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writerofblocks · 3 years

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*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

#writers writes things #otp: troyget #oc: bridget summers #troy bradshaw #saints row

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heylissaaaaa · 4 years

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Words Slip Out

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader Summary: An unexpected question at an inopportune moment Word count: 5.3k Warnings: fluff and angst (mostly fluff and moderate angst), mild hurt/comfort, mild (non-graphic) injuries, moderate violence, A/N: Hello lovelies! This was written for another one of the ever-wonderful @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ‘s challenges, with the word prompt “verklempt: completely and utterly overcome with emotion”. It’s also a prequel to the one-shot I wrote for Star’s last challenge, called Rainbow Afternoon, but you don’t have to read that one to understand this one. For registered users on AO3, you can also read this fic here.

You had found the ring by accident.

It was hidden, of all places, in his sock drawer. One of the greatest spies and assassins in the whole world, and he’d tucked in in the back corner of his sock drawer. You were going to tease him something awful after he proposed. Never going to let him live this one down.

Though, to be fair, you supposed he thought you wouldn’t have any occasion to be in his sock drawer. And normally, he’d have been right. But then you’d lost a bet on how long a frozen sausage can be in the microwave before it explodes, and laundry duty for the both of you was the punishment. He probably hadn’t put two and two together.

You didn’t touch the ring box, wouldn’t dare open it, only finished putting away his clothes and shutting the drawer. But that didn’t mean you would - or even could - stop thinking about it. What did it look like? How long had he had it? Did anyone else know? You were positive Steve did, probably Sam too. But had he confided in anyone else?

Your mind flit through question after question until it landed and stuck: how was he going to ask you?

Nothing big, of that you were sure. He liked making grand romantic gestures - liked the blush on your face, because you didn’t - but he wasn’t one for crowds. Would he wine and dine you first? Would he do it with the rest of the team watching, or wait until it was just the two of you? Would he wake you up with it one lazy Sunday morning? You didn’t have any answers, each scenario as likely as the last, but in all of them you could feel his love.

You were still lost in thought when Bucky came back from hanging out with Sam and Steve. They had a standing day out twice a month that had become something sacred. The only outsider ever to go with them was Tony, when he was up for it and had the time.

“Doll? Hey,” he said, smiling when your eyes focused and you finally registered that he was in the room. “I knocked and you didn’t move. What’s that pretty mind thinking about so hard?”

He knew you well enough to know when you were lying… unless you said something that would distract him. So you shrugged, gaze drifting down his body and back up again. “Your butt,” you said, as casual as if you’d said you had been thinking about the weather. “How was boys’ day?”

It worked like an absolute champ. “Great; a blast,” he said curtly, shoving his jacket onto a hanger and kicking the door shut. “More importantly, tell me more about these thoughts of yours concerning my butt.”

You grinned and accommodated him when he crawled up the bed towards you. International super spy, sure, but still very much a man.

Two sharp raps on the front of your open door and then Bucky strode through in full tactical gear. You were belly down on the bed, reading a magazine, and sat up when you heard the knocks. “Suit up. We have to go,” he said. He tossed a manila folder towards you.

“What do you mean ‘we’? I thought you were going with Sam,” you said. The two of you didn’t go on missions often together; you went with Natasha, and he went with Sam or sometimes Steve. Opening up the folder, you began to look over the information it contained. It looked like a fairly simple mission: data extraction from an abandoned production facility owned by a Hydra front.

He rummaged through your closet until he found one of your body suits and tossed it your way. “Something else came up. One of the agents we were tracking disappeared; Sam’s going after him and you’re coming with me,” he explained. “Besides, you’ve got more technical experience than either of us to begin with.”

You changed in the bathroom and followed Bucky out of the room. The rest of the file was half-read, half-recited to you by Bucky on the jet as you made the few hour trip toward your target. The factory was built several miles outside any town, surrounded by forest on all sides, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t expecting any resistance, but the knowledge that the nearest innocents were well out of range was comforting.

“Ready to go?” he asked, checking over the various buckles and straps of his gear one final time.

Palming one of your handguns, you leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s make it quick and then we can stop for burgers on the way home?” you asked, a little bit of childlike hope in your voice that made him laugh.

The data you were looking for was in the manager’s office above the warehouse floor. The door that Bucky opened groaned on rusted hinges, catching on the doorframe that didn’t quite sit right after so many years without upkeep. Stepping over the threshold after him, you were met with a maze of pallets piled high with cardboard boxes and wrapped in cellophane. This was a facility abandoned at a moment’s notice. Ceiling-high shelves leaned against the walls, half full of more unmarked boxes.

“You head up to the office, I’m going to poke around down here,” Bucky said. You waved him off and started wading through the sea of crates and pallets. At the other end of the room you found a set of metal stairs leading up to a room that overlooked the whole floor through very large windows. The door was open when you peered in. Bookshelves lined the wall to your left and the desk faced the wall to your right. A picture frame on the wall reflected light from the monitor. In a warehouse that was supposed to be empty, that could not be good.

Rounding the corner of the desk, your stomach dropped. “Oh shit,” you breathed.

“What happened?” Bucky’s voice demanded in your ear, but you were only half paying attention to him.

The main monitor was indeed lit, a pop-up window showing the progress of the deletion command that someone had initiated. It was almost halfway finished. You were quick to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as you attempted to salvage what you could. Only then did you remember that he’d asked you something. “Buck, they’re erasing everything. They knew we were-” The first shot rang out and cut you off, followed by others. He grunted in your ear. “Bucky!”

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

You glanced up from the computer, scanning the warehouse floor below. Bucky was just visible, hiding behind a wall of crates closest to you. He didn’t look to be harmed, and your heart stuttered in relief. Further away, you saw the agents. “I see maybe, eight of them, all armed. They’re splitting in three. I’m working as fast as I can.”

He didn’t respond and you turned your full attention back to the monitor. Someone must have been on the other end with remote access, because the computer was actively fighting you for the information you were trying to salvage. One hand jabbing at the keys, you reached into one of your suit pockets, pulled out a thumb drive, and plugged it into the side of the monitor. A few more minutes of cyber-battle, and you were finally able to start the download onto your drive. “Ha! Take that you bastard,” you muttered, flipping off the screen and whoever was on the other side.

So engrossed were you with the task at hand that you almost missed the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to the office. “Shit,” you spat. You weren’t finished, but it would have to do. You were out of time. Tying up what loose ends you could, you ripped the drive out of the port.

A bullet whizzed by your left shoulder and you knew you were really out of time. Going around the side of the desk facing the windows, you crouched down and went through your exit options.

The door was out, for obvious reasons. You could hide here and try to fight them, but the desk wasn’t very good coverage and the office itself was way too small to be an advantage to you. You looked around again, and groaned. Bucky was going to be so pissed off at you, but you tried to justify yourself as you stared up at the window.

You took a deep breath, stowing the thumb drive in your suit. Covering as much of your exposed skin as you could, you shot up from behind the desk, got a little bit of a running start, and crashed through the window.

“Look out below!”

Bucky whipped around right as you hit the ground with a yelp of pain, tucked and rolled to his side in a shower of glass. Pain exploded up your left leg, lighting up that entire side of your body. You’d definitely landed wrong on your ankle. Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you moved over to sit with your back to the crates.

One of the agents peered out the broken window, and you shot him right between the eyes. He was the only one to make that mistake.

It was quiet in the warehouse now. Most of the first group were severely injured or dead, but you knew there were more coming. If you were going to get out, you had to go now.

Next to you, Bucky was scowling. You could feel it boring into the side of your head. “Are you out of your mind? I would’ve come up and got you!” he hissed.

You brushed stray pieces of glass off your suit. “Oh relax. I got the rest of the data and a sprain is better than a bullet hole while I waited. Now, come on,” you said, holding your arms out towards him. He didn’t move an inch and instead continued to stare over at you accusingly. “Up and over, Barnes, we’re on the clock and we’ll move faster if you carry me.”

The prospect of proximity seemed to snap him out of his stupor and he had the audacity to break out a lazy grin. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to get into my arms all you had to do was ask,” he said, though he stood up and help you to your feet. Putting one arm around the back of his neck, he hoisted you over his shoulder so you could watch his back as he ran with you.

The buckles of his gear pressed against your stomach, and you were sure your elbow did not feel particularly nice digging into his shoulder blade, but neither of you complained. “Think we can go back the way we came?” you asked.

Bucky shook his head. “More of them coming that way,” he stopped with his head tilted, listening. “They’ve gone around the sides too. We’ll have to backtrack into the offices and circle around.”

No sooner had he made the decision than another two dozen agents were streaming through the main and side doors. “Time to put those morning runs to good use,” you said, firing off a few shots towards the lines of men racing toward you.

The hallways weren’t very wide or tall, dingy white walls and gray tiled floors depressing under the fluorescent lights. “I’m starting to think this place wasn’t quite as ‘abandoned’ as Stark told us,” Bucky grumbled, flinching out of the way as a bullet raced past the side of his head. You didn’t answer, too focus on trying to keep your balance over his shoulder enough to aim as you returned fire. The arm you were using to hold yourself up with was starting to tremble, and you were having a hard time breathing with Bucky’s shoulder squished against your abdomen.

When you emptied the clip of your handgun you shoved it back into its holster and reached down for the other one you were carrying. No way were you going to try and negotiate reloading with the position you were in. You were lucky enough as it was that Bucky swerved around a few sharp corners, giving you a second’s reprieve from the gunfire.

Some of the men had gone around to try and cut you off from the front. Bucky blocked the shots they got off and fired back, not stopping as he jumped over their fallen bodies.

The crowd of agents was thinning now with each round you fired, far less following and no more jumping out in front of you. Bucky kicked down a door and then you were outside, albeit on the other side of the warehouse, but you were that much closer to safety. Still, the click of your third empty weapon - you’d stolen Bucky’s too - made you curse. Because of course, of course, there was one agent left. Completely out of bullets and there was still one agent standing.

It wasn’t far, you didn’t think, so you could try to outrun him. Bucky no doubt had more stamina. But as another bullet lodged itself into a nearby tree, you knew you had to do something else.

Bucky yelped as one of your hands braced itself lower on his back, and the other began groping down by his left thigh. He stumbled a step before he could regain his footing. “Woah, hey, Jesus. Be careful down there, would ya? I was kidding about getting frisky.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, hot shot. Just keep running,” you huffed, making another swipe for his legs and grumbling when you missed.

“What are you-?”

Your shout of triumph interrupted the rest of his question as your fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh. “Fucking finally,” you muttered, and glanced up to where the last agent was still tailing you. One quick steady breath to aim and the blade flew from your fingers. You watched with a detached sort of satisfaction as if flipped, end over end, to land neatly where the agent’s left eye had been.

Patting the small of Bucky’s back, you let yourself go limp against him with a heavy sigh. “I think we’re okay,” you muttered. You turned your head to the side and caught sight of the now-empty holster. “Thanks for the knife, babe.”

You felt him slow underneath you and turn, swinging you slightly to one side. A moment’s hesitation and then a sharp inhale as he took what had happened to his knife, the body still visible behind you. “Christ,” he groaned. And then, quietly, breath on a sigh, “Marry me.”

It thundered in the silence that followed.

The shadow of the jet fell over you and you pushed off of Bucky, landing in front of him with only a slight wince. His ears were pink and his eyes were wide, betraying his own shock at what he’d said.

You blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, um- I-”

“Now? You’re doing this now?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it, coming out of your mouth, and you felt bad about that. But you were upset, damn it! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen - not on a half-failed mission, sweaty and injured, after you’d both just killed two dozen men. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He went redder. “I don’t know! You had me all… verklempt!” he sputtered.

“Verklempt? Where did you even-?” You shook your head, turned your back on him, and hobbled up into the jet. You were still muttering to yourself as you tossed yourself down into the pilot’s seat and began readying to leave. Bucky stood outside, staring at you, until you snapped, “Get on the fucking jet, Barnes.”

Turning back toward the console, you heard the heavy thud of his boots, and the impact as he sat down. It was silent the rest of the way home. You wanted, several times, to turn and look at him. But the thought that he might already be looking at you, that you might end up looking at each other, stopped you.

When the jet landed at the compound, Bucky stopped you before you could hit the button and let down the ramp. “Would it be so bad? Being married to me?”

Part of your heart broke, and it softened the lingering scowl on your face. You were still upset. But you also couldn’t leave him to think that was why were angry. Cupping the side of his face in your hand, you ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “Of course it wouldn’t, Bucky. Nothing would make me happier,” you murmured.

There was something he wanted to say, more than one thing you wanted to say, but no room left in the jet for either of you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you dropped your hand and let down the ramp.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were waiting in the hanger when you got back. That all three of them were there was a little odd, but you were so determined to get away that you didn’t give it too much thought. “Nat, darling, take me to the infirmary please?” you asked with more cheer than you felt, half-hopping over to her to avoid putting pressure on your injured leg.

She looked between you and Bucky, searching for the answer to a question she hadn’t yet asked. Turning around without a word, she bent down so you could climb on her, piggy-back style.

You tapped her collarbone as you passed Tony, and she stopped. Wedging a hand between your front and her back, you felt around until you found the zipper for the pocket you’d stashed the thumb drive in. You shoved it towards Tony’s chest. “I got as much as I could,” you said. His hands came up over yours to take the drive, and Natasha led you away from the hangar. Behind you, you heard Steve and Bucky talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Natasha waited until you were changed and sitting in the med bay, one of the nurses cleaning the cuts on your arms, before she pounced. “What happened?” she asked, in that nonchalant way she had that let you know she was keenly interested in the answer.

You sighed, shoulders dropping. “With the mission or with Bucky?”

A pause, in which Natasha searched your face, eyes flicking back and forth. “Both,” she said.

“They were waiting for us when we got there, had already started wiping everything. I got maybe half of it, had to jump out a window.” The nurse - Daniel, you thought his name was - snorted as he straightened up, having finished with your arms. You gave him a wry smile and a shrug as he moved on to examining and then wrapping your ankle.

“And Barnes?” Natasha pressed.

You looked away from her, jaw clenched. “Asked me to marry him right before we got on the jet,” you started, and told her the rest of what had happened. Your voice was thick and your throat burned with the tears you were trying to keep at bay. Now that the shock and adrenaline was wearing off, you felt a little dumb.

“You’re upset, but not surprised.”

A helpless shrug was all you could give for a moment as you negotiated the sobs tightening your chest. “Found the ring a month ago, maybe. I’ve been waiting for him to ask.”

She let out a breath, coming to sit in a chair next to you. “And this wasn’t how you pictured it going.”

“I know it’s a dumb thing to get worked up over, and I know he didn’t mean it like this.” You couldn’t get his face out of your mind, the way he sounded when he thought you were refusing him. “And I wasn’t expecting anything big or extravagant; you know I don’t care about that kind of attention. But I just- was hoping for something… else. Something special and normal and not tied to this job.”

Daniel gently interrupted, his hand warm on your shoulder. “You’re all set. Get some rest, keep your ankle iced and elevated. If the pain gets too intense, you can take some ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you prefer.”

“Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it,” you said, returning his wave as he left.

Natasha was there as soon as you were upright, an arm under your own. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out in my room for a while? It’s closer than yours,” she said. You wanted to decline and go back to your own room, but she continued before you could. “We can watch something if you want, make some popcorn. I’ll even steal some of Sam’s M&Ms for us.”

You smiled in spite of yourself. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”

Together you hobbled over to her room where she brought you over to her bed. Once you were settled back against the headboard, a pillow under your ankle, she left for snacks while you scrolled through Netflix looking for something to watch.

You’d gotten through Natasha’s list, trending now, and popular on Netflix twice when you noticed that she still hadn’t come back. It didn’t take that long to make popcorn, especially since her room was one of the closest to the kitchen. You were starting critically acclaimed movies when she slipped back into the room, a large bowl under one arm and a bag of ice in the other.

“I was about to send out the search party,” you said, pausing on Molly’s Game to read the description.

Natasha handed you the bowl and laid the ice over your ankle. From a pocket in her jacket she revealed two bright yellow packets of peanut M&Ms. “Sam was in the kitchen, just got back,” she said. She settled down on your other side and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Oh I wanted to see that.”

“It sounds good,” you agreed, and queued up the movie.

You didn’t remember when it ended, only that at some point the TV was switched off and Natasha was running a hand through your hair. The bed shifted as she got up, and then her hand was on your other side, gently shaking your arm. “C’mon, sleepy, let’s get you back to your room.”

You groaned and shook your head, not even bothering to open your eyes. “Jus’ wanna stay here,” you mumbled.

Natasha scoffed and started to pull you into a sitting position. “No way. We both know you hate going to bed without your routine and waking up in rooms that aren’t your own. I will not be put on the wrong side of morning-you for that,” she said. You grumbled, but knew she was right. If you fell asleep without going through your routine, it guaranteed you’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling gross. You put an arm around her as she helped you off the bed.

As the pair of you walked down the hall, you noticed an alertness to the way she moved and looked around that puzzled you. It was subtle, and would be unnoticeable to most others, but you knew her pretty well. It wasn’t mission alertness, cold and wary, but more like… anticipation, excitement.

It spiked as you approached your bedroom door, which was now closed. “Nat, what’s going on?” you asked.

She didn’t answer except to nudge you with her hip into reaching for the handle. You opened it slowly, and the breath caught in your throat.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, dressed in jeans and a Henley. His hands were clasped together behind his back like he would fidget otherwise. The overhead lights were switched off. Instead, candles covered the long windowsill against the back wall, the entire top of your dresser, and most of the desk in the corner where Bucky liked to clean his guns and knives. It gave the room a warm, soft glow, but it wasn’t what drew your attention.

The entire room was filled with pale pink peonies, one of your favorite flowers. There were blooms laid loose among the candles, both with and without stems, and others in different glass vases. You wanted to run your fingers over their petals, get close enough to see the specks of deep crimson you knew would be there. The whole room smelled like peonies, not intoxicating or cloying, but beautiful and fresh.

Natasha removed your arm from around her neck and backed away, making sure you were steady enough on your own. You barely noticed, too focused on the flowers and the man who’d gotten them for you. “Hey Buck,” you breathed, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, his voice as soft as yours. He rushed to your side when you took a step forward, putting an arm under yours and helping you sit on the end of the bed. Taking the spot next to you, he turned so that his whole body faced you. “How’s your ankle?”

“Just a sprain. Daniel down in the med bay says I’ll be right as rain in no time.” You looked around at all the flowers again, heart swelling as you took in the way the light shone on the pale petals. “These are some real pretty flowers, Barnes.”

He looked too, a fond smile on his face. “Do you like them? I got ‘em for my best girl,” he said, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. Emboldened when you leaned into his touch, he shifted from by your side to kneeling between your legs. “See, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask her, but I messed it up. I was hoping she’d let me try again.”

“‘Course I would.”

“I want you to know: I had a plan. I was going to wait until it was warmer and take you to that park where we met. Remember, when you-”

“When I hit you with my bicycle, yes, I remember,” you grumbled. It was something he refused to let go of. Never mind he was the one that was so busy messing with Steve that he wasn’t looking where he was going. And never mind that he was fine, thank you very much. Did more damage to your poor bike than anything else.

His laugh made your chest warm and your heart soft. “I was half in love with you already after that. You made sure I was alright before completely tearing me a new one. You weren’t even phased by the fact that you were scolding the Winter Soldier, with Captain America looking on. He was on me for a week after that because I didn’t get your number. Then Tony walked you into the compound and introduced you as the new team member and, sweetheart, I was gone.”

Once upon a time, you’d been an agent for SHIELD and - after everything had happened - you’d been a little lost. Then, you’d woken up one day to a forwarded email recommending you for a position as a member of the Avengers. It hadn’t said anything about who’d made the recommendation, and you’d never had many friends in high places, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was only after you’d officially joined that they let slip that Fury wasn’t quite as gone as everyone thought he was.

The position hadn’t been guaranteed when you’d met Bucky and Steve in the park, so you didn’t say anything in case it turned out not to be true. And facing them in the common room of the compound, seeing the moment they recognized you, was something you wouldn’t ever forget. “You dropped the coffee pot. I don’t think I’ve seen Tony that mad, or Clint that visibly crushed. He looked like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real,” you said.

“The point is, I had a plan,” he said, his cheeks a little pink. “But then today happened, and things went a little wrong. I kept thinking how they could have been way worse. Either of us could have come out with more than a couple of cuts and a sprained ankle. But you had my back and I had yours. And I saw that fucking knife sticking out of that guy’s head and it reminded me how strong you are, how capable and - I’m man enough to admit it - how incredibly hot you are. In that moment, I was overwhelmed by it. By how much I love you. By the reminder that this-” And here he finally took from his pocket the velvet ring box that had been gracing your dreams for a month. “This is all I want. A life with you for as long as I can, as long as you’ll let me.”

With steady hands, Bucky opened the ring box. The ring inside was a band of rose gold that went from smooth line metal at the bottom and morphed into vines about halfway up either side. The vines wound around a small opal. The longer you looked, the more you felt tears gather in the corner of your eyes, the pressure building in the base of your throat. The rose gold was warm and felt like being in his arms, and the opal shined the way his eyes did when he watched you laugh at his teasing. It was a physical offering of his love, of the life he wanted.

“Bucky it’s perfect,” you breathed. Your hand by contrast, was shaking when you lifted it for him to put the ring on. When it slid home and sat snug on your finger, joy lit up in your chest like fireworks, bubbling out of your mouth in uncontrollable giggles. You brought Bucky closer for a kiss so that he could feel it too.

“I paid a lot of money to get those flowers here, so I better at least get to see the ring before you guys start removing clothes!” Tony called from the other side of the door, startling the two of you apart. Bucky dropped his head onto your chest and you leaned yours against his, torn between irritation and amusement. There was a muffled impact, Tony’s yelp of surprise and maybe pain, and a “come on, man” that definitely came from Sam.

“Tony, have a little class, would you?” Steve hissed. In a louder voice, definitely meant for you and Bucky to overhear, he added, “Besides, they shouldn’t be doing anything with her sprained ankle!”

Bucky huffed a laugh and you could feel him gearing up to shout back, but you beat him to it. “I swear to God if I open that door and see anyone on the other side, you’ll wish you had a sprained ankle.”

“Come on boys, let’s give them some space. But we better see that bling first thing in the morning. You’re both expected at breakfast,” Natasha said, herding the boys away like a schoolteacher her children. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped as their footsteps faded away, Bucky joining you. As annoying as they were, you did love your friends.

Bucky lifted his head, forcing you to lift yours too. You gave in to the kiss he asked for, but pulled away a few moments later. He lifted a brow at you. “I have one question,” you said.

The brow rose a little higher. “Shoot.”

You squinted at him a little. “Where exactly did you learn the word verklempt?”

#star's celebration challenge #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #my writing #marvel fanfiction #Marvel Avengers #avengers fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes

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fangqueen · 3 years

Note

i'm really curious about Dawn of the Conformists!

OH GOD OKAY SO

Fuck.

Somehow I just knew someone was going to ask about this one, and I’d have to find a way to actually explain it.

Which is honestly totally fine because I do love this crazy thing, but...

So this is CuRed (aka Michael/Pete, aka the curly-haired goth kid and the red-haired goth kid, because I’m pretty sure this is one of the rarest rarepairs I ship, and I don’t expect everyone to know who they are. 😂😂😂). Fun fact about me: they are my OTP only second to Dron, SO YEAH.

This one’s obviously way post-canon, when they’re of adult age and all that. It’s got zombies. It’s got roadtrips. It’s got pining and misunderstandings and epic human-on-zombie fights. And, you know, conformist stuff. Or, moreover, zombies that are obsessed with so-called “conformist” things. Because, you know, the goth kids are so annoyed by that kind of thing, haha. Which is fun for me, as a fellow goth, because I actually like some of the things I’d be ragging on myself.

ANYWAY, it’s a problem project for me because...ugh. I’ve just had it lying around for so long at this point - since September 2017? I think??? - and because of that, it’s gone through several transformations from the original idea. Essentially, whenever that was in 2017, I wrote down an outline and a bunch of snippets of scenes, was SO excited about it - and then I got really super sick in summer 2018, and have since not written anywhere near as much as I used to. (An issue that plagues me to this day. *sigh*) And up until a couple months ago, I would only open the folder for this one, like...once or twice a year, read through it and smile and remember how much I loved it and this ship...and then I’d continue to do absolutely nothing with it.

The reason for this is because after what happened to me in 2018, and now that I’m pushing 30, my writing style and my relationship to my writing and the kinds of stories I want to tell have all changed so much. And not that I’m trying to say what I wrote for this story three years ago is bad, but it’s...it’s, uh, not good??? Okay, so, by “not good”, I really mean it’s just...it’s too much like my old writing. And not just the words themselves, but the character development, the plot, my strange need back then to be very, you know, shock for shock’s sake. 🙄 Like, when I was younger, I admittedly didn’t have a great grasp on a lot of the pieces and parts of writing. Not saying that I’m a fucking expert on it now, of course not, but I do prefer the way I write now - my style, my voice - a lot more than what it used to be.

So when I inevitably opened up that folder again a couple months ago, and once again remembered how much I used to love it, I was struck by how much I wanted to change about it, to make it more like how I write now.

And so what was once actually called The Walking Conformists became Dawn of the Conformists. I decided what was once two old friends realizing their small mountain town had all turned into zombie-like “conformists” - that they needed to get away from there, move to another state, another city, where Henrietta was waiting for them, and thus the pining and hijinks sprinkled in between - needed to be more of a gradual “what the fuck”, both cracky and not, zombie’s placated by conformist things experience, a la Shaun of the Dead (i.e. the name change). I wrote up a few lines about this one scene that really stuck in my mind for the new treatment, and THEN...promptly didn’t do anything else. Again. 😂

Because, you see, I’m also having a lot of trouble translating the old outline and snippets to the new version. I don’t like a lot of what it once was, but I do like some of it. And unfortunately, the parts I do really like still relate to that whole roadtrip/moving idea, aaaaannnndddd....I don’t know what the fuck to do about it, haha. If anyone out there is willing to, I don’t know, alpha? or something? and help me out with this transition, I would appreciate you forever.

ANYWAY, I’ve rambled on enough, I think, LMAO. So I’ll give you snippets now. The first is one of the pieces I do still like from the original - a little glimpse of our poor angry boy Pete raging at himself over just how much he wants Michael. The second is part of that scene that gave me the desire to start crafting the new version. (Both are very rough, I’m so, so sorry.)

Old Version:

Pete had tried his best to make himself look like he hadn't gotten dressed in the back of a car, nor brushed his teeth in the woods with a water bottle, but he feared he hadn't succeeded. Michael looked immaculate in that way that drove Pete absolutely insane. Normally, his hair would be gelled down on the sides, top swept forward in a delicate wave down one side of his face. He was, of course, lacking in such style today, his hair mussed instead, curls tousled all about his head ― and yet he still made it look like the goth fashion statement of the century. He was even sitting there wearing that stupid fucking dangly raven's skull earring Pete had gotten him for his birthday at least four years ago, and it made Pete want to gouge out his own eyes.

He took out his frustrations on his last piece of sausage instead, spearing it violently before shoving it in his mouth.

New Version:

Pete jumped back, knocking into the counter and sending an empty mug crashing to the floor. His hands scrambled behind him, his breath coming in short pants. The man swayed on his feet, a hanging piece of skin on his cheek sagging low enough that Pete could see the layer of muscle tissue beneath. He glanced at the bread knife at the far side of the counter, wondering how quickly he could reach it before the intruder came for him again.

Then, the man slowly raised his arm and pointed at the menu above Pete's head.

Pete blinked. A hour seemed to pass as they stared at each other, and then the man gestured emphatically, and Pete ― against his better judgement ― stepped cautiously forward and followed the man's finger to the spot he was pointing at.

This had to be a fucking joke.

"Y-you want that?" Pete asked. The man gave another insistent growl, and he leaned away from him, his pulse twinging in his neck.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he huffed. "Fine. H-hold on, just ― just stay there, okay?"

Pete tried his best to remain calm as he waited for the milk to steam. It was difficult to do with a definitely possible living corpse standing menacingly on the other side of the register, boring holes into his back with cold, dead, surprisingly wide-open eyes. Pete struggled to keep his hands from twitching as he poured espresso into a to-go cup.

When all was said and done, he plonked a large pumpkin spice latte onto the counter with a nervous nod of his head.

The man picked up the cup, and ― seeming to suddenly think of it ― flailed his free hand for a moment before dipping it into a tattered pocket of his jeans and fishing out a small pile of something that might've been a muddy piece of trash, might've just been a clump of dirt, but most certainly was not any form of currency Pete recognized, and slapping it onto the counter. Pete eyed it with barely-concealed disgust.

Then the man took a sip of his drink and smiled. Or at least attempted an approximation of a smile. His skin cracked from his lips out and threatened to fall off his face entirely. He grunted something that sounded suspiciously like 'thank you' and shuffled towards the door, cradling the cup lovingly between both hands.

"Sure thing," Pete mumbled, hovering anxiously at the register as the man leaned against the door, swinging it open and disappearing into the night. Before it even shut, Pete was already striding across the room, grabbing and yanking it closed, flipping the lock and switching off the neon 'open' sign, gripping the handle with shaking hands as he sank to a crouch.

"What the actual fuck."

WIP Title Game

#cured #michael x pete #michael (aka tall goth)#pete thelman #goth kids #sp goth kids #south park #sp #fanfiction #south park fanfiction #sp fanfiction #fangqueen writes fanfiction #wip title game #fangqueen speaks

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madpanda75 · 4 years

Text

The Romantics Series “In Sickness and In Health” Part Two

Part Two where we find out what happens to the reader and see if Rafael really does murder Chet Aldrich. Thanks for all the love and comments on Part One! Title credit to @sass-and-suspenders ❤️

The song Rafael sings is Drume Negrita, an Afro-Cuban lullaby

Warning: Hospital scenes, brief mention of death, angst, and fluff

4800ish words (It’s long! Take breaks! Stay hydrated! Grab a sandwich 😂)

The taxi cab came up to the hospital entrance. Rafael threw a wad of cash at the driver. “Keep the change.” He shut the car door and ran inside, bumping into Chet who was on his way out. The frat boy appeared to be unscathed, not a mark on him. “Oh hey, Roger,” he said.

Rafael gripped the man by the shirt. “What happened? Where’s Y/N?”

“Chill out. She’s being looked at by the doctor right now.” Chet shook loose of his grip. “We got into a little fender bender. It’s no big deal. Well, except my car, but luckily there wasn’t too much damage.”

Rafael saw red, his blood boiling. Grabbing Chet once again, he slammed him up against the wall, gaining attention from several people. “You could’ve killed her and you’re more worried about your precious car,” he snarled.

“Get off me!” Chet pushed Rafael causing him to stagger back a few steps. Rafael glared at the frat boy, his fists shaking in fury. “She’s fine. Just has a few scratches. What’s up with you two anyway?” He scoffed. “You in love with her or something?”

Rafael lunged at him once more just as an attendee came to break them up. “Is there a problem here?” the attendee sternly asked.

“No,” Chet said, smoothing his shirt, staring at Rafael. “No problem at all.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“And for the last time, the name is Rafael!” Rafael shouted as Chet left the hospital. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath and went over to the nurses’ station. No one was there and he urgently knocked on the counter in the hopes of getting someone, anyone, to help him. “Excuse me! Hello?”

A woman with a tag that read “Ellen” trudged over to the counter, her head down while intently reading a file folder. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotone voice, never once looking up at him.

“I’m looking for a patient who was admitted here about an hour ago.”

“Name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he replied.

Ellen sighed and opened another file, moving at a snail’s pace as she looked for your information. “Are you family?” “Well, no but—” “Are you listed as her emergency contact?” “No, her mom is but—” “Then you can’t see her. Hospital policy states only family and emergency contacts may see a patient outside of visiting hours. Come back again later,” she replied. “I’m her husband!” Rafael blurted out in a moment of panic.

Finally catching Ellen’s attention, she looked up at him for the first time. “Husband?”

“Uhhh...yes, ma’am.” Desperate to see you, he said the first thing that came into his head. Now he could only hope that the nurse would believe him. Judging by the skeptical look on her face, it wasn’t working.

“Then why aren’t you her emergency contact?”

“Well, we haven’t had time—”

“And where’s your wedding ring?” she asked before Rafael could even answer her first question.

He quickly put his left hand behind his back. “I left it—”

She arched a brow, taking in his Harvard t-shirt and flannel over shirt. “Aren’t you a little young to be getting married?”

“I am 21 years old and so is my wife. Last I checked it’s not illegal for anyone over the age of 18 to marry,” Rafael retorted, his patience wearing thin. “And while I may not have a ring on my finger, if you want further proof of the validity of our marriage I can tell you that my wife was born on November 8, 1971. She snuck out of the house when she was 15 to go see The Cure in concert. She eats cucumbers dipped in peanut butter which I find absolutely disgusting, but she claims it’s delicious. She always drinks chocolate milk with her pancakes. Her favorite color is purple, but not just any purple. It’s violet, like the color of the sky just before the sun sets. She’s seen the movie, This is Spinal Tap, at least a hundred times. She knows every word to Rapper's Delight. She is the love of my life. And right now she is terrified and in pain and she needs me. So, I’m going to ask once again may I please see my wife or do I need to go to your supervisor,” he said with finality, crossing his arms, refusing to back down.

Ellen remained deadpan after Rafael’s impassioned speech; however, much to his relief she called over one of the other nurses. “Judith, please take Mr.—”

“Barba,” Rafael said and puffed out his chest a bit.

“Mr. Barba over to see his wife, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s in the emergency ward.”

The nurse named Judith gave him a kind smile. “Follow me, Mr. Barba.” Rafael followed her through a pair of double doors and down a long hallway. “Young love, huh?”

Rafael blushed. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I’m sure your wife will be happy to see you.” She led him to a large emergency room. The place was chaos. Patients lying in beds with varying ailments or wounds, doctors and nurses scrambling around.

Rafael felt his stomach churn when he saw a man sitting in a bed with a steak knife sticking out of his cheek. “What are you looking at?” the man yelled at him.

“Nothing,” he muttered and ran to catch up with Judith, worried what state he would find you in.

She stopped at the far corner of the room and pulled back the curtain where you were lying in bed, dressed in a hospital gown. Your face was pale with a few cuts on your cheeks and a small angry gash on the right side of your forehead, your right arm swollen and bruised.

Rafael was taken aback. You looked so small, swallowed up by that big bed, your eyes were wide and fearful. It was a stark contrast to the confident, beautiful woman with the larger than life personality he fell in love with. All he wanted to do at that moment was hold you in his arms and take away your pain.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Judith softly said. “Look who came to be with you.”

Your eyes lit up as soon as you saw your best friend. “Rafi!”

“Y/N,” he breathed and rushed to your side. “Thank God you’re alright.” A few tears slipped down your cheeks. Rafael reached out with a hesitant hand and wiped them away. You leaned into his touch, instantly comforted by his presence.

Judith took your vitals, smiling as she observed your interaction. “Your husband has been so worried. You should’ve heard the fuss he was making earlier.”

“Husband?” You furrowed your brow in confusion. “We’re not—”

Rafael placed his hand over your good one. “Yeah, hermosa. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me see you?” He gave you a pleading look to go along with his charade, his right eye twitching slightly.”

“I can’t believe that, honey,” you slowly said, the term of endearment sounding foreign on your tongue. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“How long have you two been married?”

“One year,” you answered.

“Three months,” Rafael said at the same time. You both glanced at each other and chuckled.

“We’re newlyweds,” you explained.

“But it feels like we’ve been together forever.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your cheeks turning a brilliant shade of pink.

“You two remind me of me and my husband. We were college sweethearts, been married 20 years next March. Now all he does is sit on the couch and clean his belly button out with his car keys.” Judith wrote something on her clipboard before listening to your heartbeat. “You can go ahead and give her a kiss,” she told Rafael.

Rafael froze for a second. “Oh I—”

“Go on. She won’t break,” Judith encouraged.

He licked his lips and leaned down, placing a soft, chaste peck on the corner of your mouth. The kiss lasted a millisecond, but it felt as if time stood still. A spark shot through your body the moment his lips came in contact with yours. Slowly he pulled away, his green gaze never leaving yours, trying to remember how to breathe after that small gesture.

“Whoops, your heartbeat started racing,” Judith said, taking the stethoscope out of her ears.

“It..It..did,” you stammered.

“Mmhmm, I think I know why,” she said in a sing-song voice. “The doctor will be right with you.” With a sly wink, she left, closing the curtains behind her.

You arched a brow at Rafael once the nurse had left. “Husband, huh?”

“It was the only way they’d let me back here.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Rafi, I’m so scared,” you said, your voice breaking. “Please don’t leave me.”

He vehemently shook his head and ran his fingers through your hair. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to be right here. I promise.”

You softly began to cry. During your freshman year, you had taken a month off of school to be with your father when he was sick. Most of it was spent at Northwestern Memorial Hospital helping your mom. Memories of those few weeks came flooding back— the smell of iodoform, the cold sterile room where your father slipped away. Ever since then you hated hospitals and here you were stuck in one, but at least this time Rafael was with you. “I miss my dad. I wish he was here.”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching for a tissue and gently dabbing your cheeks.

Just then the curtain was pulled back and an older man with glasses and a white coat walked in. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Cohen.” He looked down at his chart. “I see we got into a little fender bender today.”

“Yes, there...there...was a cat that ran into the street and we had to stop and the...the...car got rear-ended.” You hiccuped, barely able to catch your breath, crying harder as you explained what happened.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re safe,” Rafael softly said.

Dr. Cohen looked over at him. “And you are?”

“He’s my husband,” you explained, getting butterflies in your stomach just by referring to Rafael as your spouse.

“Right, well let’s take a look and see what we got here.” Dr. Cohen began to examine you—flashing a light in your eye, checking your heartbeat, inspecting your body for any broken bones. You winced in pain when he felt your right arm. “It looks like your arm is broken and you’ll have to get a few stitches on that cut, but other than that your vitals are fine. I’d still like to run a few more tests, take some X-rays, and as a precaution keep you overnight for observation.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Thank you, doctor.”

Doctor Cohen had you turn your head so he could tend to your cut. You whimpered in pain, trying to focus on Rafael as the doctor began to clean and suture your wound.

Rafael squeezed your hand. “Your mom’s on her way in. She should be here tonight.”

You gave him a shaky smile before gasping as the sharp needle pierced through your skin. He felt hopeless, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain. Letting out a nervous breath, he did the first thing that came to mind and started to serenade you with a Cuban lullaby that his abuelita would sing to him.

Mamá la negrita se le salen lo pie e' la cunita y la negra Merce' ya no sabe que hace'. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel.

Your heart skipped a beat, listening to your best friend. You had never heard him sing before. His voice was beyond beautiful, it was warm and comforting. You were lost in his melody. Lost in his shy smile. Lost in him. For the first time that night, you felt at peace.

“All done,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“It was incredible,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving Rafael. “I mean, yeah it was nothing.” You cleared your throat and blushed.

“Ohhhkay,” Dr. Cohen said, glancing between you and Rafael. “An orderly will take you to get some X-rays for that arm.” The doctor stood up and left, closing the curtain. “Kids,” he muttered, chuckling to himself.

*****

Rafael paced around the waiting room, wearing a path on the linoleum floor while the doctors ran more tests on you. Checking his watch for the umpteenth time, he sighed and took a sip of his fifth cup of coffee. Finally, Dr. Cohen came out and told him that you were resting comfortably and he could go back and see you. As the doctor led him to your room, he noticed several members of the staff staring at him and whispering to each other. Little did he know that word had gotten out, courtesy of Judith, about the cute young couple in the emergency ward. You were the talk of the hospital.

Upon seeing Rafael, you gave him a sleepy smile. Your right arm was in a cast and you had a few butterfly bandages on your face. The doctor explained that you were given a drug for the pain and it would take 6 weeks for your arm to heal, but other than that you would make a full recovery.

Once he left, Rafael pulled up a chair and sat next to you while you flipped through channels on the TV, finally settling on Unsolved Mysteries. Halfway through the episode, he noticed you shivering. “Are you cold or are you shivering cause you’re just as freaked out as I am by this show?”

“I’m cold. Will you lay down next to me?”

“What if we get caught?”

“Then you can blame it on me. Please, Rafi. I’m sick,” you whimpered, pouting your lip and batting your lashes. Between the pain-killers and the exhaustion, you were acting a little loopy.

He snorted a laugh. “You’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am.” You shifted over and patted the space next to you on the bed.

Rafael looked back at the door for a second, making sure the coast was clear before getting into bed next to you. As gently as possible he wound his arm around your shoulders. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nope.” You snuggled up against him and let out a contented sigh. “Mmm, you’re so warm.”

Rafael’s body molded to yours. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, running his fingers up and down your arm. Even scraped up and in a hospital, you were as beautiful as ever, your skin as soft as silk, your hair still smelled like your green apple shampoo.

You shut off the TV, both of you lay there in silence. Rafael thought you had fallen asleep until he heard your voice. “So what’s our story?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like where do we get married? Where do we live? How many kids do we have? Every couple has a story. What’s ours?” You looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll start us off. We get married by candlelight in the same church my parents did on a late spring evening. And I end up wearing some big ridiculous poofy dress that my mother insists on that makes me look like a cupcake,” you teased.

“Excuse me, but you do not look like a cupcake on our wedding day,” Rafael softly said. “You look absolutely breathtaking, like a goddess, ethereal and radiant. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Your cheeks turned bright pink. Biting your lip, you shifted your focus to a loose thread on his flannel shirt, too embarrassed and shy to meet his gaze as you continued. “You look so handsome. It takes all my strength not to run down the aisle and fling myself into your arms.”

“So what happens next?” he asked, enjoying this game you were playing.

“Well now that I know you have an incredible voice”—you playfully poked him in the ribs—“you serenade me at the reception.”

“And you recite a poem by Shelley or Keats,” he added.

“Then we dance under the stars, maybe to a song by Depeche Mode or Joy Division.” You closed your eyes, envisioning the two of you swaying together to the music. Your guests fading away because your whole world was right there in your arms. Rafael followed suit and closed his eyes, shifting closer to you. “After the wedding, we honeymoon on some exotic island with white sand beaches and crystal blue water. Of course, we rarely spend any time on the beach.”

“We don’t?” he asked, picturing you in a skimpy bikini.

You shook your head. “Nope, we spend most of our time in the hotel suite.”

A smirk tugged at Rafael’s lips as he continued with the story. “After the honeymoon, we move to New York. I’m a lawyer working at a prestigious firm and you’re a Pulitzer Prize winning author.”

“You wear suspenders and fancy three piece suits everyday—”

“Suspenders?! Really?”

You laughed and playfully nudged him with your foot. “Yep and you look sexy as hell while I stay at home and work on my latest literary creation. And we’ll have two kids, a girl and a boy, Cecilia and Leo.”

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of having a family with you, silently wondering if they would have your hair color or his eyes. “I’ll help coach the debate team and you can be Troop Leader for the Girl Scouts.”

“Cecilia and I will visit your firm and get everyone to buy girl scout cookies,” you said. “Then we have another baby.”

“Another baby!?” Rafael’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

You shrugged. “We get a little tipsy at the Harvard Reunion. One thing leads to another and then nine months later we welcome a little girl, Paloma, into the world.”

Rafael ran his hand through your hair. “She’ll have all of us wrapped around her little finger since she’s the baby of the family.”

“We’ll go on vacations, have family dinners, go to school pageants, decorate the fridge with macaroni art, and get sticky chocolate kisses. We’ll be more in love than ever and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Rafael opened his eyes and studied your face. Your eyes were still closed, lost in that perfect world you both created with your words. He audibly swallowed and cupped your cheek. “Y/N,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you. The electricity between you both was palpable. You were like a moth to a flame, completely drawn in by him. Tilting your head up, you inched closer, your noses bumped up against one another, his hot breath on your face. “Oh God, this is really happening,” you thought. Just as your lips were about to connect, the door opened and in stepped your mother, her face fraught with worry.

“Mommy!” you exclaimed and instantly sat up.

She ran to you and gently pulled you into her arms, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, baby. Are you alright? I was so scared.”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice slightly muffled from being locked in her embrace. “The doctor said I could go home tomorrow.”

She kissed your forehead and lovingly stroked your hair when she locked eyes with Rafael, who was still laying in bed with you. The pair exchanged an awkward glance. “Hi, Rafael.”

Rafael immediately jumped out of bed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. “Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Rafi took good care of me.” You reached for his hand. “He’s the best husband ever.”

Your mother slowly stood up from the bed, her jaw dropping to the floor. “Husband?!”

“Oh didn’t you hear? I’m married now,” you replied and gave Rafael a sly wink.

“Married?” Your mother tried to maintain her composure. After all, she was once young and dumb, but her panicked tone gave her away.

Worried that she was about to have a heart attack, Rafael spoke up. “We’re not actually married. It’s a long story.”

You laid back in bed, looking between your mother and Rafael. “My two favorite people in the whole wide world,” you sighed.

Your mother chuckled and fluffed up your pillow. “I see they gave you the good drugs.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “So who wants to explain why you decided to lie about being man and wife.”

*****

Once you had fallen asleep, your mother quietly left your room and went over to the vending machine running into Rafael who was getting another cup of coffee. “Long night, huh?” She gave him a sympathetic smile.

Rafael yawned in response.

“So how long have you been in love with my daughter?” she asked while deciding between a Reese’s and a Snickers bar as if she was casually bringing up the weather.

Taken by surprise, Rafael took a large gulp of coffee and burnt his tongue. “I...uh...I don’t—”

“Rafael, come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He looked down at the floor, focusing on his shoes before facing her. “Since the first day I met her,” he confessed.

She nodded her head and picked up her candy bar. “I suspected as much. You know she’s in love with you too,” she said.

“You think so?” he asked, following her out into the hallway and over to a small waiting area.

“Rafael, I’ve seen you two together and I know my daughter. She lights up whenever you’re around.”

Rafael was never one to express his emotions. He still had nightmarish flashbacks from high school when Lauren Sullivan turned him down in front of the entire junior class. Poor Rafael was left standing in the cafeteria with nothing but a tray of Salisbury steak, creamed corn, and humiliation. Now that his secret was revealed, he should have felt vulnerable and exposed, but instead he found comfort in your mother’s words. He was tired of hiding his feelings for you and it was a relief that someone knew. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to tell her.”

“You know I was your age when I met Y/N’s father. I accidentally smacked him on the head with a sign at an anti-war protest.” She giggled, thinking back to that fateful day.

A smile tugged at Rafael’s lips. Your mother’s laugh sounded just like yours. “Really? Y/N never told me that.”

“We were madly in love for twenty years until he passed away. What I wouldn’t give for just one more chance to tell him how I feel. Tell him how much I love him.” She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes shiny with tears. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go home, get some sleep, and tomorrow morning you’re gonna tell Y/N how much you love her. Don’t let life pass by without telling the people you love how you feel about them.” With a gentle pat to his knee, she stood up and began to walk back to your room.

Rafael followed suit and went his respective way, heading in the direction of the elevators when your mother called his name. She half-jogged over and pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“I’d do anything for her,” he softly said.

“I know.” She smiled and left him just as the elevator doors opened. He stepped inside, hopeful of what tomorrow would bring.

*****

Rafael fidgeted while he waited in line at the hospital gift shop. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, nervous and excited, going over and over in his head the speech he had prepared for you. This was a crucial turning point in your relationship. Everything had to be perfect. Stepping up to the counter, he set down a single red rose and a small teddy bear with a bandaid on its head. The cashier, who was a less than enthused teenage girl wearing black lipstick and a nose ring, began ringing up the items.

“Hi,” Rafael said with a big goofy grin. “These are for my girlfriend. Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet. She’s my best friend, but I hope that’ll change soon.”

“Uh-huh,” the cashier replied.

“Yeah, she’s getting out today. Thought I would stop by early and surprise her. I had a long talk with her mom last night and she told me to just go for it and tell her how I feel and you don’t care at all do you?”

“Not really.” She loudly smacked her gum between her lips. “That’ll be $13.82.”

Rafael rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing over the money. After taking his change, he grabbed the flower and bear and made his way out of the gift shop when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks.

*****

“You know I can walk. I’m not an invalid,” you grumbled as an orderly wheeled you out of the hospital with your mother in tow.

“Hospital policy,” the orderly replied.

“You’ll be on your feet soon enough, sweetheart,” your mother said. All three of you made your way outside when you noticed she was twisting her head as if she was looking for someone.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought maybe Rafael would show up.” She leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna get the car. I’ll be right back.”

While waiting, you wondered why she was expecting Rafael to show up. The poor guy was probably home, passed out in bed. Flashbacks of last night came rushing back. What started as a terrifying ordeal quickly changed the moment you saw him. The lullaby. Your fantasy life together as husband and wife. The almost kiss. But then that gnawing doubt crept back into your mind. Perhaps he was just placating you. After all, you were scared and in the hospital. He may have been saying anything at that moment to calm you down.

You continued to ruminate on the situation when you heard your name being called. Looking up, you saw none other than Chet Aldrich balancing a large bouquet of roses and a teddy bear that was almost as big as you. “What are you doing here?” you blurted out.

Chet bit his bottom lip and kicked at the pavement. “I came to apologize for leaving last night. These are for you.” He placed the flowers and stuffed animal in your lap.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly in shock by the gesture.

“Let me give you some privacy,” the orderly said with an awkward chuckle and walked back into the hospital.

Once the orderly left, Chet let out a big breath. “I’d still like to make it up to you. Maybe I can take you out on Saturday night?”

“Like a date?”

Chet blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, like a date.”

You thought of Rafael for a moment then quickly pushed him aside. It was time to grow up and move on. A smile slowly spread across your face. “I’d love to,” you said, unaware that you were being watched the entire time.

*****

Rafael saw the whole thing through the gift shop window. The three dozen red roses. The gigantic bear. The smile you gave Chet that made him weak in the knees. He saw how Chet tried to win your mother over with a fake laugh and a cheesy compliment on how she must be your younger sister.

Rather than walk out and be humiliated, he waited in the gift shop until you had driven away before leaving himself, throwing his measly rose and cheesy bear into the trash. There was a tightness in his chest and a wave of pain washed over him, consuming him. He couldn’t catch his breath. Placing his hand over the left side of his chest, he felt the rapid steady beating against his palm. “So this is what a broken heart feels like,” he thought as he made the long walk home alone. The dream life you had mapped out together would remain just that. A dream.

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

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Imperfect Tense - Part Three

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 3/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: I thought this story was over when I had posted part two. It was an abrupt ending, yes, but it fit.

And then Molly decided there was more that needed to be said and here we are. This story is now complete….The journey Tom and Molly go on, however, most likely is not. There is too much more to explore for me to say I won’t ever come back to these two. But this particular part of their story has come to a close. I hope you all enjoy.

Thank you again to @nonsensicalobsessions, @redfoxwritesstuff and @ciaodarknessmyheart for being sounding boards for this last part of the story. Your help has been so so valuable and I doubt this story would be as good as I feel it is without your help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

“What the fucking hell were you thinking?!” Luke’s voice rose three octaves as he yelled at the pale, drawn man sitting before him. There was a fire in Luke’s eyes that Tom hadn’t seen and, gods above, he knew he deserved it. Every last bit of it.

It had been nearly three days since he’d come home and watched the life he’d left behind shatter beyond repair before him. Nearly three days since he’d seen the broken, angry, disbelieving pain swim in Molly’s eyes. Three days since she’d left and he’d learned he’d been a father. Twice now, if that stupid fucking letter was to be believed. God, it was a mess. A complete and utter travesty and there was nothing he could think of to do; no way he could fathom to fix the utter mess he had made of everything.

Luke had found him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, almost an hour before. Tom had barely moved since Molly had stormed out; forcing himself to use the bathroom when need became too great, but hardly sleeping (when he had, he woke in a panic searching for Molly only to remember she was gone) and barely eating. He’d known time had passed, but honestly hadn’t been at all aware of just how much. His phone had rung incessantly for what felt like hours and after the dozenth time he’d looked and found Luke’s number instead of Molly’s, he’d thrown the infernal thing across the room, not caring if it broke. And frankly he had enjoyed the thud it made as the bloody thing collided with the wall.

But Luke was not one to be ignored and had Tom been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have been surprised when Luke had finally shown up to say whatever he’d had to say in person. He’d come storming in the house, cursing and yelling for Tom to “show his goddamned idiotic face and show it now.” Tom could remember hearing the thunder of Luke’s feet on the stairs and then the intake of breath as he came down the hall and stopped in the doorway.

Tom raised his head, blinking as Luke’s reddened face came into clear focus. Luke paused for barely a moment before charging in the room, brandishing a manila folder in his right hand. He paused and flipped the damned thing open, throwing their contents at Tom, who watched absently as they fell to the floor at his feet. A letter, he noted, much like the one Molly had been holding when he’d walked in the door and lost everything. And several print outs of what looked to be online articles. He blinked down at them and then up at Luke.

“Do you have any idea the kind of madness I’ve been dealing with for the past 72 hours?! You go off the fucking radar, don’t answer your goddamned phone, and this insanity is spreading like wildfire. Are you aware that she went to the press? That’s she’s told everyone?!”

Once again Tom blinked in confusion.

Molly? Molly had gone to the press and told them what he’d done? The thought froze his heart. He couldn’t believe she would do something like that. He’d known he’d hurt her…That he’d broken what they had, but for her to run off and tell the world? That wasn’t his Molly. That wasn’t the woman he’d known, he’d loved. Who’d loved him. “Molly…She couldn’t…She wouldn’t…” His voice cracked as he spoke the words, both from disuse and disbelief.

It was Luke’s turn to blink in bewilderment.

“Molly? Why would Molly…?” He shook his head. “No, she hasn’t answered any of my calls either….I’m talking about Heather James. You know, the woman you fucked in a club bathroom in LA two years back? She’s gone to the fucking press with not only your affair, which paints you in an absolutely terrific light seeing as your relationship with Molly was public knowledge at the fucking time, but the fact that you have a son by her! Jesus Christ, Tom, this is a fucking shit show.” He paused running a hand through his short, brown hair. “I’m barely managing to keep up with all of it. And with your engagement announcement two months back…This is bad. Very, very, VERY bad.”

Tom found himself nodding but not truly comprehending the words Luke spoke. It all seemed so surreal, like a horrid nightmare, and all he wanted was to wake from it and find that none of it had actually happened. To find Molly beside him, holding him and telling him she loved him. It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

“…Are you even fucking listening to me, Tom?”

He slowly raised his head and met Luke’s gaze. Tom watched the exasperation and annoyance play across his publicist’s face as it became abundantly clear he hadn’t truly been listening. “What?” he managed to choke out.

Luke bit back a groan. “I was saying you and Molly need to release a joint statement on the matter. You need to say something to counteract this shit storm that is raining down on you. And you both need to do it now. Ignoring it isn’t going to work, not this time.”

Tom shook his head, his eyes burning once more with tears. “She’s gone.” It was the first time he’d spoken the words aloud and they sounded strange to his ears. Like they couldn’t be the truth. “She left.”

“When you say left…” Luke let the words trail off but Tom could hear the steel in them. It was clear he had a very good idea just what Tom had meant. And it was just as clear that he intended for Tom to say it aloud.

Tom cleared his throat, unsure just how to put this whole mess into words. “She…She had the letter when I got home,” he paused, working to clear his throat as the words threatened to choke him. “ She…She’d read it and asked me to tell her it wasn’t true…And I…I didn’t know what to do…I didn’t mean to…”

Luke blinked. “But she knew about the affair. You told her…” He trailed off, staring at Tom in enraged disbelief as understanding dawned. “You fucking didn’t tell her about it did you?” Fire burned in Luke’s eyes and he threw his hands up in frustrated incredulity. “You stupid, selfish, moronic fucking coward! You didn’t bloody ever tell her and she was blindsided by…Oh my fucking GOD Thomas, I am going to murder you!”

“I didn’t think…” Tom pleaded.

“No, you didn’t fucking think at all did you?” Luke ran a trembling hand through his hair, shaking his head in frustrating disbelief. “She had no idea about any of this…Dammit all Thomas, I thought you had fucking told her. I begged you to tell her. Why the fucking hell didn’t you?” Luke’s dark eyes locked on his own and the guilt and regret burned inside him.

“Because I didn’t want to lose her,” Tom snapped, glaring up at Luke. It didn’t matter that everything Luke said made sense. He should have told her straight off. He should have been honest. But he hadn’t and it had cost him everything. “I fucked up, Luke. Is that what you want to bloody hear?! I. Fucked. Up. I was a coward. A fucking spineless coward and now she’s gone! She’s having my baby and she left me because I fucked it all up!”

Luke’s mouth, which had been open ready to fire a snarky retort, slammed shut. He blinked at Tom for several minutes in apparent incomprehension before gathering himself enough to choke out, “Molly’s pregnant…”

Tom swallowed thickly and nodded.

Luke threw his hands in the air. “Fucking hell, Tom.” He paced feverishly around the room, muttering to himself and occasionally shooting daggers in Tom’s direction.

The guilt that had been simmering merrily away for the last several days boiled over and Tom fought to control his breathing. This was bad. This was very, very bad and he felt as though everything had turned violently on its head.

“…she’ll talk to me.”

“All my fault,” Tom muttered over and over again to himself. Because it was all his fault. Every last miniscule bit of it. He’d made one stupid, cowardly choice after another and suddenly here he was having to answer for each and every one with no idea how the hell he was going to do so.

“It bloody is and don’t you dare expect me to sugar coat it for you,” Luke snapped. “You should have told her from the word go. You had so many fucking chances to say something and you fucking didn’t. If you had this would have been bad but we could have fucking managed it…Now, fuck, I have no idea which way this will go. And when the goddamned media finds out not only that Molly’s pregnant but she’s left you…”

“That’s not the point!” Tom hissed, pushing himself to his feet. He fought off a giddy wave of dizziness and nausea at the sudden movement. “I don’t give a flying fuck what those bastards print about me. You think I honestly care?”

“Honestly, Tom? I don’t know. The way you’ve been…It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The words stung far more than he’d expected them to, but it could not fault the truth in them. This person he’d become; this lying, secretive, dishonest man wearing his face wasn’t one he’d recognized. And that terrified him. “What am I going to do?” He hadn’t directed the question at Luke, but his friend answered him all the same.

“I’m going to head back to the office and try to contact Heather James’ solicitor and see if we can try to sort this mess.” He paused and let his eyes roll over the broken man who’d fallen back to sit on the edge of the bed once more. “You are going to march yourself into the shower, clean yourself up, and eat. After that we’ll have to play it by ear.”

—

Tom had showered, dressed in the first pieces of clothing his fingers touched, and settled at the wooden table in his kitchen, a plate of toast before him, when he heard his front door open and close followed by Luke’s footsteps in the hallway. “Back here,” he called out, half-heartedly.

He let his eyes raise to the doorway as Luke wandered in the kitchen, a sober expression painted on his face.

“I’ve been in contact with Ms. James’ solicitor and as their letter stated they are requesting a paternity test which we are not contesting. They wanted to discuss financial support for the child but until it’s proven that he is, indeed, yours that subject matter is off the table. As are any visitation and living arrangements. I’ve also requested that neither Ms. James nor any member of her team or her family speak with the press regarding this matter…Though I fear that ship as long since sailed.” He paused taking a deep breath before clasping his hands together before him. “Still better to try to curtail this now then try to fight whatever else gets spread across the papers.”

Silently, Tom nodded not quite taking it all in. He might have a son. A son. A little boy he’d never met. The idea was overwhelming. A father…He’d always wanted to be a father. Had always hoped that if the day came, he would have been able to be involved from the word go. To watch his child grow within the belly of its mother. Had hoped to be in a steady, committed relationship. Had always planned on it happening with Molly.

But he’d been a stupid, selfish idiot and ruined any chance he’d had. And now because of it he could so easily lose the chance to be there for Molly and the child she was carrying. Fresh tears stung at his eyes and he pushed the toast away, his appetite all but gone.

“…can get you into have the bloodwork drawn tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t take more than two to three days for the results and once we’ve got them we can figure out what comes next.”

Tom cleared his throat and raised his eyes towards Luke once more. “If…If he’s mine, I want to be there for him. I need to be there…This mess isn’t his fault and I won’t have him suffering for it, regardless of how all of this came about.”

A brief flash of pity mixed with a resigned understanding flashed in Luke’s eyes and he nodded. “I know, Tom. I know. If he’s yours I’ll help make sure you are as involved as you want to be.” He paused and cleared his throat, eyes darkening slightly. “I spoke with Molly…”

Tom’s head snapped up at this. “Is she alright? Please tell me she’s okay…I can’t…”

Luke threw his hands up, trying to halt Tom’s explosion of words. “She is about as alright as she can be, given the circumstances…She is understandably upset and angry…”

“Did she….Will she let me talk to her…Let me try to explain.” The naked hope in his eyes tore at Luke but he shook his head.

“I don’t think that is such a good idea. I think you’ve done enough damage for now. Just…Just let her be. There will be time enough to sort out the details of how you will both handle this.”

“But I can’t just…” Even if it was hopeless he couldn’t just let it be. He had to try, he had to do something.

“Yes you bloody fucking can.” Luke snapped, hitting his fist against the table with enough force to rattle the forgotten plate of toast. “Do you not get it? Molly has every right in the world to wash her hands of you. To deny you the right to see the baby she’s carrying. Every. Bloody. Right. Fuck, she would be well within her rights to drag you through the courts and destroy you if you push her to it.”

Tom blinked in confusion, his heart thudding in his chest.

“This isn’t something you can smile and charm your way out of, Tom. You. Fucked. Up.” He empathized each word with the slam of his first to the table. “This isn’t going to simply blow over. Not only did you sleep with someone else, you lied to her about it. And you kept right on lying. You fucked up every bloody time you had the chance to come clean with Molly and you chose not to. This isn’t one mistake, Tom. This isn’t one slip-up. This is a series of stupid, fucking decisions and they are all on you. Every. Single. One. And you need to own that and then figure out how to live with it.”

Luke took a deep breath and settled himself onto the chair opposite from Tom. Neither spoke for several minutes.

“How?” Tom’s voice was small, almost broken.

Luke took a deep breath, resting his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.” He turned towards the doorway, pausing momentarily to pull something from his pocket. “Almost forgot.” He placed it onto the table before Tom who looked at it in confusion. “Your mobile was in pieces…Again. And I have to be able to get hold of you. Try not to destroy this one.”

With a sigh Luke turned once more and headed down the hall and towards the front door. A moment later Tom heard it click shut and once more he was alone.

—

The car Luke had arranged arrived mid-morning the following day. Tom tried not to think about the parallel between this morning and one almost two years ago as he silently climbed into the backseat. He’d slept fitfully the previous night, tossing and turning for several hours before giving up the ghost entirely. It didn’t matter, he’d lost the right to sleep peacefully, and he’d known that.

He rested his head against the cool glass of the window as the city blurred past, paying it little mind. Luke had called shortly before the car had arrived to make sure he was up and ready. Tom wanted to resent Luke for doing so, for babying him, but given the mess he’d been (and honestly still was) he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when it was something Luke would have done before everything had fallen to pieces.

The car slowed and then finally came to a stop forty minutes later. He opened the car door and blinked up at the tall, dull, brick building. It was overcast, overhead rain clouds threatened. Fitting.

Climbing out, Tom made his way into the lobby of the building. It was well lit with several uncomfortable chrome and mutely coloured chairs lined near the wall of glass windows. Standing to the side of the main doors was Luke, absently staring at his mobile. He looked up at the sound of the doors and offered Tom a smile (which was honestly more of a grimace). In silence, they headed towards the lifts and then up towards the laboratory. Giving his blood and saliva samples was a simple matter; Tom and Luke were out of the building and back into the waiting car fifteen minutes later.

Neither man spoke as the car pulled off and merged back into the London late morning traffic. Luke turned his attention back to his mobile. He tapped away busily at the screen. Several minutes later Luke looked up, pocketing his mobile. “I’ve let the solicitors know the samples were obtained and the results pending.”

Tom nodded. “Alright.”

What else could he possibly say? There weren’t words to describe the emotions coursing through him and he found himself both wishing that the little boy wasn’t his (how could he be a father to a child he didn’t know?) and that he was (if he was then maybe some good would come of all the mess he’d made). He didn’t dare voice either thought. How could he?

When the car stopped again it was in front of the offices for Prosper. Luke opened the door, looking back at the broken man staring sightlessly out of the opposite window. “Tom?”

Blinking Tom turned his attention from his thoughts and towards Luke. “Hm?”

“Call your mother. She’s called the office and my mobile several times trying to get hold of you. She’s worried sick.”

He nodded. The idea of talking to his mother, of hearing the disappointment and disapproval in her voice, terrified him. She loved Molly. Had been so incredibly happy when Tom told her of the engagement.

“That woman loves you, my boy, with all of her heart. You are so very lucky to have found her.” His mother’s words echoed in his mind, adding to the weight of the guilt and self-disgust he carried. She would kill him for this and he honestly couldn’t blame her. He’d had something amazing, something so fucking special, and he’d thrown it away. God, how could he have been such a fool?

What was worse was that by now his mother would have seen the articles, known what he’d done. And he knew he deserved every disappointed and disgusted word she would say to him. He was her son, yes, but she adored Molly and he’d broken her heart. But Luke had been right, avoiding his mother wouldn’t change what had happened and he knew, despite whatever anger and disappointment she felt towards him, she was worried. And despite the mess he’d made of everything, he couldn’t stand worrying his mother.

Tom barely noticed the car pulling to a stop and the driver had to call his name twice before he realized he was home. With a murmured thanks, Tom climbed out of the car and slowly up the steps towards his front door. The house felt so cold, so empty without Molly’s light and Tom fought back a sob as he pushed the door closed behind him and stood in the dim entry way.

Swallowing thickly, he stumbled his way into the lounge and dropped himself haphazardly onto the sofa. He sat, head cradled in his hands for what felt like hours before he took another deep breath and fumbled his new mobile from his pocket.

Clumsily, he dialed the familiar number, holding the phone to his ear as it rang once, twice before the line clicked. “Oh Thomas,” his mother’s worn voice answered. “My boy, what have you done?”

“Mum,” he breathed, the tears he’d fought finally breaking free. “Oh God, mum. I really messed up.”

—

Luke called early three days later letting him know the clinic had sent over the test results and that he was needed at Prosper as soon as he was able to go over them. Tom dressed with trepidation, his mind racing over just what fate awaited him. He’d been grateful Luke had sent a car, he didn’t think he could face driving or the chaos that public transport had become.

Since the tabloids had broken with the story of the affair and his illegitimate child, Tom found himself once more under a deluge of press attention. He’d been followed and hounded on his morning run (which he’d only restarted as a means to take his mind off of what was happening). Anytime he was spotted in public there was someone with a camera or yelling for his attention and comment on the story. He’d kept his head down as much as possible, knowing that if he snapped at them the way he longed to he would be making matters so much worse than they already were. And there was the fact that Luke would cheerfully beat him to death if he did anything to rock the boat on this.

The car was outside his gate at half past the hour and Tom quickly made his way out of the house and into its cool interior, mumbling a quiet hello to his driver. Traffic was lighter than he’d expected and they pulled to a stop in front of Prosper’s building in what felt like moments. Tom fought to contain the panic roiling inside of him as he made his way into the building and towards the lifts that would lead him to Luke’s office.

The low murmur of an office at work greeted him as the lift doors pinged open. Tom gave Nancy at reception a small smile as he headed down the hall towards Luke’s door. She’d been with Luke since he started the firm and they’d always gotten on well. She was just as no nonsense as Luke and, having worked in the industry for years, was an invaluable asset to the firm. Nancy nodded back and waved him on.

Luke’s door was ajar and Tom could hear his voice pouring out into the hallway. He paused at the door and knocked on its frame. Luke looked up, placing his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand and nodded Tom inside.

“Alright, I’ll get back to you about the interview…Alright. Take care.” Luke placed the phone back onto its cradle and turned his full attention on Tom who still stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Seriously mate, come in. I’m not going to bite.”

His jest pulled the tiniest twinge of a smile from Tom and he made his way inside, settling on the black leather chair across from Luke’s desk. They sat in silence for several moments before Tom spoke. “You called about the results?” He fought to keep his voice steady and even, though the extent of his nerves were clear in the way his foot bounced against the carpeted floor.

Luke nodded once. “They sent them over this morning.” He reached across the desk to hand Tom a sealed white envelope. Tom couldn’t hide the visible shake in his hand as he took the envelope. It took him several moments to still them enough to slip his finger beneath the seal and break it. With a deep breath and a mounting sense of foreboding, Tom pulled the sheets of paper from the envelope, unfolding them with care, before allowing his eyes to read over the stark black text.

His blood pounded in his ears and he had to read the words several times before the meaning became clear.

Regarding the child Francis Henry James…No paternal match…

No paternal match.

The boy wasn’t his.

The sharp sense of relief he felt at those words was dulled by a flash of disappointment that Tom couldn’t reconcile. This was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Things would be easier this way. But still, for a brief moment, Tom found himself grieving the loss of a child that might have been his. Of a life that wouldn’t ever be.

Tom swallowed against the lump in his throat. In all the panic and worry of the last several days, he hadn’t truly stopped and thought about what all of this would mean if the child hadn’t been his. Stupidly, he’d been laboring under the belief that the boy was his son and no matter what had happened between himself and the boy’s mother, that little boy, Francis…Frank, was his and was an innocent in all of this. And Tom would do everything in his power to do right by him. He’d been, unconsciously, making plans about what room he’d need to change into a child’s bedroom for when the boy would stay with him. Along with the room that would serve as a nursery for his baby with Molly…But that was all in vain now.

“Do I need to be drafting a press release asking for privacy as you and your son get to know one another?” Luke’s voice broke through the tangle of confusion in Tom’s mind causing him to stare up blankly. His publicist sat perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest with a carefully constructed neutral, yet expectant, expression painted across his face.

It was several minutes before Tom found his voice. “No,” he choked out, coughing to clear his throat. “You don’t need…He’s not…I’m not his father.” He blinked back tears, wiping at his face in frustrated helplessness.

Without saying a word, Luke was at his side with a box of tissue. Tom reached out and took one, blowing his nose and fighting valiantly to get himself back under control. But try as he might, Tom couldn’t stop the way his shoulders shook nor the tears that were trailing down his face. He was grateful Luke wasn’t forcing him to talk because he honestly didn’t think he could find the words to explain what the fuck was happening in his head.

He couldn’t say just how long he sat in Luke’s office, mourning the loss of the only good thing that could come from this mess he’d made. All he knew for certain was his head ached and his eyes felt raw as he was ushered into the back of the car Luke called for him. He would have winced at the brightness of the afternoon sunlight on his face had he not been wearing a pair of dark sunshades which were thrust at him on his way out the door.

“The last thing we need right now are pictures of you in tears,” Luke has grumbled as he shut the door behind Tom.

The ride back to his home was a blur. He could remember bits and pieces of the journey but he still blinked in confusion when the car pulled to a stop at the gate. Tom stumbled from the back of the car, punching the gate code in with shaking hands, and then slowly up the steps towards his door. He dropped the keys twice before managing to unlock the door and push it open.

The house was silent and dark for all that the midday sunlight was pouring in through the curtains lining the sitting room windows. He hated it. Hated everything about it. Tom fell back against the door, hearing it click shut against the push of his weight, and sank to the floor. He rested his head against his bent knees and simply fought to breathe.

He hadn’t any idea how long he’d been sitting there, he was only now aware that the hallway was now painted in growing shadow. Blinking, Tom rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His back throbbed as he stood upright, attesting to the fact he must have been sitting for quite some time. He rubbed it absently as he made his way into the kitchen.

Pulling a glass from the cabinet, he carried it to the sink and filled it with cool water, downing it in three gulps. He filled the glass twice more before making his way into the living room and dropping himself onto the sofa. Everything he’d found himself clinging to, the faint glimmer of hope in the storm his life had fallen into, had been for nothing and once more he found himself floundering. How could he ever hope to fix any of this now?

—

The next few days crept past, Tom moving through the motions more than anything. He answered the phone when Luke or his mother called, insisting he was fine in a tone which fooled no one, least of all himself. He read scripts and tried to eat on a regular basis; though he failed more than succeeded in that front. Tom felt as though he was living underwater, he could see things happening around him, hear distant echoes but could not seem to reach out and actually be one with them. Not that he was truly trying over much.

Each time Luke called, Tom found himself asking if he’d heard anything from Molly. Desperate for something, anything to let him know she was alright. How could this ever be alright? She hadn’t called him, not that he’d expected her to but still he’d hoped, and each time he tried her number it rang out as disconnected. Luke had brushed him off nearly every time, “This is your mess, mate, and I won’t get myself involved any more than I need to.”

“Just let me know if she’s okay. I just need to know that she’s alright.”

“Tom,” Luke breathed out in exasperation, “Don’t put me in this situation, I am asking as your friend. And as hers. Please, let it be.”

“I can’t, Luke. Not when things are like this. Not if there isn’t a chance I could try to make this right.”

“No, Tom.”

He couldn’t seem to let the idea go. The need to speak with Molly, to know that she was alright. To try all he could do to fix the mess he’d made. And maybe, just maybe now that he knew for certain that the boy wasn’t his…Maybe she would be able to forgive him. Maybe that could make this work. Maybe they could be a family. Maybe…

—

Tom hadn’t let himself think as he made his way down the brightly lit hallway. Hadn’t acknowledged anything more than the blaze of hope that sparked in him when Molly had finally agreed to meet with him. It had taken nearly two weeks to get her to take his call, let alone speak with him, and even then he knew it was with extreme reluctance.

Luke had played middleman begrudgingly and made it perfectly clear though he was paid to look after Tom’s interests, he was firmly on Molly’s side in this. “Keep your head, Tom,” Luke had cautioned him as he handed over the folded piece of paper on which he’d written Molly’s current number. “She is giving you the chance to talk, don’t fuck this up. And please, for the love of god, don’t make this worse.”

He meticulously scanned each of the numbers on the doors until he’d come to Molly’s, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering steadily in his gut. Molly, he’d learned, had initially been staying at a friend’s while she searched for more permanent arrangements and had moved into her own flat the week before. The flat wasn’t too far from the house they’d shared, Tom had stared at the address she’d given him in disbelief. So close. She’d been so close and he’d not been any the wiser. The knowledge of it stung far more than he’d wanted to admit. But she’d agreed to meet with him. To talk. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Taking a deep breath he raised his hand and knocked gently on the door. He rocked on his heels, shoving his hands firmly into his pockets to stop their fidgeting. He always seemed to fidget when he was nervous. He could hear a rustling from inside and the click of the lock unlatching. His heart stuttered and froze in his chest as the door opened and he found Molly standing before him.

He could see the toll of the last few weeks painted across her features. There were shadows under her light blue eyes and a wariness in them, and in her posture, he didn’t quite understand. She was clearly exhausted and it took all he had to keep himself from sweeping in and trying to fix things, as every fiber in his being wanted him to. She merely nodded at him, standing firmly in the doorway.

“How are you?” The question slipped from his lips without his bidding and Tom wanted to kick himself for it. “I’m sorry that was…I didn’t mean…”

“Just don’t, Tom,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

Tom felt his heart constrict in his chest at the pain he could see in Molly’s eyes, no matter how desperately she tried to hide it. He was the worst sort of person and he knew it. But maybe…Just maybe if she let him talk, let him explain, this might be a way to begin to rebuild the shattered trust between them.

Please. Please.

Several silent moments passed between them before Molly stood aside and allowed him to walk past her into the flat. He found his eyes scanning the small, but cozy, looking front room. There wasn’t a great deal in the way of furniture; a squashy grey sofa and matching arm chair, darkly stained coffee and end tables, and a wooden and metal bookshelf still mostly empty. Boxes lined the far left hand wall, stacked neatly with the top-most open.

Molly settled herself on the armchair, crossing her arms loosely across her chest. Tom quietly did the same on the sofa. Neither spoke, the silence between them growing more strained by the moment. He heard rather than saw Molly take a deep breath and quickly raised his eyes to her face. “You wanted to talk, Tom.”

Tom clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. He could feel her cool eyes locked on him. It was now or never. He swallowed thickly before speaking, knowing he had to get the words out. Had to make her understand. The worst was over now. They could try to rebuild. It wouldn’t be easy, he knew that, but it would be worth it. They could do this.

“I…We got the results back. Of the paternity test. The child he…He isn’t mine.” The words came out in a rush and hope burned brightly in his eyes as Tom stared into Molly’s. It was going to be alright, it had to be. He’d been given a second chance. They both had. Surely, she could see that.

He waited, watching the emotion play across her face. Waited for the confusion to break into a quiet joy. For her to understand that it was over and that they could make this work. They could truly be a family. And he would make all of this up to her. He would make it right. This was his chance to do so.

“Oh.” The word tumbled from her lips. “I’m glad it’s settled for you then.” But she didn’t smile. No sign of relief spread across her features. Nothing had changed…

“Oh,” Tom echoed and felt his heart sink. “But I thought…”

“You thought what, Tom?” Molly’s sharp tone cut straight through him and he flinched at her words. “You thought that just because her paternity claim was false that everything would be fine? You lied to me Tom. You slept with someone else and then lied to me about it. You got a fucking STI and you kept that from me. You took what we had and threw it in the fire and you think that just because you dodged this particular bullet I should be grateful and forgive you?” Frustration and disbelief shone in her bright eyes. “I’m sorry Tom, but that is not how it works. That is not how any of this fucking works.”

“It was a mistake,” he started, needing her to listen to him. To give him a chance to fix it.

“No, Tom,” Molly snapped out, pushing herself to her feet. She paced around the room, hands waving as she carried on. “A mistake is getting the reservation times mixed up. A mistake is forgetting to call after you’ve made it home safe. Sleeping with someone else and lying about it for two years…That…That is not a fucking mistake and don’t you dare try to pass it off as such.”

He stood as well, staring at her as the words she’d thrown at him hit home. “I…Molly, please, tell me how to fix this,” he pleaded, unconsciously reaching out toward her. “Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it. Anything. Anything at all. Just please, please let me fix this.” He took two cautious steps towards her.

Molly shook her head, taking several steps back from him. “You don’t get it, Tom. There is no fixing this.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and locked her eyes on his. “That time came and went two fucking years ago. You lied to me. Again and again and again. You made the life I thought we were building together into a nothing more than a mockery of what it should have been. You can’t fix this, Thomas. Not now.”

“Please don’t say that, Molly,” he begged, fear choking his voice. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. This couldn’t be happening. He had to fix this. He had to. “Please don’t. I can’t…I have to fix this. Please.”

Molly shook her head. “No, Tom. There is no fixing this.”

“But the baby…” His words trailed off as his eyes lingered on her distant form. Her baby. Their baby. This baby needed them both. They had to fix this. He had to fix this.

Molly’s hands unconsciously dropped to her stomach, cupping now barely visible swell there. He doubted he would have even seen it had she not done so. “Don’t, Tom,” She whispered, taking a deep breath before continuing her voice stronger. “This baby is the only reason I am even speaking to you.” There was a fire in her eyes Tom had never seen and truth be told it terrified him. Anger was never an emotion he’d ever truly seen from Molly, not centered on him, and to see it now let loose a very real spasm of fear. “Don’t you dare try to use this baby to get your own damned way!”

Tom leapt to his feet, hands raised before him, and took a tentative step towards Molly. “That isn’t what I’m trying to do.” And it wasn’t…Not completely. He couldn’t let her shut him out. Not now. He needed to fix this before it was too late.

“I think you should leave, Tom.”

Her words didn’t make any sense. “No, please don’t…” He couldn’t leave now. If he left then he might never get another chance to fix this. And he had to fix it. He had to.

Molly shook her head, walking with steadfast determination to the door. “I want you to leave right now. I can’t do this.”

“But…”

“Tom, please.”

He stood for several moments, indecision painted across his features before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he walked quietly to the door. Tom paused, his eyes roaming over Molly’s stoic face. He took a slow, deep breath and spoke quietly. “For what it’s worth, Molly, I am truly sorry.”

“That’s all well and good, Tom, but sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

Tom nodded, forcing the ghost of a smile as he felt the tears burning in his eyes. “I know.” And god I wish it would. Without another word he turned and walked out of the flat.

—

Luke’s call came almost an hour after Tom had made his way home. He thought, briefly, about simply letting the call go to voicemail; it would be infinitely easier than whatever Luke had to say. Instead he slid his finger across the screen and placed the call on speaker. “Yes, Luke?”

There was a resigned sigh before Luke’s voice echoed throughout the room. “Why can’t you listen to what I tell you? Just once, for the sheer novelty value of it.”

“I just…I wanted to fix it…”

Luke groaned. “Tom, you cannot fix this. Not now. The time to fix it was two damned years ago. And if you’d just told her like I all but begged you to…”

“I know, Luke,” Tom snapped, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “I fucking know! You don’t need to tell me I fucked up the best thing in my life because I’m a selfish bastard. I know, Luke. I can’t ever forget it! I just…I had to try.” He fought to keep his words steady as the composure he’d struggled desperately to keep finally broke. Sobs wracked him and he found himself gasping for breath. It took several minutes to calm himself enough to speak clearly. “I just…I couldn’t not try.”

“Well your trying could make this much, much worse. You have to know that,” Luke stressed and Tom could hear the strain in the man’s voice. “The press doesn’t know Molly is pregnant, and thank god for that, but it’s not something that can be hidden forever. Not with the way the press has been on what’s happened. And when it does come out, they are going to be brutal; not only to you but to her as well. You push her too far and she could wash her hands of you entirely. She could up and leave and keep the baby from you and fuck me, I don’t know if I could blame her.”

Tom felt the barely contained panic threatening to break loose once again. Molly leaving and keeping their baby from him. Both of them gone for good. His knees buckled and it took all he had to lower himself onto the floor lest they give out completely and he collapse. “She wouldn’t…Molly wouldn’t ever…”

“There was a time when she would have said the same thing about you and we both know how that turned out.” Luke let out a frustrated sigh. “Tom, speaking as your publicist, I’m asking…No, Tom, I’m telling you to leave her be. Don’t push. Don’t try to fix it. Just let me handle this. Please. Before it goes from bad to worse. Do you hear me?”

It was several moments before Tom realized that Luke could not see him nodding and croaked out his assent. Yes, he would leave her alone. He would let Luke sort this as best he could. The call ended soon after but Tom remained on the floor, his mind racing.

How had all of this spiraled so far out of control? How could he have let this happen? He knew better. He should have come clean to Molly when she had called him back that night; should have told her the truth and begged her forgiveness. But he hadn’t and now there was nothing he could do to fix the mess he’d made.

—

In the two weeks that followed, Tom did his best to keep to Luke’s request. He kept his head down as best he could, kept mostly to his home and went through the small pile of scripts that had started to accumulate. Not that he could actually focus on them; he’d read the same passage three times in the last ten minutes and still couldn’t make hide nor hair of any of it. With a tired groan, Tom tossed the script aside, rubbing his bleary eyes with the palms of his hands. There was no point in trying to pretend he was going to get anywhere with them, not with the way his mind refused to focus.

Pushing himself to his feet, he padded from the living room towards the kitchen. Mindlessly, he set about making himself a mug of tea; loose leaf tea from the cabinet, water in the kettle and setting it to boil, jug of milk from the refrigerator, mug and strainer set aside waiting. There was something soothing about the whole process; it was something he had done thousands of times. It made him think of home and his mum and the times when all the world’s ails could be cured with a cuppa.

As the kettle boiled he set about measuring out the tea and placing it in the strainer atop the green chipped mug. A few minutes later had the kettle boiled, the water poured, and the fragrant leaves brewing. Once steeped he tossed the used tea leaves, added his milk, and carried the mug back into the living room. Tea might not fix everything, but with all that had happened, it certainly couldn’t hurt.

He settled back onto the couch and sipped while he debated picking up the script once more. It wasn’t the best story he’d ever read, but decent enough. Under normal circumstances, and had his head been clearer, he knew he’d been very much taken in by it. As it was though…

Tom let out a soft sigh, resting his mug atop his knee and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He needed to get himself together. Falling apart wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all himself; he’d known that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

A muffled ring echoed from between the cushions of the sofa.

Perplexed, Tom sat staring for several long moments before his wits caught up with him. He leapt to his feet, placing his mug on the edge of the coffee table, and reached between the cushions where the ringing seemed be loudest. He grumbled as his fingers at first found nothing then just as quickly slid against the smooth metal back of his mobile. He yanked it out and slid his finger across the screen to answer, not bothering to look at the number. It was most likely his mother; she’d spent the past week trying to encourage him to come home for a few days to “get away”. He knew she worried over him and with all the goings on, her mothering instinct had gone into overdrive.

“Hello?”

Luke’s voice echoed through the mobile’s speaker. “Tom, is this a good time?”

While there wasn’t anything off about Luke’s question, there was something in the tone of it that set off alarm bells in Tom’s mind. Panic, potent and strong flooded through. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he fought for control of his voice. Something was wrong. Molly’s face flashed before his eyes.

Let her be okay. Let her and the baby be okay. Please. Please.

“Luke, what is it? What’s happened?” He knew his voice was shaking, knew all his bloody training was less than worthless now, and there was little he could do to stop it.

There was a soft sigh and a pause before Luke answered. “I’m about five minutes from yours and I have something we need to talk about.”

He managed to grunt something, he couldn’t say exactly what, in response and only half heard Luke’s answer before the call ended. He stared at the now blank screen as he collapsed back onto the sofa. His hands shook and he felt the mobile slip from his fingers to land on the rug below with a soft thump.

It took several minutes for Tom to register that the buzzing he was hearing was coming from the doorbell and not his head. It took another few moments to get to his feet and stumble towards the door. His fingers felt large, clumsy, and useless as he struggled with the lock. It took two tries to get it undone and to pull the darkly stained wooden door open.

Luke stood in the doorway, an unreadable expression painted across his face. He pulled his sunglasses off as he stepped inside and offered Tom a small, half-hearted smile which did little to put him at ease. They both stood in the entryway, silence spreading between them. There were so many things Tom wanted to ask but the words simply wouldn’t come.

“I think we should probably sit down for this,” Luke suggested, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder and guiding him towards the living room.

Tom felt his heart plummet at Luke’s words and stumbled into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa. Luke settled in the arm-chair adjacent, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Clearing his throat, Tom forced himself to raise his eyes towards Luke and choked out. “What is it?”

Luke faltered for a moment before answering. He leant forward, pausing briefly to pull an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Over the last week and a half I’ve been in talks with a solicitor.” He paused once again and handed the envelope to Tom. His brow furrowing in confusion, Tom held the envelope in his hand staring from it to Luke. What could Heather possibly want now? Hadn’t she done enough?

“Molly’s solicitor.”

Tom’s head snapped up at this, his eyes widening as the colour drained slowly from his face. “Wh-what?”

“She had them contact me shortly after…Anyway, with all things being equal and with all that’s been happening, she wanted to get things in writing, as clearly as she could, before all of this gets out in the public. Because it will, Tom, whether you or I or Molly want it to or not.”

It was as if Luke was speaking from someplace far off, his voice was muffled and try as he might Tom could barely make sense of any of it. His fingers shook as he turned the off-white envelope over in his hands, only partially registering his name written across its front, and tore open its seal.

The paper inside was of surprisingly good quality; a creamy white which was a strong contrast to the crisp black of the text. The printed words seemed to blur as he struggled to make sense of them. His breath came in short, pained gasps as slowly, agonizingly their meaning became clear.

She wasn’t contesting his paternity and welcomed him to a paternity test if he so wished; if he wanted to be involved in the life of their child she would not deny him. But that was as far as she was prepared to go. He wasn’t allowed to contact her in any way unless in pertained to the child. She would share important doctor’s visits and any and all test results if requested. His presence at the birth would be up for discussion as the time drew closer though she did not want him alone with her in the room.

A choked sob fell from his lips as the paper slipped from his numb fingers to the floor. Tom couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. God this wasn’t happening. Please, god, this couldn’t be happening. He jumped at the feel of a hand resting on his shoulder and blinked up through tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed at Luke’s impassive face.

“Deep breath, mate. Just breathe.”

Tom struggled to draw in air, his lungs burning with the effort. It felt as though he was simply fighting to keep his head above the surface of a crushing sea. And each time he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d caught his breath another wave would crest and he’d be dragged back under.

“Why?” He managed to choke out.

Luke let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Because she knew you wouldn’t listen any other way.” He gripped Tom’s shoulder lightly. “You push and you push and you don’t listen. She knows you, Tom. And she took the steps she felt were necessary to protect herself. All you can do now is respect that. Don’t push her on this. Please, if you listen to nothing else I ask of you listen to this, please respect her choice in this matter. Respect the boundaries she is setting. Don’t push her to take this further.”

Unable to speak, Tom simply nodded. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, no matter how loudly his mind screamed for him to do so. This was his fault. All of it. Molly hated him and if he pushed any further he wasn’t completely sure if she wouldn’t take away the only remaining tie left between them. And he couldn’t lose that. Not after everything. But knowing that and accepting it were two completely different things and at that moment Tom wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to make that leap. And if he didn’t, what would it cost him?

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Imperfect Tense #mrs-captain-evans writing challenge #mce writing challenge

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Portrait of an Artist in Love

9th competition win. It's a love letter to the world of Love Death + Robot's "Good Hunting" episode.

There is a motto within our guild:

'Your client is your Art.'

It dictates our rules, weaves itself into our practices, shapes our pride, and though our clients are made to understand its impact, the phrase itself is not spoken to outsiders. It is a tenet, a pillar of our teachings, an invisible chain around our wrists. A chain I wonder if inspector Merig has come to tug.

'You are a popular biomata craftsman and a respected guild member, Dr. Parahi,' he says, clearly fishing for a reaction. 'A true artist among steamwrights, I'm told.'

'Inspector, what is this visit about?'

'Just a few questions, if you please. Are you aware of the series of murders that have happened in the Kublai and Kodenshi districts?'

I smile tightly. So, this is about her after all.

'I do read the papers. Even if I didn't, the guild keeps us appraised of such... events as might disturb our work.'

'When did you first become aware of the killings?'

'After the one that happened at the Proctor's party. Since that was only a district over, everyone here was made aware of the case. No one knew then that it was serial.'

'We still don't know for sure,' the inspector says, pulling photographs out of a battered folder, 'but they all have a few things in common.'

He pushes the glossy black and white photographs forward. I find myself oddly surprised. The content might be gruesome, but the police department has a talented photographer on their payroll. All the bodies are angled to showcase the gaping injuries. They lay sprawled in pools of grey, blood diluted in hydrofill, I suppose.

'They were all either augmented or full biomata. They are all missing parts. A lot of parts.'

'Oh, please. Are you suggesting a guild member is behind this? Me, even? No self respecting craftsman would destroy someone else's work like that. Particularly not in such a barbaric fashion.'

'No, rest assured,' inspector Merig says, placating, 'we've already sorted things with your guild concerning alibis. At least in your case.'

Nothing in our code states that we should not try to help the police. There is, however, no incentive for me to volunteer information, and so I stare at him in expectant silence.

'Do you ever work on automata, Dr. Parahi?'

'Never. All of my work is meant for live grafting.'

I wave a hand to encompass the atelier space all around us. The copper and ivory limbs showcased at the forefront all are to exhibit taste and designs. The hands made of tantalum, titanium and tungsten, laid out on the cabinet to our left, are where the craftsmanship is on display. It is all a front, a showroom, as it were, despite the small workbench. That one is for clients in need of repairs or simple cosmetics. There is no automata on display or in use. It would constitute false advertisement in such a curated room.

'Would one be able to craft an automata out of parts taken from such victims?'

I feel a shiver run down my spine at the question. Surely, the real one will soon follow. It takes some effort to maintain the appearance of nonchalance, to not trigger the whirring of my knee joints with an anxious shift, to ignore the weight of the stare of my ancestors, perched in their gilded frames on the wall at my back. Six generations of steamwrights silently judging the last practising scion of their house, readying his lies.

'Of course,' I say, inclining my head with a smile, a show of scholarly indulgence. 'Depending on what they wanted to build. If needed, you could smelt and reforge to fit–well, depending on the material. The only thing you cannot transfer or reuse are the tubing and the cores. The engine needs are completely different, and automata don't require hydrofill. Anyone savvy enough can do this. It is not even considered guild work.'

'What about building biomata with them?'

Here it is... And what can I say? It is another tenet of ours that you should never deny a client the components they bring you. Our work is... a communion, a shared vision. A concept I highly doubt officer Merig would ever understand or appreciate. I look at him studiously as I mull over my answer, though there is nothing of interest to look at. He is what is derogatorily referred to in the milieu as a "meatbag". There is no Art to him. Not even a glimmer of cosmetic copper-gold, ivory or amber, not a whisper of inner mechanism, no murmur of churning steam.

'Obviously it can be done,' I answer, keeping up with the affable professor persona. 'People often inherit parts from deceased relatives and have legacy work done to integrate them. This would not be very different, except the guild is usually involved in the original disassembling process.'

'Could you tell the parts were taken by force, if someone presented them to you?'

'Not necessarily,' I reply, lying through my teeth. In for a copper, in for a silver: 'There are shunts that can be activated to section off limbs cleanly. If these were used, the limb would look as neat as if I'd taken it off the donor myself.'

I tap a ringed finger at one of the photographs, one of the more gruesome ones, as one of the parts removed was the insulation polysheet around the steam core.

'Providing materials has always been a popular way to offset the cost of the operations for our clients. However some of these parts you simply can't smelt or play pretend with. Anyone within the guild would know and call the police. This looks more like trophies to me, it's so pointless otherwise.'

Inspector Merig strokes his bearded chin. Though he appears to be considering my point, his lack of surprise makes me think the idea is not new to him.

'Could someone be out there,' he asks, 'someone not from the guild, enhancing themselves, or someone else, with the parts taken from the killings?'

I smile indulgently at this.

'Inspector Merig. Surely you realise setting a steam core engine inside a living being is nothing like automata work? You need to be a talented surgeon for the client to even survive. The creation of a biomata is Art in its truest form, combining medicine, metallurgy, jewellery, design, engineering, fine tuning more precise than clockwork, and the mastery of the gods' greatest gift: steam. Most of the processes involved are guild secrets too. If someone is out there trying to fiddle with an existing biomata without the proper training...' I tap my chin, thinking, hoping to sell it. 'It's possible... At least they could try. But the guild would take it about just as well as if the imperial botanists heard someone was growing Telura on their roof garden.'

Inspector Merig snorts at the comparison.

'Still, why come to me? Surely all of this could have been explained to you at the guildhall?'

'You came highly recommended. Most popular in the district, I was told.' Merig waves his gloved hand to encompass the shop and its shining collection of limbs and skeletal constructs. 'Certainly looks like it to me.'

There is a certain quality to the man's expression. The way his jaw is set, the tension around his eyes. It is a cousin to the apprehension I see in so many faces lying down on my workbench. A sort of uncertainty. It occurs to me then that maybe Inspector Meatbag here has been given a case in which he will forever be out of his depth. Maybe it's a test, maybe it's a punishment. All it means for me is opportunity.

'Ah, you want help identifying the makers of the missing pieces?'

'Yes. I hope you might also be able to tell me if you've seen any such parts in recent months.'

'I certainly can do that,' I offer, 'but the best person to consult remains the creator of the parts themselves.'

'That might not be possible. You see, all the parts we could trace back to a steamwright led back to a certain Dr. Asiheu, who has been missing for some time.'

'Wait a second... You mean several of the victims were clients of the same steamwright?'

Inspector Merig nods gravely as he spreads more pictures of close-ups on the table and takes notes as I systematically fail to remember ever seeing anything relevant, but offer several names for him to go and consult. It is my honest opinion that the woman first killed in Kodenshi had her work done by someone from the Eastern branch. By the time the Inspector rises again, shakes my hand and heads out with promises of 'being in touch', I am mentally exhausted. I lean against the locked door and lowered blinds, catching up on breath I've never run out of. In the darkened shop I make my way back to the table. I push the lever, one my grand-father so distastefully hid in the branch of a candelabra, and watch the slab of carved stone shift to reveal the staircase to the actual workshop, the one with my tools, the operating workbench and steam reactor.

I can almost feel it at my wrists, the invisible pull Linia has on me, my greatest work of Art.

She lays sprawled on the workbench, like a sultry painter's muse. We have another saying, more informal, that states that a client is never closer to perfection than when the world starts to doubt their humanity. She unfurls herself, titanium plates slithering over carved mother-of-pearl, tantalum rib cage pressing darkly against translucent syndermis, revealing the hydropump's viscous throbbing and the soft glow of her steam core, nestled under her heart. I reach out, brushing strands of hair back from her angular face, fingers gliding over the grooves and embossments etched as verdant jungle ferns across the planes of her brass temples.

'You heard.'

'I did,’ she murmurs against my palm. ‘They’ll never find Asiheu... But it seems I now own you as much as you own me.'

'You owned me from the start,' I say, chiding, and watch her eyes crease in her characteristic smile, the very same she gave me when she first came to me, a mangled toy with very little figure left to her, and figure, in steamwright lingo, refers to meat. Hers was a jigsaw of swollen, septic flesh, patch-worked with steel junk. She had no left arm, her jaw springs were slack and rusting, her hydropump was overheating her innards... She was a mess, a mockery of the Art. A malicious garage job.

'Who did this to you?' I asked.

She'd smiled with her eyes alone–blue eyes like windows into fields of ice that never thawed–arced into cold crescents. She lifted a sack and laid it across the counter between us, the mouth of it parting to reveal the bronze glimmer of joints, rubber fingertips and polycarbon tendons. I'd sealed my fate right then, by hastily gathering up the strings of the bag and reaching to the lever that would lock the atelier's door.

'Come. We can talk once I've given you some first aid.'

I'd seen the blood on the metal-composite fingers. I knew then, and every time thereafter, but she'd offered herself to me in full–this monster, this killer–to be my creation, if only I would make her perfect with the spoils of her vendetta.

And I was ever the perfectionist...

~~ September 2020 – Theme : Steampunk

#original story #original work #competition #win #steampunk #fantasy

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sooghostwriter · 5 years

Text

Iliada

Pairings: Do Kyung Soo x OC

Genre: Mature, Romance, AU, action, Bad guys and secret agents, fluff.

Warnings: Kyung Soo is not a good guy, mention of violence, bad language

Summary: After a long and hard assignment, Yoon Suji is sent to a new mission that involves less violence but needs a lot of acting. Do Kyung Soo has one of the biggest drugs rings in South Korea, but police haven’t been able to get him. They need proof that he is the one in charge and Suji is the one sent to get them.

She has the freedom to decide how is she going to get his trust.

Chapter 6

From April 20th to April 22th

The unforgiving alarm woke him up at 8 in the morning. He turned it off with a bit of anger. He needed to sleep some more, his body was asking for it. But Baekhyun had promised to pass by for breakfast, and he was always very punctual.

He got up from bed, kicking the sheets away and putting on his glasses. He was ready to get inside the bathroom when someone opened his bedroom door with one kick.

“Good morning Soo! How are we?” Baekhyun walked across the room, opening the curtains, hurting his pupils.

“I’m alright, I don’t know about you”

“I’m alright, well, maybe not as good as you, what? You visited Sara last night?” Kyung Soo cursed his friend for being such a good friend that could read him so well. Still, he lied to him. It was better to keep some things away from his friend, to avoid future bullying.

“Yeah, I did”

“Good, good”

“What are you doing here so early? You said 10”

“I missed you!” Baek tickled his left side and got hit in the head. Kyung Soo rushed inside the bathroom, running away from Baekhyun’s morning energy.

Baekhyun decided that he will wait for his friend at the dining room, maybe have a pre-breakfast at the kitchen. He found Suji on top of a chair taking some plates from a high cabinet.

“I always find you like this Miss Park, on top of a chair”

“Good morning Mister Byun” He was surprised when he arrived at the house and no one came to help him with his jacket. And the kitchen, which was always full of people, was now empty. Except for Suji of course. Suji and her very flattering jeans.

“All by yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s a national holiday after all”

“What about you?” Suji went down the chair, and he felt like saying cute when she stumbled with her own feet.

“Someone had to stay here, and I didn’t have any plans so…”

“I see, Kyung Soo asked you to stay?”

“No, I offered myself,” Baekhyun jolted in surprise. He had been suspecting about his friend, thinking that he was the one giving Suji naughty looks. How naïve he was. He was already sure that at one point Kyung Soo could make a move, but he never considered that Suji could make one too. After all, his friend was a very attractive man, he has always been very popular.

A spark of curiosity stung in the back of his head. And it didn’t matter what answer he could get, it would be fun.

“Miss Park, Kyung Soo was out last night?”

“Out?...yeah, uhm, he left a bit past lunch and arrived late, why?”

“Nothing, just asking” The ten seconds it took her to answer his question and the pauses in between made him suspect. Someone was lying. Most surely, both of them.

“He must have been at Sara’s place” Baekhyun waited for her reaction, but he got nothing.

“I don’t know Mister Byun, he didn’t tell me” He wanted to keep having a bit of fun, but his friend interrupted him “Baekhyun, don’t go around bothering Suji”

“I wasn’t bothering her, I was just asking her about you, at what time you arrived last night from Sara’s place” Maybe Suji didn’t give him a reaction, but Kyung Soo sure did. The annoyed stare that he gave him was everything Baekhyun was asking for.

≠

Suji was a bit annoyed by Baekhyun. There was something in the tone of his voice, the way he talked and acted around her. He gave her a bad feeling. As if everything he said had a double meaning or intention.

And now he was asking way too many questions. More questions than Kyung Soo had asked in all these months.

“Got a boyfriend Suji?” Oh, and also he decided to use informal speech with her.

“No, no boyfriend”

“But you must be popular”

“I can’t complain” She picked a relaxed intonation, as a response to Baekhyun’s cocky one. Kyung Soo kept quiet but listened to her with interest.

She wondered what he said to Baekhyun. Why did he ask about Kyung Soo going out? She suspected that he lied to his friend, but why?

Kyung Soo had breakfast and then left. He didn’t tell Suji where he went, but he did say that he would arrive late.

And now, she was all by herself at the house. The entire day. She put on comfortable clothes, her gloves and some helpful gadgets with her. The first room she inspected was the office. She spent two hours opening drawer after drawer, and she found just what she wanted. In a locked drawer that was quite easy to open with the right tools, she found two files. One blue and the other red. Inside the red one, there were reports about several people. Politicians, police officers and businessmen. It was impossible for her to read all of them, she only browsed through some pages and she realized how good Kyung Soo’s guys were when it came to following people. In the other file, she found something even more interesting.

The first report was hers.

She read it feeling weirdly embarrassed. Kyung Soo had highlighted some paragraphs and next to some of them he wrote ‘Dull much?’

“Dull my ass you fucker” She was surprised with how insulted she felt.

She finished reading her own report when something called her attention. In the right corner of the first page, there was a checkmark. She checked the other reports inside the blue carpet, and they all had the same checkmark. She opened the red carpet again, and this time, in the right corner of the first page of each report there was a red cross.

“His business partners!” Red cross meant no good, the blue checkmark was good. And she was in the blue folder. So he trusted her as he trusted the other 20 other people inside that folder. She patiently took a picture of each cover so Chanyeol could search for more information about them later.

The second place she registered was Kyung Soo’s wardrobe. She wasn’t allowed to get in but now no one could stop her. The fact that it was so big and so full of clothes made her feel a bit suspicious.

“You sure you prefer V over D Mister Do?” She knew she was being judgmental, but she let it pass. Everything was neatly organized. She felt a bit ashamed by the pile of clothes in her flat.

She opened every drawer looking for something more than clothes, and in the last one, she found what she wanted. Under a pile of pajamas, she found a cardboard box with thirteen notebooks inside. A closer look showed her that they weren’t only notebooks, but more like diaries.

Thirteen black diaries with the respective years written in gold. It was already 5 o’clock, Kyung Soo would be back at 8, maybe later. She had some spare time.

The oldest diary was from 2000, so she opened, determined to start from the beginning. Only half of the notebook was written on. He had a very neat writing, not a single misspelling. But his writing, the content of it, was sort of erratic. Sometimes it had so many details, and sometimes it was only a line. A very brief sentence. As on September 21, 2000.

‘The verdict was out. A car accident. As if’

Then, on October 21 there was another single sentence.

‘I wonder if mom and dad would approve of what I did. My hands are clean though’

Suji cursed Kyung Soo and his suspense. She turned the page, and found a longer paragraph, October 25.

‘Today the police came to Baekhyun’s house. They told me that the judge in charge of my parent’s trial was found dead. They asked me if I knew something. As if an 18 years old kid could know something about a murdered judge. Of course I lied. I said I knew nothing. Little they know that I was behind the guy who shot him in the chest.

Little they know that I made sure to be the last person he saw before he turned stiff. But my hands are clean. Baekhyun told me that I did the right. I think so too. Although I’m sure this shit is going to follow me for the rest of my life, now it feels right. The me from the future will know how to deal with this. Good luck.’

Suji had a weird feeling inside her chest when she finished reading. The 18 years old Kyung Soo was a dark kid. It reminded her own adolescence. Of course she never had anyone killed, not that she didn’t want to. She took a picture of the page and then called Chanyeol.

“Suji! Something happened?”

“No, just do me a favor, but don’t tell the boss, I need to work on it, but with your help”

“Go on” Suji explained to Chanyeol what she had just read and told him to look for more information about the case of Do’s parents. They knew that they died in an accident. But apparently, 18 years old Kyung Soo didn’t think the same.

The last record in his diary was on December 24th, and it was about the Christmas party they held in Baekhyun’s house. This time Kyung Soo wrote with way too many details. He even described the ornaments on Baekhyun’s tree.

Diaries from 2001 and 2002 had no more than 20 pages written on. Kyung Soo talked about school, living with his grandparents and his only friend Baekhyun. He kept writing really detailed stories. The happier the story, the more details it had.

Diary 2003 was missing. Maybe it never existed. And diary 2004 was a gold mine. He used all the pages, he even wrote in the covers. The same pattern of very long paragraphs and brief lines was repeated, but this time, the details were very much appreciated. A 24 years old Do Kyung Soo began talking about a part time job he got at the cleaning service of the airport. He finished a long story with a very catchy sentence.

‘I realized how poorly secured some entrances are. Especially the staff entrances’

Suji was already too hooked in this diary. She had the feeling that something very interesting, to say the least, was about to happen. Well, it was about to happen years ago.

The real action appeared on May 29 of 2004. Suji couldn’t believe what she was reading.

‘At 05:40 we arrived at one of the entrances. Me and my comrades were wearing reflective vests, headphones and our respective credentials. Fake of course. We arrived at the airport in our borrowed van, no one even asked us what we were doing there. We drove carefully, respecting every single signal and always under the speed limit. Which is 25 km/h. Very slow.

Our target was the Brook armored cash-in-transit car with 10 million dollars inside. A small fortune. We put on our balaclavas and grabbed our shotguns (that we didn’t have to use) and they gave us the money with no fight.

It was too easy.

It would have been harder if it wasn’t because their security system was the worst.

We left the place in no hurry, without calling anybody's attention. We changed cars once we reached the first gas station. And split the money in three parts and left separately.

Another part of the team was in charge of creating fake evidence on the highway that we didn’t use to run away. They burned an old van, dropped empty bags and boxes in the way and another empty van on the side of the road full with fake evidence such as dog hair and random objects with random fingertips on them. They will have some fun trying to find us based on our DNA.

Tonight, Baek and I were watching the TV and it was full of news about the robbery. And none of them was even close to who we were and what we did.

And also, they were calling it the robbery of the century. That was quite amusing‘

Suji felt as if a bullet had just passed next to her ear. Her heartbeat had risen, her nape was covered in sweat and her hands shaking.

Do Kyung Soo was behind ‘The robbery of the century’, South Korea’s most famous police case. Still unsolved.

That was the last proof she needed to realize that Do Kyung Soo wasn’t just some drug dealer with some kind of agoraphobia.

He was a mastermind.

Sadly, she couldn’t take the diary with her. So she took several pictures of it and saved them in her cellphone for later analysis.

After doing her job as maid, which involved some ironing and kitchen cleaning, she went for some fresh air. Kyung Soo would be back soon, and she had to come down from the high that her new discovery caused her.

As soon as she sat on the terrace outside the library, Taro and Sabotaro came to say hi. The two huge teddy bears sat next to her, enjoying the afternoon air with her.

“I wonder what will happen with the two of you when all this falls apart” Taro looked at her as understanding what she said, with an expression of sadness that caught her by surprise. She pulled him in her embrace and scratch behind his ears, getting back a playful lick and a happy bark.

“Can I get one of those too?” Suji stopped hugging Taro and saw Kyung Soo walking across the garden.

“I knocked on the door and no one came, so I thought you didn’t hear me”

“I’m sorry sir, I was resting with the dogs” He smiled at her and walked in her direction, receiving Sabotaro when the dog went to say hi to his owner.

“Too much work?”

“No, it’s alright, it’s a big house, but I can handle it by myself for a week, what about you?”

“It’s alright, I can handle it” Again with the vague answers. Suji decided to push a little farther, but with a smart strategy.

“Sir, you have a really beautiful house” He looked quite pleased by the compliment.

“I bought it six years ago, I like how calm it is. Big garden, big windows. A nice place to relax from work”

“Is your work too stressful?” Kyung Soo sat next to her, taking his time to answer.

“Sometimes”

“Is it hard?”

“It could be worse. I have good people next to me, diligent co-workers” I bet you do, Suji thought.

“That’s really nice, so you like it? Your job I mean”

“If I could pick between leaving it now or stay, I would leave it, but I can’t, so I better stay positive and do it the best I can” Suji stared at him with real curiosity.

So he didn’t like his job.

He didn’t? Why?

“Why can't you leave your job?”

“Because there are too many people under my care”

“Hire someone else”

“No, they wouldn’t be able to do the work as I like it”

“So when you retire, the work is over? No one is going to take over?” This time Suji faked worry, looking disturbed by the idea.

“No, even if I have children someday, I will never pass them my business”

“Dear god Mister Do, that bad it is?” He looked at her with a wistful expression.

“That bad it is”

“Sir, does your job consist of killing puppies?!” Kyung Soo’s face changed from that sad stare to a huge bright smile that made his eyes fill with wrinkles. He looked so young, bright and…cute. His goofy laugh made her laugh too. She made her voice sweet and looked at him kindly, reaching Kyung Soo’s face with her hand.

“I’m glad you’re laughing sir, this place over here“ She said touching his now relaxed frown.

“Is all the time so tense…relax sir, go and play with your dogs, I’ll prepare dinner” She moved her hand away from him, but Kyung Soo stopped her, pulling her closer by the shoulders. Suji just let it happen.

He pressed a swift kiss to her lips, passing an arm around her waist.

She answered the kiss. And it was easier to do than she thought. Kyung Soo sighed when she accepted the kiss, sucking her lower lip softly.

And then they were lost.

She was lost.

Because this kiss was longer and deeper than the one they shared a couple of days ago. Now she was able to realize that Kyung Soo was quite the kisser. And his damn lips didn’t help her to keep herself under control. But a good agent does not let herself be controlled by a pair of lips. Although it was a bit hard, she moved away from him. He kept kissing along her cheeks and jaw.

“Sir, in two days everybody will be back so I will like you to…”

“Control myself?”

“Yeah…sorry”

“I get it, it’s all right, I will keep my lips away from yours”

“Well, we don’t have to be so radical” Suji faked an embarrassed look, mixed with a shy smile and got in exchange a tender brush of his fingers on her cheek. She got up, once she was released from his trap, and walked inside the house, feeling his stare on her back.

“Remember what I said about my last boss Mister Do” She said over her shoulder. He laughed and followed her inside the house.

“Suji?” She looked up from her plate and found him looking at her a bit ashamed, apologetic maybe.

“Sorry I had to make you lie” For a second, she feared the meaning behind his words. What lie he was talking about? But then she remembered her conversation with Baekhyun.

“No, I get it…and Sara is…?”

“A sex worker” Of course she already knew all that. The psychology student. Lucky lady.

“I see, so, now I’m her replacement” Keeping her acting stream, she did her best to look a bit hurt, and it worked.

“No! It’s different, you are different” She wasn’t very sure why, but she didn’t have to fake her smile.

She couldn’t look at him either. His sincere stare made her feel…weird.

April 27th

After a week in charge of the house, Kyung Soo gave Suji a week free from work. She needed it.

She took Monday to rest in her bed, a week of cleaning and cooking was hard, even for an agent. On Tuesday she went to the agency, it was a bit risky, but she needed to go there and check out what Chanyeol had for her.

“Suji, I did what you asked for, found something about his parent’s death. And it was an accident”

“Accident? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, car accident”

“What about the car? How did it happen?” Chanyeol searched in his computer again, showing her the police record, with the criminalistics report.

“Both died in the crash, and for what it says here, the car had a brake malfunction, that turned out mortal when mixed with the wet floor and a highway full of curves, why are you so interested?”

“Ok, don’t tell boss yet, but Kyung Soo thinks his parents were murdered, and the judge who called the whole case closed saying that it was an accident, is dead by now”

“He killed him?”

“No, but he gave the order”

“But when this happened, he was…19? 18?, How? He was too young, he wasn’t a drug dealer yet, right?”

“He wasn’t, but I’m telling you, this man is hiding something more, there’s any record about his parents?”

“No, I already checked, a teacher and a cook. No police record, only good things” Something didn’t fit, why would Kyung Soo think his parents were murdered if there was no reason for them to be involved with whoever did it?.

“Ok, would you keep looking on that, please?”

“Of course, Now! The other thing you asked me, is here” Chanyeol dropped 10 files on top of the table.

“All the information I could find about the robbery of the century, all of it! Some of it wasn’t even revealed to the public”

“Did you read it?”

“Just the conclusions, poor guys, the police I mean, they couldn’t find a thing!, some clues even took them to Mexico, and they were fake clues”

“Big news, when they can do something good anyway”

“True, but…why do you need this…don’t tell me!” Chanyeol put two and two together before she could answer, opening his eyes and mouth big. Overreacting as always.

“I think Do was behind it” She didn’t sound very sure, she didn’t want to either. Kyung Soo could have been talking about another robbery. It was against her own rules to blame someone without the right proof.

“Sure, should I keep this a secret too?”

“Please” Chanyeol gave her a thumbs up and put the ten files inside a suitcase.

“If the boss asks you, just say that these are more gadgets that I gave you, by the way, did you already…make any move?”

“I did” Chanyeol came closer to her as some old lady hungry for some gossip.

“How was it?”

“I don’t know, I zoomed out” Not very sure why, maybe for pride, Suji lied to her friend.

“Oh right, your happy place”

“Yeah, my happy place” There was no way that she would tell him how it really was.

Chanyeol escorted her outside the agency and put her inside a car “Stay safe Suji” She only winked at him and came back to her role.

From May 4th to May 22nd

May 4th

“Suji?” Kyung Soo got no response, so he whispered a bit louder “Suji?”

“A minute” He heard a whisper on the other side of the door. He could hear her move inside her room and after a couple of seconds, she opened the door, wearing pajamas, her hair falling down her shoulders.

“What’s the matter sir?”

“I brought ice cream” To his surprise, Suji giggled, covering her mouth to quiet down the sound.

“Ice cream? Only for me or you want to share?”

“I think is very important to share”

“Come in then” She opened the door wider, and gave him a polite signal to come in. He looked around the room, finding piles of books, her computer, a small radio, and some shoes. The room was only illuminated by the dim light of her lamp.

“What were you doing?” He asked out of curiosity because when it came to her, he always had thousands of questions.

“Just thinking”

“Thinking?”

“Yeah, I was staring at the ceiling…thinking” Kyung Soo stood in the middle of the room, looking at how Suji closed the blinds.

“Do I get the honor to know what you were thinking about?”

“Mmm…someday maybe” Her face when she said that, the twinkle in her eye, the way her lips curved up, all that made him feel stupidly dumbfounded, curious, eager for more of those playful answers.

“You want to get inside the bed sir?” He stopped for a moment, looking at Suji’s single bed and then at her, not really knowing what to answer.

“Come on sir, we had already slept in the same bed before, the only difference is that now it’s a bit smaller” Suji got inside the bed, leaving him alone with his wondering. She patted the place next to her and he obeyed, getting inside the bed next to her warm body. She was always so warm.

She took one of the spoons he was holding and started eating the ice cream with a sincere expression of bliss.

“What brings you here sir? despite the need of sharing ice cream” Kyung Soo couldn’t answer immediately. He also wondered what he was doing there. He didn’t think about it too much. He went to the kitchen, looking for food, found the ice cream bucket inside the freezer and then walked to Suji’s room. She had opened the door and the rest was history.

“Something happened at work?” She wasn’t looking at him but he could see that she was curious. Or worried. He liked the second option better. In fact, he had turned to her presence when things were hard, but this time there was no particular reason. He just wanted to see her. Scratch that. He wanted to be with her. The week she took off was quite a long week for him.

“Nothing bad happened, in fact it was a good week, we closed some deals, our market is growing”

“That’s great!...”

“You want to ask what market I’m talking about right?”

“Only if you want to tell me” He swallowed a big scoop of strawberry ice cream before answering.

“Is not a very clean job” His heart was beating fast and his hands were getting wet due to the nervousness. Suji stayed in silence, pondering something, maybe. He couldn’t quite tell.

“Do you…go over people’s rights?” That was a strange question.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, do you exploit people, or make them act against their will?”

“Not really, they come to me on their own will” Suji nodded, as if approving what he said.

“Are you some kind of swindler?” Her sudden guess caught him by surprise, she wasn’t right but, she wasn’t very far from the truth either.

“No, I’m not a swindler”

“Should I keep guessing or I better stop?” She was giving him an option. Do you want me to find out or stay friends for a while?

“Let’s stop for today”

“Understood” Suji sank her spoon in the ice cream bucket with a smile and took an amount that clearly couldn’t fit inside her mouth.

“Ok, this is the last one, you can have the rest” She said with her mouth full. He looked inside the bucket and saw how ‘the rest’ was a little bit more than a teaspoon.

“Oh thank you! That’s very sweet of you” He joked and was surprised to find himself laughing, mirroring Suji’s quiet laugh.

Silence followed their laughs. A silence that pleased him a lot. Suji licked the last bit of ice cream from her spoon, cleaned her mouth with a wet towel and sat in the bed looking at him.

“Are you staying?”

“Can I?”

“I don’t know, can you?” He dropped a playful slap on her thigh, put down the bucket and turned off the lamp. Suji was already under the covers, giving him her back, with her t-shirt pulled up just above her waist. He caressed the uncovered patch of skin and found what he was looking for. The night they had sex in the kitchen, he had touched two marks on Suji’s skin. One on her leg and one in her back. He didn’t see the one from her back but he felt it one time he sank his hands under her t-shirt. It was a long line that ended just under her scapula. He started caressing it with his finger, slowly from end to end “Are you caressing my scar?”

“Yeah”

“It’s dead tissue, I don’t feel a thing” Suji turned around, facing him.

“What happened?” He asked her cautiously.

“An accident” Her voice sounded serious, maybe a bit indifferent.

“What about your leg?”

“Same accident” Her eyes were closed, and he could barely see her face in the dark, he couldn’t get some extra information from it “Must have been hard”

“Very, but it’s in the past. Now, If you are going to caress something, better caress something I can feel, like here” Suji grabbed his hand and posed it on one side of her hips. He grabbed Suji’s hip and rested his head on her pillow, close to her face. Counting her breaths until he fell asleep.

≠

Suji jolted on her bed when he heard Kyung Soo’s voice. She unplugged the cord from the computer and turned on the digital recorder, hiding it inside her nightstand.

The second time Kyung Soo called at her door, she had everything ready, so she opened her door “What’s the matter sir?”

That night she slept really well.

TBC 6

#do kyungsoo #do kyung soo #d.o #d.o fanfic #Kyungsoo #kyung soo #kyungsoo fanfic #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction

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shannonisawitch · 5 years

Text

Yacht Club

Mc buys a yacht and takes her future wifey for a cruise 💋

Sonia x MC

Sonia stood at the end of a dock and scoffed at the scrap of paper she held in her hand. The coordinates scribbled on the paper led to a spot off the coast of the Bahamas, a spot in the middle of the fucking ocean. She hadn’t believed it at first, thought that maybe there was a mistake, but the bartender at the tiny bar at the head of the dock had assured her that yes, the coordinates were indeed the middle of the ocean.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Sonia turned to face an older man, a captain’s hat covering his graying hair. “Yes?”

“What coordinates do you have?”

Slightly baffled, Sonia raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“I was sent to receive a visitor for my boss, Fiera. A chase is in effect, and the finish line is near.”

Sonia smiled at the code and handed the man the slip of paper. “Mind telling me why these coordinates are going to take us to the middle of the ocean?”

“Afraid I’m on strict orders to tell you nothing and bring you to the coordinates at your earliest convenience.”

“Alright,” Sonia shrugged. “Off we go then, captain.”

“Please, call me Simon. Boat’s this way.”

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

After almost drowning in a small boat several months ago, it was safe to say that Sonia was not currently a big fan of the small motor boat moving farther out to sea. They passed islands and other boats, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon, casting the ocean in a pink sun-kissed haze.

“Not too much longer now,” Simon called from his position at the motor.

The water was calm around them, a crystalline blue, and Sonia took a deep breath. She never thought that she’d find herself in the Bahamas, let alone chasing down a very special someone for what was probably the sixth time. Or was it the seventh? The things she did for this woman. Between her trying to throw every major protection agency off Gwen’s tail and Gwen lying low and seemingly disappearing every couple of weeks, they had to get creative with where and when they got to see one another. Sonia wasn’t complaining, she loved the constant exchange of clues that they’d leave for one another, hinting at locations and encrypted phone numbers so that they could at least speak to one another when a face-to-face meeting was too risky. Safe to say it was the most exciting relationship Sonia had ever been in, but also the most challenging. She’d give almost anything to have Gwen in her life every day, but that was a dream for another time, another day.

A large shape on the horizon drew her attention, and realization finally dawned on her; the coordinates were in the middle of the ocean, yes, but they led directly to a yacht. A very large, very expensive looking yacht.

“Welcome to the Ippolita! Named after the first crown princess of Monaco, you know.” Simon announced, pulling up to the rear of the vessel and tying off the small boat. Sonia smirked at the name of the boat and grabbed her bag, Simon helping her onto the loading dock. “Fiera will most likely be on the second deck, she’s expecting you. Please enjoy your stay.”

Simon gave her a salute as he turned and walked away. Sonia moved to the staircase on her left, marveling at the sheer size of the ship as she ascended to the second deck. Lounge chairs faced out to the ocean, a pair of sliding glass doors behind them, soft music coming from within. Sonia eased the door open, cool air brushing against her face as she walked into the room. A king-sized bed faced the floor to ceiling windows, giving a stunning view of the ocean. Sonia set her bag on the bed and walked down the hall, following the music. She came into a sitting area and there, sitting at a table with blueprints, papers, and devices scattered across it, was Gwen. She chatted animatedly to someone on the phone, shifting through the mess before her.

“Rye, don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

Sonia leaned against the door frame, watching the other woman silently. Gold light flooded the room, bathing Gwen in a warm glow, her long hair swept over one shoulder. Sonia was admiring the curve of her neck when Gwen turned around, a smile spreading across her lips at the sight of Sonia.

“Hey Rye, I’m going to have to call you back.” Gwen hung up the phone without waiting for an answer and set it on the table, rising from her chair and crossing the room.

“So, you’re Fiera now, huh?”

“The name kind of found me, and I needed a new cover, so I’m not complaining.”

“Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“There is.” Gwen stepped in front of her, letting her arms wrap around Sonia’s waist. “But a story for another time. I’ve missed you.”

“Kiss me like you miss me.”

Gwen laughed against her lips and pulled her to the bedroom.

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

“So… did you steal this yacht too?” They were lying in bed, the ocean calm and dark before them, the windows open to let in the cool sea air.

“Hmm, I can’t remember.”

Sonia rolled her eyes and swatted away Gwen’s wandering hand. “Don’t avoid the question, darling.”

“No, I didn’t steal the yacht, darling.” Gwen chuckled, rolling so she was lying over Sonia, her hair falling around them like a curtain. “I’ve recently come into a lot of money.”

“Lucky you.” Sonia drew lazy circles along Gwen’s back. “Brown hair suits you.”

“Figured I needed to change some things up after my run-in with Ansel’s team in Dubai a few weeks ago. You know, just normal life on the run.”

Sonia leaned up and captured her lips, the kiss slow and lazy. Gwen leaned into her, a heat flushing through her body.

“I could lay here and kiss you all night, but I do have a dinner planned for us on the upper deck,” she whispered against her lips.

The two got dressed and made their way to the upper deck, where a table was waiting under the light of the moon. Candles were lit around the deck, and Sonia smiled as she sat down, a single red rose sitting atop her plate.

“A rose in bloom waits for you in the sea, follow these coordinates and you’ll get to me,” Sage said, reciting the clue and watching Sonia pick up the rose.

“The final clue to finding you. You know how to put up a good chase.” Sonia’s eyes shined with mirth as she looked at Gwen across the table. “It killed me not to see you for a whole seven weeks, you know. But at least the chase kept me sane.”

“Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about. But first, let’s eat.”

A few crew members walked up the stairs and placed dishes of lobster, shrimp, and caviar on the table, next to baskets of bread and fruit. Champagne was poured into two glasses, and Gwen raised hers in a toast as the crew walked back down the stairs.

“A toast. To evading Ansel, bathing in riches, and most importantly, to us.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sonia replied, clinking her glass to Gwen’s. “To us.”

“Now, back on topic. As much as I love configuring elaborate chases to get you to find me, I know they can’t go on forever. Seven weeks is much too long without you. You’ve done a phenomenal job keeping them off my trail for the last six months-”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“… and while I’ve had a few close calls, I’d say I’m mostly out of hot water. Especially now that my… assets have been divvied up. I have the funds to escape Ansel and watch him combust into flames from afar, metaphorically of course.”

Sonia laughed, plucking a strawberry into her mouth. “And?”

“And I think we should stop running. At least, stop running in opposite directions. Sonia, I love the short time we get to spend together, but I hate when you leave, and I hate having to put distance between ourselves. I know that I can keep Ansel off my tail and keep anyone from suspecting that you were ever involved. You could come with me, and we could go wherever we wanted.”

“Gwen, I can’t just run away with you. What about my job, and my family?”

“Babe, I’ve got enough money that you’ll never have to work a day in your life, but I know you’re passionate about your career, so I’ve found a couple opportunities that might fit your liking.”

Simon walked up the deck at that moment, a pile of folders in his hands. He handed them off to Gwen and refilled their champagne before giving a salute and striding from the deck.

“Thank you, Simon! Now, in this folder you’ll find security details, agency consulting, course teaching, and positions open in law enforcement from pretty much all around the world. You can have your pick, and before you say anything about being handed a job, know that you deserve this, especially after everything Ansel put you through. You’re qualified for every job in this folder.” Gwen handed the folder across the table to Sonia, her expression serious. “I know it’s a lot to think about, so I don’t expect an answer right away. Actually, you don’t owe me an answer, just know that I support you no matter what you do.”

“Gwen, I… I don’t know… what…” Sonia flipped through the folder, her eyes wide. Positions at MI6, the CIA, private security teams. She skimmed through the packets, speechless.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.” She opened a second folder, flipping through papers and photos. “When we were trapped on that tiny boat and you told me about your sister and how she lost everything, you were so anguished…” Gwen reached across the table and took Sonia’s hand. “I decided right there and then that I never wanted to see you sad again. So, I got to work.”

Sonia took the new folder Gwen handed her, not letting go of her other hand.

“Your sister should be receiving a job offer that she can’t pass up. A great yearly salary, benefits, all that jazz. She’ll also be contacted on Monday with news that a long-lost relative has passed and has left her a small fortune. She and her daughter will live comfortably, and safely, for the rest of their lives.” Sonia was squeezing her hand so hard, she was sure it was going to snap in two. “Oh, and the dickwad that caused all her problems is now sitting cozy in a cell at Trask Island, conveniently linked to the theft of some priceless Monaco jewels…”

Sonia sat speechless, tears in her eyes as she stared across at Gwen. Gwen smirked, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Is this a good reaction, or did I fuck up?”

Sonia jumped from her chair and was in front of Gwen in the blink of an eye, her hands cupping her face. “Gwendolyn Hargraves, you are the greatest person I know. What did I do to deserve you?”

Gwen didn’t get a chance to answer as Sonia sealed their lips together in a searing kiss.

“I have so many questions,” Sonia said breathlessly, breaking the kiss. “But first, why? Why go through all the trouble?”

“Babe.” Gwen pulled Sonia down so she was sitting on her lap, legs dangling off the side of the chair. “I’d honestly do anything for you. This was the least I could do. You’ve already done so much for me.”

Sonia kissed her again, slow and tantalizing, her teeth nipping at Gwen’s lower lip. Gwen squeaked in surprise but kissed her back with such fever and passion that Sonia felt her world spin.

“Our dinner is getting cold,” Gwen mumbled against her lips.

“I’m suddenly not that hungry,” Sonia smirked. “Only want you.”

A shiver ran through Gwen as Sonia’s nimble fingers reached for the hem of her shirt, breaking the kiss to quickly pull it over Gwen’s head and discard it on the floor. Gwen’s skin was hot to her touch, her heart pulsing as she let her hands wander to skim the soft skin of her stomach.

“This chair is getting in my way,” Gwen said against her neck, kissing the olive skin. “Perhaps we can move to the lounge chair.”

Sonia chuckled in her ear, untangling herself and rising from the chair, pulling Gwen so they were flush against one another. Gwen smiled against her lips as she walked backwards towards the lounge chair, keeping her arms tight around Sonia. The back of her calf caught the edge of the chair and she fell back, Sonia following her down with a laugh.

“I’m really glad I went with the plush lounge chairs,” Gwen smirked, pulling Sonia’s shirt over her head. “I’m also really glad you wore your lacey bra.”

Sonia rolled her eyes but laughed again, raking her nails down Gwen’s back as she rolled her hips.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Gwen groaned, leaning back on her elbows to watch Sonia move above her. “But something needs to be done before we go any further or I’m going to go crazy.”

“Pants. Off.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Sonia stood quickly to pull off her pants while Gwen shimmied out of hers. Sonia was back on top of her in a moment, grinding into her while Gwen let her fingers wander to the clasp of her bra.

“Do you know what Fiera means, my love?” Gwen whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.

“Enlighten me,” Sonia mumbled against her jaw.

“Wild animal.”

“I hope you live up to your name then, Fiera.”

Intense heat ran through Gwen’s body as Sonia started kissing down her chest, her hands lost in Sonia’s hair as she moved lower.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Gwen said with a smirk, gasping when Sonia nipped at the inside of her thigh.

“Shut it, Fiera.”

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

Sonia woke the next morning to the soft sound of the yacht moving through the waves, the sheets cool underneath her, the sun warm on her sore limbs as it seeped through the massive windows. She felt completely at ease, and completely sated. Remembering last night, she smiled and opened her eyes, but the bed was empty beside her.

She sat up in the bed and yawned, stretching her arms above her head, looking out at the crystal blue waters moving swiftly past. Gwen stood at the railing, her hair loose around her shoulders, a robe tide loosely around her. Sonia gathered the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her, moving out of the cabin to stand on the deck. Gwen turned at the sound of footsteps, a smile gracing her lips.

“Good morning, mi amor.” The term of endearment rolled off her tongue, and Sonia smiled brighter.

“Good morning, lover.” Sonia stepped behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting her chin on Gwen’s shoulder. The yacht was moving swiftly past scattered islands, the sun bright on the horizon. “Where are we off to?”

“It’s a surprise.” Gwen covered Sonia’s hands with her own, leaning into her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Exceptionally. Best sleep I’ve had in months.”

“Good.” Gwen turned her head and gave her a chaste kiss as the boat slowed beneath them.

“I thought about your offer. It only took me a few moments to decide, but I think I’d like to run away with you, Gwen Hargraves.”

Gwen turned in her arms, looking into her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t been more sure of anything else in my life,” Sonia says with a laugh. “It will be a new adventure.”

Gwen kisses her again, emotion heavy on her lips. They stand there for a moment, leaning against one another.

“Thank goodness, because honestly I was running out of clever clues to leave you.”

Light laughter dances on the breeze as Sonia buries her nose in Gwen’s neck, drinking in the scent of her sunkissed skin. “I decided last night, as soon as you handed me that second folder. I don’t want to live without you.”

“And now you’ll never have to.”

They stand in the sun, basking in the moment of just being together.

“I think we’re just about there, shall we go get dressed?” Gwen asks after several minutes, running her hands up and down Sonia’s arms.

“If we must.”

“Bikinis are mandatory.”

“Did you book an island?” Sonia asked, turning to look over the side of the boat, an island not too far away.

“Babe, I bought an island.” Gwen turned out of Sonia’s arms, sauntering back into the cabin, shooting Sonia a smirk over her shoulder.

“Son of a bitch. I could get used to having a sugar momma.”

Gwen’s laughter filled the cabin.

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

The beach was pristine, the white sand near blinding in the afternoon sun. A breeze ruffled Sonia’s hair as she flipped through one of the job packets, the folder on her lap and a highlighter in hand, Gwen’s head cradled on her thighs as they lounged in the sand under the shade of an umbrella.

“You’re such a nerd with your highlighter.”

“I want to go through and check every specification. I don’t want to deal with another Ansel.”

“Don’t worry, I only picked jobs that would put you under excellent management. The CIA liaison is probably my favorite, besides the last option, of course.”

Sonia flipped through the folder, pulling out the last packet, a smile tugging at her lips. “Really? Security detail for your heist team?”

“We could use your expertise. And I hear the leader is fantastic.”

Sonia swatted Gwen with the folder and they both laughed.

“Ok. I’ll keep it in mind with my top contenders.” Sonia said it in all seriousness.

Gwen sat up, regarding her. “Really?”

“Why not? It’s still for the greater good, is it not?”

“It most definitely is.”

Sonia spun around at the voice, Gwen grinning cheekily as she stood.

“Glad you could finally make it, Rye.”

Rye wrapped her in a hug. “I missed you. And, well, hanging out on your private island was an invitation I couldn’t pass up.”

Gwen laughed, sitting down next to Sonia. “Sonia, allow me to formerly introduce you to Ryland York. Strategist, smooth talker, and my very best pal.”

“Pleasure to officially meet you, you know, without trying to arrest you and all that.”

Rye chuckled, reaching down to shake Sonia’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine. I’m just glad Gwen found someone that will put up with her head strong attitude and her horrible jokes.”

Gwen nudged him playfully. “Did Eris come to?”

“Yeah, she’s still asleep on the yacht. Graves and Jones are with us too. Samira will talk via video chat, Fabian said he’d meet us here, and Sibil said something about a cruise ship?”

“Wow, I buy a yacht and suddenly everyone follows suit.”

“Guess we’re officially a yacht club.”

“Good thing we have this island to hold our… yacht club meetings.”

“Should I be present during these ‘yacht club’ meetings?” Sonia asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

“Of course. You’re a member by association now.” Gwen kissed her shoulder, leaning against her.

Rye smiled at the two of them, leaning back into the sand. “Welcome to the yacht club, Sonia.”

#this was supposed to be a short drabble hahaha i got carried away #sonia got mc whipped honestly #i'm adopting everyone on the heist team #sonia x mc #mc x sonia #thm sonia #the heist monaco #the heist: monaco #choices #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #shan writes fic #oh and yeah this got a little steamy and i wanted to keep going but idk how it would turn out #don't worry i'm working on prompt requests still!#send me prompts if you want fam #it might take me a bit to write them but i promise i'm working on them ok

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ladynonsense · 5 years

Text

A Royal Disgrace (TRR/PM Crossover) : Epilogue

The end! Thanks for reading along, I had a lot of fun writing this series.

Catch up on my masterlist

Pairings: Liam x MC (Riley), Damien x MC (Kai)

Rating: T (pure, wholesome fluff with barely-there implications of sex stuff)

Summary: Fast-forwarding through the events of PM2 and TRR3, the gang has all moved on and manages to find some closure. Borrows dialogue from TRR3 chapter 22 and PM2 chapter 15.

Words: 3900ish

Tag List: @hustacks @hopefulmoonobject @brightpinkpeppercorn @choiceslife @perriewinklenerdie @pixieferry @nazariobae @zaffrenotes @ritachacha @h3llostrang3r @blackcoffee85 @wannabemc2 @sleepwalkingelite @debramcg1106 @furiousherringoperatortoad @bobasheebaby @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @jlouise88

Riley woke up slowly to late-morning sun already streaming through the window of the unfamiliar hotel room. Her body ached, cuts and bruises from the fighting the day before now even more painful than they had been when she went to sleep.

But Liam’s arms were around her, his warm chest pressed against her bare back. She sighed, pressing herself firmly against him, reminding herself that it was over. It was all over.

“Good morning…” he purred drowsily, “...my queen.”

She turned to face him, finding herself inches from his handsome face, even sexier before he’d had a chance to shave and smooth back his hair. “Liam...isn’t this a nice sight.”

He was glowing with happiness, and for the hundredth time she could hardly believe her luck to be loved by somebody like him. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She ran a gentle hand over his hair and down his stubbled cheek. “Now that we’re married, it’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?” She tucked her head against his chest with a sigh. “Last night was so freaking hot.”

He chuckled, and she felt it vibrate through his chest. “I know it seems impossible, but every time that we’re together is better than the last, my queen.” Liam drummed his fingers thoughtfully against her back. “Having you last night and knowing that finally, you were my wife...it was more than I’d dreamed.”

Liam pulled her close and kissed her as she closed her eyes and forgot the world around her. “I want a lifetime of nights like that with you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Then the queen shall have it. You have all of me now. Now and forever, my love.”

Riley couldn’t stop smiling, feeling giddy from his sappy doting. Her first day married to Liam...her first day as queen. “So what are the royal plans for the day? Planting trees? Kissing babies?”

“I’m not ready to share you with the kingdom yet. I want you to myself this morning.” He pulled her into another kiss, deeper, but unhurried. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless.

“Liam…”

“Riley.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “I hate to bring this up, but I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“Your friend travelled here for the wedding. Daniel.”

“Oh, yes! My old coworker from New York.”

“Right.” He drummed his fingers against her back again, and she realized he was nervous.

“Liam? What is it?”

“Is he...trustworthy?”

She laughed. “Of course. Daniel and I go way back. He’s harmless.”

Liam nodded slowly. “Do you think...could I entrust him with some sensitive correspondence? Something I wouldn’t want to send through the mail.”

Riley studied his face, surprised by the vulnerability there. Her heart broke a little for him as she realized what he was asking. “You need to send a letter to New York.”

He nodded again. “I am fine with leaving him in the past. You know that you are everything to me now. But I owe it to him to say something, if I can, without endangering him by reaching out to him directly.”

She squeezed him tight, snuggling into his chest once again. “I trust you. Always. Say what you need to say, and I’ll ask Daniel to drop it in the mail only once he’s back home.”

He kissed the top of her head, relaxing into her. “Thank you.”

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

“Say it again, Kai. Please.”

Kai laughed, wiping at the tears forming in his eyes. “I love you, Damien.”

Damien threw his arms around him, kissing his temples, his nose, his cheeks, over and over until they were both laughing.

“Kiss me for real!”

Damien obliged, his lips warm and soft as he kissed Kai tenderly, pouring years of unspoken feeling into the moment. “Sometimes it just hits me all at once… that after everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve helped me to overcome… you still want me.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “Of course I still want you...I love you.”

Damien grinned, breathless, like he could hardly believe it. “You love me.”

“And only you, Damien. You’re the love of my life.”

He shuddered slightly, his smile positively glowing. “I’ve loved you every single day since the moment I met you, Kai Park. And I never intend to stop.”

Kai punched him in the arm. “You’re such a sap.”

Damien laughed him off and stretched, popping his shoulders with a groan.

“So now that my phone service has inexplicably cut off,” he glanced at the phone cord, lying unplugged on the ground, “work is done for the day...and you’re here…maybe we could spend the evening together?”

“Of course.” He tried to play it cool, but he was barely able to contain his enthusiasm. “I’m all yours.”

“So...is there anything you wanna do? We could go somewhere…”

He looked around the familiar office, smiling. “I don’t know… There’s plenty of things to do here.”

“Like what?”

“I’d love to do some serious snooping through all your old cases.” He gestured at the files littering Damien’s desk. “Maybe we can even get this place tidied up.”

Damien shook his head, chuckling. “Tidy up if you want, but I’m not paying you.”

“You can pay me in sexual favors, if you want.”

“Mmm…” he pressed up against his back, hands on his hips, nuzzling into his neck. “OK, that I can do.”

Kai started shuffling through the mostly-unlabelled file folders with a sigh. “I don’t know why you bother with actual paper records of everything, anyway.”

Damien let him go, picking up some folders himself to sort through. “You can’t accidentally control-alt-delete a sheet of paper away.”

“That statement causes me physical pain…” he tossed some loose napkins from deep within the heap of papers into a garbage can. “Also, you could just as easily spill coffee all over a paper file, ruining it forever.”

“You can’t spill coffee on an entire filing cabinet,” Damien grumbled. “But drop one burrito on your keyboard, and suddenly all your files have been wiped from existence.”

“That’s an awfully specific example…” Kai picked up a folder and glanced inside, recognizing the case immediately. “Oh! What’s this? We worked this one together!”

Damien reached to snatch the folder away from him, but Kai easily held it out of his reach. A handwritten letter floated out of the folder and landed on the desk, as Damien watched nervously, holding his breath.

“What’s this…” Kai picked it up, tracing his finger over the elegant script as he read it to himself.

Dear D,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve entrusted it with a friend of my wife’s in effort to contact you covertly. Thank you for respecting this need for discretion and not trying to contact me over the past months. Your loyalty in doing so did not go unnoticed.

I feel I owe you both an explanation and an apology. No doubt you’ve put together several of the pieces on your own, as is the nature of your profession. But perhaps I can give a clearer picture and hopefully put your mind at ease over this matter.

The morning after we last spoke, I woke to an upsetting phone call presenting evidence of our relationship that I’m told you were privy to as well. I was rather strongly advised to break off all communication at once in order to prevent any further evidence from being collected and to increase deniability. As cruel as I felt in doing so, I believed it to be the safest course of action for both of us.

The blackmailer’s motives remained a mystery until we found enough evidence corroborating your theory about DK’s guilt to make an arrest. Immediately, he attempted to use the recording to bargain his way out of prosecution. I made the hard decision to give in to his demands in order to protect both of us. In the end I stripped him of his title and banished him, but he continues to live his life as a free man. For that I am sorry.

The way things ended between us weighs on me often. You know that I’ve led a sheltered life with little room for passion or risk. In the months that I spent determining who I would spend my life with, I was surprised by emotions that stirred in me. I had always thought the prospect of marriage to be political and transactional. When I found myself capable of real love and desire, perhaps I became reckless.

I should not have been reckless with you. However, I cannot find it in myself to wholly regret it. I hope you know that I have nothing but respect and fondness for you. Maybe when enough time has passed that I no longer fear a scandal, we can meet again.

One more thing: a message from my wife. She hopes that you will tell your dear friend how you feel about him. I have no specific comment on the matter, but I will say that taking a chance on love has been the smartest thing I have ever done. I wish you the best wherever your heart may take you.

Yours,

Kai looked up from the letter to see Damien staring at him, biting his lip. He laughed to break the tension. “This guy is so cheesy, Damien.”

Damien chuckled, taking the letter and folder from him and tucking them both into the filing cabinet. “He’s a king. He doesn’t know how to flirt like a normal person.”

“Was that flirting? It reads like Greek tragedy.”

Damien leaned against the edge of his desk, grabbing Kai’s hands to pull him close. “Can’t fault his advice, anyway.”

“Mmm…” Kai kissed him softly, releasing his hands to run them through his hair. “Is that why you finally made a move? Your king commanded you to?”

“He’s not my...ugh. No. This was waiting for me when we got back from the whole Eros debacle. I had already told you how I felt by then.”

“Whatever. I’m never going to stop teasing you for seducing a king just because he reminded you of me.”

“Kai...you literally hooked up with my robot clone.”

Kai backed away defensively. “That is not the same! I thought he was you!”

“Right. Because at no point, while a man half your size…”

“You’re at least 85% of my size…”

“...While he’s picking you up and holding you effortlessly in the freezing cold while he fucks you up against a wall…”

“...I told Hayden all of this in confidence, by the way…”

“...It never once occurred to you…huh, something seems a little different about Damien today. Almost like he’s a super strong robot instead of a human being.”

Kai crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not having this discussion again.”

“Just admit it: You have a robot fetish.”

“I have a ‘people who look and act exactly like Damien Nazario’ fetish.”

“Sounds filthy.”

He bit his lip teasingly, grabbing Damien by the belt and pulling him back against himself. “It is.”

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

“Damien! Oh my god!”

Damien sat at his desk in his new home office, patiently waiting for Kai to come running in to tell him whatever news had him so excited. Sure enough, he appeared in the doorway a moment later.

“They’re coming!”

“Great. Who?”

“The king and queen! They RSVPed!”

“More information please.”

Kai was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, but managed to contain himself to the chair across Damien’s desk. “Right. I sent an invitation to King Liam and Queen Riley. I also sent one to the Queen of England and to President Thompson, you know, just to get the standard form letter congratulations for our scrapbook.”

“Right, of course you did.”

“Anyway, Liam and Riley actually said they’re coming!”

Damien pushed his reading glasses up on top of his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They called you?”

“No...they filled out the form on the website like everyone else.”

“Oh. Well then.” Damien turned back to his work, unimpressed. “It was just a mistake, then. Or a prank.”

“You are such a drag, D. Why can’t you believe that your old friends would want to come to the wedding?”

“Oh, I don’t know...they’re royalty, they live overseas, they left on bad terms with me, they’re afraid to even contact me for fear of a scandal...should I go on?”

“You’ll see. They’re coming.” He stood back up and flounced out the door, calling back as he walked down the hallway, “I’m putting them on the list!”

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

Damien peeked out from the cabin, careful not to let the guests outside notice him. Folding chairs were set out in two tidy sections with a wide aisle down the middle. Leaves were falling gently off of the red and golden trees, swaying in the wind. He had been nervous about planning for an outdoor wedding in the fall when the weather could be so unpredictable, but the gamble had paid off beautifully. He closed the door again before he was spotted.

“Alright Dames, time for a final wardrobe check.” Hope cornered him with a lint roller, running it over every square inch of fabric on his body before fussing with the boutonniere on his lapel.

“Hope...I’m sure I look fine.”

“Yeah, well…” she smoothed his hair down with her hands, tucking it behind his ears. “You didn’t pay $4000 for a photographer to look ‘fine’ in pictures.”

His eyes went wide. “Hold up...we paid HOW much for a photographer?”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Don’t tell Kai I said anything.”

Right on cue, Kai came barreling up the stairs from the basement. “Ok, that’s it! I can’t take it anymore, I want to see my… oh.” He stopped short when his eyes landed on Damien, dressed in his best plum suit, the one he’d worn to the gala way back when they worked together to save the president. Kai on the other hand was all black everything, from his shirt to his tie to his jacket to his shoes.

“You look amazing.”

“You do.”

Kai ran at him, almost knocking him over with the force of his hug. Damien wrapped his arms around Kai in return, holding his close, not wanting the simple, quiet moment to end. “I love you so much,” he murmured, his lips against Kai’s throat. “I love you so much it makes me crazy.”

Kai let out a happy sigh, kissing Damien’s forehead. “...Hard same.”

He pulled away laughing, shoving Kai gently back. “Moment ruined. Get out of here.”

“No! It’s time. We’re supposed to walk out there together.”

“We are? That doesn’t seem traditional.”

Kai smirked, linking their arms together. “When have I ever been traditional?”

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

Riley snuggled into Liam’s side, feeling more relaxed than she had in months. She felt a little silly that they were the only ones wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day -- did they do anything to obscure their identities, anyway? -- but Bastien and Mara had insisted they follow their security instructions to the letter, and that including goofy sunglasses. Oh well. Being anonymous felt good, anyway.

As they waited she snuck a granola bar out of her clutch and quickly scarfed it down, hoping not to attract any hungry birds. Liam chuckled warmly next to her. “Baby needs a snack?”

“Constantly,” she answered, tapping her open palm on her bump lightly. She surveyed the other guests as they all started to take their seats. “I don’t know anybody. Is it weird that we came?”

Liam shook his head confidently. “They invited us, right? I’m sure we’re not the only people here who don’t know the other guests.”

“I don’t know…” She looked around at the other guests all speaking to each other animatedly in rapid spanish, embracing and clumping together in large groups. “It seems like everyone here is related to Damien.”

“Hmm…” Liam scanned the crowd himself, looking for exceptions. “There. They look every bit as lost as we do.” He gestured subtly towards a couple in the back row, a beautiful but nervous woman in an elegant dress and thick glasses with a shorter man looking surprisingly dapper in a salmon pink suit and a man-bun. As they watched, a young boy came sprinting up to them, crashing into the man’s arms and squeezing him tight. All three of their faces lit up with unbridled joy, the woman’s obvious discomfort melting away as she reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Liam’s grip on Riley’s hand tightened, and she looked up to see his warm smile still gazing at the little family. “Soon, love,” she whispered.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a family like this?” He gestured at the smiling, laughing group that had formed all around them, children and adults alike. “Just to be surrounded by love all the time.” A little girl in front of them shoved a boy to the ground over a struggle for a toy dump truck. The boy stood up and hit her in the face with the truck. A young woman, clearly not the mother, maybe just a teenaged cousin, got between them, shouting at them both until an older woman came and ushered them all off to the side, scolding them quietly.

“Wonderful, you say?” Riley smirked up at Liam, who still looked blissful.

“Wonderful,” he repeated, letting out a small sigh. “The memories of being tortured, teased, and tormented by my brother...they’re all warm and fuzzy now. The highlights of my childhood. The memories that hurt are the ones of absence. My mother’s death. My father being too busy governing to even eat meals with us or be there to say goodnight at the end of the day, much less play with us.”

“Will it be like that for you?”

He shook his head. “Never. My father feared the loss of power. I embrace it. The more people can share the responsibility of rule, the better. I know that we’ll need nannies and we don’t be with our children every hour of the day, but we will be the ones that raise them. You and I.”

She leaned in to kiss him, but something else caught her eye just as the music started to change. “Here they come,” she whispered.

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

The ceremony passed in a blur. Damien was nervous, shaking and shy. Kai was also nervous, talking too fast and too loud and laughing at everything, no matter how mundane. The little old lady who officiated just beamed at them, certainly having seen her share of awkward and slightly terrified couples in her day.

At the end they kissed and they thought it would be weird in front of their families and friends, but instead the world melted away and the whole thing immediately felt right.

It was in the receiving line after the ceremony that Damien first noticed them. He saw them coming, losing his focus on the beloved great-aunt in front of him as he started to mentally scramble for what to say.

In all Kai’s rushed etiquette lessons, staying up late every night reading him silly and dated advice for how to behave at one’s own wedding, there was nothing about how to face your two royal exes.

Thankfully, Liam had spent his whole life learning how to handle himself gracefully in social situations. “Damien.” His whole face lit up when he saw him, wrapping him in his arms before he could even register what was happening. “That was beautiful. I’m so happy for the two of you.”

Riley stepped in and did the same before Damien had even managed to speak. She stood on her toes to press a firm kiss to his cheek while she squeezed him enthusiastically. “I knew you two would figure it out someday. You’re perfect together.”

Damien finally snapped out of his surprised daze, taking in the warm and surprisingly friendly couple in front of him. “I can’t believe you came!”

Kai’s arm was around him suddenly, squeezing him into his side. “I told him you were coming! He had no faith in the online RSVP system. I’m Kai, by the way.” He shook Liam’s hand enthusiastically before turning to Riley for a quick hug.

“Yes, I remember you, Kai. You’re the guy my ex-boyfriend was transparently in love with the whole time we dated.” Riley punched him playfully in the arm, smirking.

“My apologies for being so distractingly hot. You seem to have done OK for yourself though.”

“Thank you for noticing!” Riley answered, squeezing Liam’s arm. “And I loved your online RSVP system. We had to travel the countryside and personally corner every potential guest and demand to know if they’d be coming, but nobody wants to hear that story.”

Liam nodded. “Yes, that was not one of our more interesting adventures.”

Damien’s great aunt was apparently a fan of Nadia’s art, and was holding up the line gushing over her. He looked back to Liam and Riley, glad to have an extra moment with them. “Wow. It’s been so long, and you two...you look so happy.”

It was true. Now past the stage of pregnancy where her face was blotched and purple from bursting blood vessels with the force of her vomiting, Riley was settling into a lovely glow. Liam was a little softer around the edges, a little grayer at the temples, but somehow only got more handsome with age. ‘Distinguished’ might be the word, but Liam had always been that, anyway. They were dressed down for the wedding, blending in as well as two extremely attractive people could, but still fashionable and put-together. For a moment, Damien wondered how he had ever really believed these two were his peers.

And then Riley belched, a foul-smelling, terrible thing, and both their eyes went wide with terror before they dissolved into laughter, Riley letting out a string of smaller burps as she struggled to pull herself together. “Oooh my god,” she croaked finally, “The acid reflux is killing me, guys.”

Liam rubbed her back lightly, still chuckling. “I suppose that’s as good a send-off as any. We unfortunately need to take off before the reception.”

Kai frowned, patting down his pockets. “Then you won’t be in any of our photos! One second…” He tapped Nadia on the shoulder, whispering frantically to her until she produced Kai’s phone from her clutch. “Here we go. Selfie?”

“Of course,” Liam answered, smoothly stepping behind them while Riley crouched slightly in front. He snapped several photos, giddy with excitement.

“Thank you so much!”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Riley responded, hugging both of them together. “And congratulations. It was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Damien said again, a blush rising in his cheeks as he was crushed into a group hug. “If you can...I’d love it if you kept in touch.”

“Of course, D,” Riley assured him. “We’ll talk later, OK? I promise.”

“I’d like that.”

And with that they moved down the line, Sloane and Khaan following close behind and whispering dozens of questions about what they just witnessed, Hamza nearly falling asleep on his father’s shoulders from boredom as Nadia squealed and shrieked, realizing who Liam and Riley were. Damien tried his best not to look after them, but he kept stealing glances, tracking their progress down the line until he looked up one last time to find that they were gone.

#trr #perfect match #crossover fic #choices fan fic #liam x mc #damien x mc #a royal disgrace #the end!

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reddeaddamnation · 5 years

Text

Imagine: Being a succubus and Dean falling for you [part I]

When Dean Winchester parked the Impala in front of the crummy hotel in Las Vegas, he never thought he and Sam would ever come here because of a case. Dean always dreamt of coming here to gamble and drink the night away and maybe go home with some girls, but as always fate had other plans. The disappearance of several men, all of whom had visited the same strip club led the boys to believe a supernatural creature was behind it. Upon hearing the words strip club, Dean was more than happy to accept the job and soon enough, he was ready and waiting to head to the location.

"What are we gonna do now?" Sam asked, when the two entered their room after checking in first. "I think its more than obvious." Dean answered with an all knowing look, making Sam roll his eyes. "At least try to take this seriously." He scolded. "What do you mean?" Dean laughed "Look how eager I am to start hunting some scum." Sam raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest "I see you're eager but I doubt its because of the hunting." He scoffed.

The strip club was located a bit further than the main street, in an alleyway. It was a large building with a flashing bright pink name above the door in handwritten letters "Show 'n tail". "The hell kind of name is that?" Sam scoffed slightly. Dean shrugged and stepped up to the leather-coated doors, pushing them open. The lobby was dimly lit with red lights. A coffee table and two round leather couches were put against the right side of the wall. The boys were met with a tough looking guard in a black T-shirt, jeans and sunglasses, who stood up to them, holding a folder and a pen in his hands. He was even taller than Sam! The situation was almost comedic. The boys were dressed as FBI agents and a strip club was the last place you would find FBI agents. "Names?" The man asked in a gruff voice. Dean pulled out his badge with a smirk and showed it to the grunt. "You can read them off our badges, sir. This is an investigation." He said in a pretended polite tone. Sam followed his lead and showed his badge as well. The man looked taken-aback and immediately stepped aside to let them in. "Of course, welcome."

The bar itself was even darker with the only lightsources being the flashing red and white lights on the stage and several wall lamps around the entire place, throwing a dim, red illumination on the people sitting on the tables next to the wall. The music was so loud, Sam could barely hear himself think. Girls in lingerie walked around the tables, holding trays, full of glasses and all sorts of alcohol. A young woman, no more than twenty-five, dressed in a skimpy devil outfit was dancing on the stage, sliding and spinning gracefully on a pole while men beneath the stage gawked at her. “Dean!” Sam scolded, nudging his brother rather roughly in the ribs with his elbow “Concentrate!” Dean jumped slightly, exiting the trance he was under by the girl on the pole. “Fine, fine.” They stopped one of the waitresses and asked her about the location of the manager. She directed them to a door, which said “Staff only” on it and told them the office was at the end of the corridor.

The boys entered the small corridor with five other doors, which were mostly dressing rooms and knocked on the one at the end of the corridor which said “Manager”. Being met with a female voice telling them to come in, the two were puzzled, but nonetheless entered and were surprised to see a woman, dressed in a knee-length black dress with a dark red velvet jacket over it and the same color high heels. "Can I help you gentlemen?" She asked with a silky voice and a smile on her lips.

Sam and Dean shared a look and after a long moments, Dean spoke up "We're here to investigate the disappearance of the eight men who visited this bar. If you could provide any information, it would be a great help to us." The woman stood up from the chair she sat on and walked around her desk "What can I say. Its a tragedy. They were frequently here and its sad to lose them, but unfortunately I don't know anything else about the men." She said. The brothers shared another distrusting look and she must have noticed it, because she quickly added "Hundreds of men come and go every day. I can't remember them all and I especially can't know the names of everyone. Ask my girls. They should know more." Dean nodded "And how long has this bar been around?" He asked again. "Two years. Maybe three. I've been in charge for just three months." The woman answered. "And what happened to the previous owner?" Sam stepped closer to her. "My father is deceased." She stated coldly, indicating that Sam had opened a wound "He left whatever he had to me."

The two were taken aback slightly from her sudden hostility and Dean quickly stepped in "We are sorry to hear that. We have just one more question for you." Their eyes met and for the slightest moment, Dean forgot what he was actually going to say. She was beautiful, aluring... almost godly. "When... Did the disappearances start occuring?" He asked quietly, still in a trance from her intense gaze. The woman was trying hard not to smirk. "Two weeks." She answered. Sam noticed his gawking brother and shot him a disappointed look, before ending the conversation hurriedly to prevent Dean from actually asking her out and blowing their cover. "Well... Thank you for your help. If you see or hear anything suspicious, do give us a call." He said, giving her a card with their numbers on it. "Will do..." She glanced at it, then looked back to them with a smirk "Agent Bradley... Agent Cooper."

"Hey, Sam." Dean started when they were out of the office. "I was thinking..." But Sam cut him off with a sigh "No." He stated coldly. Dean rolled his eyes but continued anyway "So I was thinking maybe after all this is over," he looked to the door, where her name was written under the title "I could ask Y/N out and maybe build something more lasting with her, ya know? Move in together, make a family..." Sam stared at him with shock and disbelief "I can tell a girl like her is the kind you don't let go." Dean smiled, daydreaming about his future. Sam scoffed "And what? You're gonna run a strip club together?" He asked mockingly. "I'd be lying of I say I never thought of that before." Yet again, Sam looked at him disbelieving what his brother was saying and straight out laughed "You're impossible."

After asking around the club, they found out that the men all had the same dreams about a beautiful woman every night until their disappearances several days later. Dean decided he was going to stay in the club to "investigate further" which really meant drinking and watching the dancers. He ordered himself a whiskey and joined in the pack of men beneath the stage.

As time flew and glass after glass, the whiskey finally kicked in and he could barely think straight anymore. Suddenly, a hand gently tapped his shoulder, drawing his attention. It was Y/N. "Agent." She smiled "What a surprise to see you." Dean scoffed "Yeah, well..." He slurred "Thought I'd take a break. This job is difficult." Her image was blurry. "I would never even doubt it. I understand how hard it is to catch criminals on a daily basis." She answered in a sweet voice. "Oh, you have no idea what monsters exist in this world." Dean riddled, downing yet another glass. "Join me for a drink, if you have the time." She offered. "For you, I'd always find time." Dean smiled, making her smirk devilishly.

Secluding themselves on a table, the two engaged in conversation, starting in how she decided to run this club alone. "Oh, like I said, my father owned it before but his dying wish was for it to be run by a capable and trusted person. How could I say no to his dying wish?" She answered sadly. "I understand..." Dean said. He never stopped watching her. She spoke, but he was too intoxicated by the alcohol and her beauty to really hear her. "...and sometimes I'm very scared that bad people might hurt me..." She stated dramatically, going closer to him "But I'm sure someone brave and strong like you will protect me." She wrapped her arms around him "You're everything I ever wanted. And you will protect me, won't you, agent?" Their lips were inches apart "You can call me Dean." He murmured, forgetting all precautions and leaning closer to her "Dean." She repeated sensually. "I'll protect you." He stated absentmindedly.

After spending hours looking through the Internet back in the motel, Sam found out that a succubus was behind the disappearances. Little did he know that they had already met the succubus and she was after Dean next... The owner of the bar seemed quite suspicious to him, so he decided to check some information about her. He looked through all the databases of the FBI, the local police station, records from the bar itself but found nothing. The previous owner did have the same last name as her, but he didn't have a daughter and was never married. He had died about the same time Y/N stepped in as manager and it was all under mysterious circumstances. Even more mysterious was the fact that so many people disappeared in such a short range of time, witnesses stated they had dreams about a woman they fell in love with and Dean suddenly found himself in love from first glance. "Dean..." Sam murmured to himself. "I hope you're not with who I think you are..."

The entire night, Dean never stopped dreaming about the woman he met earlier. They were living the life Dean described. Y/N had seduced him multiple times during the dream and with every time, he felt weaker and weaker. In the morning, he barely had the strength to get out of bed. His head was spinning and even talking caused a bigger strain than he thought. Sam was up for what looked like hours and when he heard Dean groan in pain, his expression turned into a worried one, though he tried to hide it. "Bad hangover?" He asked. "You won't believe." Dean answered with a scoff. "But I'd handle all the hangovers in the world for a night like that again." It didn't take Sam long to catch on "Y/N?" He asked and Dean nodded. "Got any leads on the case?" He changed the subject. "Succubus." Sam answered "And I suspect its someone who works in the bar." He was testing the waters before telling the truth. "Yeah. What better suspect than a stripper, huh?" Dean answered. "No, Dean. A succubus isn't that stupid. Its someone unlikely." Sam hinted. "Well, its not the bodyguard!" Dean stated with a disgusted look. Sam sighed and rubbed his temples "I'm just gonna break it to you. I think its Y/N."

The statement made Dean forget about the hangover. He sat up straight and looked at his brother disbelievingly "No way! She can't be." Sam realized she had bewitched him already.

#supernatural #supernatural dean #supernatural dean winchester #dean winchester x reader imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester #sam winchester

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renegadewangs · 5 years

Text

Ace Mindhunter - 2nd Interview

Characters: Simon Blackquill, Athena Cykes, Shi-Long Lang, and a rogues gallery of AA villains. Fandom: Ace Attorney Pairings: N/A. Warnings/rating: 16+, I would say. Talk of heavy themes such as death and abuse, plus cursing. Spoilers for every AA game up to Spirit of Justice, AAI2 included. Gratuitous amounts of headcanon for antagonists. Summary: Simon Blackquill is roped into a Behavioral Analysis project along with Athena Cykes. They must sit down with convicted murderers for interviews, in hopes of finding out just what drove them to their convoluted crimes.

2nd Interview Roger

Date: June 9th 2028 Time: 2:21 PM Location: Interview Room. Another day, another interview. Much as Simon had protested, Athena had stood her ground. She wished to be a part of this project and now that she'd drawn the answers out of Vasquez where Simon had failed, there was no way to argue. If there were ever an early interview which would have her lose her nerve, today's subject would be the one to do it. They'd gone from one TV producer to another, this one a familiar face to Athena. He'd been tossed into prison quite recently, on the 28th of April, four months after Simon had left it. This inmate had not killed out of self-defense. It had been premeditated, vindictive and as convoluted as things tended to get around L.A. these days. The perfect subject for a closer examination. They had been kept waiting for over twenty minutes already when at last a guard entered the room from the inmate's side. “The Ratings Rajah will see you now,” the guard said, acting as if he were announcing the entry of royalty. “This should be good,” Simon heard Athena mutter under her breath. Despite never having been one to regard the muck produced by Take-2 TV, the man who walked into the room was exactly the sort Simon would picture to be behind it all. Greasy hair, a smug grin, a raised eyebrow, sunglasses even within a dark room... He was as different from Vasquez as could be. While his beady eyes flicked to Athena for an instant, he seemed unbothered to be faced with one of the defense attorneys who'd caused his downfall. After sitting down, he leaned his chair back and put his feet up on the table. “Hang loose, babies! Let's make this quick, yeah? I'm a busy man,” Retinz said. “Are you really?” Athena asked in turn, glaring at him. “Is that your first question? Eesh. This is why I don't leave interviews to amateurs. Need me to take charge instead?” Retinz reached for the list of prepared questions, but Simon slid it out of his reach and instead gestured to the tape recorder. “Before any of that, do you mind if we record this?” “Mind if I do?” Retinz pulled a camcorder out of his sleeve and directed it at Simon's face, grinning. “Sorry,” said the guard, who'd remained by the door. “He's not allowed to have things like that, but he keeps hiding them somehow. We just can't figure out where he's keeping it all.” “Magician's secret, I suppose,” Athena grumbled. “Ever heard of enunciation?” Retinz asked her. “Better speak up, unless you want your audience to deal with subtitles.” “You'd best put that camera away before I remove your hand with it. There will be no more coin tricks for you when you're without fingers,” Simon said. Retinz promptly made his camcorder disappear again. “So what's this interview all about? Are you writing an article about how right I was? Have you come to apologize for slandering my good name?” “Ugh...” Athena looked almost nauseous. She pulled herself together again with impressive speed, though. “We're here on behalf of Interpol's Behavioral Analysis Unit. We'll be asking you about your family history, antecedent behavior and thought patterns surrounding the crime you have committed. Our goal is to compile several psychological profiles and, ultimately, use them to create a statistical analysis which will not include your name. What you discuss with us is subject to Interpol's confidentiality clause and cannot be used against you in your applications for parole.” “So this is... What, a science project for school?” Retinz asked. “Interpol,” Athena snapped at him. “Potato, tomato.” Athena puffed up her cheeks with indignation. Simon decided that he would allow her to take the lead again for now, as this experience would either toughen her hide or break her determination to go through with the project. “We'd like to talk about where you were born and raised.” Athena opened her folder to glimpse down at Retinz's profile. “It says here you lived in Wichita until you were sixteen years old?” Retinz made a very loud noise, similar to a game show's buzzer. “Kansas? No, no, what kinda mook do you take me for? Haven't you watched any of my shows? Born and raised in Brooklyn!” “There's no government record of you ever living in Brooklyn.” “Who cares about records? Didn't I just tell you? It's all explained in my shows.” “... So you're lying to your audience,” Athena concluded, pursing her lips together. Retinz waved a dismissive hand at her. “Talk about greenhorns... Don't you know nobody cares about the truth? They get enough of that from their own lives. People watch TV so the flashy, mindblowing fiction can distract them from all that.” “That sounds rather like a magician's misdirection,” Simon pointed out. “It's a producer's bread and butter. Besides, anyone can do a bit of trickery on TV. All it takes is clever editing, a green screen here and there, some hapless acting... It's all easy gimmicks.” Retinz glanced towards the far wall, his gaze hardening. “... A magician's deception takes hard work and passion. Only a filthy criminal could have that sort of talent.” “A criminal such as yourself?” Athena asked him. “What are you saaaying? You'd better wash your mouth out with soap right now, Missy!” Retinz proclaimed, raising both hands in a defensive manner. “Are you kidding me right now?! I was there when it all went down in the courtroom, remember? We exposed you as a killer!” “You sure that was me? Maybe I had a twin, like those cute magician girls.” Athena looked ready to boil over. As for Simon, he saw an opportunity and took it. “Hold on. Only a moment ago, you stated that only a filthy criminal could have the talent necessary to be a magician. Yet now you refer to cute magicians?” “Those wannabes weren't real magicians. No talent. Zilch,” Retinz stated. “That's why they were piggybacking off Little Miss Wright, see.” “Right, speaking of your grudge against Trucy Wright-” Athena began, only to be interrupted. “Grudge? What gruuudge?” “The one that landed you in here!” “Don't know what you're talking about. I've got better things to do than project resentment onto little girls. Makes for a great TV show, though! Exactly the sort of fiction people are searching for in their mundane lives! Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.” “Oh, uh...” Retinz pulled a phone out of his pocket and promptly began typing, muttering to himself. “Defense attorneys make for great script writers. They sure can spin some interesting delusions, LOL! Smiley face... Hashtag Wright Anything Losers... Aaand post!” Simon glanced at the guard, who took a single step towards Retinz. There was no point, though, as the phone had already vanished by the time the second step was taken. Simon wondered just how many followers Retinz still had on social media and made a note to find out. A live feed directly from prison and the support it might gain could add to their research. “That's slander...” Athena huffed. “Talk to me about slander when you're stuck in death row for a murder you didn't do, yeah?” Athena leaned back in her chair, lost as could be. Simon didn't blame her. This sort of denial would usually only be found on the witness stand. To have it continue even after conviction... Well, it made for an interesting sub-category within their study, to say the least. “So tell me, Mr. Greasy Producer,” Simon began, “why are you in here?” “I was framed by the competition, obviously. Take-3 TV hates my guts. Might've even teamed up with Trucy Wright- you know. The real killer.” Athena made a move as if she were about to tear Retinz's head off, so Simon held her back with one hand. Even as he did so, he watched their subject's reactions very closely. “So all those testimonies of what people have seen and heard in the courtroom during the Wright trial... Those were all fabricated?” “Oh, you bet. I'd tell you to ask the girl sitting right next to you, but she's good buddies with Trucy. She won't take my side, believe you me.” “I see that you've requested an appeal of your case several times.” “And I will keep asking until I get it.” “This is pointless,” Athena said quite abruptly, slamming the folder shut and rising to her feet. “We're not going to get anything out of him. Let's just go.” For all of four seconds, Simon assumed her claims to be a bluff. Some trick to get Retinz talking. That was thrown into question when she left the room and didn't return. Indeed, this interview had broken her determination, just as he'd wished. Why, then, did it leave him feeling defeated? “Excuse me. We will continue this interview tomorrow.” Simon got up from his chair as well, stopping the recording process. Retreat was indeed the best strategy for now. Retinz grinned up at him, looking every bit the victor. “Hey, bring some good coffee next time, will you? None of that machine sludge they try to poison me with in here. I need a hit of a brand name, like Bunny's Caffé or Starbills.” “... Duly noted.” ------- Date: June 9th 2028 Time: 2:31 PM Location: Detention Center. Athena was storming through the detention center and towards the prison's exit so fast, Simon would have trouble keeping up if he were a lesser man. He caught up to her just before she reached the door and while he used very little force, he grabbed her arm all the same. “Hold it.” “I'm not going back in there,” Athena insisted, whirling round to face him. “Let's just tell Lang it's a waste of time. Because it is. How are we supposed to ask him about his childhood if he's just going to lie about it? And how will we find out anything about his thoughts during the murder if he keeps insisting he didn't do it?” “The denial is, in itself, something worth investigating. Where does it stem from? How does it sustain itself within his mind? Are you not curious?” “I... Maybe. Or maybe he's just acting like that to piss us off. A skeevy guy like him would know all about acting, right?” Athena glanced down towards the ground, then back up at Simon, as if hoping for his confirmation. “The only way to be certain is to continue the interview. I've told him that we will return tomorrow and we had best plot out a strategy before then.” Athena grinned and pumped a fist. “Oooh, so you're on board with me helping you out after all?” “... I believe that the daughter of Metis Cykes would not be defeated by a mere hustler of a magician. You must stand tall and if that means you would walk into a room with a killer willingly, I will stand by your side.” “Aww, that's sweet. Thanks, Simon.” Athena nudged his upper arm. “The two of us together, we'll crack this guy. Or just his ribs. Either one.” They retreated into a corner of the detention center's waiting area, where several couches and coffee tables were gathered. Simon made sure to look so very gloomy and ill-tempered, no one would come within twenty feet of them while they discussed more sensitive matters. “So how do we get him to say something that isn't nonsense?” Athena asked. “Perhaps we can begin by asking him about the victim. He knew that unfortunate wannabe magician long before the murder. Perhaps something worthwhile will spill out.” “Oh, I'm sure he'll offer his sincere condolences and make sure we've recorded it. And then he'll try to use it as evidence if he ever gets an appeal,” Athena huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We all know he did it! Who does he think he's fooling?” Simon mulled it over for a moment. Seven years in prison had left his views on psychology rusty, and he believed it best that Lang never find out about that, or else he'd risk losing his chance to meet with the Phantom. For now, he had to focus and get those old gears grinding again. “I don't believe his words to be hot air. Not entirely, anyway. Indeed, everyone knows he committed the crime, so there is only one person left to fool.” “Who would that be?” “Himself, of course. He shows signs of emotional detachment, not only towards the crime but towards his past. Furthermore, while his mind associates accomplished magicians with criminals, recall his reactions when accused of being either one.” “... He deflected.” “Precisely. Perhaps we should not be speaking to Roger Retinz, the Ratings Rajah. Instead, we ought to find a way to converse with Mr. Reus.” ------- Date: June 10th 2028 Time: 2:18 PM Location: Interview Room. Once again, they'd been kept waiting for almost twenty minutes when at last Retinz walked in with a casual stride. Once again, he tilted his chair back and allowed his feet to rest on the table. His eyes moved towards a cup on the table. “... Bunny's Caffé?” “Indeed. You failed to specify what sort of coffee you wanted. I've decided that you are a double espresso man and if you don't like it, you will not be a coffee man at all,” Simon said, smirking. “Double espresso is exactly on the nose. Thanks, man. At least someone here has good manners.” Retinz made sure to shoot a filthy look towards Athena, then he took the espresso and drained it without so much as a second thought. Simon wondered vaguely whether he had built up an immunity to caffeine over the years or whether he'd just given himself a sleepless night. “We'd like to try, once again, to go over this list of questions with you. It is imperative that we gain better insight into your history and motives.” “Why? Your little pet project is about killers, right? You've got the wrong person. I'd suggest you pay Trucy Wright a visit instead.” While Athena's fingers tensed, she said nothing. Simon drew a steadying breath of his own before continuing. “First of all, it's imperative that we establish something else. That is, are you the magician known as Mr. Reus?” “Whaaat?” Retinz went from faux surprise to a dismissive attitude so fast, it could've given him vertigo. “Don't you know anything? Manov Mistree was Mr. Reus. He's dead now.” “Then, I will rephrase the question. Were you, at any given point in time, Mr. Reus?” Retinz clammed up immediately. There was no acting, no snide comebacks, nothing. What did happen was that the man reached for his right arm, where a scar was meant to be. Ready to deal the final blow, Simon pulled a handful of change from his pocket and placed it in front of Retinz. “What is...?” the man asked. He moved into some sort of stiff disdain. “You think I'm so down on my luck that I need your charity? Don't be ridiculous.” “A few coin tricks, if you please. As I was unable to play the part of audience during the Wright trial, I've heard no more than tales.” “If you want to see your coins disappear, just give them to a hobo. Or Little Miss Trucy.” “Quite right, anyone can make coins disappear. Only the Great Mr. Reus possesses the skill to perform the finest coin tricks in the world. Tricks of legend.” For a few seconds, Retinz seemed almost hesitant. Then something changed at the drop of a hat- or a facade. His gaze hardened and just like that, he was a whole other person. He took several coins in hand, clenched his fist, then they were gone. He stretched out all his fingers to show off his empty palm. Next, he held up his other hand, where the coins were spread out quite neatly between his fingers. “... Now, check behind your right ear.” Simon frowned, did as he was told and found another coin there, kept in place by his untidy hair. “How's that for a magic trick? I could have a coin appear anywhere on your body if I wanted to, but there's certain lines I don't dare cross. You don't seem the type who would laugh about it.” “Mr. Reus, I presume?” “The one and only. We accept no more imitations or substitutes.” Athena's jaw must've dropped at some point, for Simon looked her way just in time to see that she was closing her mouth again. “Oh... Well. All right, then.” “I would like to ask, once more, for your truthful participation. Are you prepared to answer our questions?” Reus clenched his hand together and tilted it, so that he could flick a coin into the air with his thumb. He caught it quite deftly. “Ask away.” “You were born and raised in Wichita, where you lived until you were sixteen years old, is that correct or isn't it?” “Bingo.” “Tell us about your parents.” “They were poor. Dirt poor. We lived in a run-down little shack. Pops was unemployed and drunk, mom was packing groceries at the deli.” “Did you have any siblings?” “Nope, it was just me. Probably for the best, because three was already a crowd in that hovel of a house.” “You didn't get along with your parents?” “Nope.” While Athena was attempting to stay out of the conversation, her pen was scritching against the paper. Simon didn't want to ask his next question in front of her, but knew that he had no choice. Regardless, he would be a hypocrite for assuming that she wouldn't be strong enough to handle this sort of thing. He'd already made his decision when he stopped Athena from leaving the detention center only a day ago. A deep breath, then he posed the query. “Did they abuse you?” “Sounds like this interview's turning into a dumpsterfire. Don't get too close, or you might get burned,” Reus proclaimed. He stopped flipping his coin and held it in the palm of his fist. When next he opened his hand, there were several inches of flames. The glow of the miniature fire was so bright that the lenses of Reus's sunglasses became obscured. The guard, who had once again been standing ready by the door, appeared both unnerved and unwilling to act. So much for the strong arm of the law. “Whoah, whoah! Take it easy, Jafar!” Athena called at him. It seemed as if Reus needed just a bit more incentive to speak. One more gimmick to open up to them. Simon reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a deck of cards. It was placed before the magician, drawing his attention without further ado. “Go on. Take them,” Simon urged. “I assure you, it's a complete deck.” A pause, then the flame in Reus's palm disappeared. He began to shuffle the cards in the most expert manner Simon had ever seen, even going so far as to shoot the deck from one hand into the other and back again. The whole ordeal turned into something of a blur. Finally, Reus held the deck face-down looked him square in the eye. “Name a card off the top of your head.” “... The Ace of Spades,” Simon said. Reus lifted the top card off the deck and placed it face-up on the table. It was the Ace of Spades. “Now you, Missy,” he told Athena. “Uuuhh... The Five of Hearts?” Reus lifted the next card off the deck and that one, too, was exactly as foretold. Athena smacked a hand down on the table. “Wait, no! I changed my mind! I want the Four of Diamonds!” Reus took the Five of Hearts with his free hand, spun it around on his fingertip, then placed it back down. It was now no longer the Five of Hearts, it was the Four of Diamonds. “It is done.” “Maaaaan... That's impossible.” Athena said, and Simon didn't need her special ability to hear the envy in her voice. Reus slid the two cards back into the deck, then began to shuffle again. He looked quite content as he did so, perhaps even comfortable. He was in his element, which was exactly as Simon had planned it. “My Pops,” Reus began, placing down the King of Clubs for them as if it were a tarot card, “was King of the castle. He was the one who would lay down the law and he would punish accordingly. That law depended on his mood. On a bad day, he'd knock the stuffing outta me just for breathing too loudly.” Simon was forced to consider the possibility that this was yet another 'fiction' tailored to a certain audience. Without a doubt, this sort of story held fitting notes to those attempting to compose the melody of a psychological profile. Still, the look on Reus's face gave the whole thing credibility. It was grim and real. “What did your mother say about that?” “Mom... was his devoted Queen.” Reus laid the Queen of Hearts out next to the King, then placed a Joker neatly below the two of them. “She had no problems with the hierarchy because the law didn't apply to her. She kept saying Pops had it rough because he was having such a hard time finding a job, and if he took it out on me it was my own fault. Somehow, everything was always my fault. Somehow, I was the failure.” “That sounds like a tense atmosphere for a child.” “No kidding. Pops said he didn't want me around, so I didn't stick around. I was outside the house more often than inside, hiding and practicing magic tricks.” Reus slipped the Joker back into the deck of cards first, shuffled, then snatched up remaining two to complete the collection again. With that, he went right back to absentminded shuffling. “What exactly about magic was it that drew your attention?” Athena asked, now a bit more sympathetic and willing to tend to business than before. “A magician could do anything and overcome anything. No limits. Being sawed in half was no problem, being tied up with chains and stuck in a dunk tank was no problem, being trapped in a cage and then run through with swords was no problem... They could make a yacht disappear, they could teleport across the stage, they could read your mind... When I was a kid, I thought magicians were the most powerful beings in the world.” Simon tapped his pen against the paper, thinking it over. “And they could never be hurt, correct?” The cards Reus had been holding sprang into the air and scattered all over. He recoiled, once again reaching for his scarred arm as if he'd just been burned in that very specific spot. “W-Well... Only the very best, obviously.” “So when you were sixteen, you left your home and attempted to make a name for yourself as Mr. Reus.” “Right. Naive youngster that I was, I had my sights set on the Gramarye Troupe.” Reus returned to flipping a coin as he spoke, each time catching it with such a nimble motion of the fingers that it didn't land so much as transition straight into its next jump. “By the time I was twenty, they'd already welcomed me into their midst. Bunch of miserable traitors that they were...! I gave several years of my life to them- gave them everything I had to give and they dropped me like I was nothing! My burning passion was nothing but a sad little smoulder in their eyes!” “... I've heard tales that Magnifi cast you out after a single mishap and none of the other Gramaryes stuck up for you.” “That's saying it lightly. Magnifi humiliated me and soured the name of the Great Mr. Reus for years to come. Anyone who believes Troupe Gramarye was a family is dead wrong. Every single one of the old man's students was fighting for their own reputation and I didn't see it until that incident opened my eyes. That's when I learned you can't trust anyone in this world- least of all magicians.” “And yet... You did not exact any sort of revenge until many years later. Not until Trucy Wright announced her plans of a Gramarye revival. What prompted you to act at that time, when you had been living a perfectly content life away from magic for almost thirteen years already?” “Magnifi and his accomplices got their due without my interference. A year after I was dismissed, Thalassa pulled a vanishing act of her own- some say she got hurt while practicing a magic act, just as I did, so Magnifi made his failure of a daughter disappear. A few years later, the old man croaked, Zak took the fall for his murder and Valant was effectively castrated. I thought the Gramarye name was dead and buried, so I made peace with it. That is, until she appeared.” “Trucy Wright?” Simon frowned and sat back in his chair. “Even if she wanted to revive the Gramarye name, she had nothing to do with your disgrace. She was only a young lass at the time.” Reus slammed his hand down on the table quite suddenly and while the fire in his hand had long gone out, it was still in his eyes. “She has the Gramarye blood and she flaunted the name! Trucy in Gramarye Land, indeed! What a joke! She even wanted to drag Mr. Reus into that disaster of a publicity stunt! Over my dead body!” “At that point, you were no longer Mr. Reus,” Athena said with a bit of a scoff. “It was Manov Mistree's decision to make, and so... It was over his dead body. You made sure of that.” “Don't you sit there and judge me, missy! A pipsqueak like you could never understand this all-consuming fire; this need for revenge. Trucy Wright is doomed to be every bit the criminal her parents and grandpappy were. If she isn't already, she will be some day, you mark my words!” While Athena might've huffed at Reus's attitude even further, something held her back. It was the emotion, perhaps, to the man's words. Widget was alternating between blue and red around her neck. “Do you believe,” Simon began, “that the sins of the parents carry into their children? That blood ties limit a person's potential by tying them down?” “Absolutely.” “Then, what of your own parents? Do you believe they set you on a path you could no longer stray from?” “... Ayep. I reckon they did.” “Have they come to see you after you gained a name for yourself? The Ratings Rajah was a big deal, after all.” “Oh, they hunted me down, all right.” A mean smirk appeared on Reus's face, implying he was delighted by the memory rather than horrified. “They came right up to my penthouse, packed bags by their side, asking for money and a place to stay.” “What did you say to them?” Reus took the empty espresso cup and held it between both hands, then pressed his palms together. While Simon had definitely seen the cup crumple under all that pressure, the remains had vanished when Reus pulled his hands apart again. So long as there was magic in this world, who would have need for a trash can? “Nothing. I laughed and slammed the door shut in their faces. What goes around, comes around, right?” he stated with no end to his amusement. With that, Simon considered the interview an official success; they'd learned quite a bit about what had driven Roger Retinz to premeditated murder. All it had cost him was a handful of change and a deck of cards. Applying that knowledge in practice was a whole other matter, but at the very least, they could present results to Lang. Athena must not have been quite satisfied yet, for she looked through the papers and chose another angle of attack. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to the topic of Manov Mistree for a bit,” she stated. “As I understand it, he was a big fan of the original Mr. Reus and you happened to learn of that by chance. Instead of ignoring that bit of your past, you revealed yourself to him and made him your apprentice. Why was that?” “Why indeed?” Reus asked, and while it might've been taken as sarcastic, the furrowing of his brow suggested that he was wondering in earnest. He went back to flipping his coin again. “... Maybe I was feeling vindictive. Maybe I wanted Mr. Reus to have one last bit of glory and I didn't care who I had to corrupt in order to get it.” “You believe that you corrupted Mr. Mistree?” “Of course. Such a bright-eyed, optimistic, gullible guy... Not the brightest bulb in the shop, but he was determined to learn. He could've been anything else, really, but he wanted to be a magician so badly. If he hadn't dreamed those foolish dreams, he wouldn't have met such a sticky end.” “And only a criminal could have a knack for deceiving people the way a magician does, hm?” Athena mused aloud. “So what was your relationship with Mr. Mistree like? Did you encourage him to follow his dreams or did you warn him about what it took to be the real deal?” “Oh, I did everything Magnifi refused to do for me. I gave him pats on the back and complimented his progress; the whole good mentor shebang. He ate it up. Never seen anyone more thirsty for approval and boy did he get it.” Simon's gaze flickered towards Athena, then back to Reus. “Did you take advantage of Mistree's adoration?” “You're gonna have to be more specific, pal.” “Did you engage in acts of a sexual nature with him?” “A guy like me, who's constantly surrounded by bikini babes in the studio? You've got some guts, asking me a question like that.” “Yet, you fail to answer.” Reus flicked several coins through the fingers of his left hand. Athena squeaked out of nowhere and hopped up from her chair. The Five of Hearts was pulled out of her boot and impressive as the trick had been, neither herself nor Simon was amused. They both made that clear through their furious expressions, which were all but ignored. “... I did at first,” Reus ultimately admitted, now flipping a coin along the back of his hand from finger to finger. When he caught sight of the look on Athena's face, he tutted. “Don't you worry, I didn't do anything he wasn't into. He was the one taking charge, not me. Took him out to dinner and everything, too. Burger Barn.” “Seriously? All that money, and you take the guy you're sleeping with to Burger Barn?” Athena's disgust reached a whole new low. As for Simon, he was of the opinion that Retinz's cheap nature was the least of his crimes. “Yeah, that really should've tipped him off, shouldn't it? Good old Manny, he was so blinded by the person he thought I was, he couldn't see the trash inside. Lots of expectation for me to live up to. How could I crush his hopes? But after a while, he became more Reus than Manov. That's when I stopped getting my kicks.” Simon's eyes narrowed into a glare. “That turn of events was your own doing. By actively encouraging Mistree's dreams and teaching him your ways, you shaped him into Mr. Reus. Then, when he was close to becoming just like you; a supposed criminal... You could justify butchering him with a clear conscience. He ceased to be a person and instead became a means to an end.” “Seems like it. I created a monster, by which I mean myself, and then I fed that monster to the flames of my revenge in hopes the fire would consume the last shreds of Magnifi's legacy. Fucking tragic.” “If you agree that the mindset is tragic, do you regret what you've done?” Reus stood quite suddenly and threw a card across the room as if it were a ninja star. The corner of it pierced the wall and so, the card remained there. Athena looked impressed. Simon thought the showmanship was quite unnecessary, but then, perhaps it was one of the few outlets Reus still had left. The disgraced magician placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, speaking his next words in a vicious whisper. “I'd kill Manov a hundred times over if it meant I had a chance to be rid of my thirst for revenge. I would need to kill him a hundred times over, because that's what it means to be a fuck-up. … How's that for a psychological profile, Dr. Freud?” To Be Continued

#my fanfiction #aa #aa spoilers #simon blackquill #athena cykes #AA mindhunter

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fleetofshippyships-archive · 5 years

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WIP tag meme

aaah, I was tagged over 2 months ago by @parkkate O.O sorry for not doing this sooner @parkkate XD I’ve been offline for a few months! Just now catching up on everything I missed! but I’m ignoring asks for now because my inbox is a mess

The Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I’m gonna cheat and only do this for my drarry wips, since I post everything else on another account now, and tbh I have so many drarrys it’s still gonna be a long ass post XD

Oh man *sweats nervously* I’m a bit of a hoarder in all aspects of my life...I don’t even know where to begin!

I’m not tagging anyone cos I was tagged 2 months ago and I have no idea who has and hasn’t done this and don’t want to be a pain. But if you wanna do it, go a head, and please tag me so I can be nosy and hopefully find someone with a wip problem as bad as my own so I can be less embarrassed XD

Also I’m putting this under a cut for reasons

1. 4th year au idea

Sooooo, right off the bat, I often open a new file to jot down an idea even though I have docs specifically to dump ideas...and then at some point during the process of jotting down basic details of the idea...I start writing it....? This is one such occurrence...but I had to open it to check...and now I want to keep writing it XD

But also yikes it’s super dark

2. ... 4th year au idea

I swear, this is an entirely different wip and I am going ‘wtf’ at myself because wtf that’s confusing! I had also totally forgotten the existence of this before opening it....probably because of the name of it and the only reason I apparently have 2 files the exact same name is that one is a word doc and one is a libre office doc XD

3. drarry character death idea

Soooo, I need to stop turning idea files into wips without changing the names because I actually forget they are wips apparently

Also, I really want to finish this RIGHT NOW IT HURTS SO GOOD GIMME GIMME GIMME

4. Veela fic followup

LOL LOL LOL I’m rewriting my veela fic so I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to end up doing with this XD I might have to try and merge it with the re-write if the story has a similar outcome when I’m done. or maybe I’ll just turn this into its own thing....

5. Veela fic present tense

I really need to get back to working on this, this is actually the full re-write that re-doing the tenses spawned...I was binge writing this before my life went to hell but then my life went to hell and I went offline for like three months and didn’t do any writing or anything XD

although, the last time I looked at it I got the itch to change it back to past tense so who fucking knows what I’ll do with it now

6. Veela fic Draco pov

Curse my obsession with alternate povs of the same story and Draco for being such a good angsty pov

7. Veritaserum idea start

At least this one has ‘start’ in it so I know it is in fact a wip and not just an idea outline XD

7. Veritaserum

So, turns out I started that fic over in a new file and just left the old one lying around XD I do that too often. I should delete that other one...

Also...this better not turn into another ‘Amortentia’ with me unable to think of a fucking title and going with the file name because lame

This is also my first time trying to do god’s eye 3rd person instead of 3rd person pov...also first time trying to do this weird structure thing...I dunno but I like it XD

8. CTS followup

9. CTS sequel

Two separate followups set at different times in the same story verse... I hate myself. I love them both. I can’t pick which one to stop writing so I’m gonna keep them both around and try and make them merge at some point...

10. MMB saying sorry

11. another erase the shame

12. next erase the shame

I work on followups and lose interest so often (usually because people bug me for followups and I get very ‘fuck you’ about it and stop writing them...but I keep them around and tinker with them every now and then soooo they’re still technically wips

13. Tea and Coffee oneshot series (Tea and Coffee, Coffee and Dark Marks, The Cottage Kitchen, next untitled one)

There’s also a present tense version of the first one of those *sweats nervously* first 3 are finished, of course, but my original purpose is lost to them becoming a long fic soo....gonna merge them into one long fic soon...once I decide what tense I like better......kill me now

14. Communion of the Soul (folder name)

This is the sequel to One Touch and this is spread across 5 files because apparently I did that and even though each time I got to work on it I have to figure out which file holds which part of the sequel timeline and which I feel like working on...I have yet to merge them into one file to make my life easier...

15. Crumbling Facade

ugh working on this always makes me want to re-write restraint and actually put in the major plot line, or what was supposed to be Harry’s major plot line before the relationship crap got away from me and I had to cut out all the plot stuff because by the time I got around to addressing it, it started reading like a completely different fic and I had to cut a huge chunk and end it instead, because back then I sucked more than I do now and couldn’t juggle

sooo...I still work on this in starts and stops and then get frustrated for having to stick to Restraint’s chain of events when I have better ideas now for working in Harry’s plot about his damn magic problem and ARRGEHGEHGFVEDHDBVUIOFNBFKDB EFBVJ

I should just let Crumbling Facade take me where it wants to take me and fuck Restraint

16. Potter’s Insatiable Heart

This is my longest wip at 130k XD and I’m stalling now because if I keep going with it where I was intending to go it will end up my longest fic and I’m getting intimidated by the length and how much work it will be to edit that long of a fic so I just go in and write a few paragraphs now and again, get scared of the length and move on to another wip XD

I also periodically binge read this bitch because I love it to death even though it’s severely flawed XD

17. Corset Drarry

oh boy, when I started writing this this I was weirded out by writing a kink I didn’t understand and kind of tailed off and left it...then I did kinktober for voltron and now I’m laughing at myself because corsets and lingerie is so fucking tame after that kinktober list and all the the crap I wrote for it XD

18. Music in the Periphery

Emily bugs me about finishing this a lot...I bug me about finishing it, progress is non-existent because I have a clear plan for it and when I have a clear plan I can’t write for shit

19. Saying Sorry (Round 2) (MMB)

I gotta kick that habit of starting over with something but keeping the first attempt and still working on it parallel to the second attempt, because then I wind up with 2 fics too similar to each other to post both and I’m completely unable to pick which one I like more *facepalm*

Also, MMB is dead if I can’t stop turning the next fic attempts into angst, I just look at that big fluffy mess and want to angst it all up

20. scrapped MMB ficlets - theo’s letter

not technically drarry thought the greater series is drarry...torn between making it mmb or making it its own fic for a rare pair

21. Weather the Storm

*cries* my 6th year war au, I have such plans for this, but the plans get in the way of writing =(

22. Soulmate AU (folder name)

fucking hell, this is 10+ files and I’m not naming all of them, current count is 5 completed versions 60k+ each, 1 incomplete alternate version, all of which I’m seriously unsatisfied with, none of which I can bear to delete, all of which I periodically go and tinker with, thus leaving them all wips i’m such a fucking hoarder but also I have never gotten over all the awful comments that were on the original soulmate fic on ffnet before my purge and now I can’t ever be satisfied unless it is perfect and wont result in such horrible comments again

23. Turnabout (folder name)

Once again, multiple wips in here of the same 60k finished fic I’ve been unhappy with since the moment I finished it and keep trying to fix by starting over and changing things here and there to change the course of the story. Honestly ready to hit the delete button with this one unless my latest attempt pans out, liking it so far buuuut I’m a mess about my writing so who knows

In the Ways that Matter was based off this fic XD

24. Dependency

Oh boy, I abandoned this cos it was so dark I got too uncomfortable writing it...I’ve since started revisiting it after being in the Voltron fandom gave me a new tolerance range for dark content XD

Plan on posting this on anon if I ever finish it, obviously changing the title XD it stopped being relevant after the first 30k anyway

25. Dependency V2

LOL light version of the above that removes most of the dark aspects while maintaining the core plot, but I’m finding it a bit dull XD not sure how long I’ll keep trying to chug along with it

26. *censored title*

hahahaha omg why is this in a different subfolder, this is actually one of the soulmate au ones only it’s actually a spin off au of the original soulmate one I from ffnet and therefore it’s new ground and I’m less unhappy with it

.....I’m probably going to stop working on turnabout today and work on this instead now

(censoring the name because I might post this on anon because I’m too scared to post another drarry soulmate fic under my own name)

27. Retrospection

Sooo, I’m always on and off this fic cos it triggers my anxiety and depression, but fuck that I want to write it so I keep trying XD

I’m also thinking of splitting the two main plots and only going with 1 and using the other to write another story....see if that eases how difficult it is for me to write without self triggering

28. Sequel to mornings

29. Sunrise (loose prequel to mornings)

30. Surrender

I had no idea what this was, opened it and then holy shit THIS BITCH, THIS SLOW BURN FRIENDS TO LOVERS PIECE OF BULLSHIT. I DON’T WRITE SLOW BURN! I DON’T WRITE FRIENDS TO LOVERS. I REFUSE.

but also I really really really love what I wrote so far and now I’m itching to write more *cries* making this list is leaving me with so many open files to work on

31. day 2 ass worship

32. day 3 sensory deprivation

*laughs nervously* the kinktober oneshots that starting turning into a long fic hahahaha cos I really needed more wips

33. Perception of Angels

*wistful sigh* one day I will be able to finish a heavily plot driven story full of fantasy elements and creatures and magic I made up, and when that day somes, Perception of Angels....or that timetravel war au drarry fic idea I have sitting around.....which isn’t on this list only cos I’m not stupid enough to start writing it

So that’s all the drarry files in my wip folder.... I also have heaps more for other ships and fandoms, but I’m keeping that separate =)

And...now I have some writing to go do, cos after 2 months of being unable to write thanks to the bullshit in my life, I started binge writing again 2 days ago =) and opening a few of these to remind myself what they were has a lit a fire under my ass

#*#tag game #wip meme #i have too many wips #and this is only the drarry ones #and tbh there's another folder i didn't check because i'm pretending it doesn't exist #because they're all super plotty things and i do.not.have.the.time #i wish i could feel more secure in my writing so i could just post some of the completed things #and stop messing with them in a vain effort to make them perfect

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trr-fangirl · 6 years

Text

Edge of Hope — I

Pairings: Liam x MC

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,714

A/N: Our journey is about to continue in light of a fresh, new (and much neater) plotline. There will be twists, turns, fluff, possibly smut (???) but most of all there is a lot of drama! So, buckle up because it’s about to be a wild ride, my friends. Important: This is the sequel to the series ‘Remember Me’. Masterlists below.

Note: You guys can thank the premium diamond scene in chapter 15 of TRR for the ending of this chapter. It wasn’t supposed to happen until later but I couldn’t help myself.

Remember Me | Masterlist

Athens, Greece

Shit.

She kicked off her beige heels and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Her mind was racing as thoughts, worries and scenarios played about in her head. What was she going to do? The Queen groaned and placed her head in her hands as she tried not to freak out. Her stomach turned as she shook her leg rapidly, trying to keep herself calm. She could still hear the slow classical music playing in the next room over. A little over a hundred people were in there waiting to meet her for the first time. Even though she was there for business, she still had to attend tons of balls and state dinners all while trying to track down a menace.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice calling out to her.

"Are you alright, Kimiko?"

She pushed her hair back and took a deep, shaky breath, "Yeah! Just a little sick, that's all!" She yelled through the door. Lying to him was like pulling teeth for her. She couldn't do it to his face but in the situation she was in at the moment-- A little white lie wouldn't hurt. Would it?

"Let me know if you need anything." The King called back before leaving the area and returning to the event.

She quickly stood up and walked over to the sink. Her makeup was beginning to fade, revealing the dark circles under her eyes. She reached into her purse and touched up the area around her eyes. She threw the concealer back into her bag with a sigh. She gripped the rims of the sick again as the burning sensation began to move up her esophagus. Kimiko's eyes slowly moved from the faucet to the pink and white stick laying next to her hand. She bit her lip as she stared at it before feeling the burning sensation getting worst.

Not again.

Kimiko groaned as she placed a hand over her mouth and dashed back over to the toilet, knocking over her purse in the process. After spending several minutes of dry heaving into the toilet for the second time that night, she glanced over at all of the contents of her purse out on the floor. Crawling across the cold floor, she placed all of her makeup, debit cards, cash, and random papers back into the bag. She looked up onto the sink and grabbed the test, quickly wrapped it into some tissue and finally chucking it into her purse. Kimiko grabbed her purse and shoes, lazily putting them on before taking one last look at herself in the mirror. No one else knew but her face was caked with makeup just so she wouldn't look as tired and sick as she actually was.

She was the only one who knew why.

Lythikos

His signature smile crept across his face as he walked back into the familiar building watching his men all around him, working, training... just the way he left it. He took a breath in before striding into his office.

The room was filled with computer tech, GPS trackers and papers piled high on the mahogany desk. He sat down in the cushioned chair and kicked his feet up, knocking some of the papers onto the floor. He relaxed in his chair with his eyes closed, so much nicer than those 'beds' in his cell. He frowned the moment he heard the door open and turned to see who it was.

"Ah, Isaac. My trustworthy assistant. Please come in." He said as he straightened his posture and took his feet off of his desk. "I assume you have some promising information for me."

Isaac nodded and pulled a small stack of manilla folders from behind his back, "Firstly, let me welcome you back, sir. Your escape from Greece was as clean and well thought out as ever." He praised as he placed the folders on his desk, "These are some of the new members of the Cordonian Court. The pictures were taken at the event before the King and Queen left for Greece... Though, I think you'd be interested in one of the newest members."

Anton looked up with a cocked eyebrow before pulling one of the folders and opening them. It was filled with pictures of various men and women who he didn't recognize, which bored him, until he came across a set of pictures of a woman in the ballroom, standing alone. She had long black hair and looked fairly familiar but didn't at the same time. He flipped to the next picture to see the same woman hugging the Queen with the King standing next to her. He frowned and looked up at his assistant, "Who is this woman?" He asked, holding the picture up to him.

The assistant smiled and pushed one of the manila folders closer to him, "See for yourself, sir."

The man stared at Isaac for another moment before putting the photos down and opening the folder. The folder was filled with the information of said woman with her picture next to it. Anton smiled... the signature grin that sends chills down anyone's spine.

Isaac hummed as he saw his boss' face, "Yes. Lady Jessica of House Amaya. The older sister of the Queen. She moved to Valtoria soon after the Queen returned from New York. Lady Jessica also set to elevated to Courtess very soon."

Anton closed the manila folder and pushed them back towards the man, "I want to know any and everything about that woman, immediately. We have no time to waste and Lucretia wouldn't be happy if we wasted time, now would she?"

The assistant shook his head, quickly leaving the room and Anton in his thoughts.

It had been two months since Anton escaped and they had made almost no progress in finding him. This wasn't as easy as it was the first time around, he was in hiding and wherever it was, it had to be completely off the grid.

The King and Queen had returned earlier in the evening after spending several weeks in Greece. They were having meetings with any and everyone who had intel about Anton's whereabouts in private while making public appearances while in Athens. Unfortunately, the King cut their visit short when his wife fell ill at one of the galas. She insisted on staying but his mind was already made up and they were on a red-eye flight back to their home country.

Aiden woke the next morning to the sound of his wife moving around the bedroom. He opened his eyes and glanced around before spotting her coming out of the bathroom, much paler than usual and her hair in a messy ponytail. She didn't notice him staring at her until she walked over to the bed.

She smiled weakly, "Oh, hey."

He watched closely as she sluggishly crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Aiden turned towards her and gently pulled the blanket away from her face, "You look paler than you did yesterday. Should I call the palace physician?" Internally, she wanted to panic but even that would take more energy than she had. She simply shook her head and looked up at him, eyes red and unreadable.

"Maybe you should take some time for yourself today." He suggested as he kissed her cheek gently before sitting up. In the corner of his eye, he would see her turn and a smile appears on her face.

Kimiko nodded, "As long as you take a day with me?" Though he wanted to desperately, he knew nothing would get done if both of them took a timeout. He gave her a weak smile and her face fell, "You know I can't do that. Not now anyway."

Aiden leaned over and planted a long kiss on her lips before getting out of bed and walking over to his closet to get ready for the day. Kimiko closed her eyes, enjoying the silence and soft shuffling of Aiden moving around the room before he came out of the closet. As he walked towards their bathroom, she scrambled out of the bed and dashed into the bathroom first before he could. Aiden's eyes were wide as she brushed past him and slammed the door behind herself. It took him a moment to register what just happened before slowly opening the door and peeking inside. His eyes softened as he saw her sitting in front of the toilet with her head lowered a bit.

She glanced up at him timidly. Her lips parted as she finally got the courage to say something but it was cut short as she turned towards the toilet, gripping the rims in her hands. Without hesitation, Aiden stepped into the bathroom to comfort her as he reluctantly listened to her dry heave. He rubbed her back gently and pushed some of her hair out of her face until she pulled back from the toilet. She unknowing rested her head on his leg as she sat still, letting her stomach settle.

"Are you alright?" He asked, even though he knew the answer to the question.

Kimiko looked up at him and slowly shook her head, letting out a long sigh. She stood up and flushed the toilet before turning to Aiden and taking her hand. She guided him out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom. He'd never seen her so fragile and quiet before, he didn't know what to say so for the first time, he just let their actions tell the story. He sat down on the bed next to her as she took his hand into hers.

Kimiko lifted her head and looked at him in his eyes. Her eyes might have been red and filled with exhaustion but underneath all of that, there was still love and a glimmer of hope in her eyes. For the first time all morning, she cracked a small smile that finally met her sleep-deprived eyes. Yet, when she opened her mouth to speak those two little words, whatever happiness she had-- drained from her face just as quickly as it appeared.

"I'm pregnant."

new tags: @flowerpowell , @mfackenthal, @speedyoperarascalparty, @hhiggs, @heatherfilliez, @umccall71, @writtenbycandy

#trr #trr fanfic #liam x mc #liam x mc x drake #long text #long post #series two #edge of hope

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fourteenacross · 6 years

Text

prompt response: fake dating

Well, someone sent me a fake dating ask and somewhere between the drafts folder and hitting “post,” the entire thing just poofed out of existence. THANKS, TUMBLR. Luckily, I had the response saved in a google doc. So, sorry to the original asker, your exact request is lost to the whims of tumblr, but the general jist of it was Ham/Laurens fake-dating.

The idea that I had for this was immediately bigger than just a ficlet, cause for fake dating to be done to my satisfaction, it needs time to properly DEVELOP. So this is more along the lines of a “I’ll tell you about a fic I’m not writing” sort of thing than an actual ficlet--my apologies.

Alex and John are part of the same friends group in New York, a mish-mash of folks who went to college together, their friends who moved to the city after graduation, and other people who have been assimilated into the group over time. John was an early member of the group, one of the core folks who went to the same college, and Alex came along later, and even though they have the same sense of humor and attitude and interests, they've never been the closest of friends. They tend to have standalone crazy adventures in between seeing each other at group gatherings and talking on Twitter, but they don't go out regularly as friends.

They do, however, go out regularly as fake boyfriends.

The nature of Alex's job sometimes has him going semi-undercover to report on...I don't even know, this is a fantasy world where this is a regular thing that happens, okay? So he usually wants to bring a date, so there's someone else around to help him out if he gets in over his head or cause a distraction so he can do some snooping. Plus, he's much more inconspicuous with a date--no one brings a rando undercover with them and a couple wandering around and chatting with people looks much less odd than a single dude nosing around.

Anyway. John is usually his go-to for these occasions because a) he's one of their only friends who encourages these plans, b) he grew up very wealthy, so he knows the ins and outs of navigating the social mores of events like the ones Alex is usually trying to get into, but c) his dad, who would be known in these circles, is white, and people mistake the surname "Laurens" for "Lawrence" when spoken out loud often enough that he doesn't send up any red flags with folks who might know his family. And while John's not single, he's in a long distance relationship, so it's unlikely that someone will see him with someone else around town and think that something's up.

So this starts as just another one of those events--Alex is working on some political story and scores tickets to a big charity gala that's going to draw a lot of the folks he's investigating. He calls up John, who agrees to come with him, and they go to the party, just like any other evening. They're eating canapés and making small talk and then, someone to the right of them says, "John?!"

And John turns around and it's his fucking father.

And it's not UNREASONABLE that his father, a moderately high ranking member of the House of Representatives, would be present, but his dad usually only goes to things in Washington or South Carolina, and when he is in New York, he almost always gives John a call so they can have lunch or something.

So John's staring dumbfounded and Alex looks like a deer in headlights as the person they're chatting with says, "Oh, Laurens! Are you related?"

And Henry says, low-key offended-like, "Of course we're related, he's my son."

And the person gets all awkward about it--because they never in a million years would have pegged this Latino kid as Henry Laurens' son, despite knowing the back of their mind that he had married a Puerto Rican woman who passed away several years prior--and manages to stammer, "Well, I was just having a lovely conversation with him and his young man, Alexander, was it?"

And Henry raises an eyebrow and says, "Your 'young man'?"

And John says, "Uh...."

And Henry says, "Well, I must say, it's something of a relief. I tried not to comment on it--" A lie, he totally commented on it all the time. "--because I know you cared for him, but I never liked that Francis boy and your siblings and I all knew that he'd never actually emigrate to be with you."

Which is an uncomfortable moment because, obviously, John is still with Francis, though he's been starting to suspect the same thing after five years of long distance and vague promises that Francis is looking into moving, really, and also...well, he's not actually dating Alex.

But he can't give up the game, so he forces a smile and says, "Yeah, Francis and I ended things and, uh, this thing with Alex is pretty new."

Alex is doing complicated math in his head and manages to read the situation well enough to put on his best self-deprecating smile and offer his hand to Henry. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir, if a little earlier than expected."

They make semi-awkward small talk for a few minutes while John is internally screaming, until Henry sees someone waving him down and excuses himself. But before he leaves, he says, "I imagine we'll talk more at Martha's wedding."

And John says, "Uh."

But Alex says, "I imagine we will. I look forward to it, Congressman Laurens."

And then he's gone and John quickly excuses them from the other poor soul stuck in conversation with them to drag Alex to the bar.

"That could have gone worse," Alex says.

"Alex, I cannot lie to my father," John says gravely as the bartender pours him a whiskey. "And I don't mean because of my moral character or something, I mean because he always finds out. He has a sixth sense for it. I'm surprised he hasn't already called me out on it. Fuck."

"Well, it's not like, long-term lying," Alex says. "He'll be back in South Carolina soon and then it'll just be the weekend of your sister's wedding. Which is, what, like, two months away?"

"I'm going for a long weekend!" John says. "Thursday to Sunday!"

"It'll be fine," Alex insists. "We'll get through the weekend and then a couple weeks later you can tell him we've broken up and then we can move on with our lives. It's not like we're not good at acting coupley." He takes John's already half-finished glass from him and drinks from it, as if to illustrate his point. John snatches it back.

"This is going to explode in our faces," John warns him. "I should just go alone and say we broke up."

"You wanted to bring one of us anyway because you got a plus one and Francis wouldn't come and you didn't want to go alone," Alex reminds him. "You were just bitching about it in the group chat. Mattie and I both volunteered. I'll go, it'll be fine."

John is pretty sure it won't be fine, but he also knows that this isn't the time to have this argument. Alex is here for work reasons and this is all just a distraction, so he muscles up and downs the rest of his drink and sighs and says, "We can talk about it later. Let's get back to your thing."

They don't exactly get back to it later. Alex heads home after the party to write and they don't get a chance to see each other again until Mattie's birthday brunch the next weekend, when Alex gleefully tells the story to all their friends. Mattie, who knows John's family, finds the whole thing fucking hilarious and everyone else is pretty amused as well. John brings up that they need to figure out what to do about the whole mess, and their friends high-key pressure them into going to the wedding and pretending to be a couple. Some of them because they think it's hilarious, but Mattie and Ned and a couple others are of the mind that they would make a really good couple and Francis is fucking toxic and maybe this will give them a little push towards each other.

At this point, there are seven weeks left until the wedding, which seems like forever, but they figure the best way to play this game is to make it as close to the truth as possible, so they start hanging out together a little more than usual. John keeps going to Alex's work shit with him, but they also hang out on the weekends and go to shows together and do other dumb coupley things. Alex takes John to a lecture that he sleeps through and John takes Alex on a bike ride outside of the city that nearly kills him. They text a lot more too, making up elaborate stories for how they got together. They've already decided to essentially tell the truth once removed--that they were friends and John kept being Alex's plus-one to work things and they realized they liked each other--but making up crazy stories has become a dumb game they play with each other, each playing off an element of the previous story to make a new one. So Alex will send John a message that says, "I used to be a lion tamer on the weekends and one of the lions got out and cornered you and I had to sweet talk it away from you, forever earning your love" and John will crack up and send back, "You fell into the lion enclosure at the zoo over a stupid dare and I helped fish you out right before the lions made a meal of you."

John's dad calls him a couple times during these seven weeks and it's surprisingly easy to lie to him, possibly because most of it isn't lies. He really did go to a concert this week and Alex really is taking him out to dinner tomorrow night and he really is looking forward to it. A lot, actually.

Which is something that John has been thinking about pretty seriously throughout this. He knows most of their friends and all of his family think Francis is a jerk. They met during John's study abroad during the fall semester of his senior year of college and started dating while he was over there. And then Francis came over and did a semester just outside of the city about a year later, after John had already graduated, meeting the proto-version of the gang for the first time. They were largely unimpressed, and get more and more unimpressed as time goes on and Francis visits less and less and his excuses for not coming back get weaker and weaker. And, honestly? Part of him already knows and has already accepted that this isn't going to work out. Despite all of Francis' promises in the first year and a half they were together, he's never going to move to New York. He's never going to prioritize John. And that's something that John has to think about.

Alex, meanwhile, has always had kind of a thing for John. A friend-crush. He never thought about it hard or seriously--he wasn't pining--because John was already in a relationship when they met, so the idea to think about John as a potential partner literally never occurred to him. It's hard not to think about it now, though. They're doing all this dumb couple stuff together and the dispassionate, logical part of his mind is pointing out that they are extremely compatible as a couple. Schedule-wise, temperament-wise, personality-wise, they work on a lot of levels. John is also hot and funny and just...it feels good. It feels good to be around him.

Which is kind of a bummer. Because, odds are, it'll stop after the wedding. They'll still be friends, sure, but Alex will miss all this extra-curricular hanging out they've been doing. Even the stupid shit like hiking and bike rides--he has to admit that the middle part, the part between hiking to a spot and hiking back, was kind of nice. Alex doesn't get out of the city much, and hanging out on the top of a mountain, sprawled in the sun and talking to John about nothing much in particular, had been the first time in a long time that his brain felt really...quiet.

But they'll still be friends. And maybe they can still have the occasional, intentional one-on-one friend hangout, instead of just the shenanigans that they accidentally get up to when they're the only two people interested in one local event or another.

He resolves to take advantage of this last week and have as much fun as possible, a resolution that John is also making. One of two, actually. The other one is that John is gonna sit down next weekend, after the craziness of the wedding is behind them, and figure out what to do about Francis--what he wants to do about Francis, how to approach Francis about his desires, and what to do if (when) Francis' own desires are in direct conflict with them. He's not looking forward to it, thus the decision to enjoy himself and not think about it for a few days.

They get to South Carolina and John introduces Alex to everyone. He and Martha immediately get on like a house on fire, which is potentially going to be an issue in the future, but John tries to ignore it. They spend a couple days doing all sorts of pre-wedding stuff, Laurens-Ramsay family bonding activities that Martha and David have come up with. John and Alex score two definitive victories for the Laurens Family by dominating first at pub trivia and then at paintball. John is genuinely enjoying himself, catching up with his siblings and chatting with David's family. He and Alex have completely abandoned the concept of personal space, which he figures makes them look pretty coupley until Martha pulls him aside as he heads to change for the rehearsal dinner.

"I know I told you that David's family is old school Southern," she says, "but I didn't mean--they're not like...homophobic. David has a couple gay cousins. It's cool."

"I...didn't think they were?" John says, which is not strictly true--some of the Ramsays have certainly made some under-their-breath comments, but some of John's extended family does the same thing. He's used to it.

"I just mean, you and Alex don't have to be chaste around them or anything."

John blinks at her. "We...what?"

Martha is blushing a little. "You can kiss him! Is what I mean! You don't have to, like...hide it or anything."

Kissing Alex hadn't occurred to him.

"Oh," John says. "Uh. Good to know."

He's still thinking about the conversation as he wanders upstairs. It must be clear on his face, because the first thing Alex does when he walks into their room is ask what's wrong.

"Nothing," John says. "Just...Martha pulled me aside to say none of the relatives will make a big fuss, so it's okay for us to kiss."

"Is it?" Alex asks seriously. He's half in his dress shirt, a curious expression on his face. "I just mean, I don't want to get you into trouble with Francis."

John considers it for a moment as he pulls off his t-shirt and looks through his garment bag for a shirt.

"I think it's fine," he concludes. "I mean, nothing that happens in front of my family at a wedding reception is gonna be too intense and I kiss Mattie all the time and Francis doesn't care." Mattie is, of course, both a girl and a lesbian, but in theory that shouldn't matter.

"Good to know," Alex says, and moves into the bathroom to do his hair.

And the rehearsal dinner is fine and the morning of the ceremony is fine. It becomes second nature to lead Alex around with a hand on the small of his back or let himself be led with a hand on his elbow. They rib each other affectionately and socialize with family and even kiss a few times. They're chaste kisses, sweet and quick, the kind of comfortable kisses you give someone you've known forever. They're good kisses, too, quick as they are, and even though he's not supposed to think about it until next weekend, he can't help compare them to Francis, who never kisses him casually because he's never casually around.

John cries all through the ceremony and Alex only makes fun of him a little. And at the reception, they dance together and with everyone else. When Martha is dancing with John, she says, "You know, I really like Alex. I tried to be chill about Francis, but he always seemed like kind of a jerk, and I hated that he kept stringing you along with promises of moving to New York. Plus, I only saw you guys together that one time, but it seemed so stilted. You and Alex are already so comfortable, it just makes me happy to see it."

"Thanks," John says. "I like him a lot."

He's not surprised at all, at this point, to realize he's telling the truth.

Towards the end of the reception, the two of them end up out on a balcony, the pounding music of the dance floor making their ears ring the moment it's muffled behind the french doors. Alex collapses onto a bench and John sits next to him.

"Man, your family knows how to party," Alex says. "I've never been to a wedding like this before."

"Yeah, it's pretty typical of heterosexual weddings where money is involved," John says. "I'd almost forgotten that not everyone has hipster DIY queer weddings in botanical gardens and apple orchards."

"Well, it's a good thing we're not really dating because I don't know if I could survive planning a wedding like this," Alex says.

John tilts his head up, staring up at the sky. There are so many more stars here than in New York. "Is it, though?"

"Is what?" Alex asks.

"Is it good we're not dating?" He looks away from the sky and over at Alex. "Sorry, I just keep thinking about how much I like you and it sucks that I'm dating someone else."

Alex is quiet for a moment. "It does suck that you're dating someone else," he agrees. "I like you too."

"I don't want to be the type of guy who dumps someone because he's met someone else," John says. "But our relationship is already pretty garbage. But it's also possible I'm just looking for excuses to justify it to myself, you know?"

"In my experience," Alex says, "if you're actively looking for reasons to justify breaking up with someone, you probably want to break up with them either way. No one wants to be in a relationship with someone who's only with them because they can't come up with a good reason not to be."

"I'm not really like that, I swear," John says, flushing with guilt.

"No, I know," Alex says. He looks over at John and grins. "And I can't pretend I'm being objective when I offer you that advice, so."

And John thinks about meeting Francis and those first tentative days together, feeling each other out. He thinks about how the giddy rush of a new relationship faded almost instantly into the nagging anxiety that John would be leaving the country soon. He's never felt comfortable with Francis the way he already feels comfortable with Alex. He never had this easy intimacy. And it's no one's fault--maybe if he stayed in the UK or Francis made good on his promises to come to New York, things would have been different, but it's hard to build that comfort over text and skype, and these days they barely manage that.

He makes a decision a week earlier than he intended, and he kisses Alex.

It's not a chaste kiss. It's not lewd, but there's intent. There's passion and affection, it's a kiss that's a kiss, not a greeting or farewell or absent moment of acknowledgement. John kisses Alex the way he would have if this had been a normal date, if they had been out together and had this much fun and mutually expressed an intent to do it again. He kisses Alex like he wants it to be the start of something more.

And Alex kisses back.

They pull back, both of them grinning, though Alex is a bit dazed. John pulls out his phone and checks the time and swears under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Alex asks.

"It's the middle of the night in London, I can't call Francis and break up with him."

"Just to be clear," Alex says. "That means we're gonna date, right?"

"Yes, genius, that means we're gonna date," John says, grinning, and Alex just leans forward and kisses him again.

John should probably feel worse about the kissing, but so far it's just kissing and it's hard to feel connected to Francis and the tattered remains of their relationship when Alex is here with him, having spent weeks showing more interest in John's life than Francis has since they were twenty-three.

And John doesn't intend for them to just full-on make out at his sister's wedding, but the next thing he knows, his little brother Harry is saying, "John, are you--oh shit!"

John pulls away from Alex, guilty for half a dozen reasons, only some of which make sense.

"Um," he says.

"Sorry," Harry says. "I just--um. Martha wants a cousins picture with Nana before Aunt C takes her home?"

"Right," John says. "Um--"

"I'll be here when you're done," Alex tells him, and then lifts his hand off of John's upper thigh--and when had that happened--and John stumbles back into the party.

They take the cousins picture and then they take a dozen more family pictures, even though they did posed paragraphs before and after the ceremony. And when John goes to find Alex, he's not out on the balcony, but waiting at the table with a drink.

"I know we should talk more," he half-shouts over the music, "but I figure we came here to enjoy the party, so we might as well do that while we can."

Which seems like a good plan, so they toast and dance some more and flood the wedding hashtag with stupid pictures and dance the last dance and then stumble onto the hotel shuttle, arm and arm. They're tipsy when they get back to their room and half-undress before collapsing onto the bed, lying side-by-side and staring at each other.

"We should talk," John says.

"Yeah," Alex says. "Totally."

"We can't have sex until I break up with Francis," John says.

"I'm 100% with you," Alex says.

"I don't cheat," John says.

"I wouldn't never think that," Alex says.

"But is it really cheating if the only reason we haven't broken up yet is that he's asleep?"

"I mean, I'm staying neutral in this decision, but it's just a few hours."

They're both quiet for a moment.

"Maybe we can just make out for a while?" John suggests. "I'm pretty tired anyway. And I haven't had sex with another person in two years, so that feels like a lot to process tonight anyway."

"I am definitely on board with this plan," Alex says.

So they do that. And it gets maybe a little heavier than either of them intend, but their hands stay above the waist, John's arbitrary definition of what's acceptable and what isn't, and they eventually fall asleep.

John gets up super early the next morning, first because he's in a weird place and he has to pee, but once he's up and takes his phone and goes out into the hallway and calls Francis. And they have a very short, awkward conversation where Francis first thinks that John is breaking up with him because he saw on social media he's been hanging out a lot with some guy, but John clarifies that he met someone else. Francis tries to be indignant about this for approximately five seconds before John reminds him that he literally just basically admitted to doing the same thing, and Francis concedes.

When John goes back into the hotel room, Alex is half awake and watching him from the very inviting looking bed. John holds his phone up for Alex to see.

"I broke up with Francis," he says.

"Then take off your pants," Alex says, and John bursts out laughing and pounces on him.

And John thinks a lot about growing up and relationships and figuring out who you are. He can't help but keep comparing his relationship to Francis to this new thing with Alexander--it's the only other relationship of his adult life--but it's not the same thing, not at all. He's not sure if the physical distance caused the emotional distance or just kept them mired in a false sense of intimacy, but it was never like this. It was never this easy and fun, because when it started John was twenty-three and a nervous mess trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Now that he's older and settled and confident, it's easier to put his guard down around Alex. It's easy to let himself have this, fun and simple and freeing.

Of course, he doesn't really think about all of that until later, because first they have sex. Twice. And when they go down for brunch later that morning, he's positive they look entirely fucked out and overly pleased with themselves, but they're hardly the only couple with that glow, so the comments are raised eyebrows are minimal.

They spend their last couple days in South Carolina alternately hanging out with John's family and stealing time away because they can't keep their hands off of each other. Which is also a problem the next day on the flight back to New York and then on the cab ride to John's apartment. It's less of a problem once they're inside John's apartment, for the most part--the gentleman forced to ride the elevator with them, for example, might not agree.

Later in the afternoon, when they've graduated to the cuddling and take-out portion of the day, talking endlessly about themselves and their lives and their hopes for the future, John gets a text from his dad. It says, It was pleasant to meet Alexander. He has potential. I hope we'll be seeing more of him.

("Wow," John says, "I think you might already be my dad's favorite of the various siblings' partners. You might even give me enough clout to knock me up from last place on the list of his favorite kids, even."

"I'm irresistible," Alex says, and John doesn't give him the pleasure of admitting that yes, he is.)

You definitely will, he types back to his dad, filled with a breathless sort of joy that it's no longer a lie.

***

Will this ever be a full story? Who knows. I contain multitudes.

#hamilton #lams #the redacted boys #john laurens #alexander hamilton #fic by me #sort of #did i have a dedicated tag to all this not fic?#i don't remember

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lifeofgroffsauce · 6 years

Text

Miscellaneous papers spilled from a crisp manilla folder held lax and haphazardly, clattering onto the apartment's hallway floor to cause a groan from the actor. Various safety waivers and film contracts now mixed up and out of the ascending order of dates he'd meticulously placed them in, was a hell of an end to the night. Crouching down to gather them, grumbling irritably as he did, he tried his best to reorganize the mess before knocking on the door.

“Jon Groff! My faaavorite client!”

The shrill ring of his, uncharacteristically drunk, agent Kelly hit his ears. It was her cheery smile that was infectious and suddenly he matched her enthusiasm, despite his previous misfortune seconds ago.

“Oh my god, you're such a little liar!” He accused playfully then gestured to her relaxed posture against the wood slab that seemed to hold her up, having it half way open. “What are you doing on a Monday night, missy? Don't you have special agent things to be doing?”

Freshly manicured nails, tips too boxy in Jonathan's opinion, tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. He noticed they both suffered the same fate when it came to alcohol flushing their cheeks. Hers, however, wore only a faint blush peeking through her artificially tan skin. “What?! Why are you- did you not get my email?” A gasp fled from her lithe form, soon swatting his arm. “Check your fucking emails more than once a year! Jesus, I sent you an e-vite!”

Just as he rose an inquisitive brow, she swung the door fully open, bright cerleans catching the light of the Brooklyn bridge out of gigantic panoramic windows lining the living room wall. A small group of people congregated about the space, all mingling with each other. They all appeared to be close friends and work connections.

“You're having a party? Oh my goodness,” He laughed almost nervously and mustered up a sheepish grin. “I'm super sorry. I wish I had known! I'll make a better habit of reading those but, it's really late and I just needed to-”

“Jonathan! Nooo, don't be sorry! Come in, come in!” To her urging, his lips parted to object but she quickly silenced him with her shushing, coiling her nimble digits around his larger ones. /Don't argue with Italians, even the five-foot-two short shits like Kelly./ He smirked at his own thought and walked in.

“You know Drew Gehling, right?” The boozy Kelly slurred her way through each introduction like a proper hostess. A striking baritone voice flooded the space with his drawl, steps moving toward the agent as they circled around the dining table. “Why bother asking, Kels. Tall, dark, handsome. Fits Jonathan's type perfectly. Of course they know each other.”

Jonathan's muscles tensed slightly, his mouth pulling a tight-lipped grin. “Though I guess the 'tall' box has been unchecked. New boyfriend's on the vertically challenged side.” Zachary offered a sassy smirk to Jon to let him know he was joking and calm him down; unfortunately, it did the opposite. He was painfully reminded of where he should be versus where he was.

“He's flexible; that's all that matters,” Flew from his lips faster than his brain could register. It earned him a chuckle from his ex-boyfriend. J shrugged.

Kelly, the serial gasper at this point, followed with a grip of Jon's bicep. “Oh my god, I fucking meant to talk to you about all those Instagram posts! Stop with the lovey crap or Jeana will actually have a job to do- and Jon- I'd rather keep her on standby and not pay her an exorbitant amount of money because you're in your feelings...” She continued to scold him, but he had long since tuned her out as, in paranoid fashion, his focus was on studying Quinto until the tall male left the room to go refill his oversized glass of chardonnay.

Another theatre family member (he remembered as Lin's “cousin”) joined their conversation and began a debate regarding the proper use of social media. Jonathan eased up a bit when he saw Zach return but rather than engage, turned to his own huddle of friends on the other side of the room. /I'll stay for a little while longer, I don't want to be rude./

Before he knew it, a blush colored wine glass was being thrust into one of his hands he was animatedly driving his point home with. Without thought, he accepted it, not aware it was Zachary that had given it to him until several moments after. Naturally, the thirty-three year old regarded him with a polite nod, watching as he seamlessly dove into the topic at hand.

“I just don't see the point in lying on social media about who you are or what you do. Why try to make someone believe you pop bottle of Dom every weekend and prance around on a private beach every holiday? Stop stunting.” One actor in their bundle scoffed.

While Jonathan's eyes were taking in the many that had swarmed around their expanded circle, Zach spoke up. His left arm leaned against the kitchen's accent wall. “I take it you've never heard of 'escape theory'? Mm, what a shame, Brandon.”

A click of his tongue snagged Groff's attention, wine kissing his lips, attention on Quinto. “All of us here; we're trying to find an outlet to help us step outside, escape- if you've put two and two together- who we are for a fragment in time. It can be as simple as that evening glass of cheri you have in your underwhelming studio apartment, or as large as the theatre audience seeing you stripped down, bare-assed, utterly exposed for eyes to feast on your body. You don't think posting photographs on social media does that as well?”

He was met with silence; the group stealing glances but not quite knowing how to move forward. Quinto took that as a que to continue speaking, this time with a tone that was introspective. “We can project anything out into the world... put out... anything, but the hardest thing to do is show it who we are. To the core. That's why people 'stunt' on social media. Maybe, after a while, we'll start to believe it, too. We'll start to believe we're something more than we actually are.”

Another pause. “Here I just thought everyone had Cartier bracelets and endless frequent flier miles.” Jon deadpanned, earning laughter from everyone, as well as a slightly grim smile from Zachary. The older actor excused himself, accidentally (intentionally?) brushing his front against the Hamilton star's chest when he passed.

“Jeez, Zach!” Kelly coughed, senses overloaded at the trail he left in his wake. “Use more Bleu de Chanel, please. I don't think they can smell your bougie ass in Chelsea!”

Two hours later...

“Drive safe. Take back alleys. The scenic routes. Turn on your Friends app so I can see when you're home.” The demands came at lightening speed from his drunk agent, whom he was sure peppered some Italian expletives in there. “Kelly Bean, I'm good. Three glasses of wine. Solid as a rock. Go to bed.”

He watched the petite woman tuck herself into the Pottery Barn sheets then began his quest for the door, stopped only by the sound of glasses clanking together. Everyone was gone with the exception of two. While the first was exhausted beyond belief, seeing the second clearing the glasses off the table alone guilted him. “Do you... do you want help with this?”

The onyx haired man shook his head no. “I'll have you know, I'm very domestic now, Groff. I got it. Go home,” He insisted. “I would just feel bad if I left this for her because honey, with that hangover she's going to have tomorrow, she's going to be wishing for death. Dirty crystal will be the catalyst that pushes her over the edge; the Brooklyn nutcase. That's why you don't get involved with Virgos.”

Jon nodded slowly as he spoke, semi-entertained though far away in his mind. It caused him to approach his next set of words with caution. “Hey, do you remember... I know this was a long time ago and it's probably super unprofessional because of, you know, the show, but...” A sigh. “When we were together, maybe the first six or so months, we- we did a scene. It was super intense...” He was gaging Quinto's, so far, anti-climactic reaction. “I threw up...” An embarrassed laugh leaked into the air.

“Which time? I remember that you had the weeeeakest stomach,” The laugh that followed from Zachary was filled with nostalgic amusement. After diving up the glasses in even rows into the dishwasher, he spun around to pin his broad back against the pantry door, raising a finger. “I think you may have cried once, too. I don't do crying so, kind of let you do your thing on that one. A little dark, in retrospect.” His hand waved back and forth, not too sold on the idea that he added, “To be fair, I mean; we did a lot of intense stuff. We were intense stuff.”

The gears in Jonathan's brain were turning. An odd comfort came from hearing him stress were. Mentally noting to keep that in his arsenal when he had to balance his career and relationship. As if that justified him being there talking to him, instead of at home, spooning Lin as he promised. The lyricist was never far from his mind, especially as he stood in the warm cast of light in the otherwise empty home, staring at the distant embodiment of someone he cared about.

Zachary was a walking memory; an old polaroid that had discolored and aged with time. Circumstances were what they were. No amount of positive narration would change the way something was. Not even the comfort a lie would provide. There was ice and the bite of winter whenever he looked at him.

He greatly preferred Lin, who was a photo album with more promise and opportunity for happiness. A radiating warmth that flowed from a steadily burning fire. Thoughts, the splitting wood and radiant embers that transformed into something beyond what is expected. In life, he'd found another soul he believed shared a part of his. They were intertwined in some cosmic way, and life was too short to not pursue that. Even if that meant he had to intervene in the man's own marriage to make it happen.

Still, none of this quelled the incessant internal squabbling that came with trying to piece together... the reality. /To weed through the lies of the past is necessary to have a better understanding of the future's truth./ Some shit his therapist told him that he wished he hadn't. Now he couldn't stop trying to remember.

Lingering whispers of anxiety multiplied into an fierce entity that occupied his headspace long after he'd left. Two small pills were his savior, dissolving into his Rosé-filled gut.

Finally, he made it home.

Luckily, his boyfriend was out cold. Feet weren't as coordinated as they could have been, stumbling while attempting to take off his jacket. The blunt hit of his kneecap on the night stand caused his hiss before he whispered apologies to the offending piece of furniture. Resuming his place with the Puerto Rican in his embrace, a smile graced his lips. He could only hope his aura remained as peaceful as it did in this moment.

#//#mentions:#lin #zq #kelly #tws apply #I'm sorry if this rambles which lol ok we know me ofc it does #also if theres any typos or lack of flow #rp

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