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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

hi angel 🥺 i’ve had some time to think of what i want to request and i’ve finally come up with something ;-;

do you think you could write something comforting (doesn’t have to be long!) where maxwell is caring for a reader who is a little tipsy or drunk? the reader is the kind of drunk who’s giggly and playful. and he’s super sweet and gentle with her. maybe they already have a pre-established relationship? maybe some slimy guy is hitting on her and he gets all protective and takes her home? and i’d neverrrrr object to smut either. but i’m leaving it up to you to write whatever you think works the best. i just miss reading soft and protective maxwell yanno ;-;

Overdoing It (Maxwell Lord x f!Reader)

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: alcohol obviously, sexual innuendo, Maxwell lifts reader so I know some ppl aren’t comfy with that

A/N: RACH MY LOVE I’m sorry this took so long but I’m glad I finally did it bc I love how it turned out! ALSO HAPPY WW84 DAY (July fourth) SO WHAT WONDERFUL TIMING!

You certainly had not intended to imbibe to the level you had tonight. The problem was Maxwell, really, although in the best possible way.

The man has a high tolerance; you, admittedly, have one considerably lower than his. You love seeing Maxwell when he’s tipsy. It’s rare that you get to see it and remember it. The times that he’s tipsy are the times where you’re next to vomiting.

But tonight was a celebration, and Maxwell spared no expense. You’d finally received a position in a job you’d dreamed of, one that caused the two of you to spend hours poring over applications and perfecting cover letters. It was a success for the both of you, you said, but Maxwell insisted that it was all you.

You’d said that takeout was just fine with you, so long as Maxwell was there, but he insisted that a bigger celebration was in order. You didn’t really mind; you love getting dressed up to go out. Max made a reservation at a nice place in downtown D.C. and kept the specific place a surprise from you until now.

As you walked inside, the gorgeous atmosphere made you lose your breath for a moment. Your eyes nearly watered as you looked at Maxwell, and he simply kissed your forehead. “You deserve it, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The words aren’t exactly rare from Maxwell, but they mean the world to you. Having someone tell you that they love you is one thing, but having someone say they’re proud of you is a completely different one. “I love you,” you grinned and followed him to your table, lacing your fingers through his.

Dinner was wonderful, unsurprisingly. Maxwell had scanned the menu the last time he came here, with business cohorts, and been certain you would like it. The delight on your face as you scanned the menu confirmed it, and Maxwell mentally gave himself a little pat on the back.

You’d ordered appetizers and drinks, then more drinks with the main course (two to accompany the meal, to be exact), and then more with dessert. By then, you were starting to feel a little tipsy, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Slowly, as you left the restaurant, the alcohol sunk in. The drinks were stronger than they’d seemed.

Luckily, Maxwell has a chauffeur. He’d had as many drinks as you, but the man’s tolerance is quite high. He seems barely affected, if not slightly looser and more carefree. The two of you made your way outside, Maxwell holding his arm around your waist to ensure that you didn't stumble; just in case, he reminded you, but you didn’t believe him.

In the car, you snuggle into Maxwell’s side happily, resting your head on his shoulder. “Buckle please, love,” he insists and wraps an arm around you.

“No,” you whine, kissing the soft cologned skin of his neck. “You’re too cozy.”

Maxwell laughs and nestles into you. “I’ll excuse it this once, only because I trust Jeeves,” he teases you. “How are you feeling, love?”

“So happy,” you smile up at him, dazed but content. The alcohol has brought you to a state of bliss now; love for Maxwell, a full stomach from the wonderful dinner, pride in your achievement.

Maxwell nods. “Of course you are,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Ooh, do we have wine at home?” You ask, sitting up and looking at him. “You need a few more.”

“No, no more drinks,” he chuckles and pulls you back into his side. “I think we’re both done for the night, don’t you?” His hands slide over your shoulders, smoothing the bare skin that’s cold to the touch.

You pout at him and Maxwell turns his face away, smiling. “No, I can’t look at that. I won’t be able to say no.”

“Please, baby?” You plead with big eyes.

“We have wine at home,” Maxwell tells you, even though he’s unsure whether or not it’s true. Either way, he won’t be allowing you to drink any of it.

Sighing, you snuggle into his side, shivering. “Car’s cold,” you murmur.

Maxwell removes his suit jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, kissing your head and smiling down at you warmly. “How’s that?”

“Smells like your cologne,” you practically purr like a satisfied cat as you wrap yourself in the expensive fabric. “I love you so much, Maxie-poo.”

“I love you too, darling,” he chuckles. The chauffeur brings you to his house not long after, and Maxwell offers you a hand when you get out of the car.

Sitting in the seat, you frown up at him. “I’m fine, Max.” Standing in your high heels, your wobbly legs thanks to the alcohol send you falling into Maxwell, who catches you.

“Fine, yes,” he chuckles and lifts you back to standing. “Take off your shoes and let me help you inside.”

Sighing and crossing your arms, you step out of your shoes, calves screaming a thank you for removing them from those torture devices. He reaches down and picks them up, ass straining in his suit, and you can’t help but give it a smack, giggling.

“Oh, no, little miss,” Maxwell playfully chides and grabs your arm. “Let’s get you inside, tiger.”

Your legs lead your brain without any thought, drunkenly stumbling your way inside. Maxwell’s arms are your support, really the only thing to keep you from falling. He purposely steers you away from the path leading to the kitchen, knowing you’ll ask for more alcohol should you see it. When you reach the foot of the stairs, you groan and look at Maxwell with puppy eyes. You know his back has been bad lately, his joints ache when the humidity rises, but you can’t do this without him. “Can you carry me? Please?” You ask him.

Maxwell chuckles and kisses your head tenderly. “I suppose. Climb on my back.” He stands with his palms the wall, squatting for you to jump up on him.

The formal dress makes it difficult, but you hop up, both of you groaning as you latch onto him. “I love you so goddamn much,” you babble happily, kissing along the skin behind his ears.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” he grunts as he makes his way up the stairs, his knees aching from the weight of carrying absolutely anything on his back.

When he reaches the top, you get down and sigh, kissing him sloppily. “You’re the best.”

“I’m wonderful,” he sighs and rolls his eyes, leading you to the bedroom and letting you plop down on his plush California king bed.

You strip off his suit jacket and toss it at him, and he catches it without even looking. “Don’t even think about seducing me tonight, darling. You’re too far gone,” he chuckles.

His words make you frown and stop in the middle of unzipping your dress slowly. “I wasn’t gonna,” you grumble and stand, slipping out of the dress and getting under the thick covers of the bed.

“Sure,” Maxwell smiles and retreats into his large closet. He returns in pajama pants and the white tee he wore under his button-up.

He looks so soft like this, and even drunk, you recognize what a privilege it is to see him like this. His large suits hide his frame, but you can see the soft curve of his tummy, his broad shoulders and narrow torso. “We should get married,” you blurt to him, your heart-eyes penetrating through to his center.

“You’re drunk,” he shakes his head as he wanders to the bathroom. He returns with his thick-rimmed glasses on, and it completes the look, his highlighted hair messy and beginning to curl.

He sits on his side of the bed and hands you a glass of water and some painkillers. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning, and you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“I won’t,” you pout and take the pills, rolling onto your side to face him. His legs are beneath the covers, and one of yours snakes to his and wraps your ankle around his.

Max smiles softly at the gesture. He recognizes it. You need his touch, want to snuggle tonight rather than keep to your own in his spacious bed. He lies down and you quickly scoot over to him, resting your head and a palm on his chest.

“I love you, dear,” he murmurs and kisses your forehead, his hand stroking your back lovingly. “You sleep now. Please.”

“I want to cuddle a little longer,” you frown and look up at him, face barely peeking out from the covers.

Max laughs. “Of course. We’ll stay like this, but at least make an effort to fall asleep. Your headache in the morning will be better if you sleep more.”

“Fine,” you sigh and scoot your body as close to his as possible, kissing his chest through the plain white t-shirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he repeats and sets his glasses to the side, letting himself sink into the squishy bed. He’ll surely have to care for you in the morning too, but he doesn’t mind. It’s worth it.

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#maxwell lord ww84 #maxwell lorenzano x reader #maxwell lorenzano #maxwell lord x you #maxwell lord headcanons #maxwell lord fanfic #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #ww1984 #ww84 #ww84 fanfiction #wonder woman 84 #wonder woman 1984

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY UPDATE!

PART FIVE

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: flirting, alcohol, mentions of smoking Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: This chapter is so cute to me. Pajama party anyone? As always, thanks to the actual best editor alive today, @lantern-inthenight

MASTER POST

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed

@bigblack-catattack @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies

It was undeniable that winter was on its way. The weekend brought predictions for temps in the lower 40’s and, even in the warmth of the apartment, you felt perpetually chilled.

Kate had messaged you late on Friday asking if you wanted to get coffee Saturday morning, and you had excitedly agreed to meet her at the local cafe called The Daily Grind (which, admittedly, you chose because of the cute name).

She had seen you bundled up like a burrito in two sweatshirts and a long-sleeved tee underneath and laughed, but you explained to her how you had never really been in temps this cold before.

Your fingers were wrapped as tight as they could go around your mocha as you watched her sip her black coffee, her maroon-painted lips leaving a mark on the white mug.

“When we’re done here, would you want to go with me to a thrift store? My mom sent some money for me to buy warmer clothes when she saw the weather for this area,” you said with an excited tone. “She’s afraid I’m going to get pneumonia.”

She hummed in an interested tone. “That sounds like fun. Which one do you wanna check out first?”

“You’ve been around here longer, so I’ll let you pick.”

“The one on Maple is the one where all the rich sorority girls go, so I bet you’d find some good stuff there,” she informed, tapping her nails against the ceramic.

You beamed a smile, relishing in the sunny feeling that only spending time with other girls gave you. “You wanna drive or me?”

+++

“Do you think if I buy a pair of jeans a size too big I could get away with wearing leggings under them?” you asked, flicking through the hangers. “I feel like the wind here cuts right through my denim.”

“Maybe two sizes bigger so you can wear sweatpants.” You knew she was teasing you by her playful tone, but that was actually kind of brilliant, you thought. “You should try this one.”

You had to get onto your tippy toes to see her over the long rack. She was holding up a soft-looking sweater, multicolored horizontal stripes running across the fabric. The color pattern reminded you of Twiggy from the ’60s.

“It’s cute,” you agreed, taking it as she handed it to you. By the time you were ready for a fitting room, you had a pile of things and the employee on duty looked not very excited to have to put them back when you were done, but luckily she wouldn’t have to. Pretty much everything fit perfectly.

You were shocked to see the total - where you were from, all of that would have been well over $60, even second hand, but you ended up forking over a measly $35, and you figured most of that total was from the nearly new jacket you had found.

As she was driving you back to the coffee shop, you exclaimed giddily, “I’m so excited to have warm clothes. Now Josh can finally have his sweatshirts back.”

She looked over at you surprisedly. “That’s Josh’s?”

“Yeah, he gave me three and I’ve been alternating between them.” You reached forward to turn her radio up a notch, Janet Jackson’s “All For You” perking your ears.

“Are you sure he wants them back?” she asked, giving you a coy smile that you didn’t understand.

You adopted a puzzled look. If she was alluding to something, it was lost on you. “Why wouldn’t he? They’re still perfectly fine - I was even careful not to get my perfume on them.”

Now stopped at a red light, she turned to give you a squinty look until she seemed to realize you were serious. “Nevermind,” she relented, smirking forward at the road.

When you got back home, Josh was gone. You shot him a message inquiring as to his whereabouts and started snipping the tags off of your new clothes with a pair of pruning shears. You were exponentially grateful for the fact that the washing machine in your building had been repaired - and with a shocking amount of haste too.

The smell of the laundry room down the hall was pleasant. It reminded you of the times when your mom would wash all the towels and blankets in the house, and that was a job that either required a laundromat, or an entire day switching loads.

At the end of your shopping day, you made out with three new sweaters, two pairs of thicker jeans, a new coat, a winter hat, and an actual pajama set, which would be infinitely warmer than the shorts and tank top you’d moved in with.

You cheerily popped your new clothes into the washer, along with a tide pod, some of your bras and underwear, and closed the lid.

Around 1 pm, Josh still wasn’t back and hadn’t replied, so you decided it was a perfect time to work on some self-care. The yoga mat you had packed had yet to see the light of day in Michigan, so you dug it out, unrolled it in your room, changed into some easy clothing, and pulled up a beginner’s tutorial on your phone. By the thirty-minute mark, you were sweating and tired, but the stretch in your muscles was oddly pleasant on top of the discomfort, so you pushed yourself to keep going until the video was done. The cute blonde running the tutorial suggested you take some time in your cool down to look inward, as she thought that was a big part of yoga. So, you laid there on the mat, staring up at your ceiling for a good, long while, just taking time to reflect and enjoying it.

Your room, and the whole apartment really, had become home so quickly. You hadn’t ever had the opportunity to test the theory before, but you had always imagined that leaving home would make you feel out of place.

But you didn’t.

Sure, you missed home in the way that any human that came from a loving and supporting family would, but you were expecting to ache for it. You had taken a long time in your backyard and in your favorite spot back home, just so you could have a final fix, but all that was to you now was a fond memory.

After a few moments of being alone with your thoughts, you were going to get up and take a shower, but you had decided to postpone it. While you were staring up at the ceiling, you realized that there was a lot of unused space that the sun hit toward the top of the room. Wasted sun was a felony in your book. You spent about an hour pulling down your curtain rod, removing the fabric, and replacing it with hanging pots of all sizes and lengths.

Your string of hearts, your pearls, your golden pothos - the thought of them being the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes in the morning was one that made you feel sentimental. You’d just have to be careful with watering.

Once you were satisfied with the placements, you made your way to the bathroom. As you waited for the shower to heat up to a tolerable temperature, you took some time to pluck any stray hairs around your eyebrows and gently brush the knots out of your hair. Self-care had always felt like a long term investment to you - one well worth it.

The warm spray of the shower felt amazing on your tired muscles, so you took your sweet time getting clean and enjoying it, then blow-drying your hair on low heat when you were finished. After, you excitedly got out your new pajama set, clipped the tags, and put it on.

Shortly thereafter, you heard a key slip into the lock on the front door. You were cuddled up on the couch, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric on your freshly scrubbed skin as you watched through the complete second season of the Simpsons, popcorn in your lap.

When he stepped into the house, he raised his eyebrows at you, surveying the area.

“What?” you asked, giving him a confused look.

“Just looking for the books and the homework.” You rolled your eyes at him before he continued on with, “I just always assumed that when I wasn’t around, you were doing boring, adult things.”

You gave him a playful shrug as you gestured to the noticeably book free space around you.

He squinted at you suddenly. “Are you in your pajamas? You know it’s like 3:30 in the afternoon, right?”

“They’re new!” you quipped. “And I was excited to wear them. You don’t have to be jealous, you could go get yours on and join me.”

The offer seemed to be tempting him. “I have a better idea. How about you go change, and we’re going to go to a party tonight.”

You scowled at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you crazy? I’m already in my pajamas. I’ve already taken my bra off! Once it’s off, it doesn’t go back on.”

He laughed, loud and unabashed, showing you all of his teeth. The sound made your cheeks flush.

“C’mon, I bet Kate will be there,” he reasoned. “And I obviously will be. And I’m positive Jake will be too. This might be your chance to get them to hook up.”

You bit your bottom lip in consideration. “The timing would be kinda perfect; she could have the whole day tomorrow to process it and then tell me about it on Monday.”

He was smirking at you when you looked back up at him, making you tuck your hair behind your ear anxiously. “If I come, do you promise not to leave me alone?”

He nodded at you confidently. “I will not leave you.”

The very first thing you did was message Kate. It was vital that she was there, just in case Josh got too drunk to remember his promise. You didn’t have a hard time socializing, per-say. You were just nervous about your first real social event here.

Josh was right though - it wouldn’t kill you to make some more friends.

When you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth, Kate messaged back saying that she would never miss getting to see you drunk, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you had to drive, so you opted to leave that part out. You worked on picking out a good, sensible outfit and took your time to put on makeup again. Admittedly, it felt kind of nice - you used to wear a full beat all the time, but somewhere along the line it started to feel tedious, which is something you never wanted any of your favorite things to feel, so you put the whole idea of it on the shelf for a while.

When you finally emerged from your room around 8, Josh was sitting on the kitchen counter, phone in his hands as he furiously typed out a message. You listened to the pleasant sound of his fingers tapping on the glass screen for a moment before speaking.

“Who are you messaging?” you asked, but it didn’t grab his full attention right away.

“Just one of the other theater guys,” he said through a near sneer. The only time you ever saw him looking distressed was when it came to his production. “Trying to tell me what I can and can’t do with my own production-”

When he looked up at you the rest of his thoughts seemed to escape him, all the emotion in his face and posture crumbling away.

You folded your hands together, giving him a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

He tucked his phone into the pocket of his pants, abandoning whatever he had been so intent on doing just seconds ago.

“Yeah, I just haven’t ever seen you dressed up before.”

The extra attention made you slump back against the hallway wall, giving him a nervous grimace. Through pursed lips, you asked, “Is it too much?”

His eyes popped open, along with his mouth. It took him a moment to speak actual words - like he wanted to say a lot all at once. “What? No! I’m just stupid,” he assured, running his fingers through his curls. “It took my brain a moment to process.”

You gave him a forgiving smile, opening the fridge and grabbing out a carton of juice. He watched as you took a swig, letting you swallow before asking, “Do you want me to drive?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, finger swiping away a stray droplet. “Can you?”

“Drive?” he laughed. “Yes. I can drive.”

“Legally?” you pressed, handing over the carton to him when you caught him eyeing it. He took a drink right from the spout as well, giving you a wink that made you lovingly roll your eyes.

+++

You two seemed to unintentionally match. He was in a pair of khaki pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a denim jacket on top. You were positive he was going to freeze solid one of these days because he always seemed to be way underdressed for the weather.

As you went to get out of the car, he stopped you with a touch to your knee. “You should take off your jacket and hat and leave them in here; I wouldn’t ever trust leaving them unattended at a party.” He paused before speaking again. “Not that anyone would necessarily steal them, just that people get drunk and think stuff is theirs.”

“Like you did with the wallet?” you teased, making him rub at the back of his neck.

“Yes,” he said pointedly through a grin. “Like that.”

He held the sleeve of your jacket as you shrugged out of it, abandoning it into the back seat. You took just a second to mourn the fact that it would be cold when you went to put it back on.

In the rearview mirror, you fixed your hair, having been mussed by the removal of your hat, and then stepped out. He ushered you along first, reaching past you and pushing the door open for you when you had reached it. The music hit you like a wall, loud and energetic - followed quickly by the smell of alcohol. A cloud of smoke hung subtly near the ceiling, giving the room an air of mystery. You realized you hadn’t made a move to enter the house when you felt his hand on the middle of your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, just above the volume of the music. You nodded, feeling silly for holding him up, and stepped inside.

People were moving to the music like blood reacting to a heartbeat, swaying around to the rhythms all in a pleasant unison. The scene was oddly hypnotic as the colors danced around.

The second that people could see Josh behind you, they started calling his name. Your stomach lurched for a second, scared that he was either going to leave you or drag you to a group that you didn’t know, but he waved them off instead.

“I’ll catch you guys in a minute,” he shouted through a grin so charming they couldn’t seem to muster up a shred of annoyance toward him. Then, he spoke the next part right against your ear. “You want a drink?”

“Just one,” you agreed with a nod, shivering ever so slightly as his breath hit your cheek.

In the kitchen, huddled around an island covered by bottles, was a group of people, all very visibly drunk. One of those people was Kate, dressed in a crisp looking pair of jeans, a white crop top, and a red checkered flannel shirt, left open to expose her midriff.

When she caught sight of you, she gave you a big, toothy smile. The sharp fringe of her bob moved just enough to sometimes expose a pair of gold disk earrings.

“Need a drink?” she asked as she broke away from the rest of the crowd. “I’ll make it for you.”

You put your hands up, laughing at her enthusiasm. “I’m going to let Josh make it for me,” you informed, knowing full well that she would make it strong enough to get you drunk and keep you in that state for the whole evening.

The one that Josh ended up making for you was, undeniably, a rum and Coke. Not your most favorite thing ever, but then again, this one was mostly just Coke. You made a mental note to thank him for being so considerate.

The three of you ended up in the living room, right in the throws of all the action. You’d been to a few parties back home, but this felt kind of different. Back home, it was always hot, so the parties usually spilled out into the yard in all directions. Come to think of it, you’d never been to a party where the guests weren’t making prominent use of the pool. But here everyone was packed in tightly, making a large house feel tiny.

Kate found you all a nice little corner with a love seat and some kind of weird puff you think you were meant to put your feet on. Settling in there meant you’d have to share the space with a couple of other people, but it felt worth it to not be standing in the middle of the room. Being out in the open made you feel nervous - like you were being circled by sharks.

The songs changed, but the beat seemed to stay pretty much the same, making it easy for the time to slip by without your acknowledgment. By the time you checked your watch, it was nearly eleven.

True to his word, Josh didn’t leave your side the whole night. People kept popping in and out to get a word with him. You couldn’t hear them well because he was sat across from you, but he was laughing quite a bit. Some of it looked kind of forced, but most of it seemed genuine - like he was actually having a nice time.

It wasn’t until you were close to getting ready to leave that you saw Jake making his way down the stairs, one hand on the wooden railing to steady himself and the other wrapped around a red cup. You flashed him a smile when his eyes landed on you, and he gave you one back, giving you a feather-light punch to your shoulder when he reached you.

“Move over,” he demanded in Josh’s direction, sitting nearly on top of him on the couch, with only light complaints from his twin.

“You smell like sex,” Josh said through a fake grimace, pressing his elbow into Jake’s ribs.

“Can’t imagine why,” Jake responded with a smirk, lifting the cup to his lips as you giggled at him.

The realization struck you as his eyes landed on Kate next. “Oh, Jake, this is my friend Kate. Kate, Jake Kiszka.”

She reached out and took his hand to shake and at the same moment, Josh laid his hand on your leg and through a grin, asked, “Should we take off?”

You laughed, giving him a nod.

“Kathrine, Jacob,” Josh started, clapping his hands together in front of him. “We are leaving. See you guys soon?”

“We should actually get tacos,” Kate stated seriously to the group as a whole, and then just to Josh said, “And my name is Kathleen.”

#brightest blue fic #josh kiszka fic #josh gvf #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #josh gvf fic

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 3/12

I know Tuesday is the day for updating this fic, and I did finish this chapter last night, but I was too tired to go through the long process of posting it. But I’m not THAT late, right?

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it also could mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard

Rating: M

Words: 5k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @kmomof4 @teamhook @xhookswenchx @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @kday426 @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite @tiganasummertree @delirious-latenight-laughs @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @nikkiemms @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @snidgetsafan @let-it-raines @ekr032-blog-blog @carpedzem @profdanglaisstuff

Chapter Three: Emma and Killian wake up (separately) the morning after their wedding of convenience and face the fallout.

Killian was awakened the next morning by his ringing phone, and when he went to reach for it, he almost fell off the narrow sofa. He almost forgot where he was until the crick in his neck and the light pouring through the glass doors leading to the suite’s balcony reminded him. In his confused state, he neglected to check the contact on the phone screen before he answered.

“Hello?” He blinked and rubbed his hand over his face as he swung his legs to the floor.

“What the bloody hell did you do?”

Liam’s voice was like ice cold water being poured over his head. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You got married?”

“How . . . “ Killian stammered, “you mean you know?”

“It’s all over the news, little brother. I woke up this morning and my phone was blowing up with texts. No one even knew you were in a relationship! What the hell is going on?”

Killian’s hand drifted from his jaw to his ear and back again as he rose and began to pace. “Well, you see, with Emma being a public figure and all, we just wanted to keep our relationship secret. And with her line of work, we knew whoever she dated, much less married, would be under a lot of scrutiny. I mean, our relationship would have been picked apart, so -”

“So you lied to me?”

Killian almost dropped the phone. The lies were only just beginning. “Um, more like, I withheld information.”

“Vital information!” Liam’s volume was climbing, and Killian pulled the phone farther away from his ear. “Elsa is pissed, and Anna literally cried because she missed the wedding. How could you do this to us - again? I thought I’d be your best man this time.”

Killian groaned as he heard the hurt clearly in his brother’s voice. “I’m sorry, truly I am. Emma and I are planning on doing a second, smaller ceremony for my friends and family.”

“So this was a publicity stunt. To promote her and her career.”

Great. Liam was pissed at Emma and they hadn’t even met. “A career which I support wholeheartedly. I didn’t even really care how we got married just so long as we did. I love her.”

It was the first truthful thing Killian had said since he answered the phone.

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

Killian had the television on while he simultaneously scrolled through social media on his phone. Liam hadn’t been exaggerating: the media was buzzing about Emma Swan - the one single women around the globe turned to for relationship advice - getting married. People magazine apparently had the exclusive rights to the photographs, which would be published in their next issue, but Emma’s press agent had officially released one photograph and it was literally everywhere. It was of their first dance, when Killian had gotten Emma to laugh. He hoped she was at least smiling in the rest that would appear in People. His heart would break if her shock, pain, and betrayal were on display for the world to see. He’d deal with the media, his brother, his sisters in law and their emotions - all of it - to keep that from happening.

“Seriously? Already?”

He turned at the sound of Emma’s voice. She was standing there wrapped up in the resort bathrobe, a fluffy towel circling her head. He hadn’t even heard her stir in the other room. He fumbled for the remote and muted it.

“Um, aye, your wedding is big news apparently - I mean, our wedding.” He gave her a nervous smile and scratched behind his ear.

Emma moaned, collapsed onto the chair across from him, and covered her face with both hands. “I invited the media,” she mumbled before pulling her hands away with a sigh, “so I don’t know why I’m irritated. I guess I just didn’t expect all this attention so soon.”

Killian quirked a brow and waved his phone at her. “Well Swan, according to Instagram you’re #relationshipgoals to all of your followers.”

Emma grimaced, and he knew it was a bad joke. “Yeah, what goals? To get jilted at the altar and marry your carpenter instead?”

Killian shrugged. “It was a damn good arbor I made though, right?”

Emma managed to laugh. “It really was, Jones.”

A silence fell between them. Killian turned off the television and set his phone aside. He knew she didn’t need any of it right now. Emma untwisted the towel from her head and ran her fingers through her wet hair. The picture she made: her hair tumbling wild, her long legs peeking where the robe had fallen open, the top gaping and giving him a peek of her cleavage was all too much. He wished for a robe himself as his boxer briefs tightened. He snatched the blanket from the couch and held it around his waist as casually as he could as he stood and made his way to the bedroom.

“I think I’ll just, um . . . use the shower now myself,” he told her.

“Sure,” she replied, and when she smiled at him, he could swear he saw a twinkle in her eyes.

Emma had used up a lot of the hot water, but the cold shower was what he needed anyway. He lingered just long enough to wash away the sweat from the last twenty four hours and calm himself down. When he exited, he was relieved to see that his bags were lined up against Emma’s in the bedroom. The bellhop must have put them there the night before. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a simple grey tee from his bag. He had just slipped the shirt over his head when he heard a knock at the door and a voice call out “room service!”

Emma beat him to the door, and when Killian stepped out of the bedroom, she was ushering in a man pushing a tray that held their breakfast. Emma was still wearing the robe, and Killian didn’t miss the appreciative look the man gave her as he told her to enjoy her breakfast. Killian cleared his throat pointedly.

“Yes, we certainly will.”

The man had the decency to blush. “Um, yes, Mr. Jones. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Emma laughed after the man had shut the door behind him.

“What?”

“Jealous, Mr. Jones?”

Killian huffed. “Well, did you notice the way he was looking at you?”

Emma shrugged. “Well, to be fair, I’m wearing nothing but a bathrobe.”

“But you’re married!”

Emma’s eyes widened. “But we’re not actually a couple.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Killian grumbled.

Emma laughed again as she lifted the cover on one of the plates of food. Her laughter cut off sharply, however, and her hand froze in midair. “Are you kidding me?”

Killian rushed to her side, wondering what could be wrong with their breakfast, but then he saw it: the local newspaper tucked between the trays. The headline practically screamed: Emma Swan and New Husband Honeymoon on the Cape. Below it was the same official wedding photograph everyone else was posting along with a paparazzi shot of the two of them arriving last night in the limo. Emma banged the cover back onto the plate with a grunt of irritation.

“Everyone promised they would be discreet! The limo driver, the hotel manager . . . “ she trailed off with a scowl on her face.

“I’m sure they were, love. Anyone could have tipped off a reporter: a bellhop, a maid . . . “

Emma paced the room. “This means that any time we go out, there could be reporters.”

“Well,” Killian quipped, struggling to keep the shit eating grin off his face and failing spectacularly, “don’t most newlyweds stay in the majority of the time? Doing more enjoyable activities rather than sightseeing?”

Emma rolled her eyes, but a faint blush colored her cheeks. “I’m not going to hide.”

“In that case,” Killian replied, pulling the cover off a plate of eggs benedict and bacon, “I’m going to enjoy the view with my breakfast.”

He carried the plate, some silverware, and a tumbler of orange juice out onto the balcony. He breathed in the salty sea air and let the breeze wash over him.

“Relaxed?” Emma asked sarcastically. Killian turned to see her leaning against the open sliding glass door with her arms cross.

“Aye,” he answered, taking a bite of the eggs benedict and moaning. He was exaggerating slightly to get a rise out of Emma, but they were delicious. “By the way, love, if paparazzi are around, you may not want to lounge about our balcony in naught but your bathrobe.”

Emma blushed as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you always talk like a character in a Jane Austen novel?”

He laughed as Emma scurried to get dressed.

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

Emma leaned over the bathroom sink to sweep some blush across her cheeks. She didn’t want to waste too much time primping; those eggs benedict looked amazing, and she didn’t want them to get cold. Yet Killian was right - a picture could be snapped anywhere, and she didn’t want to look pale and depressed She tossed aside her makeup brush, ran her fingers through her hair, and rushed back out to grab her breakfast. Before she could lift the cover on the second breakfast tray, her phone started to ring. She was so hungry, she almost ignored it, but at the last minute, she snatched it up. With the media all over her wedding, anything could go wrong.

Walsh.

Panic flooded through Emma at his name on her cell phone screen, and her hand trembled as she took the call.

“You married someone else?”

Emma clenched her teeth. “Why good morning to you too, Walsh. How is your day?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Emma. We break up, and the next morning I wake up to find your wedding day splashed all over the news?”

“You didn’t just break up with me, Walsh! You cheated on me! And you waited until our wedding day to tell me!”

“And that wedding was never anything more than a stunt for your career. I didn’t even have any say in it.”

“Oh really? So you didn’t get down on one knee and propose? I just imagined that?”

Walsh let out a long breath. “That was eight months ago. A lot has changed since then.”

“I’ll say,” Emma grumbled.

“Don’t put this all on me. I was always your dirty little secret. I couldn’t even tell anyone I was your boyfriend much less your fiance.”

“How dare you!” Emma’s voice had risen, but she didn’t care. “That was you, Walsh! You said you didn’t like that I had a blog or such a huge social media following. You said it made you nervous. You said people would violate your privacy and try to dig up dirt on our relationship. So we kept it secret - because it’s what you wanted. I was your dirty little secret, not the other way around.”

A sleepy, feminine voice came distantly through the phone. “Walsh? Who are you talking to? Come back to bed.”

Emma felt sick. She knew that voice.

“Zelena West? You cheated on me with that bitch?”

“Hey, don’t call her that,” Walsh snapped.

Emma rolled her eyes. Zelena West had overtly flirted with Walsh at every social function back in New York, yet Walsh had insisted constantly that the Broadway starlet was just his client, nothing more. Even worse, Zelena went out of her way to undermine Emma on social media, posting snarky tweets and YouTube videos contradicting Emma’s advice. As if a Broadway actress who slept her way into every role she ever had was qualified to give relationship advice. In Emma’s opinion, Zelena’s dating advice boiled down to “make your man happy with a fake ‘you’ and lots of sex.” Advice that basically took women backward about six decades.

“Is everything okay?”

Emma whirled to see Killian in the doorway to the balcony, his forehead creased with worry. On the other end of the line, Walsh laughed sardonically.

“Sounds like you’re one to talk. You’re on our honeymoon with - what did TMZ call him? Swan’s sexy catch?” Walsh laughed again. “I always wondered why that wedding arbor meant so much to you.”

“You don’t get to judge me!”

“The point is,” Walsh said, his voice turning serious, “we drifted apart as soon as you moved to Storybrooke. I’m a New Yorker through and through, Emma. That kind of life never would have been enough for me.’

Emma sank to the couch and was surprised when Killian sat down next to her and laid a hand comfortingly on her knee. “The thing is, Walsh, you should have told me all of this six months ago. I didn’t deserve what you did to me. I didn’t deserve your cheating or your lying.”

“Who’s lying now?”

The edge to his voice sent a chill down Emma’s spine and she glanced at Killian with a worried expression. He frowned and put an arm around her. Before this phone call, she would have pushed him away, but right now she appreciated the support.

“Are you threatening me, Walsh?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your facade of a marriage. Lord knows I don’t want my name dragged through the mud when it all blows up in your face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The truth will come out eventually, Emma, and when it does, your career will be over.”

“Sounds like a threat to me.”

“It isn’t, I promise you. I love Zelena, and I just want a clean break so I can give what I have with her a chance.”

“A clean break? That’s what leaving me on our wedding day is to you?”

“I can admit that my timing was bad, but you promise you won’t interfere with my relationship with Zelena?”

Emma rubbed her forehead wearily. “I don’t give a shit what you do with Zelena. Just stay out of my life. Don’t call me again.”

She hung up without waiting for a reply and tossed her phone down angrily on the sofa. Killian rubbed at her shoulder hesitantly.

“Anything I can do?”

Emma shook her head. “No.” Then she squared her shoulders and rose from the couch. “We have five days here in the Cape, and I intend to enjoy it.”

Killian smiled up at her. “That’s the spirit. How does the beach sound?”

“It sounds great,” she told him, struggling to put a brave smile on her face. Then she went back to the cart that held their breakfast. “But first - I’m starving!”

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

Killian was glad that his swim trunks were roomier than his boxer briefs because Emma Swan made quite the picture lounging in a crimson string bikini. She’d been sunbathing for awhile on her back, and he’d thought that was a tantalizing picture, but his view now was just as delectable. She’d flipped over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows to read a book. Her bikini bottoms hugged her ass just as well as the top hugged her breasts. It made his mouth dry thinking of how much he’d like to . . . he took a swig from a bottle of water then pressed the cool plastic to his forehead.

“Grab me one?” Emma asked, rolling onto her side and slipping a bookmark into her novel.

Killian pulled one out of the cooler provided by the resort. A wicker basket contained the remains of their lunch - sandwiches, grapes, slices of cheese, and gourmet pretzels. The honeymoon package at this resort was four star, and far nicer than anything Killian had experienced before. Yet Emma wasn’t pretentious in the least. He had learned enough about her over the past few months to know at least that much. She’d moved her life and her practice to Storybrooke because she wanted to really help people, not just cater to the elite in New York. Her therapy fees were a bargain, especially considering her level of education. She lived simply, and he wondered if it was a sacrifice so she could help more clients or just the way Emma Swan rolled. He looked forward to finding out.

He couldn’t really read Emma’s expression behind her sunglasses as she took the water from him, but he saw her lips curl up in a tiny smile. “What’s on your mind, Jones?”

He shook his head. “What?”

“If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to burn a whole in my head.”

He chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

She took a sip of water. “About what?”

“You.”

“Oh,” Emma said softly.

“I mean, if we’re going to be husband and wife for eight months to a year, we should at least get to know each other.”

Emma was quiet a beat longer than he was comfortable with, but she finally gave a firm nod. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“Of course, we can start with me.” He reached into the basket for a handful of grapes and popped one into his mouth. “So shoot. Ask me anything.”

Emma arched a brow. “Anything?”

“Aye. I’m an open book.” Just don’t ask me how I feel about you. The grape almost stuck in his throat going down. Why was he agreeing to this?

“Okay, then,” Emma took a deep breath, “can you tell me about your first wife? I mean, just what you’re comfortable sharing.”

She was afraid she’d overstepped as Killian fell silent, rolling a grape between two fingers, his gaze distant. Then he popped the grape in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then began to speak in a low voice.

“Her name was Milah. I was a senior at Bowdoin -”

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” Emma interrupted waving her hand around, “Bowdoin?”

Killian chuckled. “Didn’t expect a carpenter to be a college grad, did you?”

“Yes, I mean no, it’s just,” Emma blew a strand of hair off her forehead in frustration. “That came out wrong. Lots of small business owners have a degree, it’s just . . . Bowdoin?”

Killian nodded with a smug grin.

“Business major?”

“Double major in music and visual arts.”

Emma whistled. “Wow. No wonder your work is so beautiful.”

He scratched behind his ear, a tell Emma had already come to learn meant he was nervous or uncomfortable. “Thank you, Swan.”

“Bowdoin,” she repeated with a shake of her head.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s expensive. I had scholarships. Two of them - one for art and one for music. It added up to a full ride, but I almost didn’t go.”

“What!”

Killian smiled wistfully. “Believe me, I know. I was young and impetuous. Thought I’d go into the navy, actually, but Liam talked sense into me.”

“He’s your brother?”

“Aye.”

They fell silent again, and Emma wondered if he’d change the subject, if all she’d get was a name and that he’d been a senior at Bowdoin when he met her.

“She was a professor, and she was already married” he finally said, glancing at her sideways as if expecting her reaction to be negative. Little did he know the stuff she’d heard as a psychiatrist. She doubted anything could shock her anymore. When all she did was nod, he continued. “Her husband was controlling, verbally abusive, and much older than her. He was wealthy, and she’d let herself get caught up in the trappings of his life. I think my youth, my freedom, were what appealed to her in the beginning. But over time, I don’t think anyone ever understood me the way she did. We were married at the justice of the peace a week after I graduated, only a month after her divorce was final. It was quite the scandal.”

Killian winked at her, but she got the feeling it was a deflection. She looked down at the beach blanket she was lying on and traced the pattern with her finger.

“What was she like?”

“Brilliant,” he sighed, “and vivacious. She didn’t take shit from anyone. Her husband must have been a right bastard to keep her under his thumb for so long.”

He hadn’t said a word about her looks, which surprised Emma. In her experience, it was the first thing men usually thought of when someone asked them to describe a woman.

“What was she professor of?”

“Music theory. She was quite the composer. The piano was her instrument, and she also had a beautiful voice.”

“What do you play?” Emma scooted closer. She had never imagined him as musical, just as a sweaty man flexing his muscles in that shop of his.

He smiled at her. “The guitar, but I haven’t played much since . . .”

Emma frowned. “Since she passed?”

Killian nodded. Emma scrambled up to sit cross legged on the beach blanket. The mood had gotten heavy, and she suddenly needed to lighten it. She still didn’t know how MIlah died, but perhaps now wasn’t the time. She grinned at Killian and poked him in the leg.

“Okay, Jones. Your turn to ask a question.”

He rubbed at his chin as he regarded her intensely, and Emma had to force herself not to squirm under his gaze. When he finally chose his question, it took her completely by surprise.

“I told you I haven’t read your book, and despite our cover story, I’ve never followed you online either. So tell me, Swan. What exactly is your philosophy on romance?”

Relief and eagerness simultaneously coursed through her. On the one hand, she was relieved that it was a professional question rather than a personal one. On the other, she always got excited talking about her ideas regarding relationships.

“Well, first of all, it’s not about romance, it’s about building solid relationships.”

“You don’t believe in romance?”

Emma shrugged. “There’s obvious biochemical reactions when we are attracted to someone.”

Killian leaned close. “I said romance, not attraction, love.”

Emma glared at him over the rim of her sunglasses as she shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “Okay, smart ass, but what I’m saying is that women in particular can get caught up in what you call romance and miss the reality of who the person they are dating actually is. Men are experts at playing on a woman’s emotions as well in order to get what they want. So step one is for a woman to watch out for those tricks, to understand the games men play so they won’t be duped.”

This was usually the part where men got defensive and started arguing with her, but Killian didn’t.

“What’s step two?”

“Well, step two is the compatibility quotient.”

“Ah, I see, like those algorithms dating sites use.”

Emma shook her head. “No. Those are questions to measure personality compatibility. I help women figure out what they want in a partner. Everything from their professional goals to family goals, even whether they are more an urbanite or suburbanite or like to live way out in the country.”

“Let me guess. There’s a chart.”

Emma huffed. “Are you making fun of me?”

Killian lifted both hands in surrender. “Not at all, Swan. Just a simple question.”

“Yes,” she admitted, “there’s a chart. And I always recommend that women review what it is they want both before and after each date. If the man they’re seeing doesn’t fit, even if it’s only the first date, they end it. Of course, there’s always the red flags to look for too.”

Killian nodded, and you could have knocked her over with a feather at the way he was mulling over her words. Most men were pissed at her by now. Even Walsh had been before she explained how he perfectly fit everything she had been looking for.

Or so she had thought.

“Red flags are definitely important. Milah said there were several before she married Robert, but she’d been blinded by their whirlwind romance.”

“Not rushing into things, that’s important too.”

“Chapter?” Killian asked with a grin.

Emma grinned back. “Chapter four - Seriously Ladies, What’s the Rush?”

“What’s the rush as in my groom just left me and I need a replacement in six hours rush?”

Emma groaned, even though a laugh bubbled out of her unbidden. “I don’t think I covered this scenario in my book.”

“Well, Swan, maybe this will be fodder for your third book.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said that, and Emma sensed a tone of self-deprecation in his words even though it was worded as a joke.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“About your third book?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, about my theories.”

Killian was silent for a long time. He spread out on his side and propped himself up on his elbows so he was looking right up into her eyes.

“I think it’s all rather clinical, to be honest. I don’t know that love can be boiled down to compatibility or goals in life. I think love is messy and always a risk. It upends your life so that it’s never the same.”

Emma usually got angry when men argued with her about her life’s work, but something about Killian’s voice softened his words.

“I agree, and that’s just it. Women have to protect themselves from allowing their lives to be upended by the wrong person.”

Emma’s face burned as she realized what she was saying. Obviously, her life had been upended by the wrong person. How could she have missed the signs?

“Milah would have liked you, Emma.”

Her eyes widened at Killian’s words and the soft smile upon his face. He could call her out; point out the very obvious failure she had been at her own relationship, but he didn’t. Another long, silent moment passed between them before Emma cleared her throat and started rummaging through the drawstring bag she’d brought along. She pulled out a bottle of sunscreen and started rubbing it into her skin. She had a tendency to burn, and she wasn’t about to spend the rest of their trip miserable and slathered in aloe vera.

Killian sat up and drew closer, reaching around her for the sunscreen and lowering his lips to her ear. “Don’t look, but farther down the beach, behind that sand dune is a man with a camera. He doesn’t look like a tourist, and the camera’s trained on us, not the water.”

Emma froze. “What do we do?”

“Give him what he wants,” Killian answered. “A woman in love would ask the man in her life to do her back, right?”

Emma could only nod as she gathered her hair off her neck. Killian sat behind her and squirted sunscreen into his palm. The sunscreen was cold at first against her skin, but then the warmth of his hands had her muscles relaxing. His fingers were calloused, his touch firm yet gentle. She bit her lower lip as he worked the lotion into her shoulder, her neck, then her upper back. He slid his fingers beneath the straps of her bikini so he wouldn’t miss a spot, then massaged down her lower back, his thumb trailing along the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She hoped he didn’t feel the shiver that coursed through her.

“Lie down.”

His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she almost leaned back against him with a sigh before his words registered with her brain.

“Excuse me?”

“Lie down. I’ll get the backs of your legs.”

Emma managed to nod and did as he asked, propping her chin on her crossed arms. He massaged the lotion into her thighs and then her calves with such delicious circles of his thumbs that she almost let out a moan.

“Done,” he told her in a husky voice.

Emma rolled over to find herself caged between his arms. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out, yet he didn’t move.

“Newlyweds would kiss right now, don’t you think?”

“Why? Is he still taking pictures?”

Killian leaned in closer and gently removed her sunglasses. “Probably.”

“Then I guess we should.”

“Should what?” his lips were so close now, she could hardly breathe.

“Kiss,” she breathed.

“Right,” his lips brushed hers, then he pressed them against hers firmly. She kissed him back, opening for him immediately. Her arms encircled his neck, bringing him down to her. He could have taken advantage of the situation, pressing his body to hers, exploring her barely clothed figure with his hands, but he didn’t. He rested on his side, slipping one hand beneath her head and caressing her upper arm with his other. When he pulled away, he stayed close, their breaths still mingling.

“That was pretty good acting,” she told him with a shaky voice.

“Right,” he said, rolling onto his back and flinging an arm over his eyes, “acting.”

Now Emma rolled over, caging him between her arms instead. “Hey,” she teased him, “I think we’ve put on a pretty convincing show. Now how about we get out into that water?”

Killian pulled his arm away from his face and squinted in the sun. “Race you to the water?”

“You’re on!”

Emma thought she had the advantage, considering their positions, until Killian grabbed her around the waist. She yelped as he deposited her right on her rear. He then took off for the water line as she scrambled to her feet. She could scarcely breathe, she was laughing so hard.

Not the way she’d imagined this honeymoon twenty four hours ago, that was for sure. She’d expected to be holed up in her room watching rom coms and binge eating ice cream. Instead she was laughing on the beach with Killian Jones who just happened to be a damn good kisser.

#cs ff #cs modern au #marriage of convenience #slow burn

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 4 years

Text

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 15 - AN EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE

Good evening all! As promised here is Chapter 15 of Edinburgh to Boston. This picks up right after Chapter 14. Our lovebirds grappling with the argument they had. As the title implies there is a lot of soul searching going to happen.

At the end, I will include some interesting information. At least, I think it’s interesting. I do need to thank my betas for their magnificent and tireless help, suggestions, and comments. Thank you @curlsgetdemgurls and @scubalass. You guys keep me on my toes and push me to do my best. Honestly, a lot of work on the part of @scubaless went into this and unjumbled the mess I made at times. How do I thank @curlsgetdemgurls who always tells me I can do this and supports my desire to write. I am truly blessed to have you both. I honestly don’t know how I would do this without you. 🧡🧡🧡🧡

As always I welcome any thoughts suggestions, comments you would like to share with me.I hope you enjoy reading. Without further ado I give you:

Edinburgh To Boston

Chapter 15

An Examination of Conscience

***********

Click!

Claire stood mutely watching as the door closed with a muffled and insubstantial sound. Biting her upper lip, she watched the handle for any sign of movement. She fully expected it would reopen momentarily and Jamie would walk through. Nothing happened. With the bolt slipping into place, it created a barrier as strong as any prison wall between her and the man she loved.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she go after him or call him? At the edge of her vision, she caught a glimpse of his phone resting on the bedside table along with his wallet and money. “Idiot bloody man,” she huffed. She had no choice other than to wait. Maybe it would turn out for the best allowing him time to sort through his thoughts. Perhaps they both needed a little time away from each other to calm down and become more rational.

What a bloody mess this turned out to be. If Claire was honest with herself, she never expected that it would come to this, that he would leave. She fully believed that they would have a loud and impassioned fight concluding with...what? Forgiveness? Compromise? Possibly the dissolution of their tender three-day-old relationship? At this point, she didn’t know what to think.

Needing a distraction, Claire began to set the room right. Taking a large bath sheet, she wiped up the spilled whisky and the broken crystal discarding everything into a wastebasket. Jamie’s still sodden jeans rested on the floor where he had discarded them earlier anxious to crawl into the warm bed and into a still warmer Claire. “Ye ken the fastest way to warm up is with body heat,” he murmured erotically against her ear. She did know and had shivered in anticipation of his intention.

Her jeans and jumper left a trail from the door to the bed. The lacey black bra that he removed, lay on the floor. Her skimpy panties drooped from one of the four posts of the bed, like a flag hanging limply in a windless sky.

She felt like a live wire skittering across the ground shooting off sparks. Remaining on edge and unable to concentrate, she padded around the room picking things up and putting them down. Every little noise or echo of a footfall in the hallway drew her attention. “He’ll be back, won’t he?” she said to herself.

Scanning the room she saw reminders of him wherever she looked. His shaving kit, suit, shoes, jeans, jumper, cologne. She ran her hand over his things aching with the need to connect to him. His touch, his scent, his look. The room felt empty. Not because of the lack of his physicality in the space, but from his essence. Jamie filled a space with his being. Claire suddenly felt lonely. She missed him already - terribly.

Exhaling a huge sigh, she walked over to the window, peering down at the street. She had a very strange sensation that Jamie just might be standing down there next to a lamppost looking up at the window. From her perch high above the street, she had a commanding view of the area around the hotel. The street was devoid of people. Not even a taxi cruised around looking for passengers. Even though Claire knew that it a foolish thought, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed she didn’t see him standing there. She rubbed the glabella, the tender skin between her eyebrows, in an effort to thwart a beginning headache.

Relationships are complicated things, she considered. For Claire, relationships were hard for her because she has trust issues. A gift courtesy of one Frank Randall. She gave him her heart, love, and trust only to have him toss everything carelessly away like a worn-out, useless, old shoe. She was hurt, betrayed, and doubtful to ever trust another man again. And then Jamie Fraser walks into her life. After working with him for over a year, she knew him as a kind, thoughtful, gentle, considerate, loving man.

In spite of their close working relationship, Claire continued to hold back her feelings, her trust. She knew Jamie to be a good man and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him because she did. Well, professionally she trusted him implicitly. Personally, she did but... Maybe it’s because she feared how he would judge her if he knew the whole truth. Whatever the case, she thought he deserved someone better than her. She didn’t blame him for leaving after the way she treated him. Truth be told, she all but forced him out after insinuating that he was to blame for what happened.

Claire knew that Frank had been watching them. He admitted it to her. ‘I’ve been watching you with him all night. What the fuck do you see in that Neanderthal?’ She also knew that Frank observing her with Jamie fanned the flames of his jealousy. He always had been a jealous and possessive man. Come to think of it, Claire refected, this is just like the time he almost thrashed poor Albert, the young assistant professor that had the misfortune of spending time with and talking with her.

Albert took pleasure at her admiring his wit. Frank watched from the sidelines following her every move, smile, or laugh. He watched and drank, drank and watched until sufficiently drunk enough to physically menace the younger faculty member. Dragging her out of the party, he called her every vile name he could think of slut, whore, tramp bringing tears to her eyes. “You're mine, Claire. I don’t share well. You are my wife and you had better act like it. Don’t do it again,” he threatened. “Or so help me, I’ll…” He raised his hand to strike her. “Or you’ll do what Frank, beat me?” she called his bluff and succeeded. He dropped his hand grabbed her and pulled her to their car.

She exhaled deeply and walked away from the window. Claire knew that neither she nor Jamie could have changed what happened in the restaurant. Frank, hellbent on creating trouble, would have followed them determined to create mayhem.

She knew deep in her heart she wronged Jamie. Letting her anger get the better of her, she created a wedge between them. She knew she needed to admit her mistakes and tell the truth about her life with Frank. He needed to understand. No more secrets. No more lies.

Claire yawned and stretched feeling overwhelming fatigue settle over her. She hadn’t slept much since they arrived in Boston. It became an emotional roller coaster fueled from jetlag, too much alcohol, the newfound intimacy with Jamie and the disaster in the restaurant. No wonder she felt exhausted. She decided to rest while waiting for Jamie to return. Spying one of the tee shirts he had recently worn, she walked over picked it up and inhaled deeply. It smelled of him. Heady, musky, woodsy with a slight undertone of citrus from his aftershave. Claire pulled off her sleep shirt and put his on. It was too big, baggy, and shapeless on her small frame. Running her hands over the fabric, she felt the softness of it from frequent use. She climbed into the bed, breathing in his scent. She pretended that instead of his shirt wrapped around her, she lay enveloped in his arms and protected by his body. I’ll make it right. I must. Slowly she drifted off to sleep.

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

Ding!

The elevator door slid open with a soft whoosh permitting Jamie Fraser to step in. Entering the lift, he leaned against the glass wall dropping his head back to rest against the cool slick surface. He needed to get away, clear his mind, try to figure things out.

An enigma. A puzzle. A mystery. How else to describe Claire? Damn the woman. He only wanted to offer her comfort, tenderness. Instead, she turned away from him. She says one thing I love you and only you and then she rejects him. Why would she do that? Frustrating. Infuriating. Confusing.

He sought oblivion. Tonight was a double-edged sword. On one hand, he wanted to understand what was happening with his Sassenach. Then, again, he wanted to forget and to reduce the memory of this evening to ashes. Raising the bottle of whisky to his lips, he drank deep. The spirit slipped across his tongue cascading down his throat followed by its familiar burn.

The door slid open allowing Jamie to exit into the main lobby. He strode past the reception desk.

“Dr. Fraser, can I be of assistance?” The pretty receptionist inquired.

“Thank ye kindly lass, but no.” His face appeared slightly flushed.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call a car for you. It’s quite cold out. Definitely not a night to be on foot.”

“I’m a Highlander, born and bred. I’m used to the cold, ye ken?” With that, he exited through the hotel’s sliding doors into the fridge embrace of a Bostonian winter. Jamie searched the pockets of his jacket for his cap and gloves finding neither. He also discovered he neglected to bring his wallet, money, or phone. “I’ll do,” he muttered to himself. Mercifully, his jacket had a hood which he pulled up over his head while cramming his hands, carefully, into his pockets. His bottle of whisky tucked into a pocket inside his jacket.

Lacking familiarity with Boston, he wondered where he should go, though it really didn’t matter. He was not out to sightsee but out to clear his head.

Taking another long drink from the bottle, he turned to his left and began to walk, then jog, eventually running without direction. He slipped and slid on the black ice, tumbling into a snowbank laughing at his own foolishness. He was drunk, very drunk, he thought as he took another big gulp of the whisky. His Da always said, “Yer never drunk if ye can still stand up.” And he was still standing, albeit with the assistance of the snowbank, but standing he was.

Jamie found himself back at Boston Commons where he spent the day with Claire. He walked slowly through the whispering white silence of the park looking at the places where they had gone. The park had an ethereal feel to it. Streetlamps cast shadows across the park’s snow-encrusted expanse giving shape and form to the spectors hiding in the gloom. Evergreen trees, tall, imposing, majestic released their sharp piney tang around him. Deciduous trees with branches bare, naked without their leaves, covered with smatterings of snow or encased in ice. The wind howled through the trees causing clumps of snow to drop around him. At night, the park became a desolate place reflecting the wretchedness of his soul.

He came across the spot where they met the sparrow family. Collapsing onto the cold bench, he found himself surrounded by the memories of the day.

“The lass has ye twisted around her wee finger, ye ken? Ye even speak to birds if it makes her happy. She’s even gotten you to believe that they have the souls of her dead family,” he snorted. He sat there shaking his head. “What wouldn’t ye do for her? Nuthin’. Then why is this so hard? If she doesna want to have the scoundrel arrested, then let her have it. She has her reason, Fraser. Ye trust her word, do ye no’? Aye, I do. Then leave her be. She’ll tell ye why when she’s ready or when she can.”

“Remember lad, she’s been hurt.” Harry had said. “Be gentle wi’ her.”

“Aye, ‘tis all true, but why did she no’ discuss this agreement she made with me first? I mean we’re supposed to be partners.” His fingers tapped out a rhythmic tattoo against his thigh as he sat in contemplation. “Ye ken the reason, ye eejit. Ye would have said no. She did this for ye, tae protect ye. Tae sacrifice herself for ye. No’ because she loves the man. She loves ye enough tae do such a thing.”

Jamie knew all this within his innermost heart, but he still wanted justice for her. He did not want to be the one causing her to lose that chance.

“Besides,” he told himself, “ye heard her, she blames me for what happened. For failing tae protect her, for leaving her for,” he choked, “no’ being the man she needs.” Abruptly he realized that he also broke his promise to the bird family.

‘I promise tae see her safe, care for her and love her all the days of my life,’ he vowed to the birds. Jamie slammed his hand down on the bench. “Ifrinn! Fraser, ye are useless, and no’ a man of honor. Ye couldna even keep yer word tae a cluster of sparrows now could ye? If ye canna do something as simple as that, how could ye keep yer word tae Claire? Ye dinna deserve her.” He took another drink, the bottle very nearly empty.

He saw the bird tree just a short distance from where he sat. Feeling the need to apologize, Jamie staggered toward the tree calling out loudly, “If ye can hear me wee birds, I am sorry, sae sorry. I let her down and ye as weel. I’m no’ a man.” He hung his head in shame but quickly his anger rose to the surface.

He unleashed his fury against the tree hitting it hard reinjuring his right hand causing it to become scraped and bleeding. The pain from the single blow shot white-hot up his arm into his oxter. He collapsed into a mound of still soft snow at the base of the conifer. He let loose a torrent of Gàidhlig curses and self-deprecating rants. Hanging his head between his knees, Jamie took a deep breath trying to stem the waves of pain, nausea, and dizziness gripping him. No good. Heaving and retching, his stomach turned itself out of whisky and bile. He felt numb, tired and decidedly less drunk than before.

“What a waste of that verra fine whisky,” he ironically thought as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

It was cold, colder than before. “Weel, yer sitting in the snow, yer no’ dressed for the weather, and yer just vomited up all yer antifreeze, what do ye expect?”

The problem, he considered, came down to where to go. He could go back to the hotel but he did not want to see Claire, just yet. He didn’t have his wallet with his credit card nor did he have any money. As he saw it, he needed to keep moving to stay warm. He stood up with great difficulty. Choosing a random direction, he began to walk. Jamie began to feel better walking. After walking about five blocks he came upon a Church with a brightly lit sign outside.

Cold? Tired? Hungry? Or just need a place for the night? The Lord Loves You. All are welcome!

He looked up and saw a statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel standing guard over the entrance.

“Blessed Michael of the Red Domain defend us,” he thought and knew he had found a safe refuge for the remainder of the night.

Brother Stanislaus Kostka possessed an imposing figure. In his previous life, he was a former naval corpsman serving with a marine unit. He had blonde wavy hair, kind green eyes, and maintained a muscular physique hidden by his simple religious habit. He wore a brown habit with a hood, a cord wound around his waist and sandals. The cincture tied around his waist had the characteristic three knots symbolizing poverty, chastity, and obedience. A black rosary hung from the cingulum completing his attire.

Jamie stood quietly in the back of the shelter, observing the clergyman caring for his flock. The friar had a gentleness and compassionate way that emanated from him. A woman had approached him with a problem, to which he devoted his full attention. After considering and weighing the possible alternatives he smiled and presented his proposal. The woman grinned nodded in acceptance, then moved away.

Looking up he spotted Jamie standing in the doorway waiting to be acknowledged.

Brother Stan turned his attention to Jamie. “How can I help you tonight, my friend?” His smile could warm a person through and through.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Father, but I need a place to stay for the night,” Jamie apologized.

“It’s Brother, Mr…?”

“Fraser, but ye can call me Jamie.”

“Welcome, Jamie. It seems you had a difficult night so far. You know there is always room at the Lord’s table for one more.” Looking at Jamie he took in his appearance and observed his battered and bruised hand.

“So Mr. Fraser, er Jamie, come with me and let’s get a look at that hand?” He turned away not waiting for an answer. Jamie followed and they walk into a small room both office and treatment room.

“May I ask how you injured your hand?” asked the Brother as he set up what he needed to care for Jamie’s hand.

Jamie looked abashed. “I, ah, had an argument with (what do I call her?) Claire the woman I love. And I got drunk. I needed time to think things over. So, I jogged to the park and my anger got the best of me, and I took it out on a tree.”

Brother Stan went about the task of caring for the wounds removing any splinters that he found.

Jamie hissed as the open areas were cleaned and dressed. “I have two hairline fractures of my right third and fourth fingers. I, um, somehow lost the splints that were there. Could ye make something temporary to put there?”

“How did you acquire the fractures?”

“‘I was in a fight last night defending a friend’s honor. I ken how it sounds like I’m some kinda drunken brawler, but ‘tis no’ true.”

“And would this friend be, Claire?”

“Aye, ‘twas.”

By this time, Brother Stan had cleaned and dressed the wounds. “I see,” he nodded solemnly.

Giving Jamie a direct look, Brother Stan inquired, “You are troubled. How can I help you?”

He considered this offer to help. “Ye can let me into yer chapel to pray and ask the Lord’s guidance.”

“Usually, we don’t allow people in the chapel alone at night.”

Jamie leaned back in his chair adopting his storyteller pose. “Let me tell ye a story. ‘Tis a tradition in the Fraser clan that parents make a rosary for each child for their First Communion. My Da carved each of the beads and the crucifix. My Mam strung the beads together thinking on the Glorious Mysteries. As she placed each bead, she said a Hail Mary, Our Father, or the Glory Be in the appropriate place. They had it blessed by a priest and it was gifted to me on the morning of my First Communion. I put it away after and dinna think much on it again until they died. Then it became the most precious thing I owned. I would ride out on my horse and go tae the old deserted churches in the Highlands and there I would pray. I would pray my rosary, the one they gave me, and it gave me comfort as I believed they were near me. Now, I’m asking ye to grant me another chance for comfort, tae talk tae the Lord so I ken what tae do. I dinna have my rosary with me, but I’ll do. Can ye help me?” Jamie placed his left hand over Brother Stan’s appealing for understanding.

Emerald green met sapphire blue seeking the truth and asking for help.

Brother Stan’s hand went to the cord around his waist and removed his rosary. “Tonight you can use mine.”

They rose and silently walked through the slumbering mass of people. Homeless men, women with children, battered women, runaways, lost souls, those down on their luck. Jamie looked around committing this sight to memory.

As they ascended the stairs to the chapel, the scent of beeswax and incense hung heavy in the air. On the right of the main altar was a shrine to the Holy Family while on the left was a shrine dedicated to St. Michael. The red sanctuary lamp was lit hanging near the main altar announcing the presence of the Lord.

In accordance with the custom of the Roman Rite, both Jamie and Brother Stan dipped their fingers into the holy water font and crossed themselves in the Sign of the Cross. Brother Stan gripped Jamie’s shoulder before leaving, “May your heart find comfort and your soul know peace. The Lord be with you. If you have need of me, you know where I will be.”

“Thank ye for everything,” Jamie replied choking with emotion.

Brother Stan nodded and left.

Jamie walked to the center aisle, genuflected, got down on his knees, then lay prostrate before his God in humility, respect, and penance.

“Lord God, please let me understand her.

Let me shelter her from all danger, pain, and sorrow.

Let me be her sanctuary, her safe port in a storm.

Let me keep her safe; her protector from what seeks tae harm her.

Let me help her tae find peace, happiness, joy, and love.

Let me be her home the place where her heart resides.

Let me love her rightly.

God, oh God, please let me be enough.”

And he wept.

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

Claire woke up looking at the time on the bedside clock. Ill-temperedly it announced 3:38 AM. Shit, she only meant to take a brief nap not fall asleep. Rubbing her eyes ridding them of residual sleep, she scanned the room looking for...

“Jamie?” There was no answer. The opposite side of the bed was cold and not been slept in. There was no sign of him.

Claire began to panic, her heart racing, fingers cold and sweaty. What if something happened to him? What if he had fallen and gotten hurt? He could be lost. Maybe he was hit by a car? Her imagination ran wild imagining different catastrophes that could have befallen him.

Deciding not to let panic consume her, she thought maybe he fell asleep in the lobby not wanting to wake her up. Calling down to the front desk, she discovered he had left about three hours ago. According to the receptionist Jamie did not say where he was going. The young woman did notice that he turned to his left when he exited the building.

Foolish man, where could he have gone to? Guilt engulfed her. She should have gone after him when he left. She should have never left him alone. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.

Claire decided to look for him and dressed quickly. Where he could have gone, she had no idea. But she was damned if she was going to sit here to wait and worry. She grabbed his warm coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and his wallet. Claire thought having his wallet could prove useful as it would serve as a means of identification. Although, a very tall red-headed man would be easy to spot.

Claire turned left following Jamie’s assumed route, hoping luck would be on her side.

Walking the empty streets, she began to wonder where he could have gone. She trudged along for several blocks before noticing that this is the way to Boston Commons. Of course. That’s where he would go. The open spaces would be a balm to his soul. She hurried quickly over the icy walkways.

She reached Boston Commons and followed the path they had taken. There was no sign of him. She passed by a tree and found an almost empty bottle of whisky that she recognized from the hotel along with a fair amount of vomit. So! He had been here. She looked around and did not see him. “Jamie, where are you? Jamie!” But there was no answer.

Claire continued walking, looking for any sign as to where he could have gone. She followed the path out of the park and walked straight for several blocks until coming across a welcome sign posted by a church. The sign welcomed anyone in need of a place to stay. She wondered if he would have gone in until she looked up and saw the imposing statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel and knew. Michael was important to the Scots. They often petitioned him for assistance in a time of need.

“No harm in asking,” she considered. Descending down the stairs, Claire entered the shelter and observed Brother Stan at work talking, comforting, praying. Looking around she did not see any red curls anywhere. Just as she was about to leave, Brother Stan approached her.

“May I help you?” he asked a gentle smile across his lips.

“Well, maybe. I am looking for a tall red-headed Scotsman that…”

“Are you Claire, by chance?”

She gaped at him. “How did you know? Jamie, is he here? Where is he? Is he alright?” Claire babbled. She frantically scanned the room again. How hard could it be to find him here?

“He is here and safe. Though he re-injured his broken hand, I’m afraid. I had to pull several splinters out of his hand. He had a run-in with a tree, it seems,” he said with a little smirk.

“Take me to him, please,” she pleaded. He was hurt and she hadn't been there to care for him. She felt uneasy until she could see him with her own eyes.

“He is upstairs in the chapel, praying. Come I will take you.”

“Praying?”

“Yes, he said it would bring him comfort and peace.”

They walked up the same stairs and repeated the same blessing. “Go to him. Be with him. He needs you.”

“Thank you Father for everything.”

“You’re welcome my dear. Oh and it is Brother, not Father. The Lords’ peace be with you both.”

Brother Stan left silently as he did before.

Claire put Jamie’s things down in a pew, and soundlessly approached the man she loves.

Kneeling down beside him, she hesitated wanting so much to touch him. Wanting to stroke his soft curls to give him comfort. To reassure herself he was real. But she felt afraid to startle him out of his deep meditations.

Instead, she whispered softly, “Jamie, it’s me, Claire.”

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

Interesting things:

St. Stanislaus Kostka is the patron saint of broken bones. So I named the Brother after him.

In the mood board, the picture of the church in the left upper corner is a church devoted to St. Stanislaus Kostka. It is located in Brooklyn.

The Marine Corps is part of the Naval services and do not have their own medics. So that’s why Brother Stan served as a naval corpsman.

You all noticed I didn’t say anything about Chapter 16 and I’m not going to either.

#edinburgh to boston #chapter15 #outlander fanfiction #An Examination of Conscience #my writing #best ever betas #the best readers #curlsgetdemgurls #scubalass #Here Goes Nothing

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

kiss me | shawn mendes

university au its suMMER, shawn x goth gf/oc

AN: what would yall say if i was almost done with this series but not with this couple? what if the next chapter was like uuuuuuhhhhhhh a season finale or sumn? anyways let me know if u wanna be added to the taglist

masterlist | playlist

"Kiss me," I said to Shawn, placing my arm on top of the couch cushion so I could look at him.

He was mindlessly playing guitar, a sight that brought me some peace of mind. He returned my gaze, still strumming for a second, and then he stopped. Then, he leaned forward and quickly pecked my lips before returning to his previous task.

I mean, I got what I wanted, but I didn't. Typically a peck would turn into another peck, and that would turn into a deep kiss. Then Shawn would put is his guitar down, wrap his arms around my waist, and pin me to the couch. Or he would simply carry me to his bedroom. It was a thing we had going on, and it always started with those two simple words. That was where my mind spiraled in the thirty seconds I spent staring at him play guitar like nothing happened.

I made a whiney noise. I never made whiney noises.

"Hmm?" His noise was almost imitating mine, and he was amused.

"Kiss me more," I said, reaching up to stroke his hair. My fingers went down to his earlobe, and then the side of his neck. I knew he liked little touches like that, he just had to take the bait.

To my surprise, Shawn tilted his head away. "I'm kind of onto something right now."

I only felt a blow to my stomach because he hadn't been working on anything in the time he had been sitting on the couch. He was just strumming whatever came to mind. But I let it go for now, and I kept my hands to myself.

Don't get me wrong, I was so beyond grateful that Shawn let me move in with him and looked after me while I recovered from my surgery. I was just upset that all this stuff hit while we were smack in the middle of the lovesick phase. Things like sickness and major life disruptions are ugly and have the potential to pop the wonderful lovesick bubble and tear apart perfectly good relationships, or in this case, the only good relationship I've ever had. I was in the hospital for a week and a half, for something that's relatively common. No one ever said there would be things to mentally face after.

We weren't torn apart, but there was a bend somewhere between us.

I didn't know how to segue into a serious conversation, so I didn't bother to sugar coat it. "I'm gonna open up about something, okay?"

That caught Shawn's attention. He set his guitar down so it was leaning on the arm of the couch. He shifted his whole body towards me, indicating that he was listening.

"It's… it's been a while since we've had sex," I started. "And, I understand why. I was physically unable to for a while, and then we had a lot of visitors here, so we didn't have any alone time. We're tired all the time because of work and…" I paused. I didn't want to put any blame on Shawn about his nightmares. "Point is, I'm okay now. The incisions healed perfectly. And… I miss that part of us."

Shawn nodded and considered my words. "Is sex the only reason why you decided to open up now?"

Another blow. I just may need another surgery! "It's not just that… things feel weird between us. We used to talk more."

For some reason, he smiled. Then he reached for his guitar again. "Tables have turned, eh?"

Just punch me in the face instead!

I was careful not to try anything that Shawn wasn't comfortable with over the next twenty four hours. I kept my hands to myself, and I didn't ask for any kisses. Although, I was secretly hoping one of us would have to leave somewhere so that way I could get a simple goodbye kiss, but alas. Our weekend off was going to be mundane.

It was interesting that Shawn moved closer to me on the couch when I specifically kept a sizable distance between us. He put his arm around me as we watched one of the Harry Potter movies, but I couldn't focus on the TV. My mind kept going back to riding Shawn on this couch, or both of us being so hot we'd end up on the floor. My skin felt tingly just by how he played with strands of my hair while he had his arm around me. His fingers would occasionally graze the side of my jaw, and it left a trail of fire.

I lied my head on his shoulder, only to have the smell of his cologne dance under my nose. My arm went around his middle, giving him a random hug. He rubbed my back in response, but he was still focused on the movie.

He surprised me once it was over. "I thought about what you said yesterday…"

"Oh?"

"You're right. It's been two months too long since anything's happened between us," he continued. "And I miss it too. I miss feeling that close to you."

A mix of relief and excitement washed over me. So I wasn't overreacting. I wasn't coming off too strong.

"You don't have to agree to anything if you don't want to," I told him. "It's - uh, I want us both to have fun."

He smiled and rubbed my cheek with his thumb. "It's always fun with you."

My face immediately went hot, and I leaned in to properly kiss him. Shawn leaned in as well, and the seconds slowed down. My heart was pounding more and more the closer we got, it reminded me so much of our first kiss. The nerves were there, the tense silence was deafening. Inadvertently staying true to the event of our first kiss, I suddenly leaned back.

"Should we go to the room?" I asked, my voice wavering just a little.

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea," Shawn said. He stood up, and I followed him into the room.

My eyes trailed over to the unmade bed as I gingerly approached it. The only things that happened under these blue sheets lately were depression naps and nightmares. I wanted that to change tonight. I wanted to replace the bad memories with good ones.

Shawn closed the door and walked over to where I stood. He rubbed his hands on his gym shorts, and he looked at my face. We reach for each other's hands at the same time, but it felt more staged and awkward than anything else, so we both left our hands at our sides.

"I just got nervous all of a sudden," he admitted.

"Me too." I chuckled. "Like, first date jitters, but not…?"

"Exactly like first date jitters. Okay…"

Shawn put his hands up again, looking at me like he didn't know what to do next. I took half a step closer to him, and that made him place his hands on my shoulders. It was such a timid move, and so different as well. Normally, he would cup my face or wrap his arms around my waist. I had never seen him hold back like this.

"Kiss me," I said softly, looking him in the eyes.

I gently took his wrists as he closed the distance between us. Our lips met in a soft touch, hesitant even. I missed the simple act of kissing him so much that I would be content with just doing this all night. However, it only lasted about five seconds before Shawn stepped back, head facing the floor.

"I'm sorry, honey…"

My stomach sank a little, and my throat stung a lot, but I swallowed the gut wrenching feeling of rejection. I took a deep breath while Shawn wasn't looking, and then I stepped towards him again.

"It's okay, really," I reassured, keeping my voice even. "We don't have to do anything you don't wanna do."

The following day, when I had gotten out of the shower, I found myself looking at my reflection in the mirror. More specifically, I was looking at the little round scars on my belly.

Three of them were little dots on the left side of my abdomen, almost invisible to the eye. It was a benefit of having a laparoscopic surgery; Less pain and a quick recovery. However, the other two scars were 3 inch lines below my belly button, practically one large line if you didn't focus on it. That was where the complications were dealt with, and that was what kept me from going home.

I dealt with that setback, and now I was okay with staying here at Shawn's until the next semester began. Sure, there was some tension and arguing in the process, but we were past it. I was making peace with this whole ordeal. I was going to be home for Christmas. Probably.

Looking at my scars in the mirror planted an unpleasant seed in my mind. I realized that Shawn didn't touch me as often as he normally did. Even after my doctor cleared me for all physical activity, Shawn kept a distance. He was in a state where he normally would have liked to lay his head on my chest while I played with his hair, but these days, I was lucky if he put his arm around my shoulders. Was he avoiding my torso altogether, or was I just going crazy? Were my scars ugly to him, or was I losing my mind?

That thought alone struck something in my chest. I quickly got dressed in my tiny black shorts and baggy black tee, trying not to look at my reflection again. I tried to reassure myself that I still looked cute in my pajamas, scars or not. I wasn't one for depending on a man's approval of my appearance, but this was my mans.

It's still pathetic, a voice in my head grumbled. You used to be a bad bitch with no fucks to give before he came along. Look what he's done to you.

I didn't want to feel inadequate or unattractive, but it was setting heavily on my shoulders. I didn't want to think about the idea of my boyfriend being repulsed by my body, but it was demanding to be felt. I didn't want to think about how Shawn could easily walk out the door, into a bar, and find some random girl…

"Why is that familiar?" I whispered.

I checked the time on my phone. Shawn should be off work already. He should be on his way home now.

I padded into the living room with intent to play on my Switch to distract myself. I booted up Tetris 99, the fun upbeat music filling up the room from the TV. However, my ears were stuck on listening to the front door unlock. My eyes didn't blink once as I stacked shapes on top of one another to clear lines. Still, there was that tiny whisper in the back of my mind wondering what the hell was taking my boyfriend so goddamn long.

The game ended when I couldn't stack efficiently anymore. I ranked number twenty nine, and I couldn't even be upset at how unfair the game was. I closed the game and went to open Breath of the Wild, but I already knew it wasn't going to distract me. I remained still, controller in my hand - the controller Shawn had gifted me - just waiting for any sound that indicated he was home. I definitely couldn't text him, because it was very unlike me to be waiting on him all the time. I was not the controlling girlfriend who constantly needed tabs on where her boyfriend was every minute, but so help me god if he wasn't home in the next few minutes…

My shoulders dropped and relaxed when I heard the familiar sound of the lock jiggling. Then, I looked at the time on my phone. 5:47PM. That's interesting.

"You in the mood for pasta?" Shawn's voice came from the hallway. "That's all I got for today."

He stepped into the living room and sat next to me on the couch, like he did every day. As always, he kissed my cheek and then leaned over to the coffee table to place the to-go bag on the surface. Words came up before I could stop them.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" Oh god, it wasn't supposed to come out like that. That was not the question I was supposed to ask.

Shawn was just as surprised as I was. His head swiftly turned to me, brows furrowed, but he also chuckled in disbelief. "What?"

My face began to heat up. This got embarrassing in record time. "I have scars now, and I think they're kind of badass. But you won't even look at me if I change in the same room as you. And you haven't had your hands on me in weeks. I'm just confused…" And my insecurity grows by the second. It's kind of scaring me.

"I think you're as beautiful as ever," he told me, taking my hand. "And I'm sorry I've been less… touchy. I really didn't think you'd have a problem with it, since you're not the touchy type."

"Well…" I trailed off, but he was right. He was right, and I felt attacked. But he was wrong at the same time. "Yeah, yeah. I guess."

"And aside from that," Shawn continued as he casually grabbed the box of pasta from the table, "I wouldn't wanna disturb your wounds. Don't wanna make anything worse."

I tilted my head. "You won't. I've been cleared for physical activity for weeks now. I mean, we can go slow and gentle if you want."

"I don't wanna hurt you again."

His words rang in the room. The TV was on, but I couldn't even hear the sounds anymore. I could only stare with my mouth open, eyes wide like that stupid emoji.

Shawn met my gaze, so he elaborated. "Do you remember the last time we had sex? You literally cried out in pain, and you pushed me away, and you told me to shut up when I tried to help you. And you spent the whole night in the bathroom. I knew you weren't feeling well, and I still talked you into getting into bed with me. I shouldn't have convinced you to spend the night, I should have just let you deal with your stuff on your own."

Just when I thought I couldn't feel worse about the big picture, I was met with that gross tightness in my chest yet again. That explained a lot of his distant behavior. But to know he carried all this guilt because of the way I acted shattered me to pieces.

"No," I said in a tone that matched the expression on my face. "No, it wasn't because of you. I was already in pain before we did anything. I felt pain when we were leaving the movie theater that night. You didn't do anything, not a single thing."

“But you said-”

“I say stupid things when I’m in pain. And, and I told you that night, I deal with my digestive crap on my own, so I wasn’t used to someone trying to help. I’m sorry if you thought you did something wrong. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t?” he asked softly, looking at me with big, sad eyes.

“You didn’t.”

Shawn’s sad brown eyes flickered down to my stomach. He had his mouth open like he wanted to say something, but it came out timidly. “You’re so fragile now. I feel like I’ll break you if I touch you the wrong way.”

“Hey.” I got to my feet and stood directly in front of him. Then, I held out my hand, giving him an expectant look.

He hesitated. He hesitated to simply hold my hand. But he did it. I felt sparks where our skin met, and it traveled up my arm. At least there was still something there.

“You trust me, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yes. I trust you.”

That was all I needed in order to lift up my shirt, lower my sweatpants an inch, and place Shawn’s big hand over my scars. He gasped at first, nearly retracting, but he stared at the placement for a second. His thumb ran over the three little dots on my left side, and he slowly moved his fingers down to the more prominent lines below my belly button. It made my skin tingle, and reignited fires that had long since been put out.

His brows scrunched like he was focusing on my scars, but he took a deep breath as the pink patches in his cheeks began to flare up. Honestly, I couldn’t really blame him. Neither of us had touched or been touched in weeks. We were practically starving.

“Look, I’m all healed and better now,” I told him. “I’m not fragile, and I’m certainly not weak. I’m a strong lady. And you’re a strong guy. We’re strong together. And you did everything right. And I’m sorry I’ve stressed you out over all of this. I, I didn’t mean to place the entire burden on you.”

Shawn considered my words and nodded. He was still looking at my stomach, tracing his first two fingers over the biggest scar. “I’d do it all again. I’d do anything for you.” Then he tilted his head up towards my face, his brown eyes boring into mine. “You know that, right? I’ll bear any burden for you.”

“I’d do the same for you,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I cupped his face affectionately, and I leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

This was way more intimate than any sex we’ve ever had. That was all I knew.

"I have trust issues, and silence makes me crazy," I reminded him. "We can't not talk to each other."

He nodded and brought a hand up to my wrist. "Okay."

Things felt just a little weird the next morning. It almost felt like the morning after I spent the night for the first time, except I wasn’t overwhelmed with the urge to run away, and there was no cuddling. Besides, we slept with reasonable space between us when I didn’t have to wake Shawn from another nightmare. I only had to wake him up twice during the night, so we had a less difficult time getting up for work than usual. We got ready in a not-so-awkward silence (apart from the soft music Shawn played from his phone), kissed goodbye, and went our separate ways.

I didn’t get a follow up on his thoughts on putting his hand on me for the first time in two months. I felt it was something you probably shouldn’t talk about through text over your lunch break. Shawn didn’t text me either, unless it was to send a picture of a flower he thought was really cool. It was like we didn’t have a breakthrough the previous night. Would that even be called a breakthrough? I had to initiate the touching of my scars, after all.

As usual, I got home from work after he did. He already had food spread out on the coffee table. Today, I had texted him that I could have something other than bland rice or pasta, so he came through with Chinese. I chowed down on combination fried rice, nearly bursting into tears over how much I missed flavorful food. We watched Austin Powers on Netflix and caught each other up to speed on our work days. Shawn mentioned that he was going over to the studio tomorrow to write and record new songs, and my heart nearly stopped.

“You’re writing again?” I said in pleasant disbelief.

“I never really stopped,” he replied. “I just took a bit of a break with everything going on. You can come too, if you want.”

I smiled. “Really? I won’t be in the way?”

He shook his head, mildly amused. “You’re never in the way. I love having you around, even if you’re sitting quietly and playing the Switch.”

We cuddled on the couch after we ate and finished our movie in a good kind of silence. It felt good, like a bit of the old puppy love phase was returning. I mean, I felt giddy lying on his chest and hearing his heartbeat, I just couldn’t tell if he was into it too. It was such a nice moment, I didn’t want to ask for fear of tainting it. I had to savor the soft moments, considering that lately things have been anything but.

After the movie, I went to shower and get ready for bed. It was nine o’clock in the middle of the week, and I was exhausted. Not only that, Shawn had to put himself on a stricter sleep schedule in order to properly combat the night terrors, so we both went to bed and woke up at the same time. Well, I tried to, but Shawn needed to.

It was practically a routine now for me to come out of the bathroom, lie down next to an unfairly topless Shawn, and for him to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. I completed the first two tasks, but the light hadn’t gone off yet. I shifted onto my side (a small thing I had missed doing for weeks) and looked up at him. He was sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. I poked his arm gently.

“Time for bed, my dear,” I reminded him.

Shawn looked down at me, a small smile on his pretty face. He put his phone down and then lied down facing me. The light was still on. “What would I do without you?”

“Let’s hope we never find out,” I replied. “Now turn off the light so you can sleep.”

“In a minute,” he said, reaching over to move a strand of hair from my face. “I wanna try something.”

“I - what?”

Delicately, Shawn pushed on my shoulder to get me onto my back. Then, he scooted closer and propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Since when was he the mysterious one in this relationship?

“Can I touch your scars again?” he asked, his voice low.

My heartbeat sped up almost immediately. I nodded a little too quickly, and was about to lift up my shirt but he beat me to it.

His hand went over my entire abdomen, not just the scars. He moved slowly, and a tingling sensation was left behind wherever his fingers roamed. I wiggled my toes from under the blanket, hoping Shawn wouldn’t notice just how much a simple touch could control my entire body. I was so deprived of skin on skin contact that I would probably combust from this alone.

After a minute of tensely quiet touching, Shawn removed his hand. However, before I could catch my breath, he dipped his head down and pressed his lips onto one of the little dots on my abdomen. The sound and feeling of soft suction heated up my entire face, so much I had to bring my hand up to mask how red I was getting. He did it again on the two other dots underneath the first, and then he was nosing his way down to the vertical line under my belly button. Surely he had to know how close he was to the most intimate part of my body. He wasn’t just being overly affectionate and chaste, right?

He picked his head up again, meeting my eyes. He was smiling now, and it was the charming, boyish smile I loved so much but would never dare speak of. His face looked innocent, like he wasn’t close to anything dangerous and exhilarating. The tone of his next question matched this facade, but the words were something else.

“Can I go lower?”

“Ah - yes,” I answered too quickly, but it was coherent enough for him to continue.

Soft kisses trailed down the vertical scar, and then his lips met the hem of my boring purple granny panties. Shawn moved just a little lower, planting a deeper kiss on the mound, just above where I wanted him to touch me. Another kiss went on my hip bone, and then at the crease of my thigh and groin. Then his hand was on my inner thigh, nudging me to spread my legs.

“Need the open space, honey,” he told me, hovering over me and slotting our legs together.

Even with our thighs touching this close, he was still a centimeter away from where I needed him. And oh god, did I need him. I was panting with want and need.

My hand was still covering my mouth, hiding the blush on my cheeks and the fact that I was chewing furiously on my bottom lip. Shawn was looking down at me with what I could only describe as bedroom eyes. Narrowed just a little bit, accompanied by a cheeky grin and a quirk of his eyebrows. My heart was close to bursting, I almost couldn’t take it.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking my hand and unshielding my face. Then he lowered himself down so our foreheads pressed together gently, and my breath hitched.

My hands went up his abs and around his lower back, fingers curling into the firm muscles. My body felt like it was vibrating at incredible speed. I shut my eyes and tried to focus on the simple touches, but my entire world imploded when Shawn spoke once more.

“Kiss me.”

_____

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #shawn mendes x oc #heheheeheheheheheheheheheehehehehehehehee #cant wait for this chapter and the next one to get more attention than the entire series as a whole!!!!!!!!!!#jkjkjkjkjkjkjk i lov the validation regardless #anyways i think i may revamp the playlist #not that anyone listens to it lulz

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behindthespotlightfic · 7 years

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chapter 13

(Behold, the longest -and longest to write- chapter of this fanfiction! Apologies for taking so much time to get this done, end of school year was hard but here we are, and hopefully I’ll have more time from now on. There are lots of references to Be my getaway, another RHCP fanfic I’m sure you know by now. Enjoy!)

Tulsa, Oklahoma. January 14, 2017, 8pm.

I’m in the dressing room, putting on some jeans and a comfy tee. The sky of the city is getting darker, and the show begins in an hour and a half. To everyone waiting outside the arena, it may seem a lot of time, but inside, the ones who will be delivering the concert are already warming up and getting ready, because we all know time flies by and in the blink of an eye we’ll be onstage.

But someone seems to have forgotten that. Finn opens the door without a hint of shame, and smiles when he sees me.

“Perfect”, he starts, “I was fearing Jane would still be here, but it seems I was wrong.”

“Yes, she left about ten minutes ago.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t say anything else; he’s suddenly lost for words, not something usual. I try to help.

“So, why are you here?”

Finn lowers his gaze. He’s not in his usual playful mood, but he’s not sad or frustrated or angry, he’s moving and talking in a kind of… tender way. He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, slowly holding me in his arms.

“I just wanted to see you. I know this isn’t the ideal moment to meet, not exactly, but I feel like haven’t been with you in a long time, besides spending our nights together.”

“That’s something”, I smile.

“Yeah, it’s something. But we spend so many time apart from each other during the day, because you’re with your friends and I’m with mine and I just…”

“Join us, Finn!” I say then. “Two days ago we were having lunch at a Japanese and I missed you, I really thought it would be great to have you there.”

“Yes, but…” He reaches out to kiss me. “I prefer being the two of us alone. It’s more intimate.”

“Uh… right.” He’s taken me by surprise, and he sees it.

“I… I just ask for a few more dates, Amy. I need more time with you.” He hasn’t lost his smile, but it’s soft and subtle. And there’s a hint of sadness.

I wrap him in a hug, and whisper in his ear.

“Hey.” I search for his eyes, those hazel eyes that melt me every single time. “Look at me.”

He looks up, and I join our lips in a kiss that, hopefully, says it all about both of us. It’s a kiss that says: “I will do anything for you. I don’t want you to feel any kind of distance between us.”

“How about tonight?” I suggest, when we break apart.

“And tomorrow morning” he adds.

“...And tomorrow morning.”

We smile, our faces almost touching, and, running my hand through his hair, we leave the dressing room.

And then we go live.

___

It feels good, to have this routine. It feels good because it’s something I can always rely on; it’s a safe, special universe I return to again and again, and it never stops being as magical as the first day. In some kind of way, each and every concert is different. It doesn’t matter if they always play Californication, Give It Away, Go Robot… it’s always a new experience.

Tonight, it’s a classic setlist of this tour: Right now, the camera is focused on Josh, who’s playing a solo in Wet Sand. Such a great song, Wet Sand. Many people don’t really like Stadium Arcadium, but I think it’s one of their greatest albums… or maybe it’s just that I’m partial to it because it was the one that allowed me to meet them. Back in 2007, when the Chilis were about to start their last half of the Stadium Arcadium tour, with a few backing musicians (that’s when Josh started playing with them as well), I met their long-time drum tech, Chris, who went on to be the man behind their synths and keyboards as well. He worked for a few months in England with the band I was with, an up-and-coming indie formation named Florence + The Machine (who actually ended up being really successful, but I didn’t stay for long), and he invited me to attend one of the Red Hot Chili Peppers shows. I didn’t even go backstage or anything, he just gave me a ticket, and that was all. It remained a thing of the past until 2011, when I got to know he had told them about me, and the team offered me the job I’m in now. The rest is history, but that concert made me curious and I checked out a few of their albums. Stadium Arcadium, obviously, was the one that stuck up with me the most, as I remembered some of their songs, and it still is. They don’t play many songs from that album though, apart from Snow and Dani California, so when it’s time for one it makes me happy.

Two songs go by, and the climax of Californication gives me that rush I love again. When I’m working, I feel like both a part of the audience and a part of the band. That movement I know so well, those little gestures I’m so familiar with, it all reminds me of the time we spend together, far from the stage, but at the same time, the wave of energy they project into people strikes me as it strikes the people standing on the first lines. Everything synchronizes: Finn back there on the soundboard, Steve next to me, the band making magic with every single note they send into space, the images I’m filming dripping with color up there on the giant LED screen behind the musicians… and seeing so many things working out at the same time multiplies the feeling of joy.

The show comes to an end, and with the usual encores (Goodbye Angels, which is sometimes swapped for Dreams of a Samurai, and Give It Away), we finish our work for the night. I change clothes (I’d like to have my high-heel Doc Martens here, but let’s settle for some sneakers) and we go out for a drink with the guys.

While the two taxis we catched take us to a night bar in the area of Ranch Acres, I remember something. I get out my phone and save John Frusciante’s contact details.

“hey!” I text him. “i wanted to thank you for not getting upset at flea and me the other day :)”

“You talking to someone?” Finn asks distracted, looking out the window.

“Uh… yes”, I answer, faltering a bit. “I was… asking Clara how was she doing.”

I don’t know why I just lied. Maybe because I prefer not to worry Anthony, who’s in the front seat, in our taxi as well, with things about John. I know he feels bad about the fact that he’s the most detached of the four Chilis, and to know that John talks to a camera operator before him would probably sadden him a bit. Maybe I’ll tell Finn when we’re in our room.

Suddenly, John texts back.

“oh, i got very upset. don’t you dare come near me ever again, understood?”

I can’t hide a nimble smirk. He’s the sarcastic type, then.

“hahahah” I answer. “and thank you for walking me back to the hotel as well!”

“no problem. was nice meeting you”

“so was meeting you!”

The conversation quickly comes to an end, with -fortunately- no trace of awkwardness, almost exactly when the taxis drop us all off. For a first conversation, it went pretty well. I’ll talk to him again, but in another moment, not right now. I breathe in the city breeze, and get inside The Colony, holding Finn’s hand.

The bar is pretty great, although not especially huge, but that’s kind of an advantage. There’s a tiny stage where what seems like a soul or funk band is warming up. They look promising, so we sit around a low coffee table, barely illuminated by a light bulb not covered by anything, and resume our chatting, scattered conversations between all of us.

“So”, I say to Josh’s girlfriend, Zara. “Tell me again how did you convince him to take that picture at the Guggenheim… not one but two times!”

She’s calm but joyful, and so lovely, she sometimes leaves me speechless. Not only in a physical way, although she’s definitely very pretty, but in an… emotional way, I guess? She’s not perfect, obviously, as I know from talking to her a few times, but she can’t help being strikingly genuine and open-hearted, and I really admire her for this. She’s by no means as close to me as Clara, for instance -I don’t know her as much-, but it looks like she’s a great woman, and the fact Josh loves her as much as he does (and especially knowing all the history they’ve been through) only proves it. That’s probably why we quickly got on when we met each other, even without talking much. It’s one of those cases of feeling we wouldn’t mind being friends with that person, but the occasion has never showed up. No bitterness, though: I enjoy talking to Zara as much as I did when we met.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really know how I did it myself… you know how he is”, she answers, chuckling, “right, Josh?”

She catches his eye, laughs when Josh tries to understand what we were talking about (he was in the middle of a complicated conversation about music gear and audio mixing devices with Chad’s son) and turns back to me.

“It was a matter of luck, I guess”, she continues.

“...or a matter of love, maybe?” I say, mischievously. Zara blushes a bit.

“Uh, yeah, whatever...” she snickers, “maybe you’re right.”

“Did he like the Guggenheim?”

“I think he liked it better the second time, when we went last year… Ten years ago neither of us was as into modern art as we are now, to be honest.”

“I feel you. Time goes by so fast, but sometimes it’s for the better, huh?” I smile. “You want something? I’ll go get a drink.”

“Um, I think I’ll have a gin & tonic, please”

I get up and start dodging tables to reach the bar, but halfway through, someone grabs me by the shoulder.

“I’ll come with you. Want to get myself something too.”

Anthony, who had been checking his phone for a while, not talking to anyone, joins me. I shrug my shoulders, smile and resume my way.

“You’re always the chatty one”, I ask, leaning on the counter and waiting for someone to take our orders. “What was all that silence about?”

“What do you mean?”

I try to be gentle.

“You know, there sitting with the others. You had your face glued to the screen.”

When he gets it, he dismisses it with a swift gesture of his hand. “Oh, it was nothing. Heather and I were discussing logistics and everything. Being divorced is fun… yay.”

He tries to laugh it off, and I let him. I’m not going to insist. Plus, the waiter has come. He asks for a margarita, and I order Zara’s gin & tonic and a martini for me. We’d usually have beers and that’s all, but today we’re going glam, I tell myself.

“What about you?”, he asks after the waiter goes away.

“What about me?”

“You were talking to Zara there on the table, but I noticed you didn’t say a word during the whole taxi journey”. His smirk is now visible, half of a grin painted on his face.

“You know, Clara and everything…” now it’s me who dismisses it.

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say.”

“It’s true, Anthony” I justify myself.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything for a while, enough to make it all slightly uncomfortable… to both of us? He just looks at me, that grin still there.

“You know you look stunning tonight, right?”

I stutter for some moments: he’s caught me off-guard. I look back at him suspiciously, trying to decipher what does he want to get with this… or where does he want to get. But because it surprised me, I don’t verbalize my doubt.

“Um”, I try to return the compliment, “you don’t look too bad yourself”. With an added smile, because it didn’t seem too natural.

When I say it, I notice he does look good. I guess it’s the routine and seeing him every day, but yeah, he’s looking good. Dark hair growing, not so short anymore, a Parliament t-shirt and a matching burgundy blazer… and his eyes are shining as he almost-imperceptibly shortens the distance between us. What’s going on?

“Damn it, Amy, you know what he’s doing. He’s flirting all the time, so why did you think your time wouldn’t come?” I internally laugh at it, and try to take things lightly.

“Thank you”, he says, almost chuckling, “that was what I was aiming for when I got dressed up.”

“Oh, what a surprise” I smile, playing dumb. “By the way, where’s my Martini? I’m thirsty, come on”

“I paid the waiter so he would give us time to talk...” he jokes.

“Shut up, Anthony” I shake my head laughing.

“Nah, just kidding but I don’t mind waiting if it’s with you.”

“Come on! Not as funny as you think…” I protest, not sure if I’m serious or not.

The band onstage start playing an interesting arrangement of Sunny, originally by Boney M.: they’re good, very good, but Anthony looks disappointed.

“I thought they were going to play some Parliament to honor my tee”, he says, pulling a face and turning his back to the counter to have a better view. Then he sighs: “I’ll have to go pay them something too.”

I smile, uncapable of laughing. I’m too weirded out by this situation. I know my response is not really natural: knowing him for as long as I’ve known him, I shouldn’t worry about this, but although I’m trying, it’s hard for me to keep things light. He’s got a natural talent to socialise, and for that I admire him, but I myself feel like I were at a crossroads.

“Amy”, he begins, reaching my cheek to caress it, “are you okay?”

He runs his thumb across my jaw, close to my lips. His touch is soft and gentle, but my body freezes. I see three cocktails landing on the counter right next to me. I see his eyes, dark and meaningful, empty of second intentions, only wanting me to feel better. But it’s a bit too much for me. I can’t follow him.

I get a step away from him, visibly distressed. I take a deep breath and get my drink.

“I’m sorry” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I think I need a bit of fresh air.”

I manage to fake a smile. “Can you give this to Zara?” I ask, pointing at the gin & tonic, and without waiting for an answer, I get out.

Outside, the night is dark.

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erickmalpicaflores · 6 years

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Erik Malpica Flores Erik Malpica Flores recommends: SUITS Recap: We’re A Community |

SUITS’ “Sour Grapes” saw members of opposing factions in the Next Name Partner Battle of 2018 team up on two separate cases. For Harvey Specter and Samantha Wheeler, the task at hand involved standing up for the firm’s slimy landlord and newest client, David Fox. Alex Williams assisted Robert Zane with a personal business matter; and that left Louis Litt’s drama of the week to be purely personal.

We found Robert Zane. Insert Firm Name Here’s current managing partner has been absent from recent SUITS episodes, but he finally made a reappearance in “Sour Grapes.” For Robert, the episode title was about as literal as it could get: Because he received his barrels too late, the product at his winery had gone sour — and his business was tanking.

So, when the boss called Donna to say that he needed Alex Williams’ help, proving he’d taken the COO’s commentary about “fostering harmony” to heart, “Red” purchased Alex everything he would need and sent him on his way.

Zane was convinced that he wasn’t treated fairly because of his race, especially because of the all-too-familiar looks he’d received at the bank and elsewhere in the community. In a heated meeting, Mr. Newton, who had sold Zane the barrels, actually admitted to some sabotage — but because Robert was a rich outsider, not because of the color of his skin. After a falling-out with Alex and some good advice from Donna, Robert wound up taking the man at his word and working things out. He even decided to give something back by funding a community tasting room.

So, SUITS really did the whole, “it’s not racism” thing here. That’s unsettling, given that people of color don’t normally cry racism for no reason, but that’s none of my business. The storyline included a moment in which Robert stated that, if some outsider came into his own community, he’s not sure he would have acted any differently because where he grew up, the people were “tight and close, mistrusting of outsiders.”

That would all be fine and good if we weren’t ignoring the reasons for that mistrust. Between that and the supposed problem with Robert’s “Wall Street money,” the story gave shades of the “economic insecurity” argument that’s been debunked time and again in America…And that’s really not a good look.

Surprise! She’s not pregnant! Louis Litt might have actually gotten some work done in SUITS 8×07 if Sheila hadn’t called him on his “sex phone” to inform him that she was pregnant and ask him to promise to keep her pregnancy a secret. Instead, said phone call did happen; and Louis…didn’t do such a great job of keeping secrets. Gretchen was the first to know, thanks to Louis’ in-office happy dance, but the party didn’t last long.

When Louis took Sheila to a fancy dinner to celebrate [insert euphemism for becoming pregnant here], things took a predictably bad turn for SUITS’ least healthy relationship (and that’s including the non-relationship mess that a certain other pairing has trapped themselves in for 13 years, by the way). This week’s order from Sheila was that, not only would Lous not be able to raise his child Jewish, but he should also just, like, completely drop the conversation: “This is supposed to be a celebration. Can’t you just let it go?” Yeah, Louis. Let something that’s clearly a major part of your identity go. Because why have a discussion, when you can take Sheila’s orders and leave it at that?

This sent Louis in search of persons two and three to learn of his “secret” news: Esther (his sister) and everyone’s favorite therapist, Dr. Lipschitz. Esther was surprised to hear that Louis wouldn’t raise his child Jewish and had always just assumed that any future Litts would attend Camp Bracha, just like their daddy and aunt had. But when she heard that the decision was Sheila’s, not Louis’, Esther was a little bit less accepting — especially when Louis mentioned that the couple hadn’t even had a real conversation about it. The situation reminded Esther of her failed marriage, which fell apart from a lack of communication, not anything that her husband had done to her.

So, Louis finally stood up to Sheila — for once — only to have her shoot him down with passive aggressive nonsense about he and Esther dragging her for being a shiksa. Evidently, Sheila’s decision not to raise her kid one way or the other had to do with not wanting to further alienate her Catholic parents, who already had a problem with her for not being particularly into their religion. But when Louis tried to explain to her that his wishes weren’t about what was important to his parents but, rather, what was important to him, Sheila made it all about her.

“What about what’s important to me?” Literally your entire relationship, Sheila. Question answered.

Unlike with Harvey, Louis chose to solve his relationship problems with Sheila in a solo session with Dr. Lipschitz. Louis wanted his doctor to wave a magic wand and get Sheila to let him raise their child the way he wanted to; but it wasn’t that simple. The therapist explained his own family story to Louis, the all-too-familiar one of a family that could have had a better chance of surviving in nazi Germany if they’d denied their identity — but didn’t.

Lipschitz’s advice highlighted the hard truth about this relationship: “I’m saying if you can’t be on the same page about how to raise your children, maybe you should discuss not having them.” But when Louis told Dr. Lipschitz that it was too late, the advice was softened to, “it’s more important that you make a decision together than what that decision is.” And then, SUITS’ greatest hero congratulated Louis with a “mazel tov” and a hug.

Louis went home, hoping to (finally) have a real discussion with Sheila, but she’d already changed her mind because Esther had called to welcome her to the family. So, as nice as it was that Sheila was willing to compromise — exposing the baby to both traditions — and even surprised Louis with his mother’s kugel, I’m still calling this one a fail. This couple should have had real discussions before thinking they were pregnant, and the more Sheila continues to control every aspect of the relationship, the more it, quite frankly, needs to end.

Unfortunately, the end is not in sight. Louis tried proposing to Sheila again, but she wanted to be the one to pop the question this time. Yay. They’re engaged…Ummm, and they’re not actually pregnant, so now they get to have (one-sided, probably) conversations like (terrible) adults before any Litt heirs actually come into being. Woo!

Harvey, meet your new client: David Fox. Remember when Donna made a deal with the devil and promised him that Harvey would be his lawyer for a year, for free? Well, Harvey doesn’t because he was never told.

Insert the world’s worst “not-actually-married spouses screaming at one another” fight when Harvey was approached by David Fox with the news that not only was he in the dark about the deal, but it was also time to deliver.

When Harvey confronted Donna about not keeping him informed, she said she’d added Fox to his client roster — I guess Donna’s still holding Harvey’s hand like a secretary, even now that she’s COO? — something she knew Harvey never checked. After admitting that she just wanted to see the look on Harvey’s face when he realized he didn’t have a choice in representing Fox, Donna also told him to “suck it up, take one for the team, and get this thing done.”

…and the whole dynamic was of the head-scratching, “no, really, what is happening with these two???” variety. There are some bottled-up emotions out here, being expressed through work spats, that do not actually appear to be about work. It’s confusing and frustrating…and exhausting.

When Harvey grudgingly went to see his client, he learned that David Fox wanted to by a building from his rival, John Billups, who was refusing to so much as put the building up for sale. Harvey tried (and failed) to make the purchase with a series of lies, but Billups saw right through him. Billups knew that Harvey was lying for David Fox, and he stayed firm in refusing to sell.

While this was happening, Donna was approaching Samantha about being Harvey’s backup on the case. The COO’s philosophy was that, sooner or later, the (snooze-worthy) competition between Sam and Alex would finally come to a resolution; and “no matter who [becomes name partner] first, the other team isn’t going to be happy about it. But the more we’re bonded as a family before that happens, the more likely we’ll stay a family after it does.” During the conversation, Donna also admitted to her and Harvey’s mutual hatred for Fox, which Sam took into account when doing her (as always) solo research.

So, when the meeting between Fox and Billups went downhill, complete the reveal that his client had been paying one of Billups’ clients tens of thousands of dollars per month so Billups couldn’t kick him out, Harvey snapped. He told Samantha he didn’t “give a shit about Donna’s deal” and refused to represent a client who lied to his face, then went back to the firm to have yet another huge argument with Donna.

And it got ugly, fast. Harvey went so far as to say that he was the reason Donna was even in her position, to which she had to remind him — for the millionth time — that she’d earned it. With one last plea to Harvey to keep her reputation in tact, Donna turned to her new best buddy, Samantha — whom Harvey was already jealous of because she kept secrets from him but seemed to share everything with Donna — to ask her to please keep working the case.With much less of a fight than Harvey had put up, Sam agreed.

Darvey found dead in New York. Murder suspect: Damantha.

Harvey finally came to his senses and went back to see David Fox, giving him one last chance to come clean. As it turned out, Fox was actually doing something good with all of those payments — helping out the guy who could have ruined his life for some teenaged theft but instead taught him the value of hard work. Samantha and Harvey were able to put their respective knowledge together and come to an outcome that, while not great for Fox’s ruthless image, was exactly what he needed for his mentor.

With the case finished, Harvey went in search of Donna and Sam, who happened to be together and chatting about what a terrible gift-giver he was. The ladies joked about Harvey’s terrible apology-giving style and barely addressed him while he stood there, dumbfounded, as SUITS’ newest power relationship flourished.

Sorry, Harvey. You snooze, you lose.

…but whatever that weird reaction from Donna was after Harvey tried to joke back at her, leads me to question, for at least the billionth time, what exactly is happening in the SUITS universe. Will we ever know, or is the series just going to continue to drop hints and let viewers interpret things as they will?

News & Notes.

Welcome back, Amy Acker! And please come again! Acker is amazing in everything she does, and the face that “Esther” made when she heard that Louis wasn’t going to raise his child Jewish was so, so relatable.

“I’m taking my side.” Finally, Donna. Go off.

“No, Harvey, I’m in my position because I [f-ing] earned it!!” Again, I say, “GO. OFF.” We love one incensed woman.

I never want the phrase, “sex phone” used on SUITS, ever again. Thank you.

“I’m a big, bad motherfucker, and I’m here to drink your goddamn milkshake.” Here for it, Mr. Zane. HERE. FOR. IT.

Isn’t it wonderful that Louis never once thinks about the fact that he might not have a son? What time period is this?

“I may have to represent you, but I don’t have to tolerate your mouth.” Harvey Specter, y’all.

Pretty sure Louis called his sister’s ex an asshole, meaning the Litts have a type.

“Being Jewish isn’t just a religion to me. It’s in my blood.” This is the most real SUITS quote of the week.

Louis’ story in “Sour Grapes” really hit home for Yours Truly, given that I am the product of a mixed marriage, who didn’t even wind up practicing the religion that her parents chose for her. Not to mention, I work in an environment where I see the blending of Jewish and non-Jewish families all the time. There were some great moments highlighting that struggle, and I particularly loved when Lipschitz got personal…But, ultimately, as most things do when Sheila is involved, the story fell flat. So much for great potential.

“I understand as much as anyone the value of maintaining a Jewish identity.” Same, Doc. Same.

“I didn’t know you could read.” Ok. It’s official. Sam can stay.

“Ok. Let me put this in words that you’ll understand: I have integrity. You let him go, you’re making me a liar.” Canon: Harvey can’t read, needs to be spoken to in words he’ll understand only. One of those words, however, is not “sorry.”

“There’s no way if I’m white we’re in this situation right now.” There’s your narrative, SUITS…not the way that Zane’s story actually unfolded.

Why do we never get enough Gretchen? A quick laugh about Louis not being “the only middle-aged white man who wants to be Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman,” followed by that beautiful “you don’t need to be strong for me” moment, is just teasing SUITS viewers by dangling good food in front of their faces before starving them to death.

Loved sweet and reassuring Louis, hated that it was wasted on a toxic relationship.

“This was Donna’s idea?” “Yes. It was.” “Then, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you up to speed?” Harvey can’t do anything without making sure Donna is behind him. Ok then.

Harvey was a pretty good gift giver that for that one anniversary…too bad Donna was in a relationship with someone else, though. Meanwhile, Robert Zane’s poor gift-receiving is an interesting nugget to try to look at in terms of characterization. Jury’s still out on what it all means.

“Wouldn’t you rather have people know you’re loyal than have them think you’re an asshole?” The Harvey we met in SUITS’ first season is in shock.

Is anyone else loving “The Adventures of Pops and Red” this season, or is that just me?

No, really. What is happening with Donna and Harvey in SUITS season 8? It’s…something. Donna’s certainly made Harvey do things he didn’t want to before, and they’ve certainly argued plenty, but the level of anger just didn’t fit the perceived slight with this whole Fox thing.

The next all-new episode of SUITS airs on Wednesday, September 5 at 9/8c on USA.

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