#rules lawyering text is my favorite thing to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter ten

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

The knock at the door made Chloe jolt.

Aubrey was here, and Chloe was a nervous wreck. Even if Aubrey had shown nothing but support in the texts they had exchanged over the last couple of months, Chloe was bracing herself for judgment. It had become her default setting over the last couple of years, to always expect people to think the worst of her.

It turned out Aubrey couldn’t make it for dinner that weekend and instead offered lunch on the following Monday, so Beca was currently at work. Meeting her alone made Chloe even more nervous; Beca had become her rock, her lifeline over the past couple of months, and someone Chloe actually trusted, and she would have been more comfortable with her being present.

She wiped her hands on her apron and padded to the door, sucking in one last deep breath before pulling it open. Her friend looked the same as Chloe remembered her, except for her hairstyle, which evolved into a neat bob and matched the lawyer persona well.

“Hey Chlo,” Aubrey greeted softly, eyes soft and smile shy.

“Hi,” Chloe breathed out when she remembered she should say something, blinking.

Before Chloe could step aside, Aubrey stepped forward and pulled Chloe into a loose hug. Chloe’s first reaction was to tense for a brief moment, eventually wrapping her arms around Aubrey’s back, in turn, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled.

“Thanks for having me over,” Aubrey said as she backed away.

Chloe nodded with a small smile and took a step back to let Aubrey through. “Come on in. I uh-- I made chicken pasta. Do you still like that?”

Cooking had been one of the activities Chloe had rekindled with since finishing rehab. Following a recipe was a good distraction from her cravings.

“I do. Sounds yummy.”

“You-- you’ve been here before, I imagine?” Chloe asked as she shut and locked the door behind them, leading Aubrey to the main room.

Aubrey shrugged off her jacket. “A few times, yes. I think the last time was for Beca’s birthday last September.”

Chloe nodded once more, then remembered her manners. “Can I offer you anything to drink?” She asked as she padded to the fridge. “We have water, flat or sparkling, coke and fanta.”

“Sparkling water is good,” Aubrey said as she perched herself on a stool, resting her chin over her propped-up hand. “How’s it been living with Beca?”

“Good,” Chloe replied as she reached for two water glasses in the cupboards, the water bottle in her other hand. “She’s been really amazing with trying to make me feel at home. It’s weird though because I can’t pay rent or groceries. I still feel like I’m taking advantage of her generosity.”

Aubrey hummed. “I get that. But you’re not. Beca wouldn’t offer all those things if she felt like you were taking advantage. And we all know you’re not. You’re getting back on your feet and could use all the help you can get, which I’m sure Beca is happy to give.”

Chloe took a deep breath and nodded. She uncapped the bottle and poured some water into both drinks.

“How have you been feeling otherwise?” Aubrey questioned then.

Chloe shrugged, breaking eye-contact. “It’s been a real rollercoaster, to be honest. Somedays I feel fine, other days it feels like I’m drowning. If it weren’t for Beca’s support or--” The baby, which she had yet to tell Aubrey about. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “A few days before the end of rehab, I found out that I was pregnant.”

Aubrey blinked twice in slow succession, much like Beca had done. “You are? I mean--”

“I’m keeping it,” Chloe cleared up before Aubrey could attempt to reword her question. “I know it probably sounds crazy and irresponsible given my situation and who the father is, I--”

“I think you’re going to make an amazing mom, Chlo,” Aubrey murmured before Chloe could finish. “And yes, your situation is tricky right now, but it won’t forever be that way. And the father might be a dick whose balls should be fed to wolves, but you and I both know that a baby sharing your genes can’t be evil.” She tilted her head to the side. “Are you going to tell him?”

Chloe froze. She hadn’t dared broach the subject with her therapist for fear of her telling a judge, and she didn’t know what she was allowed or not allowed to do. “Do I… have to? I mean, legally?”

Aubrey shook her head. “No, you don’t have any obligations to. The father’s name on the birth certificate can be left blank, and that means Marco will have no rights over the child.”

Chloe nibbled on her bottom lip as she processed that information. “What if he finds out? Can he get custody?”

“He’ll have to submit a petition to the court through a lawyer in order to have a DNA test done,” Aubrey explained. “After that, a judge decides if he has the right to have custody, but I really don’t see how he could, given his track record. I had a friend at the precinct look him up, and he’s been convicted several times for drug dealing and violence.”

Relief swept over Chloe upon hearing that. The thought of Marco having any influence on that child gave her nightmares. “Okay. Good.” She cleared her throat when her brain caught up with the rest of Aubrey’s sentence. “I didn’t know he was a criminal.” But she wasn’t surprised, now. “I wouldn’t have-- he was really good to me at the beginning, and by the time his true personality surfaced, I had nowhere to go.”

“He was toxic,” Aubrey said as she nodded. “A manipulator. He probably loved the hell out of you at first, bombarded you with sweet messages and calls and flattery? And little by little, the connection faded and you started to feel meaningless? Unworthy?”

Chloe could only nod faintly, because Aubrey had just put into words what her relationship with Marco felt like, without Chloe telling her any of that stuff.

“I come across so many people with the same profile in my job, and the victims, men or women, always blame themselves. But they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.”

Her therapist had already told Chloe that many times, but Chloe’s default thinking made it hard to grasp that. Being with Marco felt like chaos reigned in her head, her emotions, her body, her life, and he found a way to make her believe it was her own fault.

Chloe mustered a soft smile, feeling more than ready to stop talking about that for now. “Should we eat?”

The conversation thankfully transitioned to easier subjects. Chloe caught up on the last six years of Aubrey’s life, feeling a little lighter and more at ease around her friend now that it was clear Aubrey held no grudge or judgment towards Chloe for cutting her out of her life. They found themselves reminiscing about their college days, two hours zipping by without Chloe once thinking about her cravings.

“I’m just a call away, alright?” Aubrey said as she slid her jacket back on. “And if you ever want to come to Boston for a weekend, I have two guest bedrooms.”

A genuine smile spread across Chloe’s lips as she nodded. “I’d love that.” Chloe was the one to initiate the hug this time, letting it linger. “Thank you for coming down, Bree.”

Aubrey smiled back. “It was my pleasure. See you soon, Chloe.”

Bean’s thirteen-week-check-up took place the following day. Chloe was set on having as many tests done as possible at this stage, with an NT scan to help assess the baby’s risk of having complications such as Down syndrome, other chromosomal abnormalities, and major congenital heart problems, as well as full blood work to rule out cystic fibrosis and Tay-Sachs.

Bean passed their scan with flying colors, much to her relief. The heartbeat was strong, and

Bean’s features were unmistakably human this time around; Chloe could make out Bean’s head and their nose and the round belly and tiny feet.

She went home with three pictures, and Beca insisted one should go up on the fridge.

The following month was punctuated with more therapy, NA meetings, and the visit to Oregon. Chloe felt more at home in Beca’s apartment with each passing day, though she tried her best to stay out of the way whenever Sarah was over.

On the day of their departure, Chloe was beyond grateful Beca agreed to come with her, as telling her parents the truth felt incredibly daunting.

They landed in Portland a little after four that Thursday, renting a car to drive the two hours to Newport, where Chloe’s childhood home was located. As Beca parked the car in her parents’ driveway, Chloe was rooted to her seat with nerves.

Beca’s hand on her leg snapped her out of it. “Hey.” Chloe turned her head to the left, meeting Beca’s soft eyes. “Breathe. In and out.”

Nodding, Chloe inhaled deeply through her nose and released the air through her mouth, closing her eyes. She reached for the door handle next and stepped out, swallowing thickly as she let her leaned legs carry her to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and stepped back, instinctively reaching for Beca’s hand.

Her mom appeared on the other side a handful of seconds later, and she engulfed Chloe into a hug before Chloe could even utter anything.

“Hi mom,” she croaked out, her eyes fluttering shut as she released Beca’s hand to hug her back tightly, basking into the instant comfort being in her mom’s arms brought her.

Alice pulled away but kept Chloe at arms’ length, her gaze sweeping over her features. “It’s so good to see you, baby.” Her focus shifted to Beca, and she embraced her next, keeping it a bit shorter. They had met each other before when her parents flew to Atlanta for Chloe’s graduation. “Welcome to our home, Beca.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Beale.”

Chloe’s mom glared playfully, tutting. “It’s Alice to you. Come on inside.”

They stepped into the house, a smell Chloe knew well drifting from the kitchen: her dad’s famous lasagna, Chloe’s favorite.

“Hey Chlobear,” her dad greeted as soon as they rounded the corner, smile bright and eyes sparkling as he sat in his electric wheelchair by the couch.

Tears pricked behind Chloe’s eyes, and she crossed the distance between them, bending down to hug him. His working arm drifted up to snake around her back. “Hi, Dad,” she whispered, emotions trapping her voice in her throat. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his own voice wavering. “I made your favorite. Well, your mom made your favorite under my supervision, ‘cause she would have messed it up otherwise.”

“Hey,” Chloe’s mom objected, drawing a chuckle from both Chloe and her dad.

Chloe straightened, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. “You remember Beca, right?”

“Of course I do,” Mike confirmed as he made his chair go forward, then extended his hand. “How are you, Beca?”

“Hello Mr. Beale,” Beca greeted, shaking his head. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You, too. And it’s Mike. No Mr. Beale around this house.”

Beca laughed, nodding. “Got it, Mike.”

“I hope you guys are hungry, we’ve made enough food to last us until next month,” Mike commented as he moved towards the table.

After freshening up, she and Beca sat at the table just as Alice pulled the lasagna out from the oven, then grabbed the salad and the wine bottle from the counter.

“Wine, Beca?” She asked, holding up the bottle.

“I’m good, thanks, though.”

Chloe glanced at her. “You can have some if you want.”

Beca shook her head, smiling softly as she unfolded her napkin and draped it across her lap. “I’m okay, I promise. Water’s fine.”

Chloe caught her parents sharing a confused look over the exchange, and she cleared her throat, knowing it was probably best to get this over with. “Mom, you should probably sit down.”

Concern creased a frown on Alice’s forehead as she set the bottle down and lowered herself next to Chloe’s dad. “What’s going on, Chloe?”

Chloe took a deep breath, and she felt Beca’s hand cover her own under the table. She flipped hers over and wrapped her fingers around Beca’s, grateful for the grounding contact. “I um--” she swallowed, unable to figure out where to start even though she had practiced her speech countless times leading up to their visit.

Shame and guilt rushed through her, digging their claws into her heart and lungs, making it harder to breathe.

“Chloe,” her mother’s voice pierced through the buzzing in Chloe’s ears. Chloe looked up from her plate, finding soft eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

Chloe closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to own up to her situation by looking at her parents while she spoke. “I have a drug problem. Had. I’m--I’m in recovery. I got out of rehab a couple of months ago.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Mike and Alice processed the news. Chloe felt like bolting out of the house as she watched her dad swallow thickly, and her mom’s jaw-dropping. She felt a squeeze to her hand and remembered to breathe.

“Oh Chloe,” her mom whispered and got up to sit in the vacant chair on the other side of Chloe, taking her other hand as she tilted her head to the side. “How long have you been struggling?”

Chloe cleared her throat. “About five years. I never-- I never graduated from vet school. I dropped out.”

Her father frowned, his mouth moving wordlessly for a few beats. “But-- the money you gave us for my treatment every month?”

“I was a stripper,” Chloe admitted quietly. “That’s how I got introduced to cocaine. How I met Marco. How I... made so much money.” She was hit by an array of emotions -- shame, fear, and somehow, relief -- right then, and a sob burst out from her throat before she could reign it in. “I’m s-sorry I lied to you for so long.” She released Beca’s hand to cover her mouth, her body shaking as she crumbled under the weight of her feelings.

She didn’t fight it when her mom pulled her into her arms, rubbing her back in slow circles and whispering reassuring words into her ear. “It’s okay, sweetie. Breathe. We love you. No matter what.”

It took a few minutes for Chloe to be able to get her breathing under control, straightening when she did and taking the tissue Beca offered her.

“You must have a lot of questions,” she murmured, licking her dry lips. She still had the baby bomb to drop, but one thing at a time. Thankfully she wasn’t showing that much yet, and her large hoodie kept her small bump concealed.

“Thank you for telling us,” her father murmured, and Chloe saw him wipe a tear away when she looked up. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be, as for deciding to seek help.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it before. I was ashamed and lost and--” she shrugged. “I wasn’t myself.”

“How are you feeling now?” Her mom asked softly, pushing Chloe’s hair behind her ear. “You said it’s been two months since rehab?”

Chloe nodded, sniffling. “Ups and downs. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Beca. She’s the one who encouraged me to get help, who paid for rehab, continued paying for your treatment, and I’ve been staying at her place while I get back on my feet.”

Both her parents’ focus shifted to Beca, gratitude swirling in their eyes.

“She’s been incredibly strong and responsible,” Beca said, smiling softly. “Hasn’t missed a therapy session or NA meeting since getting out of rehab.”

“And this Marco…” her dad trailed off in a questioning tone.

“He’s out of my life. He wasn’t a good person, but I failed to realize that.”

“More like he hid it well,” Beca corrected gently. Chloe met her eyes. “Remember what Aubrey and your therapist said about how you didn’t have to blame yourself for that?”

Chloe nodded. “Right.”

“Did he… hurt you?” Mike asked next, a tremor in his voice as he seemed to brace himself for the answer.

“Not physically.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Chloe didn’t think that slap was worth mentioning. “Just… emotionally. He knew how to get into my head, and the drugs didn’t help. They have this funny way of having you believe whatever it wants you to. Logic and reason no longer existed for me when I was at my lowest. I was ashamed of lying to you every time we spoke on the phone, but the paranoia over you not wanting to talk to me again if I told you was stronger.”

She was sure her dad had a lot more questions and probably wondered if his treatment and their financial problems pushed Chloe into taking that job, but he remained silent, clearly mulling everything over.

“We could tell you looked tired every time we called, but we never…” Alice trailed off, shaking her head as a few tears rolled down her cheeks when she blinked. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Chloe croaked out, having feared this: her parents blaming themselves. Her heart felt incredibly heavy as she sandwiched her mom’s hand between her own, glancing at her dad briefly. “I don’t want you guys to feel guilty and think that you should have noticed. I hid it well, especially the first few years. Then it sort of derailed, that’s why I stopped visiting. Please don’t apologize.”

“Did you take that job because you felt like you had to help us?” Her dad asked, just as Chloe had predicted. “With my treatment?”

Chloe took a deep breath. “I took it because NYC was expensive and I was struggling a bit with rent. And when your health worsened, I asked for more shifts to help out.” She didn’t want to get into what she was asked to do for more money. She couldn’t. Her dad would be eaten away by guilt if he knew how much of a toll working in the VIP room took on her. The whole truth would hurt him more than a small lie. “It’s when I started doing drugs that everything fell apart. It’s not on you, dad. I promise.”

Mike swallowed and ran his hand over his face as he visibly tried to keep a hold on his emotions. “You’re my daughter, you shouldn’t have had to provide for me, or to put yourself first.”

“Dad, please,” Chloe whispered, feeling her throat shrinking. “I wanted to help. I just… made bad choices and met the wrong people. It’s not your fault.” Her eyes found her dad’s. “Please tell me you believe that?”

Her father remained silent for a stretch as he stared at her. He eventually offered a faint nod, but Chloe wasn’t sure if he was being honest.

Her mom reached up to wipe her tears away, sniffling. “What… what can we do to help you through your recovery?”

“Being part of my support system, like you unknowingly have since I got out of rehab,” Chloe murmured with a small smile. “And dealing with more of my visits,” she added, knowing they would both be all for that.

“You are always welcome to move back here, Chlo. For as long as you want,” she offered.

“I…” she cleared the rising lump in her throat as she briefly glanced down to her lap. “There’s something else that I need to tell you.” Another deep breath. “I’m four months pregnant. With Marco’s baby. But he’s not going to be involved. I’m going to raise them on my own.”

There. Everything she was ready to share was out there in the open, and Chloe felt incredibly lighter, despite her heartbeat picking up as her parents once again fell silent. She really couldn’t blame them, after everything she had just dumped on them.

“I know it’s a lot,” she added, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I know my decision to keep it might come across as strange, but I couldn’t get rid of it, and this baby is giving my life purpose again because I want to be a better person for them.”

“I think you are incredibly brave,” Alice said after a little while, reaching out to catch a tear falling on Chloe’s cheek with the side of her pointer finger. “And I’m failing to find words to express how proud of you I am.”

Chloe sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as her gaze met her dad’s once more. She could tell he needed more time to work through everything, and maybe they could talk about it some more the next day, once he had slept over it.

“That kid is going to be the most spoiled grandchild of all Newport,” he joked with a soft smile, his words loosening the nerves in Chloe’s stomach.

Chloe released a watery giggle. “I love you guys.”

“We love you, too, Chlobear,” her dad murmured, and after embracing her mom tightly, Chloe stood up and rounded the table to hug her dad.

They eventually dug into dinner, the conversation shifting to the baby, whether it was okay, what the risks there were, when was her due date... Her parents offered to turn the office into a nursery if Chloe wanted to move back in with them, to which Chloe answered that she would think about it. She had been concerned about how much the pregnancy and having a newborn baby around would affect Beca’s life and her relationship with Sarah, and this would be another alternative to which Chloe needed to give some serious thought.

Chloe and Beca headed upstairs shortly after dinner, both feeling exhausted as their mind and body were three hours ahead. After showing Beca to the guest room, Chloe changed into her pajamas and washed up for bed, knocking on Beca’s door on her way back to her own bedroom.

She pushed it open upon hearing a soft come in, finding Beca lying on top of the comforter, already changed in her sleeping wear.

“You okay?” She asked, smiling as Chloe sat down on the edge of the mattress. “That went pretty well.”

“Yeah, I…” she swallowed, shaking her head in leftover awe. “I have amazing parents. I didn’t think they would be so understanding.”

“Of course they’re amazing. They raised you.”

Chloe bowed her head as blush bloomed in her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “I think my dad is a bit shaken up and part of him feels to blame, but I’m hoping he and I can talk some more tomorrow.”

Beca nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”

Chloe let out a small sigh, and she reached out to squeeze Beca’s hand. “Thanks again for coming here with me.”

“Not a problem. I’m hoping you’ll show me around the town at some point, take me to your favorite spots.”

“We can definitely do that tomorrow,” Chloe agreed, her smile genuine. “Goodnight, Bec.”

“Night Chloe. Night Bean.”

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pieces

67 notes · View notes

chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

Text

light of my life, fire of my loins. be a good baby, do what i want.

summary: requested: Andy Barber gives me such strong sugar daddy vibes I haven’t watched the show but he just looks like the kinda guy who would spoil the shit outta someone

warnings: smut everywhere. and you know, sugar daddy shit, so. also, doesn’t make a lot of sense. I have a lot more that I actually wrote, I just wasn’t sure where I was going with this. so...prompt sugar andy daddy if you want more???

word count: around 10,400

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: anon! I want you to know that I started working on this as soon as you requested it! I just wanted to make sure I really got sugar daddy andy down and that it wasn’t steve rogers that I was writing. I am so sorry bc you definitely deserved this a very long time ago! if there are any typos, I apologize, I just needed to get this posted before work.

When you met Andy, you had been juggling three jobs, gaining more debt than you would probably ever be able to pull off even with a degree, fairly sucky grades caused by how much you worked, resulting in stress, anxiety, all that great shit that comes along with being someone in America that dares to want to pursue higher education.

After a few months dating Andy, you had one job that you only kept for autonomy reasons, shrinking debt, excellent grades, and truly, no stress at all. Instead of spending a night waiting tables at the restaurant near the campus, where disgusting men would flirt with you because you were on the clock and literally could not leave, you were in a tiny ass dress, covered in diamonds, drinking champagne, and trying not to be too obvious about the cum dripping down your thighs.

Obscene was often a word that you played with in your mind whenever you were with Andy. Your outfits were indecent because he loved seeing as much of your skin as he possibly could. Your behavior was shameless, you showed up, you laughed, you hung onto him the entire night with the smuggest of smiles. Your willingness, especially in public, was vulgar, the way you let him touch you in front of everyone. Salacious. Indecorous. Immoral. Debauched.

These parties that he took you to were only half of it. According to his son, Jacob, Andy hadn’t been one for socializing before the divorce. He claimed that this was something new his father picked up, something that he theorized was the consequence of loneliness. You figured that you also fell under that category. These people weren’t actually his friends and you weren’t actually his girlfriend.

Andy wanted a distraction and you were just fucked up and high-maintenance enough to be perfect for the job. Getting into the swing of things had been quite the task at the start, much to your surprise. Who didn’t want a gorgeous man to spoil them? Apparently you, if your earlier behavior was any indication.

You had started this with wanting to be as professional as possible. When you had pictured how this would look, it was you listening to him speak whenever he wanted, you would respond when prompted but it would be short, succinct, and your main concern would be maintaining your physical attractiveness. You tried to think of him as your employer, you were his employee, and that meant that there needed to be respect and boundaries. You pictured a lot of pretending. Pretending to laugh, pretending to care, pretending to enjoy his company, pretending to come.

You had also thought you were going to smart. This wasn’t some stupid Lifetime movie and you had dreams and goals and if you played your cards right, this man could put you on a sure path to reaching all you had ever hoped to accomplish. At least, that was what you were telling yourself when you’d had the mental quandary: were you a prostitute?

Thankfully, both phases of resistance had been dropped—possibly around the first time he went down on you. You were no expert, but “professional” probably barred him from fucking you in about 90% of his chosen locations. And whether you were a “prostitute”, an “escort”, a “hooker”, or whatever other demeaning word anyone could come up with, was another unimportant matter. Anyone could call you anything, at the end of the day, you had money.

It was supposed to be clean, a black and white exchange where you showed up and he paid you. At any point, you could step on the brakes, he could step on the brakes—something you had once found relief in, but was now a source of insecurity, not that you would ever tell him that. He didn’t need to know about your life, what you wanted to do after school, who your friends were, your shaky relationship with your parents, the reasons why someone like you wanted to enter this relationship.

But he asked about those things because rules seemed to either not exist to him, or they just weren’t meaningful. And you hadn’t felt pressured to answer or anything, if that was the case, you would have just lied. The fact of the matter was that eventually you told him these things because you didn’t mind him knowing about your life.

He was not supposed to be kind or smart or interesting. He was not supposed to be a good guy. Clearly, he didn’t get the memo. There should be an official organization that lets men know you can’t just be perfect and spoil someone if you look anything like Andrew Barber.

It was the middle of April in Massachusetts and that meant it was still just a little too chilly for the slinky slip Andy had picked out for you, but that was what all the champagne was for. You were buzzing and it wasn’t just that you were getting drunk. Summer was approaching and he often spoke about all of the things he wanted to do with you now that you had more free time and he gave you these looks and you could just get lost in his eyes and plans even though you knew better.

You had been doing this long enough that people had finally stopped staring. The first few times Andy brought you, they were blatant and downright rude, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. Despite the disproportionate wealth shared amongst this group, it wasn’t too often that someone brought along a much younger woman that they were undoubtedly paying. Most of these men were married and either brought their wives along or tales of their affairs.

The rich people here treated this like an elite group, so when people like you were around, not everyone was welcoming. The other few women that had similar situations to yours were kind enough and tried to get to know you better—shared experiences create great friendships, right? Andy didn’t think so, he discouraged any type of communication and claimed that it was because they didn’t tend to stick around long. You theorized he just didn’t want you spending time with anyone that wasn’t him.

The woman across from Andy, Francesca, had been around for as long as you could remember. She had long, dark brown hair, flawless eyebrows, a great jawline, and an even greater ass. She was a few years older than him and several older than you.

You often pondered just how much more interesting than you she was. See, she had never hidden that she was attracted to him, but Andy seemed oblivious. You couldn’t tell if he actually was or was just pretending not to notice. You told yourself it was deeper than just the age, that there was another, much different reason that he wasn’t interested in her.

But, of course, you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t talk to him about other women because that was teetering on the edge of possessiveness and jealousy. Those were two of the few luxuries that you would be denied. Romance would not be found here, just a lot of mutual lust and understanding.

She laughed at something he said, pulling you back into the moment. As you sipped on your champagne, you returned to your favorite activity at these parties: people watching. You were starting to pick up on some of the drama and whatever blanks were left at the end of the nights, Andy usually filled them for you.

There were certain types of men that always bred the most scandalous scenarios. Those are the same few men that had only just recently stopped trying to buy you away from Andy by offering you more money than he was paying you. Yes, technically, that was what you were here for, but Andy was not like these men.

For starters, most everyone in attendance was a lawyer. They followed the model of: the worse the job was, the better the pay. Unlike them, Andy didn’t represent sleazy, rich rapists or murderers. That was just the start of the differences. He didn’t get so drunk that he caused a scene at these parties, he didn’t touch drugs, and he wasn’t going through some tragic midlife crisis that he was trying to placate with cars or women.

When you looked back at the pair, Andy was texting and Francesca was eyeing your hand around the glass were sipping from. She was looking at your rings—oh, your rings. You loved your rings.

Originally, you’d thought you weren’t going to ask for or accept anything stupid. You just needed your bills paid, your rent, your car. You wanted to be able to eat more than once a day. Andy quickly realized that you wouldn’t ask, if he wanted you to have something, he was just going to have to give it to you.

(On your very first date, he’d given you a diamond bracelet. You had been stunned, maybe even a little uncomfortable. It was hard to accept such expensive items from strangers. However, you did like it and wore it almost every day even though it made no sense with most of your outfits. You’d simply grown fond of it because it had come from him.)

(On the fourth date, he gave you a three-strand diamond necklace that strongly resembled a collar. You adored it, not the way you adored your rings, but it still gave you butterflies whenever he would clasp it around your neck and then kiss the skin directly under it. These were things that he’d called gifts, but you recognized them for what they actually were, signs of ownership.)

The first ring had been a reward. You’d made it through midterms, so he took you to the jewelry shop that’s on the way back to your apartment from his house. After three hours and a lot of wine—you’d needed to be drunk the first few times you knew he was spending money on you—you left with the tiara ring for your pinky finger. It was a loud piece of intricate curls on top of and underneath a row of tiny hearts. This ring was the most special, the first, you rarely ever took it off—only for school.

The second had been an apology. He’d convinced you to spend the night at his house even though he knew you really didn’t want to. He had kissed your neck and your face and had two of his fingers inside you, he had whispered all the things he still wanted to do to you that night. Around two in the morning, you’d gone to get water from the kitchen. You were in a pair of panties and one of Andy’s shirts that you didn’t bother to button up. That was how you were dressed when you met his son for the first time. Two days later, you had the butterfly ring in its spot at the base of your index finger. It was gaudy and expensive but did little to quell your anger and humiliation. You loved it, nonetheless.

The third had been an anniversary present. This relationship had reached its 100-day mark, he took you to his favorite restaurant, the same one he had taken you to for your first date. Which wasn’t romantic at all, there were a lot of terms being discussed. This time had been much different. He asked you for your hand and slipped the ring onto your third finger without a word, he merely eyed the only empty finger with the unstated promise that that finger would soon have one as well. It was this huge oval cut diamond that covered the width of your finger, atop two bands of smaller but still fairly large identically cut diamonds.

A little less than three weeks after that, it had been…well, you still weren’t quite sure what the fourth ring was. It wasn’t often that Andy didn’t drive you. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you had only one class so he would drop you off and pick you up during his lunch break so you could get coffee together. On Wednesdays and Fridays, you had more than one class so he would drop you off and he would pick you up when he got off work.

One Wednesday morning, your first class had been canceled so you ended up driving yourself. Andy took Wednesdays and Fridays as his early days off because he didn’t want you waiting in the library too long after your final class let out, so those had become the simple nights when he would come over to your apartment even though he really didn’t like it there—you figured he was struggling with the urge to buy you a much bigger apartment, one that would probably coincidentally be closer to his house as well.

You had made the plan to cook dinner that night so before heading home, you drove to the grocery store… Fortunately, no one was hurt. Unfortunately, at your place just in front of the stoplight, a car in the turn lane drove right into your car. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal considering your life of absolute privilege and you just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

Andy wasn’t quite as level-headed. The other driver was a middle-aged man so Andy felt no reluctance in throwing a fit. You had been torn between being humiliated that he was fussing so much over you, flattered that he cared, angry that he was treating you like you were a fragile vase, or maybe just a little turned on because he was so angry.

That night, instead of your place, he took you to his house and spoiled the hell out of you. He undressed you and kissed you everywhere, he bundled you up in one of his sweaters and a throw blanket, sat you down on the bed, and made you hot chocolate. You were not allowed to lift a single finger. That was the first night you spent at his house, and since Jacob wasn’t there, Andy didn’t hesitate to fuck you for hours and make you scream as loudly as he wanted you to.

The next morning, when you woke up, the black velvet box was set on the pillow between you and him. He was propped up on the headboard with his laptop and the clock on his bedside table was saying that it was well past noon. Clearly, he decided to stay home from work and if there wasn’t jewelry in front of you, you would have given him a lecture.

It was a princess cut diamond—which he would later explain with ‘you are my princess’—with a double halo and a diamond-encrusted band. It was smaller than all the rest but somehow just went perfectly.

You weren’t bragging, at least not in a petty way. It was just that any time you noticed someone staring at your hand, you couldn’t help but try to draw more attention to it, or the other jewelry Andy showered you in.

You supposed that maybe that meant something, maybe during your little back and forth a few hours prior when he had accused you of being spoiled, he was onto something. Regardless, the only person who could be blamed for that was him.

You almost got lost in the diamonds on your hand when Andy reached out to you, pulling some hair over your shoulder. You looked up at him, he was smiling softly. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you ready to go?”

He really didn’t like these parties; he was always the one that wanted to leave and would slyly place the blame on you. You were tired, you weren’t feeling well, you had a tough week and you just wanted to go home. You never minded because it wasn’t as if you got anything out of these parties either, and if that was the easiest way to pull him out of there, so be it. It was Sunday anyway, he had to work tomorrow and you had to go over your weekly schedule with him before the night was over.

“Sure.”

It started as a quiet drive, just like it always did, but then he placed his hand on your thigh. You glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. He simply smirked and kept his gaze on the road. You opened your legs wide, guiding two of his fingers inside you. “Can you feel your cum in me?”

“Not enough.”

“You’re the one that made me stand for almost an hour.”

“I’ll fill you up again before you go to class tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Lucky me.”

He shot you a look. “Oh, you don’t like it?”

“Never said that.”

“Well, if you don’t, I don’t need to—”

“I was kidding,” you whined.

He gave you a look, pretending he was unconvinced. “You’ve had an attitude all night.”

“You spanked me,” you reminded. The memory, the sore feeling on your ass whenever you sat down, had kept you wet all night. “Hard.”

“You talked back.”

You had because you wanted him to spank you. The first time he had, it was quite the discovery. It was after a drink, after you were feeling a little daring. He told you no, and you really hated when he did that. You couldn’t even remember what you had said, but it was bad, it was enough to get your skirt torn down, you bent over his knee, and well, the rest was a blissful blur.

This time it was because he was in a mood. You were getting dressed and he was watching you and that always meant something. You weren’t sure what exactly, but there were a few things you picked up on with Andy. When he wanted to be in control, he didn’t necessarily just want you to submit completely. When he gave you a look, you knew that he wanted you to fight just a bit. So, he told you to wear a specific dress and you refused initially. Cue the spanking. After your whole body felt hot and flushed and your legs were shaking and your cunt was dripping, you obliged, and he was so damn smug about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, because my fingers are inside you and you want me to make you come.”

“Well…yes.”

He laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved the sound of it. Andy so rarely laughed but you took it to mean that he felt comfortable enough around you. “If you can be patient, I’ll fuck you when we get home.”

Home. His home. Whatever. “And if I can’t?”

“Then you’re going to have to wait until the morning and I might not feel like letting you come. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

But he didn’t play fair. He drove slower than usual, fingers still buried inside you, and he moved them. A lot. He tried to cover it with stupid things, like driving over a pothole or making a sharp turn. If you moved your hips once, just barely, you lost. So, you sat there, completely still, gripping the seat like it was a lifeline.

Upstairs, you waited for him to make the rounds. Jacob wasn’t there, thankfully, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there earlier. Andy went around every door and window and made sure they were locked.

In that time, you got undressed and waited for him. You had a couple of red marks across your ass that you could see in the mirror on the opposite end of the bedroom. He always liked seeing your skin marked up in some way if he was the reason.

When he entered the room, you were sitting on the edge of the bed. “Stand up.”

You quickly did so, turning your back to him so he could see your ass. His palms lightly felt along the marked skin there. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He rarely asked, but you found that he fucked you better when he knew for sure. You just started letting him know and it seemed he trusted you enough to voice any boundaries you had if he ever crossed them.

One hand slowly trailed up your spine and slid across to your shoulder. He pressed you down quickly and you caught yourself on the mattress with both hands. You could hardly stay still as you heard his belt and zipper.

He easily pushed into you, body flush against yours. He let you adjust around him, staying perfectly still as he leaned over you and kissed your back, neck, and shoulders. Andy didn’t move until you angled your hips and pressed back a little more, whimpering nonsense.

This was so unlike the two times earlier. In the closet, after he spanked you, he sat you on top of his lap and made you ride him. At the party, in the bathroom, he stood you in front of the mirror and gently fucked you until he had filled you with his cum. This was fast, rough, and maybe a little detached if you really thought about it.

Andy took your waist in both hands and held you in place as he pounded into you relentlessly. Slapping skin, your soaking wet pussy, the bed banging against the wall on his particularly hard thrusts, these had become noises you were more than used to, noises you had grown to crave. Being with Andy was never supposed to be like this, but you didn’t have a single complaint.

You buried your face in the blankets, hands clutching tight at the sheets around you as your muffled screams filled the room. You knew he was close when his hands began to wander. One carded through your hair and pressed you down more, the other moved under you to reach your clit.

“You were such a good girl in the car.”

Your response was unintelligible, but yes. You had been more than just good. You had waited for him even though he was being a tease, and now, you wanted what he owed you. Which he didn’t deny you, not for a second.

He made you come. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But after that, it was all just nonsense, satisfying, endless nonsense. He was still holding you by the hair, but he’d turned your head so you could breathe, and he was still circling his fingers around your clit.

Your back arched, allowing him in deeper—one of the tells of your approaching orgasm. You felt your pussy tighten around his fingers and began begging him to let you come. Even in this hazy, fucked-out state, you wanted to please him, you wanted his praise and approval.

He gave you permission like he always did and fully intended to fuck you through it. He only paused because he felt you spilling down his thighs, felt the wet sheets against his skin, heard light drops on the hardwood floor. Fuck.

He pulled you against him immediately, your sweat-slicked back to his chest. One arm draped across your chest, the opposite hand wrapped around your neck. You were watching him, eyes clear with curiosity. “You just squirted, princess.”

You blinked and attempted to voice your confusion. Problem was, his hips were still moving. You had no time to recover and there was no chance your brain had at making sense of anything in that moment.

“It was fucking hot and you’re going to do it again.”

Needless to say, you skipped classes the next day.

Andy liked to celebrate the monthly anniversaries.

He was big on creating traditions, you assumed that was just that part of him that had been hardwired to crave a normal family. He hadn’t told you much about his life and you didn’t want to pry—his dad wasn’t around and his mom had been but she died when he was pretty young. He shared this only after he asked about your parents.

The most personal he had ever gotten with you was one night when he had intended to take advantage of your drunk and thoroughly fucked state, obviously convinced that you wouldn’t remember the question in the morning. Do you believe in love?

It was weird given the setting and that you and Andy simply didn’t talk like that. It was dangerous because this could never be more than it was. You were both only allowed feelings of lust, maybe even obsession, but nothing of the usual sense. And Andy was so strict and controlled, you were surprised he would cross any sort of line.

You tried to play it off, tried to tell him that you had more important things to worry about. He didn’t like that response. He pressed because he was just like that, his career was all about pressing and sometimes, he brought it home. You ended up telling him that you viewed marriage as a waste of time. Your parents divorced, all your aunts and uncles, even the younger friends who got married out of high school were on the fast track to messy court dates and vicious custody battles. You also pointed out his situation. If someone as perfect as him couldn’t stay married, no one could.

It was then that he told you the happiest moments of his life were carving pumpkins or decorating the Christmas tree with Jacob. He had loved Valentine’s Day with Laurie, he was the one that had always insisted on doing something. He even looked forward to the smaller holidays, Independence Day, Memorial Day, any day that got Jacob out of school and him an extra day off so they could have a cookout in the backyard.

It wasn’t his intent, but it had sort of created a barrier between you two. You wished he still had his family even if that meant never meeting him. He was that kind of man, a good man, and you could tell that it weighed on him every day that he no longer had his perfect family.

He’d never pictured his life like this, a failed marriage, a child separated between his parents. He never would have entertained the idea of needing someone like you. He didn’t say that last part, but you knew. Sometimes, it was just in the way he looked at you. You feared he would grow to resent you one day, but you always tried to push that thought far away.

Regardless, the distance was there and he realized it even if he didn’t say it. There was also the matter that school had just let out meaning you had zero excuses for saying no to him when he proposed the trip to New York that would coincide with the 7-month mark of your relationship.

You’d never been and you’d always wanted to see Moulin Rouge on Broadway. He’d decided to drive to New York because you had once made the mistake of telling him you hated airports. It was a short road trip, one you weren’t entirely unwelcoming of. Especially not when he kept his hand on your thigh most of the time. It was late when you made it to the hotel and surprisingly, he had no issues with you diving straight into bed.

The morning was quite different. The hotel window had a perfect view of the city and he felt inclined to fuck you against it as soon as you both woke up. Then, he wanted to take you shopping. For nearly two entire days, he spoiled the hell out of you. Anywhere you wanted to go, he would take you. Anything you glanced at, he wanted to buy it for you.

On the night of the show, he finally took you to Victoria’s Secret. You’d seen pictures of it before, but you had not anticipated how beautiful it would look in person. You went crazy, you took him to the fitting room and tortured him on every single floor with both clothing and lingerie. Several hours had been devoted to teasing him and he let you know that after the show, you would regret your decisions.

Before you managed to get him back to the hotel so you could get ready, he needed to spend another awful amount of money on you. There was a jewelry shop just down the street from Victoria’s Secret and he couldn’t let you leave the state—as he claimed when he saw you frown—without at least one diamond.

You wanted nothing, but you knew the chances of him allowing that were nonexistent. So, you told yourself to keep it small, but one thing that had become a harsh reality since you met Andy: you were a sad, pathetic victim to larger, shinier diamonds. You immediately fell in love with a short string of sizable heart-shaped diamonds, the one larger heart dangling in the center is what had caught your eye.

Regardless of this terrible habit you had developed—this feeling that you craved, the pure joy that you got from people knowing that Andy was buying you diamonds—you tried to protest when he caught you staring. You just wanted a bracelet, really. He rarely ever gave you bracelets.

Instead, he sent you off to get coffee. You knew exactly why that was. He often got rid of you when he was about to make decisions that he knew would make you feel bad. You wanted to refuse, but what was better? Blissful ignorance or sitting there just watching him toss out the money for that necklace?

Learning what Andy liked at Starbucks had been a process. He didn’t like his coffee sweet so that eliminated 90% of the menu. His home coffee was some brand you’d never even heard of, the shops he went to were all nearly older than him. He liked cappuccinos with extra espresso, but he preferred the straightforward coffee he would get anywhere else, so he claimed. However, you knew he liked pumpkin spice lattes. You planned to prove it the day they released them for the year.

When he came out, the bag in his hand was much larger than one that would be used for just a necklace. He smiled at the horrified look you shot him and claimed that he was given a great deal for the entire set.

While you were getting ready for the show, you realized that this was the most normal you had felt with Andy in a while. There had been tension that neither of you wanted to address, but this trip was making you realize just how stupid that tension was. One day, this was going to end. It was impractical to think an arrangement like this was going to have a long shelf-life.

Shouldn’t you just enjoy it? Being here with him was fun. You liked the city and all the noise and bustle. You also liked being with him away from home and the lives you two had created long before you met one another. This was just you two, isolated together. Normally, you couldn’t ask that of him. He had his job and he was a father and you understood that completely, but you liked this.

During the show, Andy whispered to you several times. He couldn’t wait to be fucking you. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He couldn’t wait to hear you scream and cry and beg. He placed your hand over his lap just so you could feel how hard he was.

Back at the hotel, and maybe it was because of all that he had said, you didn’t want to tease. Almost immediately, you stripped completely naked—fuck all of that expensive lingerie, apparently.

He finally gave you your diamonds. He started with the necklace and you couldn’t even be upset. It fit you so well, you loved seeing it against your skin, you loved seeing how he looked at you while you were wearing it. Then, he gave you the matching bracelet. You had said you wanted a bracelet, right? You couldn’t complain. The earrings, you told yourself, were fine because you didn’t have a pair of diamond earrings yet.

You felt weighed down by these diamonds but not in a bad way. You felt tied to him, owned like you were one of his prized possessions. It was temporary, you reasoned, so was there any real harm in that? He watched you climb off the bed he had ordered you on mere minutes ago, arching an eyebrow as you lowered to your knees before him.

Andy rarely had the patience to let you go down on him, despite loving the feeling. Mostly, his main source of pleasure came from the things he could make you feel. He also couldn’t understand what you got out of letting him fuck your mouth. You weren’t much of a fan before Andy, you could admit since you had a total of zero pleasant experiences, but you felt that this was your only way of spoiling him.

It was nonnegotiable tonight, you would throw a fit if needed. You looked up at him for a moment, almost asking for permission. But not quite, maybe more for compliance. His promise was made by unzipping his pants for you and then letting his hands fall to his sides.

You took him out of his pants and opened your mouth. Staring up at him again, you took as much of him as you could. He was fine until he felt you gag, then his jaw set and his hands became fists.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Moaning around him, you slowly pulled back. One of his hands disappeared in your hair before you could get too far. He had to keep you there for a moment, attempting to calm himself down because he could tell how much you wanted this.

He brought his hand forward, touching your cheekbone. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He slipped his fingers under your jaw and thrust his hips forward gently. He didn’t go too deep and it was at a torturous pace that he pulled out. This man’s control was one of the sexiest things about him. It made him seem so powerful and stable and that was what you craved more than anything in this world.

“Touch yourself,” he directed.

Your hand dove down, two fingers instantly burying inside your pussy. You moaned loudly around him and he cursed again.

“You want me to fuck your face?”

You nodded as well as you could.

He nodded, taking another deep breath. His hold under your face tightened just a bit, thumb and fingers pressing into your jaw. He didn’t thrust, instead, he moved you with his hand. Each time he brought you down on him, he made sure to choke you a little because he knew you liked it.

By the time he was close, your jaw was sore, made worse by his tight hold, your ribs hurt from how hard you had been gagging, the back of your throat was testament that he had lost it a couple of times, and went a bit harder than he meant to. Your entire hand was wet, your thighs shaking and your hips still rolling.

He told you to come with him, told you he wasn’t going to until you did. You pressed the heel of your palm down on your clit and fucked your hand harder. Andy brought you down as far as your throat would allow and held you there, moaning as you attempted to swallow around him.

His hand slid down to your neck and he began to squeeze when he knew you were close, hips moving fast and sloppy. You placed one hand on his thigh to keep yourself balanced, turning your gaze up to him once more.

You felt him start to spill down your throat. He moved harder, hips jerking and cock slamming into the back of your throat each time. The cum that was in your mouth was now beginning to slip out from the sides of your lips.

He pulled out before he was done, one hand in your hair to angle your head back, his other hand stroking his cock as his cum leaked out along your jaw and neck. “God damn, you are fucking gorgeous.”

You stared at him as the tip of your tongue came out to the corner of your mouth where you felt some of his cum.

Immediately, he pulled you onto your feet and shoved you back onto the bed. He was on top of you instantly, using his fingers to collect his cum off your skin so he could feed it to you. As you laid there, licking his fingers, he brought his opposite hand down to your pussy.

“I love feeling your cunt after you’ve just finished.” He teased you several times, just dipping the tips of his fingers in before he pushed two inside you.

You whimpered, lips closed around his fingers. Once he pulled them out, your mouth was free to speak, which was rarely ever a good thing when you two were in bed. “Well, are you going to get inside me, or did you need a minute?”

He arched an eyebrow—it didn’t bother him when you joked about his age, but he pretended it was grounds for true punishment. “Maybe I need several minutes, I guess I just have to keep you coming until then, huh?”

You hummed in protest.

He brought his hand up to grab your jaw, wet fingers pressing tightly into your skin. His lips hovered over yours as he asked, “You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

He scoffed. “You’re shameless. I don’t know how you got this bad.”

But he did know, and he would do whatever he possibly could to ensure that you would just get worse. Andy’s success was measured by your bratty episodes. It showed how comfortable you had become with him but also just how much you wanted him.

For the record, you weren’t accusing Andy of being some evil mastermind who had planned this whole…ordeal. That would be insane because it would imply a lot of things that you knew were simply not true about him. He wasn’t a bad person, he was actually one of the best that you had ever met.

But…he was a lawyer. He had picked up some bad habits that came along with that. That meant, that though he didn’t plan this, he was enjoying it thoroughly. In short, you were accusing him of being an opportunist.

The first time you met Andy, he had brought Jacob to that hellhole of a restaurant you used to work at. So, technically Jacob knew you, but he was on his phone the entire time and they were low-maintenance customers, so he’d maybe seen you for a total of 5 minutes over their 2-hour stay. Andy did come back and bring Jacob several times, but it was always the same. He never paid you any mind, and why would he?

So, when you “met” him, half-naked and covered in bruises and bites—something that still made you glare at Andy if you thought about it too much—Jacob already knew you. He just didn’t know you. And after that one encounter, you couldn’t imagine what he thought of you.

This made you realize just how worried you were about how temporary you knew you were. Andy hadn’t said anything so you wondered if Jacob just didn’t tell Laurie. You wondered if she would even care if he had told her. Maybe Andy did this all the time, maybe she just couldn’t be bothered because they weren’t married anymore. You had no idea because Andy rarely spoke to you about Jacob and never spoke about Laurie.

Your grand solution was just trying to avoid Jacob at all costs. Mostly, you were successful, and Andy didn’t seem to mind, per se, but he did not encourage it. He loved his son and he didn’t want part of his life to be completely unknown to Jacob, but you kind of did.

It was one terrible morning when you were a bit hungover from the night before and Andy was making breakfast. He’d just set down a plate of pancakes in front of you, kissed you on top of the head because you were letting him baby you, when Jacob came in, so you didn’t even have an excuse to leave. It would be pathetically clear what you were doing. Were you seriously scared of a 17-year-old boy?

Yes. But you could pretend you weren’t, and you would pretend. There was no other choice. It wasn’t until you were all sitting down for the world’s most awkward breakfast that Andy’s phone rang. He often got calls in the morning and you never minded. Until then.

You shot him a threatening look that he clearly didn’t take seriously. He excused himself and with each step further away, your desire to suddenly die increased.

There was more painfully awkward silence and you wracked your brain for ways to fix it. You could ask him about school, his plans for the day. But that was the easy part. How were you going to word the question casually, unforced? You didn’t have to think on that much longer because he decided to speak first.

“Is my dad your, like, sugar daddy?”

And before you were subjected to having to respond, his friends showed up. Which was great because you couldn’t have formed a response if your life depended on it. But that shock had well worn off by the time Andy returned. He was throwing out apologies and explaining that he was being given an update on one of his cases. He seemed unaware of your silence until he realized Jacob was gone.

“Where’s Jake?”

“He left with his friends.”

“Oh.” He sat down at the table and you glared. “Come on, I didn’t know he was going to be here—”

“He just asked me if you’re my sugar daddy!”

“Well, I am.”

“You are not.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Then what am I? I pay your bills, I buy you things, in return, you spend most of your free time with me. What does that make me?”

You were mad but not about the idea that he was your sugar daddy. Of course, you’d played with that phrase a few times, but it seemed so unrepresentative of your relationship. At least, to you. He clearly saw it that way, and maybe you weren’t even mad about that.

You might not have been mad at all, maybe just scared. You knew that Andy was in love with his ex-wife still and he always would be. She was this terrifying person that you’d never met that essentially held the cards to your life. You figured that if she expressed any anger towards Andy’s relationship with you, that you would be gone. You would have to go back to your life before, like when the carriage was a pumpkin. And the scariest part of that was not that you had no money. It was that you two would just be done as if you never even happened at all.

“Your boyfriend?” he pressed.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he warned.

“I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not.”

Once more, you rolled your eyes. You pushed away from the table and stormed out of the kitchen and to his bedroom.

He came in moments later after you had thrown his shirt on the bed. You were in nothing more than a pair of panties as you searched for where he’d tossed your clothes the night before. He shut the door and locked it, but you refused to respond to his tactics to make you talk.

“Get on the bed.”

You scoffed incredulously, turning over your shoulder to him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

His hand wrapped around one of your arms and he spun you back to him. You set your hands on his chest to push him away, but he pulled you in so tight that you couldn’t move. He kissed you like it had been years since he last did so, in reality, it had been a little over an hour. It was demanding and fast, he left you no room to protest, but it wasn’t like that mattered because with each passing second, you were giving in.

His free hand slid down between your legs and you broke the kiss to moan. Your head fell back, your body pressed closer to him. It wasn’t a surrender exactly, just a promise that you would get over it and never bring it up again.

But then he said, “Call me daddy.”

You froze, turning your head back to him. “What?”

“Call me daddy,” he repeated. “You want to come? Tell daddy how to make you come.”

It was just a matter of time before it was brought up. Unbeknownst to him, it was on your mind. Unbeknownst to you, it was on his. He hadn’t been the kind for it, then he met you. There was something primal inside him that was triggered when you would whimper and whine, when you were choking on his cock and staring up at him with your beautiful eyes, when you were crying his name. And sometimes, it didn’t completely sound unlike daddy. When you were breathless and fucked good, and nearly mindless. Sometimes, it was close enough that it made him wonder what it would be like.

And you’d been curious too. Ever since he spanked you the first time. You saw Andy as this powerful, good man. He was perfect and didn’t even know it. But all of that was what everyone could see. There were these dark parts of him that made you wet just thinking about. You would never tell him, but once, just one time, he was busy and couldn’t see you one weekend. Meaning you had to take care of yourself. Your dreams were vivid and filthy, and you might have called him daddy in one…so, yeah.

“I’m not going to touch you if you can’t follow orders, princess.”

It took you a moment to find your voice, especially with the way he was looking down at you. “I…don’t know…” It felt weird, like you were admitting this terrible secret. You were aware he had asked you to, but it still felt wrong. Kind of.

“Well,” his fingers slid over you again, a teasing touch that was too light for any real relief, ��do you want daddy’s fingers?”

You nodded.

“What about daddy’s cock?”

“Yes.”

“Or maybe daddy’s mouth?” He kissed your forehead first, then your cheek, and finally all over your neck. “Hmm?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want.”

“You know what I want,” he pointed out, pulling back to look at you. “Tell me what you want first.”

He was not letting you out of this and did you actually want him to? Andy was a complete daddy. He spoiled the hell out of, almost literally got off on taking care of you, and he was a kind, beautiful man who had no problems fucking you like he hated you.

“Will you eat my pussy, Daddy?”

Wordlessly, he sat you down on the bed and pushed you onto your back by your shoulders. His eyes on yours, he took you with his mouth over your panties and any doubts you had about this just faded away.

Your breath was shaking as he held you down, his hands gripping your arms tight. You draped your legs over his shoulders and pulled him closer. He pressed his tongue flat against you each time he licked up your aching cunt. “Oh, god,” you blurted out when you felt him at your clit.

He turned his head, nipping at your thigh. It was a prompt.

“Daddy,” you breathed, and he returned his mouth to you. “Daddy, please.”

He hummed. What are you asking for?

“Please, take them off,” you begged.

His fingers slipped under the band of your underwear and he tore them into pieces, without any skill whatsoever, as his tongue sought out bare skin. You’d heard several tears by the time his tongue was inside you.

You arched your back and grabbed a hold of his hair with both hands. He almost instantly took your hands and held them down to the bed again. “Daddy, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please make me come.”

He pulled your clit between his lips and you knew that you weren’t going to last much longer. You knew this was your biggest loss so far. He was never going to let you forget that you’d come up here throwing a fit, trying to push him away, only to beg him to eat you out.

Your hips rolled against his face, he seemed surprised for a moment, but he moaned against you, so you kept doing it. “Can I come, Daddy? Please?”

He hummed again, a confirmation.

When you moved instead of waiting for him, you could feel his beard. That was the only reason you kept canting your hips up to meet the swipes of his tongue that were toeing the line of being too good.

He let his tongue drop down to tease your entrance, earning a frustrated whine from you. Your clit wasn’t neglected for long, you felt the tip of his nose hovering just right there. So, if you were to move, if you bucked your hips just right, you discovered quickly just how to get the right kind of pressure there.

Andy loved every second of it, he loved the smell of you and the taste of you, and he knew he was never going to be a better position to indulge in both. You were wild even though he was pinning you down, you were hardly ever this desperate, this upfront with your desire. It was the sexiest thing he ever witnessed.

You finished on his tongue and he let no drop of you go to waste. He was selfish in the way he ran his mouth along the oversensitive parts of you. Before reality had even made its way back to you, he’d placed you on your knees before him. Your body was moving without your brain, like pure instinct. Your mouth opened for him before you even knew you were on the floor and you took him in as deep as you could.

He took a handful of your hair and held you in place, hips slowly, gently moving back and forth. You were gagging around him but he was letting you get used to it, telling you that you were such a good girl, reminding you how well you knew how to suck his cock, how you’d always been so good at it.

He didn’t want to come in your mouth, he just wanted to get close. He threw you down on the bed just as soon as he’d gotten you back on your feet and then he was on top of you. His hand wrapped around your neck as he slotted his hips between your thighs.

His eyes locked on yours, he slowly sunk into you. It was damn near painful the kind of restraint he was using, how he was denying you that fast kind of fucking he knew you loved. He pulled back, using his knees for balance, and kept his hold on your throat.

His thrusts were too gentle, several agonizing times, until you were squirming and whimpering. He didn’t seem concerned with what you wanted then, he merely kept his eyes moving over your body.

“Andy,” you complained.

He tsked. “Baby girl.”

“Daddy,” you corrected instantly. “Daddy, please. I need you to fuck me.”

Instead, he leaned back down and kissed you. He started at your mouth and then moved to your jaw. His hips barely moved, just enough to keep you on this edge of murderous rage. Seriously? After what you just went through? He wasn’t going to fuck you to make it up to you?

He sat back again and tightened his hand when you opened your mouth. It was the nicest way he was ever going to tell you to shut up, but he was telling you to. You were too scared to show any signs of disobedience at this point.

He pulled out and you whined unintelligibly. You received nothing more than a brief ‘hush’ before he was laying down next to you. He was on his side, propping one of your legs over his hip as he slid back into you. He lifted you up so you could lay your head on his bicep and used that arm to grab your opposite thigh, pulling it out to the side so you were completely open for him.

“Daddy,” you mewled. You couldn’t keep doing this, you needed to come. You needed him to make you come. He dragged his cock out and then shoved back in, earning a strangled yelp from you. You brought both hands up to hold the forearm that was still pressed between your breasts.

It was then that he started this horrible pattern of fucking you hard, hard, until you were just about to come. You would be shaking, begging like you never had before, promising you would never talk back to him again, and then he would just stop.

He never denied your orgasm. If anything, he just threatened to, didn’t follow through, then made weak threats that he would next time. It was a nice routine and you weren’t sure why he wanted to ruin it.

He told you to leave your thigh where it was and then brought that hand up. He started at your mouth, he ordered you to close your lips around his fingers. He was choking you still and now gagging you and you were abruptly lightheaded. He’d never given you a safe word, you were sure he never intended to go too far. The idea that he might, though… Ugh.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and they were soaking wet because he didn’t give you the chance to swallow. He dragged them down your body, stopping to pinch one of your nipples painfully until you gasped, and then down to your pussy.

Tears filled your eyes immediately as he pressed his fingers down on your clit. He kissed the side of your face several times before stating, “I can’t keep giving you what you want if you’re going to be such a brat, baby.”

“I’m not being a brat,” you protested.

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he scoffed. His fingers began to rub circles into you.

You shot him a desperate look. “Daddy, please I need you to make me come.”

He arched an eyebrow, hips still but hand moving. “Oh, you need me to?”

“No one else makes me come like you do.” It was clear that you were just saying anything you could think to make him give in. True? Yes. But were the words sincere? Not at all, and you didn’t want him to know that. Yes, you liked spending time with Andy, you even loved fucking him, but this was not a relationship. It was an arrangement first and you had to protect yourself.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Transparent.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow with an exaggerated sigh. “Please?”

“No.”

You looked at him instantly, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

“No,” he repeated slowly.

He’d never just told you no. Maybe in a roundabout way, he’d talked his way through the fact of no, but never once had he just out and said it. You had no idea how to reply. After all, he was in charge here. If he said no, did you have to accept it?

He brought his fingers down to where your bodies were connected and pulled out completely. He dipped his fingers into you at the same time he was easing his cock back in.

You bit down on your lip, willing yourself to relax. He was always a tight fit, even without the addition of two of his thick fingers, even on those weeks when he fucked you every day, numerous times a day.

“You’re okay,” he promised. “You can take it.”

You tried spreading your legs even more, hoping that would make him easier to take.

“Good girl.” He pulled his cock and fingers out briefly before working them both back in simultaneously. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“It hurts a little.”

“But you can take it, can’t you?” He kissed along your cheekbone. “You want it, right? Because you’re my good girl.”

You were nodding before you even truly thought about it. You wanted anything he wanted to give you, in reality. You supposed this was not the exception to that rule.

He continued pulling out and teasing back in, going just a little deeper each time.

Your cunt was aching by the time you propped yourself up on your elbows to see. The sight of him inside you was sinful and delicious.

He felt you flutter around him and kissed the side of your face again. “You like when I stretch you out, baby?”

You nodded. That was exactly how you felt. Stretched. It still hurt but not in any kind of way that you didn’t like. Your cheeks were flushed since he’d been denying you a finish, otherwise, you would be blushing terribly. It was a toe-in-the-water of humiliation, you felt a little objectified, or reduced to a single body part. Again, not something you were opposed to because your mind was fucked up enough that your body would respond ecstatically to anything Andy wanted to do to it.

“Do you want another one?”

You weren’t sure, but that didn’t stop you from claiming you did. You watched the tip of his third finger collect the slick on the base of his cock and slide into you. He began pulling out and gently pushing both fingers and cock back in until he was buried several inches and two knuckles into your pussy.

“You are soaked, baby.”

Part of you hated that. How bratty could you be from here on out if you were this wet for him? If your cunt was literally begging him for more of his fingers? That was the pride part of you. The sick part of you stopped to think about how he had 7 more fingers to fuck you with, if he wanted. “Can I have another?”

He smirked. “I think 3 is enough tonight, princess. I don’t want to hurt you too much.”

“I want all your fingers inside me, daddy.”

He scoffed. “Not sure that’s possible, you’re still so tight. But I do have a little more I can give you.” As he pressed more of his fingers in, beyond that second knuckle which made you gasp and squirm because it burned, he also gave you more of his cock.

You were shaking, hand settling on his forearm once more. “Oh, daddy…I feel so full.”

“And your desperate cunt still wants more?”

“Anything from you, daddy. Can I please come?”

He didn’t answer, his hips merely began moving. He roughly fucked into you as he pulled just so with his fingers to keep you painfully stretched.

You were getting close again. That stinging sensation was starting to fade away with the building pleasure. When he angled his hand and let his thumb massage your clit, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. “Daddy, please.”

“You can’t come.”

You whined. “Daddy!”

“I said no.”

You pressed your hand to his stomach to still his hips, but he paid you no mind. “Daddy, I’m going to come.”

“You better not,” he warned, but didn’t do anything to help you want that. If anything, his hips snapped a bit harder.

“Please stop, daddy,” you begged, voice pathetically small and whiny. You didn’t care how you sounded or looked, you just didn’t want to come without him letting you. You didn’t want to disappoint him. “Daddy, I’m close. Please stop.”

He scoffed, free hand coming up to your face. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?”

You frantically shook your head. You weren’t so good that you wouldn’t come, so really, you needed him to stop.

“You don’t want to come without my permission?”

“No, daddy.”

He pressed his thumb down harder and rubbed faster, earning an unintelligible, sad sound from you. “It’s okay, baby girl, you can come. Daddy wants to feel you coming around his cock.”

You lifted your hand back up to his arm, trying to turn into his body as much as you could. He understood immediately and moved his hold from your neck to drape his arm across you, resting his hand on your back. You set your head in the bend of his neck as you started to come.

He groaned when he felt you get tighter. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanna feel.”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time you were coming. Your body had never felt relief so strong. Andy shushed you through it all and told you that you were so good and didn’t stop until he had you filled with his cum.

He let you settle before urging you onto your back. “You okay, baby?”

“Yes, daddy.” You were more than just okay. You were sated and aching, you were exhausted and blissful. It had been a while since he’d spent so much time on you and you felt good, doted on, paid attention to.

He carefully pulled his fingers from your cunt, eyeing your face as he did, but then quickly took your jaw in one hand and shoved the fingers into your mouth. You instantly began sucking on them. “A few things. First, you do not roll your eyes at me. Second, you do not leave the table unless I tell you that you can. Third, do not ever walk away from me. Fourth, when I tell you to get your ass on the bed, you better get your ass on the bed. Are we clear?”

You nodded, speaking around his fingers.

“Glad to hear it.” He slowly extracted his fingers, massaging your jaw with the opposite hand. “When you can walk again, I’ll take you shopping—”

You hurriedly jumped out of bed, rushing for the shower. “I’ll be ready in an hour!”

requests to be tagged:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic

#andy barber x reader #but we all KNOW he's the best sd in existence right????#let's rate evans characters by how good they'd be as sd's! talk to me in my inbox about it let's go!#love you thank you for reading okay bye #my writing

360 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years

Text

Comfort

Each member of the team comforting Hotch while he’s sick/hurt

“Spencer.”

Reid jerks at the sudden intrusion, his brain struggling to pull itself from the novel in his lap. “Haley,” his eyebrows pinch in confusion before he looks down at his wristwatch and red letters flashback at him the time; 7:15. He’s been here for five hours. “I-I…”

She smiles softly, he recognizes the look from earlier. Hotch had given him the same sad-eyed smile as Reid failed to keep the pressure on his wound. Reid had never seen an example of couples adopting one another characteristics before. He finds it to be both unnerving and amazing.

“Lost in your head,” she asks, coming further into the room. She glances at him once more before going to Hotch’s side. She slides her hand under her husband’s, whispering something too soft for Reid to hear and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “He says you have a-a tendency to get lost in your head.”

Reid is silent. He’s been to their house a few times. Only after Gideon dumps whatever plans they made, it seemed he’d get off the phone with the older man and within the hour Hotch would call. He’d some odd knickknack for Reid to see or a StarTrek marathon to offer.

Haley runs her fingers through Hotch’s hair, unsettling it from the hold the gel Hotch had put it in that morning. “It’s good you’re here,” she says, looking up at him instead of Hotch. Haley’s an intelligent woman, keeps Hotch on his toes. Reid holds a soft spot for her, she makes him feel warm and safe. The same way Hotch does.

A soft grunt sounds from the bed between them, Hotch shaking his head loose of the oxygen canal. His head is turned, his eyes open and all he sees is Haley. “... tried-” he shifts on the bed, pain shooting up his middle as the movement pulls sore muscles. “Sean?” He croaks the name out, lost in times that passed long ago.

Haley glances up at Reid once before centering her focus on her husband. She soothes him softly, shushing him when he tries to pull away from the IV in his arm and the sheets over his hips. “Aaron-Aaron,” she brushes a hand through his hair, smiling when his attention shifts back to her owlish blink. “Hey,” she brushes her thumb across his cheek. “Sean is safe. He’s in New York, remember? Gonna be a chef.”

Hotch swallows thickly, brain turning this information over slowly. “Not-Not a lawyer,” he recalls.

Haley smiles with a shake of her head, “no. Not a lawyer.” She moves over him and positions the oxygen canal back under his nose. “You’re safe too, Aaron.” Her smile fades back into that sad-eyed, soft smile from earlier. “Agent Reid is with you,” she says motioning her head to Reid.

Reid can see the confusion in Hotch’s brow but he turns his head and settles his eyes on Reid. There’s no scrutiny. If Reid didn’t know better he might say fondness is the crinkle in his supervisor’s eyes.

“Your team is okay,” Haley adds squeezing his hand. “Everyone’s okay.”

Concussion. Reid’s mind helpfully deduces. They hadn’t done a brain scan when Hotch was admitted. There was no real reason to suspect brain trauma with a bullet to the abdomen. Not when Reid hadn’t told them about the crack that sounded through the room when Hotch hit the floor.

The concussion is to blame for Hotch’s sluggish thoughts and obvious confusion. “Dad?” Reid’s never heard Hotch’s voice raise to an octave like that, an inflection of fear. Haley’s eyebrows tighten, clearly aggravated but not at Hotch or his confusion.

“No,” Haley says forcing herself to relax. “He’s dead, Aaron.”

Reid’s never seen so many emotions cross his boss’s face at once. Relief immediately followed by sadness and the clench of his fist that Reid loses the meaning to because he can’t tell if he’s reacting to physical or emotional pain or maybe he’s angry.

“Dead,” he echoes. His brow scrunches in confusion and Reid can see the realization cross his eyes. The ‘dead’ sinking in. “Oh.”

Haley tries to direct his attention back to Reid. “Don’t worry with him, Aaron. Spencer’s here,” she nods her head again but it’s becoming very clear that Hotch is fighting a losing battle against the narcotics streaming in his veins.

“Mm,” Hotch turns his head to Reid. He smiles and lifts his hand from the bed, a tired wave.

Haley brushes a hand through his hair again, catching his attention. “Get some sleep,” she doesn’t move away. Instead, her hand continues to work through his hair, slowly easing him lower and lower into sleep. “Shh.”

Reid can’t see Hotch’s eyes flutter shut but he can see the last deep breath he takes before they even out.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Haley says, settling into the visitor’s chair on Hotch’s left. “He worries about the team when he’s away from you.” She says this without looking at him. Her attention is on Hotch’s face, half-turned to look at her. “He worries about you the most.” Her eyes rise to his and she shakes her head with a sigh. “He’s always worried about something or someone.”

He’s a protector. They’re not supposed to profile one another, it’s a rule between them all, but it doesn’t take a profile to note that Hotch is a protector. It’s what he does. “It’s what makes him so good at his job,” Reid looks up, forcing a smile on his lips. “He’s a good boss.”

Haley chuckles, a soft sound and a puff of air from her nose. She sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of Hotch’s palm. She doesn’t say anything. Exhausted, her shoulders are hanging low and for the first time, Reid sees just how tired she is.

“Hey…” Emily puts her novel down. Hotch’s vision is foggy but he catches the horrendous orange and blue blur as she forces the book shut. His mouth feels thick, heavy and his head like tiny dancers balanced on thumbtacks are tap-dancing across his brain. “I didn’t expect you to be up.” Her eyebrows pinch, “doctors said they have you on some powerful stuff.”

He rolls this information over in his head, her voice drowning in and out with his heartbeats. He can feel it, his heart, beating through with the pain in his side. “Vonnegut.” He’s a favorite of Emily’s, he can faintly recall a conversation she’s had with Morgan about him. “It’s-It’s…” he’s read a few of Kurt Vonnegut’s works.

Emily takes a moment to understand his slurred speech. She holds the book up with a smile, “yeah. Kurt Vonnegut.” She thumbs through the pages, confused. “How-How did you know that?”

The title is revealed as she leafs through it. He places it then, a burden lifted from his chest. Breakfast of Champions. Kilgore Trout and his journey through the midwest as his fiction becomes another man’s facts. That’s not her favorite though and that copy, it’s new. It’s the same copy that sits on his bookshelf. “Vonnegut,” Hotch mumbles like she should have put this all together herself. “He’s your favorite,” his voice cracks through the sentence, hoarse rasp cutting off what remains of the sentence.

Emily understands well enough. “How-” she shakes her head at him. “I don’t want to know how you have managed to remember that.” She’s not that surprised. They live by the rule of not profiling one another but it’s hard to turn it off.

“ Sometimes, I get tired of being profiled through my office window.”

“New,” he croaks, he points to the book now on her lap. He swallows thickly, brain forming the words but mouth unable to form the right ones. “You had an older copy.”

Before. Emily taps the cover, he’s right. She carried one of his books everywhere, a comfort to curl up on the jet on the way home with some tea and a blanket. She knows the most of the books by heart, her old copy was dog eared and the cover faded. A small part of her felt comforted, now, just sitting here reading.

Like old times on the jet.

“I lost it,” she answers truthfully. No real point in lying when he might be able to see it. If there’s one thing she knows about Hotch, it’s that you can never underestimate him. “I-I didn’t think to ask JJ to grab them from my apartment.” She shakes her head, “everything was so… It was all so crazy, it would almost be silly to worry about a couple of books in the face of everything going on.”

It takes a moment for him to place what she means but blood loss hasn’t made him stupid. He knows exactly what she means. She must see the clarity in his eyes, the moment he realizes what she means. She starts talking, nervous. Her hands come together and he’s listening to her nervous words but he’s focused on the way her thumb digs into her nails.

“I-I don’t blame you and JJ, you know?” She draws blood but she whips it away. She doesn’t raise her eyes to his. “That’s not important, though, the books or Doyle. You did what you had to do to protect me, I know that.” She moves to the next hand, digging. “It’s funny- well, I mean it’s not funny but you know humor overrides trauma- but the last time you and I were in the hospital-”

She looks up, eyes moving straight past him to the heart monitor. She glances back at him, eyebrows frowning. “Shit,” she stands up but before she can say anything there’s a nurse grabbing her shoulder. She’s pushed out, the heart monitor still sounding in the background. She’s forced to watch from the doorway as a doctor swarms in with the rest of the nurses.

She’d been talking with Rossi earlier in the week, so he knew that she’d been sent back to the states. With her own case solved, she came to Virginia to meet them. To see them. She just hadn’t been expecting Rossi to text her the address of a hospital.

“Agent.”

She turns to the doctor, tearing her eyes away from Hotch. He’s glaring at a nurse, watching her dispense a clear cocktail of drugs into his port. “Y-Yeah?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“He can’t be put under any strain,” the doctor’s voice is tight, making it very clear to Emily how important it is she listens. “Do you understand, Agent?” They stand, locked until Emily nods her head. It’s like Foyett, that fear and his vulnerability. That same warning, all over again. “Okay.” The doctor leaves her, small frown but no more words.

“Sorry.” His voice rasp behind an oxygen mask now. The straps pushing his peppered hair up in odd directions. His eyes are slits, his battle with sleep a losing one.

Emily settles back into the chair, pulling her book into her lap. “You know, Hotch, next time you want me to shut up you can just ask.” She can see him smile under the mask, a rare sight. “No need to-to stop breathing or have a heart attack on me.” She thumbs the pages, the words feeling wrong. She didn’t come to taunt him. She misses being on the team. Hell, she even misses him profiling her profile him. Mind games. He’s the best.

“Read.”

She’s so lost in her mind that she hadn’t realized she’d opened the book. She looks up, confused, “read? I thought you want me to stop talking?”

He turns, paler than even his normal vampire tan, and shakes his head. “No,” he motions his head at the book, again. “Just read.”

It’s all the “I’ve missed you” she’ll ever get so she cracks the book open. It doesn’t matter where she left off because it doesn’t matter to him. “So, in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines instead of thinking machines. All their minds had to do was to discover what other people were thinking, and then they thought that, too.” She looks up and his eyes have fallen shut, his breathing even and steady. She turns the page. He’s asleep but she continues anyway.

“Woah-Woah!” Morgan’s ears are ringing, his head empty. He gags, falling over himself as he loses half the sandwich he had at lunch. He can’t move, frozen as his stomach cramps painfully. A hand, warm and solid lands on his back. After a moment, his eyes lock onto black dress pants and a blue dress shirt. “Hotch?”

The other man doesn’t react to the sound of his name. Instead, he pulls Morgan up. Hotch’s arm is looped under Morgan’s and they both groan as they stand back to their feet. Morgan, now eye level with Hotch, frowns, “Hotch, you’re bleeding.” He points to the wound but it’s like Hotch can’t hear him.

“We have to get out of here!” He’s speaking too loud, body trembling. Morgan moves as much as he can in Hotch’s grip and sees the side of his head. Two small streaks down to his collar, both starting in Hotch’s ear. Morgan doesn’t mention it but he suspects Hotch knows he’s caught it. “Come on.” Morgan frowns, Hotch’s eardrums really can’t handle being burst again.

They stumble.

Hotch keeps Morgan up, his face unnaturally pale… even for him. “We can’t stop,” Hotch grunts, his own feet shuffling. He tries to take another step but he can’t. He falls to his left knee, releasing Morgan. “Go,” Hotch grunts, body curling in on his right side. “Go, Derek!”

Morgan isn’t a child and no matter how low Hotch drops his voice it doesn’t scare him. He drops to his own knees, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He moves, throwing his right hand out and leaning against the wall as he settles his back on it. “Come on, Hotch.” He waves the older man closer, patting the hard cement beside him.

Hotch doesn’t move, now settled on his side. His eyes dropping, slowing losing consciousness.

Morgan moves and bites down a whimper as it lights up his side. He pushes himself a little more. He grabs Hotch’s shoulder hooking his arms under Hotch’s and pulls them both against the wall. Sighing as he positions Hotch beside him, the other man’s head on his left thigh.

“A fucking bomb,” Morgan mumbles. That’s how it’ll end. Some punk kid and a bomb with their names literally written on it. “This isn’t how I thought it would end.”

Hotch blinks, eyes slowly finding his. Morgan shakes his head, so the bastard isn’t as deaf as he thought. “Not surprised,” Hotch grunts, his left hand pulling away from his side sticky with blood. “Kind of figures,” he lets his hand fall back over the wound, fresh blood pouring over his knuckles. “Get stabbed nine times and some pipe bomb does me in.”

Morgan laughs, his head rolling back to the wall behind him. The mood turns bitter and Morgan can’t help but feel cheated. “Did the other’s get out?”

Hotch grunts, it’s as much of a yes as he can manage at the moment. “Dragged Reid and JJ out myself.” He’s trembling, shivering despite the sweat pouring down his brow. “Emily was going to come back in for you but I-I told her I’d get you.” He smiles, “two kids grabbed her when I turned to come back in. Morons. Garcia looked like she was going to pummel them both.”

They share a laugh at that. The poor kids are probably sporting bruised ribs by now. Almost everything she knows about self-defense Morgan taught her. He’s a dirty fighter and Hotch knows Morgan teaches dirty fighting. Garcia, though neither had ever personally been hit by the tech analyst, they’d seen a person or two get swatted with her purse. She’s got an arm on her.

“Rossi?”

Hotch’s smile falls off his face. Morgan looks away, afraid of the emotions he sees creeping over his boss’ face. His voice isn’t as steady. It’s heavy with fear,” I don’t know.” Silence fills the clouded air between them. Both considering the fate of their friend. “Derek?”

Morgan looks down, Hotch’s head bent away from him. He’s blinking slowly, face ashy. “Yeah, man?” A pang of fear rolls through his stomach, coiling tight in his chest. His heart hurts. They’re running out of time, Hotch is running out of time.

“I never thanked you…” his voice trails off, eyes fluttering as he fails to keep them open.

Morgan swats at his face, keeping it up until Hotch blinks his eyes back open. “Never thanked me for what?”

Hotch swallows thickly around the dryness in his mouth. “After Foyett,” he rasps, “the hole in my wall. I know you fixed it.” He turns his head, blinking owlishly up at Morgan with half-open bloodshot eyes.

Morgan nods. It was the hardest repair job he’s ever done and he wonders what it was like for Hotch to clean Elle’s blood off her wall. Morgan reaches down between them, grabbing Hotch’s hand with a tight squeeze. “That’s what families for.” He doesn’t let go, just lets his hand fall on Hotch’s chest as the other man fights consciousness. “They’ll find us. They always do.”

Hotch hums and Morgan doesn’t know if it’s in agreeance or in pain. It doesn’t matter. Morgan knows they’ll come. They have to.

“You really shouldn’t fall asleep, sir.”

She watches him blink his eyes back open, a dark iris settling on her. She knows he’s not mad at her but his face is still twisted in aggravation. “Garcia,” he says, in a voice much lower than even his normal baritone. “Now is no time for formalities.”

His eyes slide back shut. She glances back at him and kicks his knee, grimacing when he startles. “I asked you not to fall asleep,” she reminds him when he looks less than pleased. He doesn’t shut his eyes though, he stays awake. “How are you, Hotch?” She’s genuinely interested. He doesn’t get to talk to her that much anymore, she feels like she hardly knows him these days.

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes open but unfocused. He’s not sure how he is. His heart hurts. “I’m fine, Penelope.” His dark eyes find hers, half-hidden as his eyes blink drowsily. He catches the hint when she frowns tightly and she’s surprised by the little smile on his lips. “I really am fine. Beside this headache, of course.”

She tries not to dwell on how bad the headache must be if he’s admitting to it. Instead, she soaks in the warmth of his little grin. “Well,” she’s much gentler when she knocks her foot against his knee this time. “Tell me how ‘fine’ is treating you. I feel like you never talk to me anymore.”

She’s keeping him talking. She can see the gash across his temple and she’d been forced to watch as their UNSUB brought his gun across Hotch’s head. Leaving only her to witness the way her boss’ legs crumbled beneath him, limply his body hitting the ground beneath him. He’d been so limp as the UNSUB picked him up under his arms, dragging him to a side room.

His grin falters just a little at her wording and he supposes that maybe he hasn’t been talking to her as much as he thought he was. Then again, how does short phone calls about serial killers count as talking? “Jack’s growing up so fast,” he tells her, his grin a soft mix of sadness and pride. “He’s almost as tall as me, isn’t that crazy?”

She smiles, “it feels like yesterday you were pushing through the bullpen in his little stroller.”

Hotch shakes his head, “starts high school this year and… I’m terrified.” He leans his head to the side, against the wall. “He’s so grown up. I feel like he doesn’t need me anymore and then-” he’s full-blown smiling and Garcia finds is contagious. “Then he comes into my room or he strikes up a pointless conversation and I know all he wants is for me to be there. To ask about his classes and listen to him gush about the girl in his English class. He still wants me around after…”

Garcia can sense the switch and she reaches over, taking his hand. “Hotch…”

He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. He puts a hand up, touching at the edges of the wound. “I killed his mother, Garcia.” His voice is devoid of all the joy it just held and she blames it on the concussion. She wants this to be the concussion and not how he actually thinks. “I would understand if…” he winces again, this time fingers probing a little too hard and he draws blood.

He swallows thickly, face paling considerably. “Penelope, you’ll have to excuse-” he’s half up-right, leaning with his side on the wall as he vomits. He brings almost nothing up, just gagging miserably.

Garcia turns her head, rolling her eyes. JJ always taunts Hotch, behind his back of course, for his ‘southern manners’. She’d seen it for herself a few times but this certainly takes the cake. However, she’ll never betray his confidence to tell the others about Hotch trying to excuse himself with a bad concussion to puke in privacy while being held captive by a killer.

“You okay, boss man?” She only looks back at him when the gagging stops and she can hear him position himself back against the wall. He’s still pale, shaking from the strain of holding himself above his vomit.

His eyes are closed but she can see he’s not sleeping. Just trying to calm back down. “Probably should have eaten lunch,” he replies softly, right arm protectively draped over his stomach. She would be mad if she expected anything different from him. It’s just like Hotch to bring the others sandwiches or coffee and to send them home to sleep but to starve and deprive himself of sleep at the same time.

She hums in agreeance. “You should start eating more period.” That catches his attention. He peels an eye open, frowning at her. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I see it all. I know everything.” She points to his chest, “I’ve noticed your shirts don’t fit you like they used to and when they did fit you, you didn’t have weight to afford losing more.” She raises an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. “You’re going to put the weight back on, sir. Even if I have to start hand-delivering you breakfast and lunch.”

He opens his mouth but she raises her hand. “Nothing you say can change my mind. In fact, I think I will.” She bites her lip, “let’s see… JJ and Reid. Yeah, they’re your soft spots. The chinks in your unchinkable armor. You won’t be able to tell them you’re starving yourself.”

He sighs, head still tilted back but resigned to his fate. “Penelope?” His voice is soft, devoid of fight and, dare she say, tinged with fatigue. “Thank you.”

She smiles at him and stands, moving over until she’s sitting beside him. She pulls his hand into her lap, squeezing it. “Anything for you, my liege.” Because someone has to protect the man who protects everyone else. He’s hurting and someone needs to be there.

And when his head falls on her shoulder she doesn’t say anything.

“For once in your life-” Rossi is so close to just decking his former protégé in the face and letting Derek haul his body up on the couch. “Goddamn it, Aaron!” Then, at least, Hotch can’t sneak away and refuse to sleep or take care of himself.

Hotch flinches, fever-ridden bloodshot eyes looking at Rossi in confusion. Carefully masked fear trembles down his hands and Rossi doesn’t dare try to act like he doesn’t see it. Right, he’s not being helpful if he’s being an ass. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm back down.

Rossi knows Hotch doesn't respond to over-controlling authority. He was abused by his father, Rossi knows that. Hell, Hotch has never once admitted to it, but they all know it.

Rossi runs a hand down his goatee, tired of fighting the stubborn unit chief. “Here,” he hands Hotch a palmful of pills. There’s a vitamin C from Emily, a Tylenol from JJ, and some colored flu medicine from Derek. It wasn’t hard to convince them to fork over their supplies. Hotch had emerged once from his office all day and the man looked like a walking corpse.

With JJ fielding Hotch’s calls, Rossi forging his signature on a few things, and Garcia clearing his meeting with Strauss in an hour they can afford to let him take a well-deserved rest.

“I have paperwork,” he rasps but knocks the handful of medication back into his mouth. He’s smart, he can argue his way out of the nap he’s cornered into but it’s pointless to push Rossi on taking medicine.

Rossi rolls his eyes, “lay down, Aaron.”

He hesitates. Rossi watches Hotch’s inner debate with himself. He frowns, looking away to the couch before nodding. Giving in. Rossi sighs in relief, he thought that was going to be much harder but maybe Hotch going down without a fight is more a bad thing than good.

“Is something-” for once in his life, Rossi isn’t sure what to say. He swallows thickly and shakes the thought away. “Here,” Rossi takes a step back, moving to grab the blanket sent up by Garcia. It looks well-loved and it’s soft in his hands, heavily scented with fabric softener. He lays it over his protégé with a small sigh. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time. He should have never left the BAU.

He shouldn’t have left Aaron.

“Get some sleep, kid.” He cuts the lights off to the office, standing in the doorway a moment too long.

“Dave?” Rossi hums, eyes still on Hotch. The other man’s on his side, blanket pulled to his chin. His voice is nasally, finally giving in to his symptoms instead of trying to pull off his stoic baritone grumble. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he pauses, gathering the right words. “There’s no need to punish yourself.”

Rossi rolls his eyes and opens the door, stepping out. “That’s very thoughtful, Aaron, but we’re not supposed to profile one another.” He pats the doorway, fondly rolling his eyes. “Get some sleep mio figlio.”

Hotch chuckles, “I know what that means, Dave.”

Rather than let himself dwell in being caught, he laughs himself. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “I would certainly hope, Aaron. I told Jason you were a smart boy, quick. I would hope age hadn’t stolen that from you.” He lingers again.

“Dave, I’m fine. Really.” His voice softens, “go.”

Rossi puts a hand up in submission, “alright. Alright.”

As soon as Rossi shuts the door he knows all their eyes are on him. Garcia’s the first to gather the courage to ask, “how is he?”

Rossi’s smile is soft but happy. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes for the pure drama that is dealing with Aaron Hotchner. “He’s getting some much needed rest. He should be fine.” He chuckles to himself, “he’s just a bit stupid. Too hard headed for his own good.” Rossi steps towards his own office, glancing through the window. Aaron’s already asleep. One hand dangles off the couch, a foot on the floor as the other stretches over the edge of the couch.

He’ll be fine.

“Hold still.” Stupid. For such a smart woman, well rounded, and agile she could be so stupid. She knew what she wanted to do. Liaison. She loves talking with people, offering comfort, and engaging the public. Sure, she didn’t give that job up but she’d give anything to go back to the station. “Hotch, please!”

He’s bleeding all over the two of them. His exhales wet as blood trails out of the side of his mouth. A muffled cough that he attempts to spare her as he rolls onto his side but he’s out of his mind in pain and can’t muffle both the cough and strangled cry on his lips that the movement causes.

If JJ had stayed a liaison, she wouldn’t be looking her friend in the eyes as his blood pools wider around them. “Aaron,” her voice is the only soft thing to happen to the room. From the moment Hotch’s knuckles rapped on the door to her screaming, mixing in the living with the sound of guns firing. “Aaron, please don’t do this to me.”

He blinks up at her, cheeks ashy and lips paling. He gasps, voice trembling, “it’s okay- I’m fine.” His left hand moves atop hers, larger than both of the ones she’s pressing into his side. “If you just…” he blinks sluggishly, too much blood around them and not in him. “Just keep applying pressure even if I- even if I pass out.”

JJ shakes her head, “you’re not passing out!” She pats his cheek, blood smearing on his ashy face. There are two days worth of hair on his cheeks and the bags under his eyes so much more prominent. “Talk to me, please?” Dark eyes blink back slowly, his adam's apple bobbing as his mouth opens but no words leave his mouth. “Tell me something. Keep talking because I can’t lose you.” Her voice thickens with unshed tears, “you’re my friend, Aaron.”

His eyes sink back shut but he opens with the first tap of her hand against his cheek. He draws his knee up, body wanting to writhe away from the pressure on his abdomen. He can’t keep his knee drawn up and it limpley slides back down. “Do you-” his voice is thick, sluggish as it leaves his mouth. “How do you not hate me?” He swallows, mouth impossibly dry, “you didn’t need to know about Emily.”

He’s right. Alone he could have faked Emily’s death. He could have bore that cross and she would have been spared the guilt of being amongst the knowing. She wouldn’t have had to work to be friends with Spencer again.

She shakes her head, “you do make me mad, you know that right?” She wipes a hot tear away from her eye, “but I’m glad you told me. It would have destroyed you, it almost destroyed the two of us with each other to lean on.” She looks up, certain she can hear faint sirens coming. She smiles down at him, “we’re like… Sonny and Cher. Batman and Robin. We’re a team and I would hope there is never a time when you spare me, Aaron.”

He smiles but whatever he opens his mouth to say is lost in his weak coughing.

She looks up, this time certain she hears sirens and doors being shut.

“Hold on, Hotch. Helps here.”

He grins, pale and sweaty. He squeezes her hand, “hey, JJ?”

She squeezes his hand back, “yeah?”

“Am I Batman or Robin?”

She sees an unbelievable amount of mirth in his half-open brown eyes. He’s exhausted, tired of fighting and weak from bloodless but he’s smiling up at her. Holding on, for her. She smiles back, gently she leans over him and kisses his cheek. “I’ll let you be Batman.”

The room is flooded in loud noise. Heavy boots stomping right up to them. In the commission she nearly doesn’t hear his whispered remark. As a paramedic hangs a bag of saline above his head and another takes JJ’s place he calls her name.

“I’d be Robin for you.” He blinks much slower, eyes hardly coming back open. “ ‘think you’d look better with a cowl. I could pull off a domino mask.” His eyes fall shut, a lopsided grin on his face. She brushes his bangs from his sweaty forehead, watching the medics do their job. She’ll remind him of this later and she’ll bring up his guilt over Emily.

But for now she just holds his hand.

(I really enjoyed writing this so if you have any idea similar I would be very interested to hear them... also originally posted on A03)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau

124 notes · View notes

eloarei · 3 years

Text

Hiatus’d WIPs: “Touch” (bnha)

I recently had a conversation with a friend/reader about how many unfinished fics I have lying around, and it made me decide to finally make a post for each one; under the assumption that I never write any of them again, I can at least link these posts at the end of the AO3 WIPs for people who are curious how the rest of the story goes. So here we have: WIP and notes for Dekumight fic series “Touch” (including unfinished next chapter) My thoughts: This was really one of my favorites for a while. There was something really fun about writing the sort of non-verbal communication they had going on, and the deep love and also awkwardness. However, the actual story of the fic doesn’t differ much from the canon plot, which makes it a little less interesting to write, and also difficult to pick up, because frankly I don’t remember shit anymore about canon. Under the cut: (8,300 words total) 3,000 words of what would be the next chapter (ending about halfway through), then a rough draft of the second half of the chapter. After that, there’s a super-rough draft/ outline of the next several chapters, followed by a bunch of notes from when I was initially planning. NOTE: Tumblr completely destroyed all formatting, so this should be full of italics, which implies thinking, but instead you’ll just have to puzzle it out. Similarly, my notes have a bunch of bolding and some strikethrough, which probably doesn’t work either. Sorry.

Takes place directly after “Retouch” (chapter 2) :

Chapter 3

It was just a few minutes later that Toshinori was hit with a spike of pleasure that he really shouldn't have been surprised by. He was finishing up some paperwork for UA though and wouldn't be getting ready for bed for a while, so instead of following through with the echo of Izuku's intense sensation, he just took a deep calming breath and willed himself to leave it alone. However, he did take a moment to send Izuku a well-timed text saying simply, | Sleep tight |. He still wasn't sure if the boy was aware of what he was doing to him, but he figured he'd just tip him off a little bit instead of asking outright. Not yet.

Izuku responded with a cute, embarrassed | ^^; you too |, and Toshinori laughed. So he hadn't expected to be called out on it, huh? Well, they could talk about it later; maybe over the weekend, if Suzuki's papers didn't scare him off. (And even then they'd probably still want to talk about at least a few things. Even if Izuku suddenly wanted nothing to do with him, even if they never saw each other again (a chilling thought), they'd still be affecting each other like this for the rest of their lives. It warranted at least a short conversation.)

Most likely, though... Most likely it would be a long conversation they'd be having, if Toshinori's impression of Inko was anything to go by. If it were just him and Izuku, who knew if they'd ever do much serious talking. It was far too tempting to just sit side by side with their hands tangled together and feel. So, it was probably good that Izuku's mother had such a strong hand in the situation-- and it was definitely good for both of them that she was such a reasonable woman. He knew she would probably bring up all the right topics (the things he still hadn't really researched; Suzuki wasn't going to be pleased with his ignorance), and ask all the right questions, and be super tactful about the whole thing, so he didn't fret about it, focusing instead on just getting through the week.

Easier said than done, he'd have told you, if you asked him at any point during those next few days, but eventually it was done, and he was standing outside the Midoriyas' apartment door with a briefcase in one hand and the other poised to knock. But before he could make a sound, the door opened, and Izuku was standing there, looking up at him with the brightest eyes.

“Hi,” he said, the simple word both enthusiastic and shy. His smile was impossibly wide, sending his freckles up into his eyes. “I, um, I could tell you were there,” he answered, before Toshinori could even ask how he'd known to open the door. Without further ado, Izuku reached out and took his hand, leading him into the apartment. They both breathed deep, relieved sighs as soon as they touched. Three days had just been too much.

Inside, Inko was doing dishes. “Oh, Toshinori, hi,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I'll be done here in just a minute. Izuku said you have some papers for us to look at?”

“At my manager's insistence,” he explained. Guided by Izuku, he took a seat next to him at the kitchen table, their hands still joined, and set the briefcase up where his other hand could find what he needed. He pulled the stack of papers out and set them in the middle of the table.

“How's your week been?” Izuku asked quietly, as they waited for Inko to join them.

“It's been fine,” Toshinori answered, though the emotion rolling around in his chest said 'I missed you', and he was fairly sure Izuku could feel it.

The boy squeezed his hand at the feeling and replied, “Me too,” in response to the unspoken sentiment.

Drying her hands off on a dishtowel, Inko sat down across from them and gave the pair of them an appraising (but ultimately approving) look, before she slid the stack of papers over to her. “What have we got here?” she asked, apparently rhetorically, as she didn't wait for Toshinori to attempt to explain. She read through each page carefully and then passed it over to Izuku, who seemed mildly surprised but also read each one before sliding it over to Toshinori. (He skimmed them again for familiarity's sake, but he'd already read through them in detail with Suzuki a day or two before.)

Other than a 'hmm' here and there, Inko didn't make any comments until they were through the entire stack, which took about an hour. (Although she did stop to tell Toshinori to make himself at home, when she realized he might be thirsty or something.) It was a very quiet hour, and it would have been unnerving for Toshinori if he hadn't still had Izuku latched onto him, feeding him wisps of emotion as he read.

Once they'd gone through the whole stack, Inko started over from the beginning, and began to point out little details here and there and ask questions.

“I think most of it is reasonable enough,” she said. “We're not entitled to any of your income or royalties; that's fine. And we can't talk to the media about you. I'm alright with that. Izuku?”

Izuku nodded. “That's okay. I wasn't going to.”

“But this part here--” She pointed at it. “--says we're not allowed to tell anyone about the situation at all unless we have express written permission. That seems sort of... broad.”

Toshinori looked at the passage that Inko had indicated. “Uh, right. I told Suzuki I didn't think it was necessary, but he claims it's a safety precaution.”

“For you,” Inko said, and she did sound accusatory, but not overly much. “What happens if we break the contract? Suing us won't get you very much.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Toshinori tried to say, but Inko continued on.

“What if we need to tell someone and you're not around to give us permission? Like, Izuku's doctors? It just seems unreasonable. Dangerous, even. I get that you want to protect your status, but--”

Toshinori could feel Izuku begin to speak before he could hear the sound. “It's fine, mom,” he said. “It's not just for him. It's to protect us too. Remember that story a couple years ago? There was that lady who was kidnapped by villains because they thought they could use her to get to her husband?”

Inko pursed her lips, a slightly sour face. She clearly remembered the story, and how the woman had been tortured just to hurt her husband. Toshinori remembered it too; it had made him sick. It would have made anyone sick, especially anyone who was close to their soulmate.

“That's probably what Mr. Suzuki was thinking of,” Izuku added softly, and Toshinori could tell that he didn't quite believe in Suzuki's altruism (hard for him to, when he could feel Toshinori's own skepticism about the man), but that he did still believe the reasoning was fair.

A bit subdued, Inko nodded. “Well of course we won't go around telling everyone. I... just think it's a little silly to have to get it in writing like this.”

“You're right,” Toshinori said, shaking his head. “Leave that one, then. I'll get Suzuki to take it out.”

It went like that for another hour or so, Inko pointing out things she wasn't sure about and Toshinori mostly telling her to just cross them out, because honestly, Suzuki was going to be pissed, but who cared? There was no one in the world who mattered more right now than Izuku, and that necessarily made his mother pretty important too. Toshinori would do whatever it took to make them comfortable, and his manager could just deal with it.

By the time they were done, they'd tossed out about half of the papers and scratched through parts of most of the rest of them, and were left with a reasonable list of promises that read roughly like this:

The Midoriyas could not talk to the media about All Might, and they couldn't knowingly do anything that would jeopardize his career, and Izuku couldn't act in any way that would hinder All Might's ability to do his job as a hero. That was pretty much it, though the basic meaning was hidden in so many superfluous details that it had their heads spinning.

As for Toshinori, he would not infringe upon the Midoriyas' anonymity, or use his status to coerce or extort them in any way, and he would be responsible for any financial issues that resulted from their connection (including, but not limited to, doctor's bills and lawyer's fees).

Honestly though, they all knew that these were pretty moot points. If Izuku or his family broke any of these rules, there was really nothing that All Might's lawyers could do about it. And if All Might failed to uphold his end of the bargain, the Midoriyas could take him to court for it, but it would be inviting far more trouble than it was worth.

More than anything, though, they trusted each other enough for this whole paper-signing situation to be mostly just laughable. Getting the papers to Suzuki was not a high priority (well, he might have thought so, but he was a failure of a manager if he actually expected such a quick turnaround, after all these years), so Toshinori didn’t hurry off, instead offering to take the two out for lunch. “Oh, thank you, Toshinori,” Inko said sweetly, “but I’ve got some work to finish up. Why don’t you two go out and take advantage of the nice day?” At his elbow, Toshinori could feel Izuku’s slight surprise echoing against his own. Although Inko had only been supportive so far, they still couldn’t help expecting that she was going to try to keep them apart-- though maybe they were just projecting their reasonable fears about society onto the only other person who knew just yet. But whether or not she might be more strict about them seeing each other in the future, she seemed fine with it just now, and they were grateful. “Thanks,” Izuku told her with a sunny grin, while Toshinori nodded in agreement. “Want us to bring you anything?” Inko shook her head. “Just be back before it’s late! And stay safe!” They promised they’d be careful (in every possible way), and left the apartment together, walking close by but with their hands in their respective pockets-- the safest place for them, when they would have wandered if left to their own devices, gravitated naturally toward each other and the fulfilling feeling they provided. “So what did you think of the papers?” Toshinori asked, a relevant icebreaker to start conversation once they were on their way. “I hope they didn’t seem too strict.” Izuku grinned, and drifted close enough to bump their arms together. “They seemed fine,” he said, apparently unbothered by them. “Honestly, I’d sign whatever I had to. It’s already crazy that I even got to meet you. So, whatever I have to do now… I’ll do it.” That smile was an absolute slice of sunshine, and if Toshinori wasn’t warm just by their proximity, it would have done the job.

They wandered for some time, down towards the city center where they might find something for lunch (maybe something other than ramen, so they could expand the list of foods they knew they both liked), chatting a little. The topics were never anything consequential; Toshinori thought Izuku was still a little nervous around him and wasn’t sure what to say. He understood the feeling, even without a physical link, rather feeling that way himself. But Izuku also had the natural anxiousness of the young and quirkless (he remembered feeling that way), so Toshinori tried to guide the conversation in comfortable directions. Heroes were always a safe topic, and one with no end of iterations. They’d walked a few casual miles, keeping their attention slightly on their surroundings in case a good restaurant caught their eye, and were in the middle of discussing Kamui Woods when something else caught their attention. In the distance a block or so, there was a crowd gathered, their exclamations and worried murmurs rising to a concerning pitch just as an explosion shook the area. Many of the citizens shrieked and ran for cover, but plenty of them were still huddled around in a nervous fashion, like people observing either a train wreck or a predator from which prey could have no hope of escaping. Toshinori became aware of Izuku latching on to his arm more than he strictly felt it, the young man’s concern bleeding over into him and mixing with his own. He could feel Izuku’s natural empathy coming strong through the connection, something he’d only glimpsed the times before. There was something happening nearby, something that frightened and worried everyone; should he help? What could he even do? Should he stay out of the way? After all, they’d only just found each other, and to lose Toshinori now would be devastating; to be found out might be even worse! Izuku would hate himself if he ruined All Might’s career by causing a scandal, but he couldn’t just sit back if someone was in danger and, ahh, if only he had powers, if only he could do more than cling and be a burden to his soulmate and-- Oh, Toshinori thought. These were not his fears; they were Izuku’s. It was Izuku’s desire to help whoever might be in trouble, his desire and his desire and that was right, he wanted to help too. Of course he did. He was a hero, wasn’t he? There was only so worried he could be for his own safety and his reputation and Izuku shouldn’t worry either because it would be okay and I am here and it was amazing-- he really was the right one for him. The perfect soulmate, and maybe something more, but that was something he could think of later. The screams were louder now, and the worried murmurs too, and as an explosion shook the windows of a building half a block down they agreed they couldn’t turn away, not when there was a chance they could do something, anything. Even if there was no power left, it was still his duty, and he didn’t have to do this but yes he did. “You’re at your limit?” Izuku asked, glancing up at him through his fluffy bangs, concern bleeding out of him through more than just their physical connection. It couldn’t have been much more than a guess, but from his expression Toshinori could see that Izuku somehow knew it, like an intuition.

He nodded. “Essentially,” he replied. He wasn’t sure how to explain it in detail, but hoped a more nuanced understanding of it would flow through their bond. “I always have a reserve amount, but it’s… not much.” Izuku seemed to get it. “Maybe we can just… go see, if there’s something we can do.” That seemed fair; that seemed like the least they could do. Maybe there was something, some way to help. Inspired by each other, they jogged over to the scene and the crowd surrounding whatever trainwreck was keeping their attention so strongly. Toshinori froze down to his veins when they saw what was the cause of the commotion. It was a mutant; the same mutant he was sure he’d captured just the other day. Yes, he’d been distracted by Izuku’s presence, but he distinctly remembered turning the water bottle full of sludge over to the police before absconding with his new soulmate up to the rooftop. Izuku’s arm brushed Toshinori’s as he stepped closer in a subconscious bid at safety. How had the mutant escaped? Was it perhaps a different man after all? A twin, or someone with the same quirk? Had Izuku done something wrong? Distracted All Might from his task and caused the villain to escape? Was it the police’s fault? He glanced down at Izuku, who glanced up at him, and Toshinori shook his head. It’s not your fault, he said wordlessly, or Don’t worry about all that. And Izuku nodded, back on track after a momentary lapse of focus. How and why the mutant was here was of little concern. They both turned back to the scene at hand. “Okay, stand back and I’ll try to handle this,” Toshinori said, looking down at Izuku in a way he hoped was reassuring, and knowing anyway that he didn’t have to; Izuku could feel his determination, and every little ounce of worry that things might not go as planned. It was a nuance that Toshinori had learned to deal with in his life, and it was something Izuku was going to have to deal with as well. (Though given the boy’s penchant for overthinking, perhaps it wouldn’t be that much of a trial after all.) “Do you have enough energy?” Izuku asked nervously, obviously not wanting… well, all the things that could go wrong if Toshinori ran out at the wrong time. Toshinori laughed in soft self-depreciation. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’ll do what I can. That’s what it means to be a hero, right?” With Izuku’s arm still brushing his, he could feel the boy’s admiration, and it doubled in him and gave rise to a heroic rush he didn’t think he’d felt for years. Still, he waited for the right moment. That was another thing about being a hero; you couldn’t rush in blindly (not with his level of experience, anyway). He watched as the mutant swung his head around, like a cornered animal watching viciously for its enemies, and he could just about guess when it was going to let its guard down. Almost… he thought, his muscles tensing in anticipation. But just as he was about to spring forward, he felt a twinge of panic from Izuku’s side of the connection. It was a spike of recognition. Kacchan!

The roughest of drafts:

Izuku freaks out and runs to try to rescue him and they're all surprised when he actually manages to do some slight damage to the mutant; it's not enough to defeat him, but enough to stun him into dropping Bakugo, at which point Toshi transforms and rushes to finish him off. Tl;dr, turns out that a very tiny amount of Toshi’s power has become available to Izuku. (Make some note of the pain aspect, Toshi feeling Izuku’s pain from using OfA.)

Afterward, when Toshi is talking to reporters (and Izuku has managed to avoid at least a little of the reprimanding from canon, due to appearing to have some power) Izuku can feel the discomfort, Toshi’s power draining. Perhaps he plays the fan, comes to shake his hand as thanks for saving him and they're both a little surprised that it eases the discomfort, seems to give Toshi back a little strength. Izuku had just done it as an instinct, but in light of what had just happened with the power sharing, they're both very curious how this whole soulmate thing is going to work.

Toshi excuses himself from the crowd before too long and goes to find Izuku. He finds him being confronted by Bakugo, who knows that something is strange but doesn't know what (and is upset like in canon about Izuku trying to help him). Toshi tries to stay out of sight until Bakugo runs off, feeling that Izuku is confident enough in his ability to handle this. When they rejoin, Izuku explains who Bakugo is.

“[But enough about that.] Are you okay?”

They join hands. Toshi can feel that Izuku is fine but still he says, “It's you I'm concerned about. Do you know what you did back there?”

“That was your quirk,” he said, and Toshi nodded.

“Some of it, at least. Is your arm okay?”

Izuku stretched his arm out, wiggling his fingers. “It aches a little, but I'm okay. I'm just… I've never done anything like that before. It felt… kind of amazing.”

Toshi could tell that it was a little more than an ache, but that Izuku wasn't lying. It really wasn't hurting him much, and he was really feeling exhilarated. He remembered feeling like that when he first took the quirk himself.

Izuku’s side of the connection was curious and Toshi realized he could feel him thinking about his past. He debated with himself for a minute. Was this the right time to tell Izuku about his past? He would have to tell him some time, and there was no reason to wait. “I felt the same way the first time I used it,” he said. “When my mentor gave it to me. I was about your age.”

The feeling of surprise that Izuku emanated was not as much of a shock as he expected, more of a warm melting feeling, a soft realization. “You were ...quirkless? Someone gave you your quirk? But how?”

Toshi tells the story as they head back to the apartment, but they take a detour to sit somewhere and finish talking. (Way before this, Izuku texts his mom to tell her what happened and that they're fine and they'll be home in a while.) It's gotten dark by the time Toshi has finished telling of Nana and AfO and needing to pass OfA on, and they're sitting on a bench in a corner of a park or something.

“It was just an idea before,” Toshi says, “but now I'm pretty sure it's the right one. Would you be willing to take it? One for All?”

The surprise this time really is a shock, and it nearly knocks the breath out of him. “...Really?”

“You can tell I'm serious,” Toshi says with a smirk, and then he nods. “Yes. Really. It's the only thing that makes sense.”

He thinks of the reasons: he needs to pass it on, and Izuku wants a quirk, needs one to get into UA. And he's defenseless without one, a real danger with them together now. And he's already shown that he can handle it, at least a little.

“Should I think about it?” Izuku asks, looking unsure. He's probably thinking about all the things they talked about with his mother earlier, trying to be careful. But Toshi can tell he really wants it, and that's enough for him.

“If you want,” he says. “Take your time.” He knows that Izuku will say yes. (He's less sure if Inko will agree, but he knows that between the two of them, they can convince her.)

He can feel Izuku trembling, and it's with excitement he thinks. “Thank you,” Izuku says, almost breathlessly, and he leans forward and kisses Toshi, softly and quickly, and then looks him in the eyes for a short moment, twists his body in his direction more and leans in for another kiss. This one is a little deeper, lingering, not obscene but less than entirely chaste and Toshi can feel so so much through it, especially as he allows himself to kiss back. They don't take it far; Toshi can feel that Izuku knows there are boundaries, though Toshi is nervous about himself, unsure if he would be able to keep himself from crossing them, to stop when it was time. He's a bit anxious, but he's glad Izuku is reasonable, and he's excited and he's happy and they're melting into each other even though they've stopped kissing and it is finally Izuku who speaks up to interrupt them getting stuck in their twofold thoughts.

“I should get home. I have to tell my mom about all this. Am I… Can I tell her? About OfA?”

Toshi nods. “It's a big part of all of this. I guess she should know. And that'll give you a chance to talk it over with her. Decide if you want it.”

‘I do want it,’ he could tell Izuku was thinking, although maybe not in so many words. Izuku was trying to be patient and make smart decisions. He was doing his best to be worthy of being Toshi’s soulmate, and Toshi was overcome with affection for him. He hugged him close, and even more than the kissing, that was the most they'd ever felt, the most contact they'd ever made. It was less electric than kissing, but like an overblown, overexposed photo. They stayed there like that for a little while before they silently agreed to get up and go back.

The end of chapter 3, more or less.

Chapter four.

Izuku took a week to act like he was thinking about it, but in truth he'd decided almost immediately, and convinced his mom that it was a good idea (or that she should let him do it at least) on that first night, after Toshi had walked him home and said goodbye.

“Izuku! I saw on the news about that mutant attack! You're really alright? And Toshinori, and Katsuki?”

“We're fine mom! Toshinori saved us. But…” A pause. “With dad, have you ever… accidentally used his quirk before?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking a little worried. “I can feel when he's using it, but i've never breathed fire myself.”

Yeah, it wasn't anything he'd ever heard of before. Maybe it was because most people's quirks weren't that strong. Maybe it was because he was quirkless. Maybe… well there were a lot of reasons it could be. It didn't matter that much why; it had happened, and they'd both felt it.

“I used it. All Might’s power. Just a little bit of it.”

“Are you okay?”

He said he was fine, he thought, but Inko was skeptical. She remembered some times when he was younger, when he thought an injury was less serious than it was. She convinced him to go to the doctor tomorrow and he agreed, dismissively as he was so invested in telling her about Toshinori’s offer. She's a bit nervous about the idea but it doesn't take long for her to give in.

At the doctor's tomorrow (maybe only mentioned, not a scene) it turns out that Izuku did in fact fracture a bone in his arm. (Is a cast needed for that? Probably not.)

Later that afternoon, Toshinori texted him and asked if he was okay; his arm felt a little off. Izuku responds casually that it was just a fracture and he's fine, and Toshi fusses over him a little, apologizes for putting him in that situation. Izuku really is not bothered by it. Toshi doesn't ask if Izuku has decided and Izuku wonders if he's changed his mind. A week later, he says that he's decided to take OfA, if he's still offering it, and Toshi says that he'd be happy to give it to him, if he's really sure. But! There's no way Izuku is going to be able to handle it in his current state. They begin to train (though not until Izuku’s fracture heals). In the meantime, Izuku continues school, and Toshi continues work, and they see each roughly every weekend. Sometimes they'll meet out for lunch or sometimes Inko invites Toshi over for dinner.

(Cover some catch up. Mention Suzuki being annoyed about the edits to the paperwork etc)

It's a few weeks before they start to train, but of course it's much less covert than in canon. Inko knows exactly where they're going; Toshi has discussed it with them over dinners and such. He doesn't tell them that his plan is for Izuku to clean up the trash on the beach until they get there though.

The next several months are a more efficient training than canon. After Toshi is pretty sure Izuku has grown strong enough, they try the power-share again, and Izuku is able to start using the very tiny percentage of OfA, sometimes. It works if he's recently been in physical contact with Toshi, and fades after a minute or two. It's not enough to do anything very heroic, but it is a significant boost to Izuku’s natural strength, allowing him to move items several times his normal weight limit.

(They also find that Izuku can actually use a version of OfA that is more than twice as powerful as his tiny version, only if Toshi is currently in contact with him. However, Izuku hurt himself the first time they did that, so they avoid it until much later.)

They still don't have a perfect grasp on Izuku’s ability to handle it by the time they transfer it to him, but it's better than canon, and they do it earlier so he has more chance to practice. He has at least some ability to use it at half-power before the entrance exam (chapter 5). The only reason he hurts himself so badly there is because he freaked out and wasn't careful.

Training is pretty fun for them. It's more like play than in canon, with Izuku showing off, carrying Toshi around, silly stuff like that. He's moderately less concerned about being a hero, mostly because Toshi is so constantly encouraging so he doesn't worry about it. And he knows that even if he doesn't make it somehow, he's still got Toshi and nothing can take that away.

Aside from training, they still spend a good amount of time together. Events and holidays and such. Izuku meets Suzuki. Toshi invites Izuku (and probably Inko) to his place once or twice, though they still spend most of their time out or at the Midoriyas’ apartment. Inko politely requests that they not stay at Toshi’s place. (She isn't /too concerned, but she just wants them to know that she has some kind of expectations about how they'll handle their relationship. She half expects Izuku to go behind her back in some of those regards.)

Izuku has his 15th birthday not long after they start training (might have to look this one up) or thereabouts. He has mixed emotions about this, and about inviting Toshi to his ‘party’ (probably just a fancy-ish dinner with his mother (maybe dad too?) Since he doesn't have any friends). He wants Toshi there, of course, but he's somewhat embarrassed about still being only 15, and doesn't want to draw attention to it. On the other hand, he's also excited to be getting older, closer and closer to the age that it would be appropriate for he and Toshi to act however they liked. (This birthday scene goes in early middle of chapter.)

More holidays: Christmas, new years, Valentine's day. Maybe just slight mentions of those.

Chapter ends when Toshi wishes Izuku luck at the entrance exam. He kisses him and Izuku is a little shocked because Toshi is rarely if ever the one to initiate that sort of thing. He heads to the exam, excited and confident.

Chapter 5.

Toshi heads to UA (potentially along with Izuku), and goes to watch the exam with his fellow teachers. He's met them several times and they know about his injury and resting form, but only Nedzu knows that Izuku is his soul mate. Most of the others are familiar enough with him to know that he doesn't have one, and many assume that he's one of the few who will never have one.

When the exam starts though, they might be able to tell that he is on edge, excited but nervous. However, they are all focused as well. It's not until Izuku smashes the robot (and everyone is shocked) and Toshi reacts to the pain that they notice the connection between them. He's not incapacitated (like Izuku is) but he is distressed and in pain and having to deal with the commotion from the other teachers. (Choose one teacher to perhaps help him out.)

As soon as he's able, he goes to Izuku. (At some point he calls Inko to let her know what's happened, and she's worried and upset and he has to talk her down until she realizes that he's upset too.) In the infirmary, Izuku is knocked out, which Toshi already knew, could tell because the pain subsided very quickly. Chiyo looks up when he comes in, obviously connecting the dots.

“He made quite a mess of himself,” she tells him, pulling up a chair next to Izuku’s bed for him. She tells him the details of what Izuku broke. “But he'll recover.”

“Thank you,” Toshi says, reaching out to carefully run his hands over Izuku’s arm, laying his hand on the side of his face, thinking about if this was a good idea, etc.

Eventually, Izuku wakes up and they talk. A few people might come by in the meantime. Izuku is eventually clear to go home. Toshi takes him. Izuku asks if he passed, knowing that Toshi was there, and all Toshi can say is that he thought he did a good job, but he doesn't know for sure. (He later finds out that Izuku scored quite well, but refrains from telling him, letting Izuku get the letter from the school.)

He gets a phone call from Izuku after the letters have gone out, and he can feel a sense of excitement even before he picks up. Izuku is crying on the other end. “Why didn't you tell me I made it?!” But he is obviously extremely happy.

Out on patrol or something, Toshi can't stop grinning for the rest of the day. When someone asks him, he just says that he's excited for new opportunities.

Chapter 6

Izuku and Toshi both begin at UA. Izuku has already made friends with a few people from the exam, and of course he knows Bakugo. Bakugo is extra suspicious of him, confused about how he's got a quirk suddenly, and knowing that he's been acting strange the whole past year. He might even suspect that they're both related to izuku’s soul mate, considering the timing.

School is, of course, plenty for them to focus on, but izuku and Toshi are still very focused on each other as well. Toshi treats izuku much the same as in canon, inviting him for lunch and etc, “playing favorites”. But since the other teachers know they're soulmates (at least, some do?) they don't criticize him quite as much for it.

Toshi and izuku continue to progress in their relationship, lightly, balancing their personal and professional relationships. They act very casual around each other and have to be careful not to be too casual in front of the class.

Izuku makes friends, which is sort of new for him. He loves them and wants to be open with them about his situation, but he can't. He's thought about telling, but he knows he can't break the rules they set. It's harder when perhaps the rumor (true rumor? What do you call that?) goes around about how he was affected by the soul link pain when he was little. He can easily tell his friends that it's not bad anymore, but it's hard having to pretend he doesn't know who it is. (Also may have to decide about sub-pairings? Otherwise it will be very hard for any of the other students to talk about their experiences. If they had mates in the class (like most ships) they would likely find out very quickly.)

Most people won't immediately assume it's All Might, even if they spend a lot of time together.

Key point: they hone their energy sharing, as Toshi becomes a bit exhausted some days. Simply being in contact for a while (lunch or something) acts as a recharge for him. When the other staff figure this out, they're much more accepting of izuku hanging out in the staff lounge.

(Need to rewatch to see what the first few weeks are like.)

Maybe include some scenes with Inko.

Chapter 7

This is the USJ incident. Toshi gets caught up in work and is late to help at USJ, but less late than in canon because he feels/hears Izuku crying out for him. Don't have to describe most of the USJ events because it's from Toshi POV, but have to decide when he gets there and if it all goes more smoothly.

The way that Toshi and izuku act towards each other (calling by their first names, extreme familiarity and working together) is what starts to tip off some of the students, though it's not relevant at the time.

The encounter is a little easier this time, with the power-share (this is probably the first time they try it out seriously) and the desperation to save each other (and the others) echoing between them.

Any character who takes notice of their bond and quirk in canon is likely to notice the soul link instead.

After the incident, emotions are running high. This was the first time they were honestly scared of losing each other. They want to hold each other for a very long time. Perhaps they are seen by some of the students (who maybe chalk it up to generic relief over the situation, but would definitely file it away for later). Later, they still don't want to let each other go, and perhaps spend their first night together (not necessarily sexual or anything), Inko having not allowed them to do so before.

Emotional wrap-up; they're scared but calmed by each other's presence. They know they can handle the future together.

END? (of this particular story, probably) Brainstorming, notes, and ideas for further fics in the series

And the notes below: (my shorthand for the characters is IM = Izuku Midoriya, AM= All Might, IMmom = Inko (not shorthand in that case I know lol, I think I didn’t want people reading over my shoulder)) >>>"Touch" sequel

A lot of people actually expressed an interest in this, so let me jot down my ideas-- as well as their ideas.

AM and IM have met, and now keep in touch. How has this changed their lives? Well now whenever they feel a strange pain, they'll call or text each other to make sure they're okay. They're both aware of what their relationship would be, if IM was older, and so is his mom, and so is pretty much everyone else that knows. In fact, most people assume that they're 'together' anyway, and it causes some tension. They try to keep it mostly under wraps, but it's nearly impossible. IM's friends and classmates are sure to notice, and AM's manager thinks maybe they should just come out with it. For their part, IM and AM just want to enjoy each others' presence and keep their moral concerns personal. IM is of course more brave (between the two of them), while AM knows he's 'supposed' to refrain. In public, they're both very good about it.

Some time in the future, after they've really adjusted to each other, and the drama (at least from their friends and family) has died down, they take to being heroes together, as they at some point realize how much more receptive they are when they're together/touching.

Questions! :

--Does IM still get OfA? (I'm leaning towards yes? Most of the rest of the story wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t.)

--How do friends/family react? Some people are jealous? BK particularly? IMmom is as supportive as possible, but she still worries for IM. As time goes on, if IM get OfA, she worries for AM too. (What about AM's cop friend?? I dunno, haven't thought about him much.)

--How do media/people react? Manager wants to tell, because he knows people will find out and it's better to come out with it before they do. But AMIM want to stay private. Perhaps at the tournament, it is no longer possible to avoid media attention. Someone notices AM's discomfort when IM fights TS, notices IM look to the stands for AM before doing something reckless. When they find out, it's all anyone wants to talk about. AM's thin form becomes very useful for avoiding the media.

--Perhaps around then, IM is kidnapped to be used against AM?

--When things are calm, AMIM often text each other just to talk-- sometimes in the night. "I miss you" IM texts. "Is that what you were thinking of?" AM asks, aware that IM is awake and wound up, and winding him up too. This is before they've really worked out how things are supposed to go between them. IM is bold; AM is holding himself back.

-- IM goes to UA, begins to use quirk. -- AMIM work harder at managing IM’s abilities than in canon, because its effects are more obvious on them. -- AM starts at UA as a teacher; AMIM have to hide their link. IM has not told anyone. AM had to tell the staff. -- When the villains attack, AM gets there sooner, as he’s tipped off by their link. Things happen about the same. -- (Should I bother to include that part if nothing is significantly different? Leaning towards no. Maybe just touch on it.) -- At the tournament, that’s when people take notice of AMIM’s link. (IM’s friends have already begun to notice.) -- After that, it’s all anybody wants to talk about. AMIM are in the spotlight, though UA tries to protect them. -- The media begins to gossip about them, some piecing the puzzle together about their quirks. Some guess that IM is AM’s son (and has inherited his quirk). (It’s not unheard of for family to be platonic soulmates.) -- Manager makes them come out with an official statement finally, despite their reluctance. -- IM receives many invitations to intern with heroes. For safety’s sake, they turn them all down, except Torino. -- IM goes to train with Torino, covertly, while AM stays behind to deal with the PR mess. -- Things happen about as usual. Maybe only touch on this part as well? Not super relevant to the AU. -- IM thinks about AM during the fight with HK, and AM wants to get to him, knowing something is wrong, but knows he won’t make it in time. (Remember, “Touch” was 3rd person limited-omniscient. POV can be from IM, AM, and other relevant characters.) -- Would AM be allowed to test IM during the midterms? Maybe gloss over that part. Especially towards the end of Season 2, go more vaguely into the ending, to avoid making it obvious that you have no idea what happens after that. XD; Isolate the emotional core of the story (the emotional drama or problem) to solve in the final scenes, even if it avoids canon entirely. That’s preferable, in fact. Points to write, unrelated to canon occurrences: : -- AMIM want to spend a lot of time together, but they must balance their responsibilities. IMmom is pretty understanding and allows them a lot of freedom. -- Manager (needs name) is less understanding, hounds them to release a press statement. -- Most of their time together is spent in private or secluded places. Obvs, they frequent the beach for training. -- They often text and talk to each other on the phone, nightly if they haven’t seen each other. -- AM is still struggling a little bit with the fact that IM is so young, but he’s impressed by IM’s emotional maturity. -- IM is over the moon about AM, not enduring nearly the moral struggle AM is. He’s not an idiot, and he’s not oblivious, but he doesn’t think that there’s anything particularly wrong with them messing around a little. He’s considerate enough not to wind AM up when he’s busy or they’re in public, although sometimes he can’t help how he feels. (Being ‘turned on’ isn’t really strong enough of a feeling to cross the link; only acting on it is.) -- For his part, AM (at first, at least) tries not to touch himself, or at least only when he thinks IM is sleeping. Eventually they come to the conclusion that that’s not working out well-- and the most logical way to handle it, so as not to inconvenience either of them, is to go at the same time/ at set times. -- That is the most AM allows them to do (hugging/cuddling is totally fine, limited kissing is okay), and even that seems like too much to him, but he compromises with himself because he knows it would be worse if he didn’t. (It’s not as if he’s going to convince a 16-year-old to stop touching himself for 2+ years, and though his own urges are less frequent, it’s been uncomfortable trying to hold back entirely.) He doesn’t allow them to touch each other, and IM is actually pretty okay with this. Well, he respects it, at least. He’s just happy to have AM in whatever capacity he can. Some notes regarding the universe: -- laws regarding consent ages are a bit more lax, given the soulmate thing. AMIM would be more-or-less within their right to do whatever they want with each other, as long as IMmom is okay with it. And even if she weren’t, they could apply to be married, even at IM’s young age, by passing a test that proves they’re soulmates.(I don't think they'll do this. Manager would have a heart attack. ...then again, maybe he'd like the idea…) -- however, there is still certainly a stigma about age-difference relationships, particularly where one party is underage.

Story 1 plot points to mention our resolve:

-- telling IM that his mom already knew

-- AM coming to terms with IM being a fan

-- AM telling IM his real name

-- AM telling manager about IM immediately. (Might be a good point to start with.)

To time skip or not to time skip? I'm leaning towards not. New outline, after I've written a bit.

1. AM talks to manager, Suzuki, and tells him about the whole situation, almost entirely honest. They decide to keep it a secret until AM has a successor. (AM POV)

2. AMIM go on a date, where they talk about both applying to UA. IM wonders what AM is not telling him. They hold hands. AM brings up the paperwork Suzuki wants them to sign, and IM agrees. (IM POV)

3. AM sees something that convinces him to offer OFA to IM. (AM POV)

4. IM begins to train for OfA. (IM POV)

5. IM goes to UA entrance exam. (AM POV)

6. They begin at UA, and try to figure out how to act around each other, after they've had so much private time over the past months. (IM POV)

7. The villains attack UA, AMIM touch-team to beat them, and people start to really put their relationship together. (AM POV)

END S1. Ugh how did this get so long that I have to separate it by season?!

Touch2 titles:

Some related words: Touch, feel, sense, sensation, emotion, Touch, touched, touching, touches, touchstone, touch-tone, aftertouch, finishing touch, retouch, out of touch, in touch, untouched, Touched can mean: physically touched (he touched my arm), lightly mentioned (he touched upon the issue), emotionally moved (he was touched by the story), brought together metaphorically (their lives touched), affected (his life was touched by his decisions) Touch, taste, smell, see, hear

Leaning towards using other ‘touch’ words for different parts of overall story.

Touch - original story

Retouch(ed) - this story

Touch-up - maybe the next part

Finishing touch - the last story (though there might be another in between)

Untouchable - first nsfw side story, before izuku is of age, on the phone with each other, feeling the echoes of their actions.

Untouched - second nsfw side story, when izuku comes of age and they finally get together physically.

Aftertouch - epilogue (years in future, maybe, working together)

In touch - side stories taking place in the timeline of the story

Out of touch - side stories taking place before or after story, or from different character's point of view or about different characters.

Chapter quotes: Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.

-Edwin Hubbell Chapin (Chapter 1, Retouch) The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.

-Helen Keller The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him, a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.

-Pearl Buck Aim for your star, no matter how far, you must reach high above and touch your life with love, you must never look back, but charge on! Attack! See your goal your star of desire, see it red hot, feel it burning, you must be obsessed with it to make it your true yearning, be ready my friends for when you truly believe it, you will certainly achieve it and by all of God’s universal laws you will always receive it!

-Bob Smith We do not do well except when we know where the best is and when we are assured that we have touched it and hold its power within us. (lol god this one is awfully literal)

-Joseph Joubert If you can learn from hard knocks, you can also learn from soft touches.

-Carolyn Kenmore, Mannequin: My Life as a Model When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

-Henri Nouwen And that’s everything I’ve got about Touch/Retouch! I might clean up that third chapter and post it some day, but *shrug*.

#elo fics #Dekumight #long post

8 notes · View notes

flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

Love Is The Seventh Wave

McDanno, A03, 2400 words

Written for the H50 Writers Club Discord “Danny Deserves Better” challenge

“Are you serious?” she says, and all eyes in the writer’s room turn towards her. “That’s just cruel. And it makes no sense.”

“It’s dramatic, Lola.”

“Lilla,” she corrects, surprised that the douchebag even came close, given that he hasn’t spoken more than those three words to her since she started working for him a month ago. “Just hear me out. What if instead of having totally out of character bathroom sex with Joanna....”

*****

Danny’s sipping idly at his drink when he notices the woman sitting nearby. She’s pretty, her dark hair a contrast to her light silky blouse, and she’s about as out of place at this bar at ten o’clock in the morning as Danny is.

She looks up at him, and Danny cracks a smile. “You looking at me?”

The woman shakes her head. “The television’s behind you. And I desperately need a distraction.”

Same here, Danny thinks. “Well, if you’d rather have a live distraction than whatever’s on the news, I’m happy to oblige.”

The woman smiles and moves over to the seat next to him, bringing her coffee with her. “At this point I’m willing to try anything.”

“Buy you a drink? Wine, beer, scotch on the rocks?”

“Nah, I’m good. Not quite desperate enough to drink the hard stuff before noon.” She glances at Danny’s glass.

“Club soda,” he admits, and she grins.

“We’re practically twins.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Joanna.”

“Danny.” Her hand is soft, but her grip is firm and doesn’t linger. “It’s nice to meet you. So, what do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, anything but my love life.”

A laugh bursts out of Danny. “Get right to the point, do you?”

“No sense wasting time. For all I know, you’re a reporter doing a story on bars that open before noon and you’ll have to dash off to the next one any minute now.”

“No chance. I’m a detective, actually. But I’m taking a personal day.”

She gives him an appraising look. “A cop? But you seem so nice.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.”

“So,” Joanna says, “why a personal day?”

Danny takes a moment wondering how to answer this – he’s not really sure himself – when his phone rings. It’s Steve, of course, and the fact that hearing his voice makes his whole body light up just adds fuel to the giant dumpster fire that is his life. He hangs up after a few minutes and turns back to Joanna.

“Who was that?”

“My partner.”

Joanna looks at him appraisingly, and then nods. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those.”

“You’re a cop too?”

She snorts. “Um, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m a lawyer, actually.”

Danny’s confused. “So you have, what, law partners?”

Joanna takes a packet of sugar and adds it to the fresh coffee the bartender has set down in front of her. “You’re a little oblivious, aren’t you?”

It’s said with such amusement that Danny isn’t mad, and he’s happy to play along. “Oblivious about what?”

Joanna sighs and takes a careful sip of her drink, then stirs it some more. “You’re telling me that guy you just spoke to is your work partner?”

“Yes, who else would he be?” Danny has his own answer for this, but it’s a fantasy he hasn’t entertained in, oh, at least an hour or so.

Joanna shrugs noncommittally.

They slip into a more or less comfortable silence, and Danny contemplates his club soda. It’s just as boring as it was when he started it. He’s not even sure why he’s here, at a random bar on the north shore. When he woke up this morning, knowing he had a day free to do anything he wanted, a day off from work and all of its headaches, the first thing he thought of was checking the weather report to see what the waves would be like – because surfing with Steve is one of his favorite things to do to de-stress. But then he realized that Steve didn’t have the day off too, and it all seemed pointless.

A day without obligations is hard to come by for a single working dad, and Danny knows in theory he should be enjoying it. But he’s not.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

Danny is drawn out of his thoughts by Joanna’s comment. “No, you’re fine, it’s not you.”

Joanna leans back a little and runs a hand through her hair. “Want to know what I’m doing here?”

Danny takes in her flattering outfit, her carefully done make-up. “Waiting for a client meeting?”

She laughs. “Nope. One with my partner.”

“Your law partner,” Danny clarifies.

Joanna laughs again. “Yes. Except that’s the problem.”

“What’s the problem?”

Joanna takes a deep breath. “The truth is, I’d like it if my law partner were a little more than that.”

Danny feels a rush of shame, and looks quickly around the bar – still empty, except for the bartender. “Is this some kind of joke?”

She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “Relax. I’m really not pulling your chain. I’m telling the god’s honest truth.” She takes her hand back and swipes at her phone. “Here, see? We go out for drinks every Thursday night, everyone in the office. Thirsty Thursday kind of thing. Last night went on a little longer than usual, since we just got some really good news on a case.”

Joanna shows him a photograph of a tall, blond woman with her arm around Joanna, both of them in business suits and holding glasses of champagne. Several other people are crowded around them. All of them are making happy faces at the camera, except for Joanna, who has eyes only for the woman at her side.

“Oh,” says Danny.

“Yeah,” says Joanna. “And I’m pretty sure Jasper – he took the picture – sent it and about twenty other equally embarrassing ones to everyone who was there, including my partner.”

“Is that good or bad?” Danny asks.

“I’m not sure. But I’m going to find out.”

“What do you mean?”

Joanna taps her fingers on the bar, clearly a little nervous. “Okay, you’re probably going to thing I’m nuts. I went for my usual run this morning, through my neighborhood and down to the beach. It’s the same route I’ve run hundreds of times, and there isn’t much beach there, just some scrubby trees by the water’s edge, but you know any bit of beach is beautiful here, so it’s all good. And this morning, for the first time ever, I saw a honu on that little beach.

“A turtle?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen one there before, but today there was a honu right there, a really big one.”

“Okay…”

“Honu are a symbol of good luck, right? I’ve realized that if I don’t say something to my partner soon, I’m going to lose my mind, or have to quit my job, or both – and once I saw that honu, I knew I could tell her how I feel. I’m going to do it today.”

“Wow,” Danny said, feeling buoyed by Joanna’s excitement. “You really are?”

“I really am.” Joanna stands up from her chair and straightens her skirt. “I finally realized it’s too important to keep hiding from. The way I feel about her… I think I love her, you know? And I can’t believe I’m telling you all this, maybe it’s easier because I don’t know you…”

“No, I get it,” Danny says, and he does. Sitting in this random, sunny bar, with a woman he’s never met before, with no preconceived assumptions, no rules or requirements, Danny suddenly feels like he’s opening up, too.

“I just don’t want to let a chance for love pass me by, not any more,” Joanna continues. “Not if we could really be something, and I think maybe we can. So I asked her to meet me at one of our favorite restaurants for lunch, in Haleiwa. Away from the office, somewhere private… and I better go, I don’t want to be late.”

“Of course not,” Danny says, standing too.

Joanna regards him for a long moment, and Danny squirms a little. “I think today is your lucky day, too,” Joanna says.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you met me,” Joanna says, grinning as she leaves. Danny thinks she’s right.

****

Joanna’s excitement is infectious, and Danny feels himself standing a little straighter as he leaves the bar. Maybe her plan would work for him, too. He hasn’t wanted to say anything to Steve for all the obvious reasons – he doesn’t know if Steve feels the same way despite how close they are, he’s never heard Steve express any interest in men at all, and he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship. But this constant pining is wearing away at him, and he isn’t getting any younger. What if he waits another ten years and then it turns out Steve was up for something more after all – what a waste that would be. Or what if he doesn’t have ten years to make up his mind – what if Steve’s conversation with Eddie’s veterinarian this morning turns into asking her out for a date, and they hit it off and live happily ever after?

There are millions of ways that Danny can miss his chance with Steve, and only one way to find out if he’s still got one.

Danny makes a few stops on his way back to Steve’s place. He texts Tani a few times to keep tabs on the team and make sure he knows when Steve’s heading home. He’s got a caprese salad drizzled with balsamic vinegar on the table and wine opened and breathing on the counter when he hears the front door open.

Steve appears in the doorway to the kitchen, and Danny’s jaw falls open. Steve’s wearing a dark gray button-up shirt, collar open at the neck, and black slacks that hug his ass like his cargoes never quite manage. He even looks freshly shaved.

“Hey, Danno,” Steve says, voice low, and Danny shivers. He takes a step towards Steve but somehow trips over his own feet and the carving knife in his hand goes flying to the ground.

Steve sucks in a breath, and they both stare at the knife, stuck in the floorboards about an inch away from Danny’s bare right toe. “Huh,” says Steve. “Lucky.”

Danny sucks in a breath and shakes his head, trying to grab on to anything at all that makes sense. “Why’re you dressed up?” he finally comes up with, which isn’t particularly witty but is somewhat better than oh my fucking god what is going on here, which is a close second.

Steve smirks. “I’ve got a date.”

Danny’s heart sinks. He’s too late, he’s just one goddamn day too late, this is his life every single time. He was a fool for thinking otherwise.

“With that vet?”

Steve looks determined. “No, not with the vet.” Steve crouches down at his feet and retrieves the knife, then places it in the sink. He’s right up in Danny’s space. “You look nice too,” Steve says, and at first Danny think’s it’s a non sequitur, but then he takes in Steve’s expression, that cocky confidence with an undercurrent of uncertainty, and the way Steve is lining up his own very nicely clad shoulder with Danny’s, and suddenly the clouds part and all is clear.

“Wait,” Danny says. “What do you think… How did you…?”

Steve’s face does something that seems to be a cross between a smirk and a hopeful grin. “Tani said you texted her a few times today.”

“So?”

“She said you were buying wine.”

Danny bites his lip. “Again, so?”

“You never buy wine, unless you’re cooking a fancy meal.”

“I buy wine all the time.”

“When was the last time?”

Danny has to think pretty hard about it, and that’s when he knows he’s losing this particular argument. He still has hope for winning the war, however, so he stops talking about wine.

“Can we go back to the part where you said you had a date? Because you’re not acting like you have a date.”

“No?” Steve asks. “How should I be acting?” Steve somehow moves even closer to Danny, tilting his head, waiting for Danny’s answer.

Danny can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he thinks he might be getting light headed.

“Come on, Danny,” Steve says, his breath puffing against Danny’s skin. “How should I be acting?”

Danny just blinks up at him, and then he’s saved from having to come up with an answer by Steve’s lips pressing against his own. Danny thinks he lets out something like a moan as his mouth opens under Steve’s, and he slides his hands up Steve’s back under his ridiculous shirt and pulls him close.

****

“You can’t possibly have known what I was going to do just from Tani telling you I was buying wine.”

Steve flops over onto his back. The sheet is pulled up just over his stupidly attractive hip bones, and Danny sneakily reaches out a finger to slide it back down again.

“Honestly, all I knew was that it seemed like you were getting ready for a date,” Steve says. “And it made me realize that I could lose my chance with you, anytime. You could meet someone, maybe even that woman you were talking to at the bar this morning, and it would be too late for us. So I changed into the spare clothes I keep at the office, and figured I’d give it my best shot.”

Danny pushes up on an elbow. “Have you eaten a radioactive spider lately? Drank some kind of serum?”

“No…”

“Because the mindreading shit is frankly disturbing… I literally – and I mean the actual meaning of literally, not the one the kids are using these days – I literally had that same thought today. That you’d finally get up the nerve to ask out that vet again, or fall in love while buying ammunition, or save some gorgeous lady’s pet parakeet from terrorists, and I’d lose my chance with you.”

Steve turns towards Danny, his face brimming with affection. “I guess today really was our lucky day, then.”

Danny grins into Steve’s kiss. He’s gonna send Joanna a fruit basket. And maybe give a great big donation to whatever organization looks out for the honu, because he owes them, too.

#McDanno #H50 #H50 fic #Steve McGarrett #Danny Williams

50 notes · View notes

jaguarpt2 · 3 years

Text

i was tagged by @spockinaa - thank youuuu 💖💖💖

rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 (ish) blogs you would like to know better.

name/nickname: melissa/mel gender: taylor swift singing ‘she is the best thing that’s ever been mine’ star sign: cancer height: 5′6 and a half time: 10 pm birthday: july 15 favorite bands: chloe x halle, destiny’s child, everyone behind the crown scores, mouth culture, nirvana, abba, paramore, little mix, boygenius, haim, the aces, twice, exo, red velvet, crazy ex girlfriend cast, julie and the phantoms counts favorite solo artists: taylor swift, ariana grande, beyonce, charli xcx, tove lo, sza, yola, pheobe bridgers, mitski, megan thee stallion, doja cat, kehlani, victoria monet, dua lipa, halsey, carly rae jepsen, zayn, iamdoechii, flo milli, troye sivan, rina sawayama, normani, snail mail, vérité, caroline polachek, hozier, marina, fiona apple, tinashe, kacey musgraves song stuck in my head: story of us by tinashe last movie: it was the old guard :*))) but my last new watch was young adult last show: i started call my agent a few days ago and i like it a lot ! the last show i finished was trust and oh my god ??? i liked it more than i thought i would (that goes for primo too) when did i create this blog: around 2016 (it’s not my first either lol) what do i post: uh pretty people pretty gifsets and random text posts last thing googled: henry golding because i forgot the name of one of his movies other blogs: @al-kaysani is my tog blog (god i love that url sm) do i get asks: from mutuals mostly why i chose my url: i love these two women so very much !!!!! following: a little over 500 followers: not enough for hate anons thank god (but not enough for crush anons 😔) average hours of sleep: around seven? lucky number: 3 instruments: trying to learn guitar and piano but i played recorder (like any elementary schooler in 2009) and saxaphone for two years what am i wearing: blue jeans and a yellow sweater (my arthur fit) dream job: political analyst ?? possibly lawyer ?? creative of some sort ?? idk this question caught me at a bad time dream trip: florence, italy favorite food: my family makes this food close to eggplant lasagna - individually fried eggplant slices with ground beef and tomatoes and a ridiculous amount of oregano, topped with cheese, baked and served on top of white rice with more cheese. it’s an amazing (if greasy) mess and we only eat it four times a year but i love it so much nationality: american (my family is congolese) favorite song: every few months i get obsessed with a new song off of tinashe’s songs for you and this time it’s touch & go ! last book read: the last book i finished was red, white and royal blue (which is to blame for me looking up law schools and getting lsat ads on youtube smh). i started the body by bill bryson today and i’ve also been reading bone by fae myenne ng for the past few weeks (usually i read one book at a time but i’ve been all over the place lately) top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: this is hard because there are plenty of fictional characters i’d love to meet but have no wish to suffer alongside. that said, 1) the old guard universe just so that i could meet the characters but at some point when everyone’s reunited and happy, 2) marvel universe but ONLY in asgard BEFORE ragnarok but valkyrie and bruce are there and 3) riverdale universe - idek what i’d do there i just want a front-row seat to all of that wonderful nonsense

tagging some people: @ditzy-daydreamer1 , @pureheroines , @invisiblesstring , @peterlosingwcndy , @miriammaisel , @moonlightandromache , @arisitions , @likeaheartbeat , @nicolodigenovas , @lgbtangel , @spacelabrathor , @mylover , @lizzie-mcguires and anyone else who wants to do this <333

#encyclopedia.#didn't really get on the 'gay legend primo' train like my other mutuals but he's fun ! fashion king ! if i walked down the same street #as him i would flee italy that same day but i respect him and his business ventures

9 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Summary: Here’s more of that former criminal Anakin as a single parent who dates Obi-Wan. This time featuring the rest of Obi-Wan’s family.

Read on AO3

Family meant everything to Dooku. It was the reason he supported Qui-Gon when his son decided to become a florist and take in the three terrors he called his children. Like any good grandparent, Dooku invested in Feemor’s little bookshop, quite pleased when the store became popular, paid the bail and defended Xanatos in court when he fell in with the wrong people and tolerated Obi-Wan dropping out of university to become a cop of all things, even if he had become the CPD’s star detective.

Dooku was patient and he loved his family, but it took all his willpower not to shut the door in Obi-Wan’s face when he saw who exactly his mystery boyfriend was.

But perhaps to understand why Dooku nearly screamed bloody murder when he saw seemingly innocent Anakin Lars standing in front of him, we need to start at the beginning, which would be the week before The Confrontation.

Qui-Gon, much to his family’s annoyance at times, insisted on monthly family dinners. They usually took place on the first Saturday of the month and every time they’d all meet up in one place, one person cooking for the rest of them. This time, it was Feemor’s turn. Now, Feemor owned a little bookshop in an alley right off the city’s main shopping district. He dealt in second-hand books and was quite favored by desperate and broke students. He, out of everyone, was also the only one who actually knew his youngest brother had a boyfriend because Obi-Wan had more or less stormed his shop to ask for appropriate children’s books for five-year-old twins. This particular conversation had ended with Feemor giving his younger brother a stack of books and catching a glimpse of his phone background displaying a smiling blond man with two laughing children thrown over his shoulders.

Then, a couple of weeks later, the aforementioned blond man walked into the shop, accompanying Obi-Wan. In Feemor’s opinion, Anakin Lars was a charming man and suited his brother well. He was happy for the two and due to that fact, was chosen to be the person to introduce the rest of their family to the Larses.

So, one week before the Confrontation, Feemor let it slip that Obi-Wan would be bringing guests with him. He told Xanatos first because for that he liked to act like a rebel and Dooku pretended to be the embodiment of high society, both were fairly similar when it came to their reactions.

Xanatos thought it was hilarious that Obi-Wan had a secret boyfriend like he was a high schooler and not a grown man in his thirties with a mortgage. The only reason he didn’t go bother Obi-Wan about it immediately was the fact that he knew for sure his younger brother wasn’t above blackmail. From Xanatos’s reaction, Feemor concluded that their grandfather would probably be alright.

Their father would be alright with it, probably start celebrating and begin planning a wedding. Feemor didn’t want a relationship and Xanatos wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted kids, but since Obi-Wan managed to score both at the same time, he was guaranteed to be the favorite child for yet another ten years. So Feemor decided to inform Qui-Gon and Dooku both, asking them to stick to the “no talk about work, the economy, politics and all things that usually end with us fighting” rule even more than usual and give Obi-Wan and his boyfriend some space and not bother them beforehand.

He only texted Obi-Wan back to ask whether Anakin and the twins had any food preferences or intolerances and assured him that everything would be alright.

Now, to return to the starting point: Dooku loved his family and he enjoyed his work, a reason he often fought with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was probably one of the few people working for the police who actually did it to help others. Dooku, on the other hand, was a lawyer who preferred handling difficult cases. Sometimes, that meant protecting people who definitely had committed the crime they’d been accused of.

Hence there being a rule forbidding talking about work.

Dooku had a large variety of criminals, one of them being the notorious mobster Grievous who had managed to escape a prison sentence again and again due to Dooku’s rhetoric skills, forcing Obi-Wan to apprehend him again and again. Currently, he actually was in jail because even Dooku couldn’t act like holding a gun to someone’s head wasn’t a serious or falsified threat. And maybe he was also a little too proud of Obi-Wan for arresting Grievous the last time.

Nevertheless, this pride was the reason Dooku did not run a background check on Anakin Lars. He trusted his grandson to be dating an upstanding citizen.

He did not expect to open the door to Darth Vader, holding nervously onto a bottle of wine while two excited children were blabbering and pushed fairly quickly past Dooku’s legs since they had spotted Feemor behind him.

Dooku, of course, knew about Darth Vader. Every high caliber lawyer dealing with organized crime actually knew of him. He’d been Sidious’s terror and then, five years ago, his greatest betrayer. The bounty on his head was unreasonably high and there were countless rumors about why Vader had blown Sidious’s operations wide open. He’d never appeared to be a person, merely as a shadow hiding behind the mask Sidious forced him to wear whenever he was acting as his enforcer.

Dooku, however, had actually seen Vader once without the mask. It had been almost ten years ago now, and only by accident. Dooku had been shocked then that Vader was only a teenager, nineteen at most, and he’d never forget staring at those bright while the kid told him to leave his cut off arm behind for a quicker get-away.

Normal people didn’t shrug off losing an arm, but Vader had.

It had been also the last time Dooku had allowed himself to get so close to Sidious. Dooku had been more than thankful Sidious had been put behind bars just a few years later.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for seeing Vader on the doorstep of grandson #1, and apparently dating grandson #3.

He felt like he deserved a medal for subtly hinting at Obi-Wan to go greet the rest of the family while he had some words with his boyfriend.

“Obi-Wan, go talk to your father.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Good evening to you too, grandfather. This is Anakin Lars, my boyfriend.”

“I know, now go, boy.”

Obi-Wan muttered an apology to his boyfriend, glared at Dooku, but for once in his life actually listened and went to collect Vader’s utterly adorable children. Vader tracked Obi-Wan’s movements with his eyes, then turned to Dooku.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What indeed.

#star wars #obikin #Anakin Skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #count dooku #fanfic #Tfw your grandson's boyfriend turns out to be a terrifying former criminal and you can't even call him out on it #because you worked for his adopted father and are the reason he lost an arm.#xanatos #feemor #qui gon jinn

65 notes · View notes

for-your-therapeutic-smile · 4 years

Text

They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear.

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them.

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks.

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point.

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it.

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself.

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

#reflection #covid #quarantine #late nights #music #revolution #diary #politics #john mayer #alicia keys #tracy chapman #love #dear diary #travel #writing #personal #mental health

8 notes · View notes