It’s one of the best things about being dead.

It’s one of the things she doesn’t miss feeling.

But there’s something about getting glammed up to go to a high-end political gala that’ll smack the self-consciousness right back into a gal.

No amount of washing, it turns out, will give her hair back the natural sheen and bounce it had when she was alive, and no amount of make-up is going to convincingly return the glow to her skin. Laura guesses she was pretty, once. It had never been very high on her list of concerns, mostly because Shadow would have looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world even on a terrible day.

Tonight, she’s just trying for presentable. But Leon beams at her when she actually shows up anyway, kind of like Shadow might have, and she’s not sure if it makes her feel better or worse.

“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough to greet him, feeling a bit silly as she wonders if that was somehow too informal.

“Hey, Laura,” Leon returns amicably. “You look great.”

Laura raises her eyebrows at him, in a ‘come on, you can say it’ kind of way, but as per usual, Leon seems nothing if not sincere. She decides not to ruin his mood by griping, even if she can’t understand how someone who’s been through everything he has can look at a dead woman and feel anything but uneasy at best.  “Thanks. You too.”

It’s not a lie on her part: Leon cleans up nice. It’s a little jarring to see him in something other than casual attire, but his clean, pressed black suit makes him look a little less weighed down, somehow.

Or maybe it’s just the vibe of this place. Laura can already tell from out here that the gala is thrumming with a kind of excitable energy that even she can kind of feel. She guesses most rifters haven’t had anything quite like this to look forward to in a long time.

“Shall we?” she asks Leon, only a little sardonically.  He offers her his arm and she rolls his eyes and takes it carefully, quietly grateful that it’s not skin to skin contact.

“You’re taller in heels.” Leon notes, catching Laura off guard by teasing her.

“Shut up.”

The banter settles her nerves a little, and they head inside. Everything’s a little too bright, or at least it feels that way to Laura, fresh out of the night and down her usual pair of shades. Maybe ‘zombie’ has been missing the mark, this whole time. Maybe she should’ve been making vampire jokes this whole time. 

“You okay?” Leon asks her, and Laura tries not to feel taken aback at how quickly he notices her discomfort.

“My eyes are a little sensitive, that’s all. You know I don’t even really see in color anymore?”

“That’s probably lucky, in this particular situation.” In mild amusement, Leon watches some kid strut past, and even Laura can tell that his suit’s the gaudiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

Wait --

“Let’s go this way,” she says suddenly to Leon, tugging his arm perhaps a little harder than she meant to and unbalancing him as she jerks them both out of the Technical Boy’s eye line.

“Hey --” It takes Leon a moment to find his footing. He glances over his shoulder. “Who was that?”

“No one important,” Laura says, knowing it’s technically a lie but also that it isn’t, because that particular God is not particularly important to her. “Just one of those awkward ‘I don’t want to run into anyone I know’ situations.”

“Why was he dressed like that?”

“I ask myself that question every time I see him.”

Leon chuckles, and Laura manages to smile a little despite her slightly frazzled state. “What about you?” she continues.  “As an... official member of the MLD, you’re probably expected to do some socializing, or something. Right?”

Leon glances at her, slightly pained. 

“Shitty co-workers?” Laura prompts, and is a little pleased to hear him laugh again.

“I just don’t know them that well,” he tells her gingerly. “Except for the chief -- Felix? He’s actually pretty decent.”

“Surprising, for a police chief.”  Idly, Laura scans the room as if she thinks she might be able to pick Felix out on sight, even though she’s never met him before. “Well... if you don’t want to introduce me, what do you want to do?”

He looks pensive for a second.  “We could get some drinks?” Then he nearly stammers over his own words, giving her an apologetic double-take.  “-- Sorry. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Laura needles him, though it’s entirely playful. Somehow, some of her earlier self-consciousness has ebbed away without her noticing. “It’s fine, Leon. I don’t care if you wanna get a drink -- you’ll probably need it.”

But Leon is shaking his head, and his expression is different now in a way that Laura can’t quite read.  “...Or... we could dance?”

Laura stares at him, deadpan.

“Is that a no?” Leon asks, smiling easily, and Laura knows that if she did say no he wouldn’t push her. But that doesn’t make her feel any less like she’s starting to put a damper on his night. 

“No. I mean, yes. I mean --”  She huffs a little, or at least goes through the motions, since she doesn’t technically breathe anymore.  “Nevermind. What kind of asshole comes to a thing like this and says they don’t want to dance? Let’s go.”  

She leaves his side to stalk out onto the dance floor, praying that whatever universal karma is almost definitely working against her at this point doesn’t prompt the DJ to start playing Thriller, or something. Leon follows a little more slowly, and looking back at him, Laura suddenly wonders if he hadn’t expected her to say yes. The slight uncertainty in his posture makes her feel a little better about her own nerves, at least. She doesn’t think she’s done this since her’s and Shadow’s wedding, and even then, she wasn’t stellar at it.

“So...” Leon begins as they come to a standstill.  Laura can’t bear the thought of them awkwardly sizing each other up any longer, so she reaches up to put her hand on his shoulder, and uses her other to take one of his. She knows she must be cold to the touch, as she always is, but to Leon’s credit he doesn’t flinch. 

“You lead,” she tells him. “‘Cause I will definitely fuck us up.”

Leon carefully settles his other hand on her waist, and Laura only thinks about the fact that there won’t be any pulse for him to feel for a second. She’s more preoccupied with trying to remember how to slow dance without looking like an idiot.

Not that anyone said that this was supposed to be romantic, but it’s so entirely the opposite as they both try to find their footing that she kind of wants to laugh. Which, in a weird sort of way, makes her feel a little better. Soon, they settle into an easy, swaying rhythm with the music, and -- sure, maybe it’s not the total, cheesy, embarrassing nightmare she might have imagined it as.

It’s almost kind of nice. And because she can’t let herself have nice things for too long, Laura starts to circle back around to feeling guilty again.

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

But then again, pretending that Leon isn’t capable of being a reasonably aware judge of character after all he’s been through is probably doing a disservice to her. And telling herself that nothing has changed - that nothing will ever change - since she was alive won’t get her anywhere.  

And Laura’s not sure where it is she wants to be... but she doesn’t want to be standing still.

Neither does Leon, she thinks. That’s why he’s always pushing forward, why he’s already secured his position in the MLD, why he still wants to help people even though Laura knows he’s probably met too many people who were beyond helping to count.

It’s not like Laura wants to be his charity case, or anything, but she’s not so sure she likes the idea of being beyond help either. So maybe they can help each other.

If only for tonight. If only a little, in passing moments like this one.