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hamsterclaw · 2 years

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Extinction Rebellion

Your husband is an environmental activist, and he's influential, relevant, passionate. You wish he'd put as much energy into fighting for you.

Pairing: Taehyung x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, smut, angst

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sexually explicit scenes, swearing

Author note: So this is part of the 7 hours series but also works as a standalone. Enjoy!

Technically, your husband is an asset. A handsome, capable lawyer turned environmental activist with an easy, relatable charm. On paper, Kim Taehyung is pretty perfect.

Off the page, though? Kim Taehyung is infuriating.

He’s leaning back against the kitchen counter, tossing kernels of popcorn into the air and trying to catch them with his mouth.

You feel like you’re trying to have a serious conversation with a pigeon.

You clear your throat. ‘So this fundraiser on Friday. It’s important. Is your tux pressed? I can drop it off tomorrow on the way to work if it isn’t.’

Taehyung turns to you. ‘I’ll drop my tux off tomorrow, don’t worry about it.’

You’re about to drop the subject, but then you remember something that Fred your marriage counsellor used to say. You often push the least for the things that are most important to you.

‘Tae,’ you say again. You step forward, and cover his fist of popcorn with your hand. ‘Please. It’s really important, ok?’

Taehyung finally meets your eyes. ‘Yes, baby. I’ve got it. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down,’ he promises.

You let go of his hand. ‘Ugh. Why are you so sticky?’

‘I had some M&Ms before the popcorn,’ Taehyung confesses.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Taehyung brightens. ‘Let’s work off some calories, baby,’ he suggests.

He leans towards you and you run for the bedroom, squealing.

You burn off some calories together before he goes for his second round of snacks.

***

You pick up Tae’s tux from the dry cleaners on your way home on Thursday. It looks perfect, you can’t wait to see your handsome husband in it. You’ve also picked up a gift, a set of recycled silver cufflinks that you’re sure he’ll love.

Your clothes horse husband is constantly at war with himself, flitting between his love for beautiful clothes and his love for sustainability.

You’ve just reached home when your phone lights up.

Tae: Hey baby I’ll be late tonight, don’t wait up, just in a meeting about a protest tomorrow.

His text doesn’t immediately make alarm bells ring. Why should it?

You leave some food in the fridge for him and have a leisurely evening watching TV with a bottle of wine.

***

You’ve laid out Taehyung’s tux on the bed with his shoes and the gift box with his new cufflinks on the bed. You take a look in the mirror and turn around, checking your back in the full-length mirror.

The red silk backless dress is unusually revealing for you, the cowl back dipping low enough that you just need to make sure your asscrack isn’t on show. You’ve put on a gold chain necklace that runs down your back. You think Tae’ll love it, just as much as you’ll love it when he peels you out of it at the end of tonight.

You pick up your clutch and send Tae a text. You haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, he got in late and left before you this morning.

Y/N: I’ll see you later, baby. I can’t wait.

You get two ticks to show he’s seen your text but there’s no reply. You head to the hotel where the fundraiser's being held.

You’re thinking about Tae as you brief Joan, the comms director you work for. She smiles at you. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting your husband. He’s done a lot of good work lately.’

You smile back. ‘Tae loves to make an entrance,’ you say, smoothly. ‘I’ll bring him over to say hello once he arrives.’

Joan laughs and nods. ‘I’m sure you’re good at getting him to toe the line.’

‘Just like I do for you?’ you joke.

Joan laughs again. She’s in her fifties, elegant and polished, and damn good at what she does. She’s also got a wicked sense of humour. You’re sure that’s why you get along so well.

The financial director comes up to Joan and you excuse yourself politely.

It’s nearly nine, and Tae had promised you he’d be here well before now.

You step into a quiet alcove and dial his number. It rings twice and is cut off. Undeterred, you call again, and this time it goes straight to answerphone.

You leave a message. ‘My love,’ you say. ‘I hope you’re on the way, because you know tonight is important to me.’

You follow up with a text and get back to the party.

It’s only when it’s eleven and things are winding down that you let yourself accept that Tae’s not coming.

You’re more disappointed than you’re willing to admit to yourself. Your phone rings, and you excuse yourself.

It’s an unknown number.

A recorded voice says, please press 1 to accept charges on this call.

Alarmed, you press 1. Your husband’s voice fills your ear.

‘Y/N?’ he says, sheepish. ‘Can you come bail me out of jail?’

***

You give the officer at the desk your best smile so that he’ll let you go and see your husband face to face.

You ignore the catcalling as you walk past a row of cells to get to him. You’re still in your dress, because you’d rushed straight to the station, before you’d had time to put the pieces together.

Your husband, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to join in a protest in front of a prominent government building with a group of protesters well-known for their ability to disturb the peace, mere hours before the fundraiser he’d promised to go to with you. They’ve been protesting against the lack of government commitment to sustainability.

You’re not sure that Kim Taehyung is going to be able to sustain his own life after you’re done with him.

He’s up against the bars, hands out, watching you walk up to him.

You stop just far away enough that he can’t reach you.

‘Baby,’ he breathes. There’s no gratification for you in the way he’s drinking you in hungrily.

‘You look stunning. I’m an idiot.’

He looks at the police officer accompanying you, like he’s going to let him out.

‘It was important to me, that you were there tonight,’ you tell him. ‘You couldn’t take the night off, just for once, for me? You promised, Tae.’

Taehyung leans his forehead against the bars. ‘I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry.’

He’s still reaching for you, and in frustration, he turns to the policeman. ‘Can you let me out, man?’

‘Not until someone posts bail,’ the policeman, his badge says Donghyun, replies, stoic.

Taehyung looks at you, realisation dawning.

‘Baby,’ he says.

You lean closer, still just slightly out of reach.

‘I’ll send Jimin round in the morning, baby,’ you say.

Taehyung stares at you. ‘No,’ he breathes.

He reaches for you again, and you turn on your heel and walk away.

***

You put your key in the lock and push open the door slightly apprehensively.

You’re hanging up your coat when your husband’s deep voice sounds out from behind you, making you jump.

‘What happened to ‘for better or worse’?’ he asks.

You turn around. He’s leaning against the door of your bedroom. He looks like he’s just had a shower, his hair’s wet and slicked back, the white tee he’s wearing is sticking to his chest. He’s wearing white sweatpants.

Your husband looks like an angel, but there’s nothing angelic about the expression on his face.

You scoff, but you keep your shoes on in case you have to make a run for it.

‘You know you and I aren’t conventional,’ you say.

‘You let me rot in a holding cell for nearly a day,’ Taehyung says. He steps closer, and you press back against the hall table.

‘Oh, didn’t Jimin pick you up first thing?’ you ask, feigning innocence. You’re lying. You’d told Jimin that lunchtime was the earliest he’d be allowed in.

Taehyung doesn’t even bother to call you on it. He’s advancing towards you at surprising speed considering he doesn’t work out.

You turn quickly to escape and lose your balance, falling towards the door.

Taehyung’s arms come around you, holding you up, stopping you from falling.

He’s got your back against the door, arms on either side of you, caging you in.

‘Trying to run?’ he asks.

You can’t answer, because he’s captured your mouth with his, kissing you with a just barely restrained violence.

He mouths down your neck, hands all over you, cupping your ass, tugging at the buttons down the front of your silk blouse.

He breathes your name like a curse, breath hot on your neck. His hard chest presses against yours, so close you can’t move. You wriggle against him, and he squeezes your ass, grinding his hips against yours.

He tugs impatiently at the hook on your skirt, unzipping it and pushing it to the floor. It pools around your ankles in a puddle of navy crepe, revealing your panties.

‘Who are you wearing these panties for?’ Taehyung asks. His voice is low, a rumble straight from his chest. He kneels in front of you, pushing your legs apart just enough that he can park his face between them. He licks up against the lace of your panties, then pulls them down impatiently.

He lets out a sound of approval at the slickness he finds between your legs. ‘Who are you this wet for?’ he asks, mocking.

‘No one,’ you say, defiant.

Taehyung just laughs. He licks up into you, tongue invading your cunt like it belongs there. His nose nudges your clit, providing just enough pressure to keep you on edge.

You look down at him, at the way his erection’s tenting his sweatpants.

‘No underwear Tae Tae?’ you ask, taunting.

‘I’m this close,’ he growls, ‘this close to tying you up and making you beg for me.’

‘Promises,’ you mumble.

Your smart mouth doesn’t know what’s good for you.

Taehyung lets it slide. He’s as aroused as you are.

‘Where did you get that dress?’ he asks, spinning you around, pushing you flat against your front door.

You’re unbuttoning your blouse rapidly, having predicted what he’ll do next. Your fingers have just undone the last button when Taehyung yanks your blouse off one shoulder.

He bites the meat of your shoulder, so hard you yelp in pain.

‘Do you know how fucking hard it is taking care of an erection in a holding cell?’ he asks.

‘I’m a law-abiding citizen,’ you reply, silkily. ‘I’ve never been in jail.’

Taehyung groans. His rigid cock presses against your ass, and you realise that at some point he’s ditched the sweats.

He holds your neck with one hand, letting his other hand trail down your spine. You can’t stop the shiver that rolls down your shoulders.

Taehyung presses his lips to your back, licking up the line of your spine.

‘Who were you showing that much skin for, baby?’ he asks.

‘Steven,’ you reply, without missing a beat. ‘He works in accounting.’

Taehyung laughs, darkly. His cock’s nudging at your entrance now, tantalisingly close.

He circles his hips. You realise he’s worked his hand in between you and the door, and he’s stroking at your clit with his fingers.

He rubs against you until you’re bucking your hips into his hand. He puts his chin over your shoulder, pinning you against the door.

‘I can feel you dripping onto me,’ he tells you. The timbre of his voice is so low, so sexy that you let out a helpless moan in response. His cock slips between your thighs, the glide lubricated by your arousal.

‘I can feel how swollen your little clit’s getting, baby,’ he says. He bucks his hips, hard, and you cry out as his fingers slide over your cunt.

‘Tae,’ you moan.

‘That’s right baby, it’s your husband. You gonna cum for me?’ he asks, voice harsh against your ear.

He bucks again, and you cry out again.

He turns you around, pulls your leg up against his hip and enters you in a smooth thrust.

He stays perfectly still as you struggle to adjust to the feel of his insistent cock, hard and heavy, filling you. Your head arches back against the door, and he bites your shoulder again.

With the change of position, his thumb’s now pressing right where you need him.

He looks you right in the eye and rocks his thumb over your clit.

‘Should I let you cum?’ he asks. He sounds so calm you’d be fooled, if you couldn’t feel his cock twitching inside you, the way his fingers are trembling as he braces his hand on your hip.

‘Do it, Tae, or I’ll do it myself,’ you warn.

Another flick of his thumb and you’re shuddering, tightening around his cock.

Taehyung stays still as you cum, writhing against him, flooding him with your arousal. He waits until you’re coming down from your high.

Then he begins to move.

‘Tae,’ you cry out. He’s thrusting against you so hard it’s almost painful.

Taehyung grunts. ‘Your smart mouth. I want to fuck those snappy comments out of your head.’

For the record, you have no snappy comments right now, because the wild lunge of his hips against yours is making the pleasure coil in your belly again.

Your second orgasm hits you like a flash, short, sharp, intense.

Taehyung swears. ‘Fuck. Are you cumming again? Do you like my cock that much, baby?’

You’re moaning, completely lost.

Taehyung lets out a deep groan as he cums, grinding against you, mouthing your neck.

He stays still for a moment, then pulls out and immediately cups a hand over your cunt.

Your raise an eyebrow at him as he squeezes, gently.

‘I think I just put my son in you,’ he says.

You laugh, breathlessly. ‘I only just came off birth control, my love. It’s unlikely.’

Taehyung smiles at you, eyes bright. ‘Shh. You never know.’

***

It’s only later, when you’re both showered and re-dressed, eating dinner, that Taehyung turns to you.

‘I’m sorry, love, that I missed yesterday.’

‘It was really important, Tae,’ you say. ‘I’d told everyone that you were coming, people were looking forward to meeting you. Including my boss.’

You run a hand over your face. ‘It was finally going to be the time Jihoon stopped teasing me about my ‘fake husband’.’

Taehyung frowns. ‘Jihoon?’

‘Just some guy from another team. He’s not important. More annoying than anything,’ you say.

You get up to grab sauce from the fridge.

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ Taehyung says.

‘Sure,’ you say. You kiss him on the forehead. ‘Can you pick up some milk tomorrow on your way back?’

***

You’re in the office, working on scheduling for the next month, when your phone starts lighting up.

Joan stops by your office. ‘I’m definitely coming. Please put it in the calendar.’

‘Coming to what?’ you ask, smiling at her.

‘Your husband’s benefit for Extinction Rebellion,’ Joan tells you, as though it’s something you should already know about. ‘It’s the hottest ticket in town.’

You nod and smile weakly. ‘Sure, I’ll put it into the calendar.’

As soon as Joan’s left, you pick up your phone and call Tae.

‘Baby, what have you done?’

***

Your infuriating husband Kim Taehyung made the front page of all four of the main broadsheets in the city for his antics at the protest he was arrested at.

Remarkably, all the extra press only served to raise his profile as a force to be reckoned with. Personally, you think it was the stunning accompanying picture, which an enterprising photographer took of your husband’s beautiful profile in the sunset, that cinched it.

Taehyung’s become a darling of the bourgeoisie, and he’s capitalising on it in the best possible way. His team have organised a benefit to fundraise for all the causes he supports.

Joan’s right. It’s the hottest ticket in town, and the social media company you work for has been granted exclusive access for promotions and marketing.

You lead Taehyung to Joan at the aquarium where his benefit is being held.

‘Joan, this is my husband, Taehyung. Tae, this is my boss, Joan.’

Joan smiles warmly at Taehyung. ‘It’s fantastic to finally meet you,’ she says, graciously.

Taehyung’s on his best behaviour, although to be fair he doesn’t need to do much, looking as he does tonight in his beautiful tux, hair styled back.

‘Y/N’s told me so much about you,’ he says.

Your accomplished, formidable boss is putty in his hands.

You’re chatting to your friend Nara when Jihoon comes up to you.

‘Quite a bash,’ he says.

You look at him, neutrally. ‘Taehyung’s team are excellent.’

Taehyung comes up to you then, sliding an arm around your waist. He looks at Jihoon.

You sigh. ‘Tae, this is Jihoon. Jihoon, this is Taehyung, my husband.’

‘Oh right,’ Taehyung says, casually. ‘This is the guy who was teasing you about having a fake husband.’

Jihoon freezes.

Taehyung puts a hand on the bare skin of your back. ‘I can assure you we’re very much married, and my wife is very loved.’

He leads you away without a backwards look.

You squeeze his arm. He looks down at you. ‘How’d I do, baby?’

‘Could’ve slapped him around a little,’ you say.

Taehyung snorts. ‘Fisticuffs aren’t really my style, my love. I’m a lover, not a –‘

‘Tae,’ you interrupt, putting your fingers on his lips. ‘If you finish that sentence, I swear to god, I’ll never sleep with you again.’

***

Taehyung helps you out of your shoes when you get back to your apartment after the benefit.

‘Sleepy, baby?’ he asks, holding your hand.

‘A little.’

‘Up for some baby making?’ he asks.

You groan. ‘Not if you call it that.’

Taehyung laughs, and you step into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

‘Hey, Tae?’ you call.

Your gorgeous husband steps into the kitchen, jacket slung over his shoulder, bow tie undone. He looks at you, waiting.

‘Are we doing the right thing? Let’s face it, a child is terrible for the environment. And we only just got back together, and –‘

Taehyung’s standing in front of you now. He looks down at you. ‘I’ve known you since you were a pretty girl in my politics class.’

You start to protest, but Taehyung just smiles. ‘Let me finish. If I know nothing else, I know you. I know you’re kind, and caring, and more than up for the task of being a parent. And you know me, baby. Have I ever not looked after you?’

You let his words sink in.

‘So I’d love to do this with you,’ Taehyung says. ‘If you need more time to think about it that’s ok too, but it’s pretty clear to my mind what I want.’

You look down at your intertwined hands.

‘I think we should do it, Tae.’

©hamsterclaw 2022

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut

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chrisevansjellybeans · 3 years

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Promotion | Ransom Drysdale

You get a promotion at work but the celebration doesn't go exactly as planned. Ransom has the perfect way to make it up to you.

Warnings: smut, swearing, ransom being ransom but then soft!ransom

Everyone knew that Ransom Drysdale was an asshole. He was mean, sarcastic and blunt to almost everyone he met. But not with you. Sure, he had his moments but for the most part the Ransom Drysdale you knew, your Ransom, was kind, caring and attentive. He made you smile when you were sad. He would always rest his hand on your thigh when the two of you would take drives in his Beemer. And if you asked extra nicely, he would sometimes share his secret talent of playing the piano for you. To you, Ransom was the perfect gentleman.

Except for tonight.

“You’re being a fucking bitch right now, Y/N.” He snapped as he threw his coat over the chair in the corner of your shared room.

“Oh I’m being a bitch because I don’t want you flirting with the goddamn waitress right in front of me?”

He rolled his eyes as he unhooked his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. “You caused a scene.”

You let out a humorless laugh as you attempted-and failed-to unzip your dress.

“A scene? Ransom, I very nicely asked her to back off. You think that was a scene? I could have given you a whole Broadway musical if I wanted to.” You hissed, cursing as you still struggled with the dress.

Ransom grumbled as he stomped over to you and unzipped the stubborn zipper. You didn’t even bother to say thank you as you yanked off the dress and threw it on the floor. You could feel the tears welling up, but you refused to let them fall. Tonight was supposed to be special. You had just gotten a promotion at work. One that you had been working your ass off for the last three months. And now the whole night was marred by an argument that didn’t need to happen.

“God, you are so insecure. It was nothing.” Ransom’s glare was heated as he took in the deep maroon lingerie set you had underneath.

“Why are you being such a dick?” You spun around, angrily wiping away the few tears that fell. “You ruined tonight for me.”

“You ruined it yourself, sweetheart. Grow up.” He snapped. He gave you one last look before walking into the closet and changing into a pair of joggers and a crew neck.

You stood there in utter disbelief. Ransom was never like this with you in the last two years that you had been with him. Had everything before this just been an act?

Ransom completely ignored you as he moved about the room getting ready for bed.

“I can’t believe you.” You muttered. Slowly you began getting ready for bed yourself. You walked into the closet and took off the lingerie, your tears falling as you did so. You carefully set it back in the beautiful box it came in and shoved it to the back of your stuff. You threw on a pair of shorts and one of Ransom’s old hoodies, his scent wrapping you in the hug that he sure as hell wasn’t going to give you.

When you walked out he was already in bed, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose which was buried in a book. Silently you walked past him and finished your night routine in the bathroom. When you finished brushing your teeth and washing your face you looked in the mirror and winced. You looked exactly how you felt: tired and sad. Your eyes were puffy and red and your cheeks stained with tear trails. You splashed some cold water on your face hoping it would help but it didn’t do much.

Ransom was in the same position when you exited the bathroom. You walked over to your side of the bed but didn’t get in.

“What are you doing?” His voice was still sharp as he let out a sigh and set his book down on his lap.

Your eyes snapped to his and you just shook your head. You grabbed your phone and the glass of water that was on your nightstand.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“Now you’re really being dramatic.” He laughed. “So just calm down and get in bed."

“Do not talk to me like that, Hugh.” Ransom’s eyes widened slightly at the use of his first name. “I love you but you have been nothing but terrible to me tonight. And I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you that you can’t let one night be about me and my achievements, but I’m so done with it. So I’m going to the guest room because honestly the thought of laying next to you right now is the last thing I want to do.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond as you stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. Your hand was shaking as you took it from the door. For a moment you didn’t move, waiting to see if he would come for you. But he didn’t. So you straightened yourself up and walked down the hall to your room for the night.

-------

You tossed around the bed, unable to find a comfortable sleeping position. You let out a frustrated sigh as you turned on the bedside lamp. Tears of frustration, sadness and tiredness came to the surface once again but this time you didn’t hold them back. You brought your knees to your chest as you cried into them.

“Baby?” You sniffed and looked up to see Ransom slowly opening the door.

“Go away, Ransom.” You mumbled. You could not go another round with him. Not anymore.

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” He ignored your command and walked over slowly before sitting down next to you on the side of the bed. His hand hesitantly reached forward and brushed the hair that had fallen in your face away before using his thumb to wipe your tears.

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever. You were right, Y/N. I was being terrible and for no reason.” He tilted your head up so your eyes met his. You could see the genuine regret that shined through his blue orbs.

“You really hurt me tonight, Ran.” You could feel more tears coming.

“I know, baby. I know.” He frowned as he looked down, the shame eating away at him.

“And I’m not insecure in our relationship. Or I wasn’t...If anything you’ve brought me out of my shell. I just-I feel like it’s a normal reaction to be pissed that your boyfriend is flirting with another woman right in front of you.” Your bottom lip trembled as you defended yourself.

“Oh baby, I didn’t mean it.” He looked back at you. “Everything I said back there I didn’t mean. And that waitress had nothing on you. I shouldn’t have let her flirt with me like that and I shouldn’t have indulged in it.”

“No you shouldn’t have.” You sighed, looking away.

The both of you were quiet as you sat there, his hand now resting on your knee as he traced small patterns with his fingers. You could feel him watching you but you couldn’t look back at him.

“Come back to bed.” He said finally. “Be mad in the morning, but please come back to bed. Let me hold my girl on her big day.”

You wanted to protest but honestly you couldn’t sleep without him.

“Please.” His voice cracked as he squeezed your knee.

You nodded and he gave you a small smile. He stood up and held out his hand. Taking it, your body relaxed as he intertwined your fingers and pulled you close to him. His other hand dipped behind your neck and brought your lips up to his as he gave you a gentle kiss.

“I love you. And tomorrow is all about you. From start to finish.” He whispered as he pulled away, his nose and yours still touching.

“Okay.” You smiled. He smiled back and turned off the lamp before guiding you back to the room.

Once you both were snuggled into your bed, Ransom pulled you close so his body was hugging yours. He peppered kisses down your neck muttering “I love you” between each one. His hand that was resting on your tummy slowly moved down, rubbing lightly over your covered mound.

“Ransom.” You moaned quietly as you lightly bucked your hips.

“Shh, baby. Let me take care of you. Show you how sorry I am.” He murmured against your neck. He slipped his hand into your shorts and he let out a small chuckle.

“No panties? What happened to that sexy set you had on earlier?” He nipped at your ear. His fingers moved down and to his amusement he felt your juices coat his fingers.

“Mmmm. You gotta earn seeing that set now.” You hummed.

“Touché.” He laughed. He ran his hand over your clit and gave it a light tap. “You’re so wet, baby.”

“Ransom, please!” You pleaded.

“You want my fingers in this pussy, honey?” He shoved his leg between yours, opening you up more as he pushed one finger in. You threw your head back as he tortured you with slow thrusts of his finger.

“It’s not enough!” You whined, your hips desperately moving with his hand.

“You want two?” He smirked, slipping another finger in. His thumb made right circles over your clit. “Or maybe three?”

You let out a loud moan as another finger was added. He stretched you out as he continued whispering dirty things into your ear.

“Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, baby.”

“Look at you, falling apart on my hand like a good girl.”

“Fuck you’re so goddamn tight, princess. Squeezing my fingers like the good little girl you are.”

“Ransom, please. No more teasing.” You whimpered. You turned your head and captured his lips with yours. It was not a pretty kiss; teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance which eventually he won.

“Whatever my baby wants.” He grunted, pulling his fingers out. Your body buzzed with anticipation as Ransom maneuvered your body so you were under him and he was hovering over you. He slid your shorts down your legs and pulled your shirt off, his hands brushing across your nipples as he dragged them down your body. Swiftly he flipped you over so your chest was flush against the mattress, your ass in the air.

“My beautiful, special girl.” He muttered to himself.

“Baby.” You whined impatiently.

“I am so proud of you,” he grabbed his cock and lined it up with your entrance. Leaning down he rubbed the tip of his engorged member through your wetness. “You know that don’t you?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond as he sunk fully into you. You gasped, arching your back and pushing back against his hips. Ransom pulled out just enough to leave the tip in before slamming back into you.

“You feel so good, princess.” He cooed, his thumb brushing over your puckered hole. You let out another whine as his motions remained deep and slow.

“Harder, Ransom. Faster.” Wiggled your butt impatiently.

Ransom growled as leaned forward, his arms entrapping you as his chest laid heavy on your back. The vulgar sound of his cock sliding easily in and out of your warm heat had you nearing your release

“Look at me, baby. I wanna see you when you come.” He moaned out. You turned your head, your lips falling open as you took in his lust blown eyes. Ransom captured your lips in a heated kiss. “Let go for me, honey.”

Your body writhed as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure he was giving you. Ransom raised himself up and continued to fuck you through your orgasm, pulling you to another one.

“Fuck!” Ransom’s hips stuttered as he splayed his hands over your ass. He let out a low groan as he spilled himself inside of you.

Ransom fell to the side of you, pulling you close to his chest. You let out a contented sigh as he ran his fingers up and down your arm.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into the dark room. Even in the dead of night you could feel the intense gaze of his blue eyes.

“I know, Ran. I forgive you.” You kissed his chest, your fingers now toying with the small tufts of chest hair that you loved so much.

“I love you.” He muttered as he gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you too. Now get some sleep because we are shopping all day tomorrow.” You teased, knowing full well that a day spent at the shops was the last thing Ransom liked to do.

Instead of a groan, Ransom let out a laugh as he kissed you again. “Can’t wait.”

#chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans smut #ransom drysdale smut

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deceitfuldevil · 3 years

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Cosmic Glitch

Baron Helmut Zemo X Reader

Summary: You always believed your soulmate was somewhere out there and that one day you'd see color, but the day you met him you refused to accept it. (soulmate AU! where you can't see color until you first look into your soulmates eyes)

Warnings: use of y/n, swearing I think?, poorly written, clearly from my drafts, headcannon turned imagine, fluff <3

Word Count: 2.2K

You had always been close with Sam ever since you served in the Air Force together, you were always up for any mission or task he needed help with.

After everyone was blipped back you had lost your job, so when Sam called you up asking you to tag along on a mission and promised compensation you couldn't turn him down.

You met Sam and Bucky in the garage and when the infamous Helmut Zemo walked in you locked eyes with him, and a fit a color exploded before you.

Zemo had stopped mid sentence

“I really don’t think I’m—“

Your heart sank deep into your chest

“Oh no” you said barely above a whisper.

“I uh, I’m not useful to this operation” he finished, stumbling over his words. Which you'd learn later on was very uncharacteristic of him.

You just stared at him as he nodded at you, a quiet hello.

Your luck was just impeccable wasn’t it? Zemo? Helmet fucking Zemo? It had to be him? The man that tore apart the avengers and bombed the UN for Christ sake! He was a fucking criminal!

The plane ride to Madripoor was above all else, awkward.

You barely spoke, not even making eye contact with anyone unless directly spoken to.

“You alright Y/n?” Sam asked, placing his hand on your shoulder.

You only nodded a small yes, feeling your soulmates prying eyes burning holes into the sight of Sam’s hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, such a pretty name. I love the way it rolls off the tongue. Y/n.” Zemo said, toying with the sound of your name on his lips. Flustering you, but angering Bucky.

“Cool it Zemo, she’s just a kid.” He warned. Causing Zemo to wave Bucky off with his hand as he took a sip of his warm champagne.

But Bucky was right, you were just a kid. Your soulmate, the Baron for Christ sake, had to be at least 20 some years older than you.

Why did fate set you up with a man that was an adult before you were even born? Didn’t he have a wife before the battle of Sokovia? Maybe this was some kind of cosmic glitch.

I mean, it had to be... right?

Of course you wouldn’t be able to shake the Baron so easily, especially not when you needed a secret cover to pose as in Madripoor

There was only one role for you to play being so new on the “superhero” scene that you were unknown and considering you didn’t look like a single high profile criminal out there.

The Barons fiancé. His schatzi.

Obviously, you couldn’t just show up to a bar in low town in your suit either, so Zemo being ostentatious man that he is came prepared in the worst way possible.

You closed the door to first class and zipped open the black dress bag that Zemo handed you, telling you it would fit well with the part you were due to play.

A very short velvety plum dress sat in front of your color bound eyes. Ridiculously tall heels to match.

It was never something you’d wear out, you’d never have the confidence to wear such a short and expensive dress out to a bar of all places. But the material felt so good and with the new blessing of colored sight almost made you satisfied with outfit presented.

But you walked out fully dressed and maintained your attitude.

“Who am I supposed to be? A high-end hooker?” You quipped, trying to pull the hem of the dress down as far as it would go.

“You, schatzi, will be playing the part of my fiancé.” Zemo said simply. Fixing the cufflink on his left arm.

You stood there awestruck at what he had just said to you. It was hard enough for you to try and ignore that he was your soulmate but now you had to play the part?

“Oh, and you’ll be needing this” he said, digging into his pocket and flicking a ring at you. You caught it, examining it and gasping softly. You had never seen a diamond so big.

You slipped it on your finger, it fit perfectly. Which, made you smile to yourself in a way you knew you shouldn’t have.

He’s a criminal, he’s a psychopath. He’s a criminal, he’s a psychopath. You continually repeated to yourself the whole ride to low town, allowing yourself to think for even a second that just because he was your soulmate meant that he was a good person was not in the books. You simply couldn’t do it.

But as you arrived in the deeper part of Madripoor Zemo informed everyone that they must play their role to a T, because their lives depended on it.

As the car stopped Zemo walked around the side and opened the door for you, grabbing your hand and leading you out. Pressing a gentle kiss to your hand as you stood upright.

You eyes trailed up to his as a blush became evident on your face, when you locked eyes, boom, another shockwave of color screamed into your eyes. You saw the detailing in his fur collar, the bright neon signage all around, the gold detailing in Bucky’s vibraium arm, all of it.

You wanted to see color forever, you hated knowing that if you went without seeing Zemo for too long, the color would fade out.

In ordeal at the bar came and went, the business with Selby is where things got interesting and simultaneously made you nervous.

For some reason it’s almost as if Zemo could sense this because he squeezed your hand tightly and you both sat down on the couch across from Selby.

After everyone else had either been introduced or acknowledged, all that was left was you.

“And who’s this pretty little thing you’ve got yourself here Zemo?” Selby asked, clearing prodding knowing he’d been married before.

“This...” he trailed off, grabbing your left hand to show off the ring “is my beautiful fiancé” he finished

“Oh, got yourself a little trophy wife after the other one kicked the can huh?" She added, staring down the large rock sitting on your finger.

“That’s very sweet of you to think, but this one here is my soulmate. The first woman to ever make me see in color.” Zemo said, his words so sweet honey might as well as been dripping off his tongue. His gaze turned to you, boom, another bright flash of color that made a shiver run down your spine.

“Oh how sweet, but I don’t believe it.” Selby said with a grin, Sam and Bucky tensed up slightly. Siding with Selby because they too didn’t believe Zemo when he referred to you as his soulmate.

“Test me.” You challenged, stupidly if I may add.

“Excuse me?” Selby asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you

“If you don’t believe we’re soulmates, test me. I can name any color you’d like.” You continued, a part of you always looking for a challenge, the other part also wanting to test yourself see if maybe this whole color thing was faulty or one-ended.

“Fine, we’ll start easy. What’s the color of that slutty dress you’ve got on?” She asked, angry that you challenged her

“Easy, the same color as my soulmates turtle neck. A deep purple, plum if you will.” You said carefully caressing the material of Zemo’s shirt

“You could’ve been told that before you arrived, what about my lipstick?” She pressed as she pursed her lips out

“A cheap magenta” you deadpanned, done with her games. She scoffed at you.

“And this couch?” She asked grinning, patting the cushion beside her.

“Trick question. It’s a old a dirty worn out pattern, it has no specific color” you said with a fake smile, Zemo’s hand snaking around your waist as he pulled you a little closer.

The room fell silent just long enough for things to feel awkward before Selby started laughing uncontrollably.

“Well Baron, the universe certainly has picked you a handful! Now what business did you want to do with me again?” And just like that, it was over and you were suddenly running from bounty hunters on the streets.

When Sharon rescued the four of you the ride up to her place in high town was painfully silent. Zemo kept a firm hand on your thigh. Bucky stared off into space ashamed of how easily he fell back into form, and Sam sat on his thoughts wondering if you and Zemo were really soulmates.

No one really spoke to each other, just different conversations with Sharon. After what went down at the Bar and then with Selby... a mood was set, things had changed.

When Zemo stood up and announced he wanted to go join the party and made his way towards the exit you told Bucky you’d keep on eye on him. Sam wanted to protest but at that point you both were already out the door.

You sat from afar watching Zemo on the floor of the club horribly attempting to dance along with the rest of the party-goers. When you laughed a little to yourself he looked up at you, boom, that beautiful shock of color again. It never got old.

But you quickly averted your eyes and disappeared from his gaze as you went to the bar for a drink. When the bartender slid your drink over suddenly Zemo was at your side announcing he’d pay for it.

Zemo started to snake his hand around your waist once more but this time you smacked his hand away

“We’re not playing house anymore, Baron.” You told him, using his formal title.

“But you see what I see, do you not?” He asked, tentatively reaching for your hand.

“See what?” You asked, avoiding his burning gaze. You knew damn well what he was taking about but refused to admit to even yourself. He was a horrible man, a criminal, a rich psychopath! It ached your heart that someone with such a shitty past was who you were meant to be with for the rest of your life.

“The beautiful colors. I see your bright eyes, your sleek hair, those sweet pink lips. Now color is all around me too, I can see the colors of the club. I see the blue radiating off that light, the red in this drink you ordered, the green that lady’s hair! You love opened my eyes, Y/n. With you, I can see.” Zemo pressed on, smiling as he looked in awe at all the colors around him. He placed his hand gently over yours. You flinched but didn’t move away from his touch

“But this has to be wrong. I can’t be the person for you. You had a wife and kids right? Didn’t they bring any color into your life?” You asked, feeling a warm heat rise to your cheeks from the small contact you two were now sharing

“I loved my wife and son sure, but they were always grey to me. Remember that I’m a Baron, when you’re royalty your marriage options aren’t as wide as the universe has set for you.” He pointed out, taking your hand and slowly rubbing your knuckles.

“Still surely this has to be some kind of universal glitch! I mean you’re what? 20 some years older than me? What about all the horrible shit you’ve done? You’re a criminal! I was made to be a hero! We don’t mix, let alone fall in love!” You babbled on

“Listen, y/n. I am not proud of my past, I was a grief stricken man who had just lost his wife and child along with his entire country. I was only doing what I believed to be right at the moment, is that not what you try to do as well?” He asked, trying to find similarities between the two of you. Some common ground.

“Zemo I—“ you started, turning to face him and looking into his hazel brown eyes again and feeling that boom of color that would never get old, but did make you lose your train of thought.

“Zemo I’m scared” you finished off, your planned statement turning into a confession. You didn’t take your eyes off his this time as he stared back down at you. Bring his free hand to your cheek he smiled softly.

“I’m scared too, schatzi. But the feeling you give me makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. Stay with me, ride this out and see where it goes. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, sport cars, you name it and I’ll buy it for you. I’ll fly you any place you’ve ever wanted to go, show you every sight you’ll ever need to see.” He tools breathe, a single tear slipping down his face.

“Please, let’s give this a shot.” He ended. Nine years with losing your wife, child, country, and being imprisoned for a few years really changed a man; and made him that much more desperate for someone like you, his soulmate, to stay.

And stay you did. The first year was rocky wrapping things up with the super soldiers on the loose and clearing Zemo’s name in the eyes of the Power Broker and the UN. Based on his efforts to take down the last of the super soldiers and good words from Sam and Bucky his sentence was reduced to one year under house arrest, which made for a great way to get to know each other better.

The years after that were far beyond smooth sailing, they were dare you even say perfect. You traveled the world with Zemo, lived the most lavish life, saw the most amazing things.

All in color.

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lils-in-space · 2 years

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Notes on The Batman (2022) pt. 2

Here’s the link to part one, if you haven’t gone through it already :)

(Sidenote: it’s been a while since I last posted on Tumblr so my notes organization is kinda messy. Please excuse the chaos)

Pt. 2 begins with the introduction of Selina Kyle in Bruce’s life and whewwww between Pattinson’s jawline and Kravitz’s cheekbones, I was a melting mess.

When Bats shoves the Penguin against the glass to threaten him, the Penguin threatens him back, “Do you know my reputation?” Bats responds, “Yeah, I do. Do you?” Though the wording was a tad ambiguous, I think he meant “do you know mine?” Again, we’re back at it again with questions that Bruce Wayne really should be asking himself. Bruce, sweets, we really need to step up the introspection game.

Selina’s apartment scene:

When we see Bats looking into Selina’s apartment with the binoculars, we flashback to an uncomfortable reminder of how the Riddler was looking into Mitchell’s apartment at the beginning of the film. This serves the purpose of blurring the line between hero and villain--can we justify violations into one’s privacy? Even for heroes? (namely, when Bruce watches Selina change into the jumpsuit).

Bat meets Cat scene to tentative alliance at the 44 Below:

I like how Kravitz really leans into cat-like mannerisms when she fights and interacts-- she huffs into Bats’ face in indignation, hissing when he covers her mouth and pulls her against him to prevent her from moving.

We see some Marxism enter the room when Bats notes not only her name from the eviction notice, but also the fact that she probably doesn’t have much to go off of (this plays into a fight they get into later on in the movie).

Social media returns with the video that the Riddler posts, announcing his claim on his murder of Commissioner Savage.

In this video, the Riddler says he wants to “unmask” the city. This wording will come back repeatedly. More to come on this significance.

44 Below--apparently propane boils at (approx.) -44 degrees Fahrenheit. It turns into flammable steam. Kinda reminds of the “powder keg” comment that Gordon makes later when talking with Bats. It’s the vapor of depravity that will bring the city to its knees.

“I can take care of myself” -- Selina repeats this on other occasions. This comes into play at the end.

Red motif makes a comeback with Selina’s wig. What this means, still have yet to connect the clues. I feel like there’s more beyond the simple “red equals this emotion” but my sleep-deprived brain is slacking.

It also shows up when we see Selina’s perspective (through the contact lens) which is also red-tinted. Makes me wonder if this is what Bats sees every day or if this is just how it shows up on his screens. Red-tinted vision. Anger?

Screw you Falcone.

I wonder if this was intentional, but the lights on the bomb that the Riddler put around Gil’s neck looked like police sirens, which perhaps, was a good disguise for the car, and naturally, people would avoid it.

Bruce, you’re such a loser sometimes, re-watching the footage of Selina saying “I don’t have a relationship with him.” You really need a better hobby.

During this part though, we can see different parts of Bruce’s workshop--it looks like he’s working on developing part of the Bat-mobile.

Alfred sounds almost happy? when he notices Bruce is dressed up in a suit and actually combed up. And then, Bruce just has to go and ruin it by saying he’s staking out Mitchell’s funeral as a civvie because serial killers like being at their victim’s funerals. What a loser, pt. 2

Alfred also notes the absence of Bruce’s Wayne cufflinks (”I can’t find them”--literally and metaphorically) and gives him his own, saying that he needs to keep up appearances. Thomas Wayne gave Alfred his, so in a sense, Alfred is passing the cufflinks along to Bruce, as if it’s his inheritance from his father.

Honestly tho, Bruce, “How about you? Are you a Wayne?” What a dick thing to say to Alfred. Ask your reflection, yeesh.

Funeral Scene

It seems rather natural for there to be civil unrest after political corruption is unearthed. Here, we see the economic gap between the protesters and those who are arriving at the funerals in their schmancy cars with valets to park their cars. We also see some police men patrolling on horses.. they’re literally on “high horses”.. sorry. bad pun.

We also see how differently people treat Bruce vs. the Batman, which may because of Bruce’s status as a “rich person”. The policeman directs him to the valet area with a smile and recognizes him right off the bat.. I’m sorry (again) for the bad pun. Even criminals like Falcone and Oz treat him differently (aka, they don’t blast his brains out for a smart comment). Officer Martinez (he’s back!) treats him differently by greeting him with a smile.

Nice detail of how Bruce is looking around at possible places the Riddler might be hiding around the building, and maybe scouting for exit points?

Funeral guy that I mentioned in part one shows up with his line “What good is a safety net that doesn’t catch anyone?” and proceeds to share with Bruce how it failed his daughter. “Do I know you?”funeral guy asks, which again points to the identity question. Embarrassing for him, he doesn’t and Bruce Wayne just happens to be included among those “rich scum-suckers” that the man accused of ripping off his daughter. This guy comes back later, which I didn’t realize until my third watch-through.

Mayor Elect Bella Reál addresses Bruce and says, ironically, “Mr. Wayne, you really could be doing more for this city.” Oh, sweet lady, if only you knew. He’s doing what he can, just not in the way that many would hope. This reminds us of the voice-over Bruce did at the beginning of the movie. “I wish I could say I’m making a difference.. but I don’t know.”

Bomb to Jumping off a Building

Whoever played Gil actually had me feeling sorry for the guy. He’s rather realistic-- hysterically scared, willing to play along with a psychopath’s game for a chance to not die (even though, chances are he would’ve been murked anyhow), and stupid/wise enough not to spill in order to protect his family (again, with no guarantee that he and his family wouldn’t be killed by Falcone even if he didn’t spill the beans).

The head puns in this scene were too much, I almost laughed at the deadpan delivery. “Not if you want to keep your head.”

The video call with the Riddler reveals some things: (1) The Riddler says he is “nobody” but later on, we see he develops...almost an ego? and reacts negatively when Bats calls him a nobody in the cell scene. (2) “Unmask” makes another guest appearance. Further analysis on the word to come. (3) Social media commentary is back babyyyyy. Disturbing how there were so many likes on a serial killer’s video. Probably some of his 500 followers. (4) “No one ever gave me a chance.” This actually seemed like a genuine comment, showing how the Riddler is actually affected deep down by the traumas of his childhood.

I love, love, loveeee the fact that Bats actually got knocked out by the bomb. Again, this shows his vulnerability and maybe naivety in thinking Gil would rat out the rat.

“Now I have you for assaulting an officer.” “You have me for assaulting three.” Bats, you’re really not helping, sweets.

The small detail that Bruce actually hesitates before considering jumping off a building and that it takes him time to assemble the flying Bat suit is so human, I love it. This is amplified when he pulls the chute but miscalculates and ends up getting it caught in the railing and falling rather haphazardly onto the bus and then through a bunch of trash. He limps home.

Part One // Part Three // Part Four (to be linked)

#the batman 2022 #analysis #spoilers #battinson #dc movie #movie analysis #long rambles #robert pattinson #zoe kravitz #mine #the batman 2022 analysis

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ssahotchhner · 3 years

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young heart (part three)

nobody knows me like you do

PART ONE | PART TWO

hi besties! thank u for being so patient with me the last couple of weeks! i hope this makes it worth it. once again, the title of this part is taken from another track off birdy's album young heart ((: this is your third reminder to stream her album

some dialogue and one to two scenes were borrowed directly from the show in this one from episodes 1x06 and 3x14 so just a reminder that that specific content does not belong to me, i'm sure you will all recognize as you're reading what exactly i'm referring to.

there will indeed be a part four and i'm hoping i'll be able to wrap this up soon. thank you all again for reading i appreciate your kind words and support so so much!!!

warnings: as always, some mentions of murder and violence in reference to a case. also reference a character's previous gunshot trauma

as always if you want to be added to the tag list please just reply to THIS post, it makes it easier for me to find if they're all in one place.

questions, comments, concerns

masterlist

“What are you thinking about?”

Tom’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts as they lie in bed next to each other, “Hm?”

“You’re obviously not here.” He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “So where are you?”

Sweat still glistens on his brow from when they had finished having sex a few minutes ago. The truth was, Ava had only been able to come when she closed her eyes and imagined he was Aaron instead and it infuriated her to no end. That’s what she had been thinking about. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” She says instead.

His hand drops and he rolls back onto his back, “Was it not good? Did you not finish, because I can–”

“No, no I finished.” She swallows, “It’s not you, I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now.”

He sighs, “Well, listen, I’ll take whatever crumbs I can get, if you just want to sleep together that’s fine by me.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have time for something like that. It’s all or nothing for me.” She turns her head slightly to look at him, “Sorry.”

Shrugging, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing to pull on his jeans, “Don’t be sorry. It happens.”

For you, maybe. She thought, For me there’s only ever been one person.

And of course, she had known that before Aaron had abandoned her. Had realized it at some point in their relationship and had thought that he felt the same way. Had been sure of it actually, because he had told her so.

He had invited Ava as his date to some fancy cocktail dinner with his colleagues, bought her a pretty black gown to wear. She was just finishing applying lipstick when he walked back into the bedroom, adjusting his cufflinks.

“Jesus, Ava.” He said, coming up behind her, “You look incredible.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

She closed her eyes at his touch, “You think so?”

Gently, he spun her around by her waist to face him and she smiled up at him as he brought up both hands to cradle her face, “Is it really possible that you think differently?”

She shrugged, “Maybe I just like hearing you say it.”

He laughed and gently pulled her face to his, kissing her tenderly. His lips moved slowly against hers and then his tongue slipped in her mouth. Ava couldn’t help the way she moaned against his lips. “You are so easy to rile.” He said darkly.

Ava pulled away smirking, “All I had to do was put on lipstick to rile you, now who’s easy?”

“Hey,” He laughed, “I’m only easy for you.”

She laughs and playfully smacks her hand against his chest, “Oh, stop.”

“I’m serious.” He said, but he was still smiling, “You’re the only one for me.”

Ava rolled her eyes, “Okay, Aaron.” She mocked, but secretly she was pleased by his admission.

He had watched her that whole night at the party. Introducing her to everyone he could, informing all of them of her outstanding grades and what a great lawyer she was going to be. The men in that room alluded to the fact that she was just his arm candy more than once and Aaron would just nod and then calmly tell them about how Ava was at the top of her class and would have her pick of any firm she wanted when she graduated.

Ava would nudge him with her elbow out of embarrassment when he did this, but Aaron would just put his hand on her elbow and then slide it gently down her arm until he intertwined her fingers with his.

“Did you bring me here to network for me?” Ava asked when they had left a particularly embarrassing conversation where Aaron had bragged for at least five uninterrupted minutes about a paper you’d recently turned in about legalization of marijuana.

He shrugged, “If you won’t do it, someone has to.” He grabbed her by her arms and turned her to him. “It’s time you started standing up for yourself. You need to show them you deserve to be here.”

Ava frowned, “I shouldn’t have to prove myself, my grades should speak for themselves.”

“Baby, I know that, I do. Of course you shouldn’t have to, but…”

“But I’m a woman.”

He stared at her and she could see him interpreting her defensive tone, “Honey, I’m not the enemy here.”

“You’re worried I’m not going to be able to get a job on my own after graduation, aren’t you?”

“It has nothing to do with you or your ability—”

“For your information I do just fine on my own, Aaron. I didn’t need you to help me get into law school. I didn’t need you to get me my teaching assistant position. I didn’t need you for all the internships I landed. I don’t need you for this either.”

He looked at her sadly and shook his head, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I only meant to help.”

“If I don’t ask for your help then I don’t need it.” She snapped. She didn’t mean to be so harsh. Truth be told, she was more upset by the society that told him she needed this kind of help than she was with him.

Aaron was quiet the rest of the evening until they got home. She anxiously watched him take off his cufflinks and begin to undress, taking off his suit jacket and tie.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly, “I know you were only trying to help, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.”

He didn’t say anything in response and she knew this meant he was stewing. She watched as he took off his belt, his dress shirt now unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal his bare chest. “Aaron?”

“I’m not upset.” He responded, not looking at her.

She walked up to him then, stopping his movements and forcing him to look at her by placing her hand on his chest. “I appreciate your support and I love you.”

He sighed and took the hand she had placed on his chest and gently kissed the back of it, “I love you,” He pulled her to his chest, “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. In the process of trying to make sure nobody underestimated you, I did just that.” He leaned down and kissed her hair, “So I’m sorry.”

“You’re a really good man, you know?”

His chest rumbled as he laughed, “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t ever want to be loved by anyone else.” She said seriously.

His body stilled at that and she worried she had gone too far and braced for the rejection. But after a moment he pulled away just slightly to look at her, “You mean that?”

“Yes.” She said without hesitation and then she smiled, “I think you might be stuck with me, Aaron Hotchner.”

And then he smiled so big, she saw his dimples, “It would be a privilege to love you forever, Ava Wilmington.”

Once again, she believed him. A little over a year later, he would leave her.

***

There were two weeks left until the hearing resumed. Aaron went back to work as usual, doing his best not to think of Ava. After seeing her with someone else, he became full of rage all the time. Snapping at his colleagues, taking unnecessary risks in the field.

When Aaron and Reid headed to a prison in Connecticut to question Chester Hardwick before he was scheduled to be executed, Aaron knew he shouldn’t have been there. He was itching for a fight, hoping someone would provoke him. Chester didn’t disappoint and when he began threatening to kill both himself and Reid, an unsettling calm fell over him. He found himself wanting to fight someone to the death and who better than someone who’s death warrant was practically already signed.

He had also considered the fact that Chester may very well kill him and what scared him the most was that he found he wasn’t particularly frightened by that outcome either. He knew this man from the profile and he told him things he knew would only make Chester want to strangle him more. He practically begged Hardwick to strangle him with his bare hands. And just as he could feel his skin prickle with the anticipation of the fight, Reid interjected. As Reid talked, Chester listened, drawing his attention away from Aaron. The adrenaline that had moments earlier pulsed through Aaron’s veins seemed to leave suddenly, the feeling of shame instead replacing it. He had been reckless again and this time he had endangered Reid as well.

“It was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back.” Aaron praised Reid on the car ride back.

“I find I do some of my best work under intense terror.” Reid didn’t seem upset, but the statement only intensified Aaron’s guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Reid asked, frowning.

“I antagonized the situation.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t help.”

Reid ponders this for a moment and looks back out the windshield, “Yeah, I guess you didn’t really help.”

Aaron sighs heavily, “Ava’s started seeing someone.”

Reid nods, “And you feel betrayed by that?”

“No, I…” He pauses, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Reid’s quiet for a few moments, “I don’t think you should give up on her.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m pretty certain she’s still in love with you.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugs, “For one, the way she says your name. Even though all these years have passed between you, she still only calls you by your first name. Then there’s the picture frame in her house that she tried to hide of the two of you–”

“What?” Aaron frowns, “What picture frame?”

“She has a picture of the two of you still in her house, she hides it behind one of her plants. But it’s not dusty, it looks brand new, which suggests she looks at it often.”

Aaron doesn’t respond, only stares ahead with a sense of renewed hope.

***

Ava had nearly called Aaron several times since sending Tom away. She spent most of her days working from home since the shooting. Her coworkers sent her flowers and food. But there were other gifts that were left on her doorstep. Her car had been egged more than once. She spent the better part of her day scrubbing away the “Die Bitch!” That was spray painted on her front door. She was beginning to feel like she couldn’t stay here alone anymore.

And then, in the middle of the night, her window shattered. Someone had to have come here to kill her. She sat up in bed and immediately closed and locked her bedroom door, grabbed her cell phone from her nightstand, and dashed into the bathroom. She closed and locked that door as well. Barricading herself in, she tried to slow her breathing before flipping open her phone and dialing Aaron.

“Ava? What’s wrong?” He had checked his caller ID for once.

“I think there’s someone in my house.” She whispered, terrified of being heard.

She heard rustling on the other line, most likely Aaron getting out of bed, “Where are you?”

“I locked myself in the bathroom in my bedroom.”

“Good, that’s good. I don’t suppose you have a gun?”

“No.” She whimpered.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m on my way.” Sure enough, she already heard a car starting, “But I need you to hang up and call 911, can you do that?”

“No, no don’t go, please don’t leave me.” She hated the way tears filled her voice, but she was more scared than she’d been in her whole life.

“Ava, I’m on my way, but you need to call the police in case they can get there faster, do you understand? They’ll stay on the line with you, just tell them I’m on my way too. Okay? Can you do that?”

She swallows, “Yeah. I can do that.”

“I’m gonna hang up now, I’ll be there in five minutes. You’re gonna be okay.”

He hangs up and she dials 911 while trying to stop her hands from shaking. The operator stays on the line with her and reminds her that the police are on their way. And then she hears the footsteps. “Someone’s coming.” She whispers.

“Ma’am, stay calm and quiet, the police will be there any minute.”

The footsteps get closer. They’re slow, careful. They creak on the wood outside her bedroom door. Her lower lip wobbles with the effort to keep quiet. The bedroom door knob jiggles and she thinks she might pass out. When it doesn’t turn, she’s momentarily frozen in terror, until there’s a voice on the other side, “Ava, it’s Aaron. There’s no one here, you can open the door.”

She’s frozen in place, not able to get her legs to cooperate as Aaron and the 911 operator are both calling for her now. She hangs up her cellphone as she hears sirens approaching, cutting off the woman on the other line.

“Ava, open the door.” Aaron’s close to shouting now as she pushes herself up to standing, “I don’t want to break your door, but I will.”

“I’m coming.” She’s able to say, finally opening the bathroom door, “I’m coming.” She repeats, walking across the floor to her bedroom door where she unlocks it to find a nervous looking Aaron on the other side.

“What took you so long to open the door?”

She blinks up at him, “There’s no one here?” The sirens are getting closer, but for some reason, her vision is blurring. She tries and fails to blink it away.

“Someone threw a rock through your window, but no one’s here. They just wanted to scare you.” She could hear him speaking, but he sounded far away. “Ava, are you alright?”

She felt something hot and warm trickle down her abdomen, “I think… I think I might be bleeding.” It’s the last thing she says before everything goes dark.

***

Aaron curses and throws out his arms to catch her before she hits the floor. Sure enough, as he lays her gently to the floor, he can see that her stitches have opened up where she was shot. Relieved that that’s all this is, he rushes to the front door to let the paramedics inside. He watches as they work on her and within a minute, her eyes blink awake. They tell her they’re cleaning her wound and restitching her, that she’s fine, and he watches as silent tears fall from the corners of her eyes. He has to turn away.

Wandering back out to her living room, he begins picking up the glass from the window and disposing of it in the trash. After opening a few closets, he’s able to find a broom and dustpan, sweeping the remaining glass off her hardwood floors. He told her a rock had been thrown through her window, and that was true, but he had neglected to tell her about the note attached to it that read she would burn in hell for what she’d done. He carefully bagged the rock and note in an evidence bag and brought it out to his car to bring in later. Maybe Quantico would find some prints. He stopped in front of her door on his way back inside. It was clear she had tried to scrub off the graffiti from her door, but the ghost of its words still lingered. Standing there, staring at those dirty words, his jaw set. Anger filled him to the brim. He would come back here tomorrow and repaint her door.

Once he was satisfied with the state of her living room, he walked back to her bedroom where she was now sitting up, the paramedic just finishing up. He averted his eyes from the bare skin of her stomach as she held up her shirt for the paramedic. He tried desperately not to remember all the times he’d kissed that skin. Or the times he’d laid his head on it, its softness and Ava’s fingers running through his hair lulling him to sleep.

“Thank you for coming.” She says to him as the paramedics begin packing up to leave, “I’m sorry you came here in the middle of the night for nothing.”

“Ava, someone threw a rock through your window. That’s not nothing.”

She puts her face in her hands and he notices the way her body shakes with sobs, “I don’t know what to do, I don’t feel safe anywhere anymore.”

“Is there anywhere else you can stay? With your boyfriend, maybe?”

She looked up at him like he was insane, “Boyfriend?”

“I– The man who was here a couple weeks ago?”

He swears embarrassment crosses her face as she understands what he’s saying, but it’s gone quickly, “No. I stopped seeing him.”

Aaron stops himself from asking why, “You can stay at my place if you want.” He says instead, “I have the day off tomorrow, I’ll fix up your window and install an alarm system.”

“You don’t have to do all that.”

“I want to.” He says as genuinely as he can, making sure she sees his eyes when he says it, “You don’t deserve what all these people are doing to you. I know you don’t believe that, but I do.”

“Okay.” She says slowly and sniffles, “Let me pack my things.”

He waits for her in the car and when she gets in, he wordlessly backs out of the driveway. As they pull away, Aaron reaches over and lays his hand on top of hers. He expects her to pull away from his touch, but instead, she intertwines their fingers and squeezes gently.

***

Despite herself, Ava finds that she keeps seeking out Aaron’s touch even after he stops the car. She waits for him to come to her side of the car and open the door for her, something she used to roll her eyes at when he did it years ago. She lets him carry her bag up the stairs and she holds his free hand as he leads her into his apartment.

“Sit down,” He says gently, gesturing to the couch, “I’ll make you some tea.” She knows from the way he’s watching her she’s scaring him. She knows why, too. Knows how out of character it is for her to accept help. Even more so, how odd it is that she’s seeking out his touch. It’s not odd for her, it’s what she’s wanted this whole time, but denied herself. But she knows how he must see it.

Ava sits on his couch and allows herself to sink into it. The whole apartment smells of him, but besides that, there’s nothing to suggest that this apartment is his. No framed pictures, no games or books or albums. No guitar that he used to lazily strum as she read a book nearby. She didn’t understand it, he hadn’t been like this when they dated. They used to make whole days out of sifting through secondhand music and bookstores. They had piles of them when their shelves ran out of space. Their apartment had always looked, no matter what else, lived in. This place looked like it had been furnished before he moved in and he hadn’t thought much about the space since.

When he comes back over to her, he holds the mug of tea as promised as well as a plateful of something that looks suspiciously like–

“I had some leftover sweet potato fries. I know they’re your favorite.”

She smiles when he sets them in front of her, possibly the first time she’s smiled in weeks, “Thank you.” She says softly.

They wordlessly sit like that, side by side on the couch while she sips her tea and nibbles on the fries. She pushes the plate towards him, silently inviting him to eat some with her. And when the fries are gone and she’s drained her tea to the dregs, she says what she’s thinking: “Why does this apartment feel like it belongs to a stranger?”

“Are you the profiler now, then?”

She shrugs, “I just remember how it was when we used to live together. It didn’t look like this.”

He seems to ponder that for a few moments, “I suppose I’m not here very often so I don’t think about it too much.” When she lets silence fall between them, he speaks again “You can sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep out here.”

“No,” She says, “No, that’s silly, I’ll sleep out here.”

“You want to sleep next to the door?”

She swallows, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He smirks and nudges his shoulder against hers, “Come on, don’t be stubborn. I normally sleep on my office couch anyway. At least this couch is newer.”

She pushes her shoulder back against his, maintaining the contact, “Could we just sit here for a while first?”

When he moves his shoulder, she prepares for rejection, but instead he lifts up his arm to wrap around her and pull her to him. “As long as you want.”

***

They must’ve fallen asleep at some point because when Aaron opens his eyes, Ava’s laying fully on his chest, snoring softly. He’d forgotten that she snores and he smiles at the sound. Unable to help himself, he runs his fingers down the curve of her head. She makes a content noise at this and then her eyes are blinking open.

“Oh, shit.” She groans and tries to move, but Aaron tightens his arms to stop her.

“No, don’t. Please.”

She stills, “We shouldn’t.”

“We’re just lying down.”

She pauses, “We both know it’s more than that.” She says, but too tired to fight him, she settles back against his chest anyway.

Thankful she gave in to him, he closes his eyes again and listens to her breathing before falling back to sleep. It’s the most restful sleep he’s gotten in months.

***

The sunlight wakes her again, Aaron’s arms still wrapped protectively around her. His chest rises and falls slowly and she allows herself to close her eyes again and simply enjoy being held by him.

But then she hears someone outside and she shoots up involuntarily, waking him.

“What? What is it?”

The footsteps fade away and she deflates, remembering she’s in an apartment building, “I—I’m sorry, I thought I heard something.”

He looks at her through sleepy eyes, “We should get up anyway.” She’s sitting up on his chest still and for a moment she can imagine that they wake up like this every morning. That they had woken up like this every morning for the last fifteen years. “You feel okay?” He asks, concern flooding his face.

Ava climbs off him, swinging her legs around to sit on the edge of the couch, “I’m fine, I just… I don’t know how to keep going like this.”

He sits up as well, leaning over his knees, “What do you mean?”

She shakes her head and sniffles, “I give absolutely everything to every single client, every case I take until I have nothing left. And…” She takes a deep breath and Aaron puts a hand on her knee, “And now I’m afraid of loud noises. I’m afraid to sleep in my own bed.”

Aaron scratches his head, “I can teach you how to defend yourself. How to shoot a gun.”

“You’re in the FBI. You must see women like me murdered every day. Do you think knowing how to shoot a gun would help?”

“I think it might make you feel more confident and in control.”

“But will it keep me alive?”

He swallows, “I think maybe you should consider hiring a professional security team, at least one guard posted outside the house at all times. I think that would keep you alive. At least until this case is over.”

She looks down at her hands, “Except there’s always going to be another case.”

He nods, “If it makes you feel any better, most of these people don’t want you dead.” She snorts. “No, I’m serious. Less than 1% of them actually want you dead, I don’t think Chloe’s father even realized what he was doing.”

“Your agents told me that Chloe’s father would come back for me if he wasn’t arrested.”

He shakes his head, “They said that to get you to give them a name. He wouldn’t have. He’s not a killer.”

“Oh, so you let your agents manipulate victims to get what they want? Who’s the bad guy now, Aaron?”

He closes his eyes, “How do you go from sleeping on my chest to speaking to me with disgust in a matter of moments? Don’t you find it exhausting?”

“I could ask you the same.” She said quietly. They both knew she was referring to the demise of their relationship.

“I don’t know how else to prove to you that I regret the way I acted then and I don’t see you that way anymore. If I could take back the last fifteen years, make myself stay and talk to you instead of running, I would.”

She sighs and looks away from him, standing from the couch, “Could you take me back to my house? The hearing resumes tomorrow, I have to prep.”

He watches her for another moment and then nods, standing and then sidling past her. The whole ride over to her house she has to sit on her hands to keep from touching him.

***

They had fought before, long before Aaron had decided she wasn’t worth it. Mostly over silly things, but back then Ava had worn her heart on her sleeve. Thinking about it now, she was almost embarrassed by it. Aaron had always been quiet and stoic when he was upset whereas Ava always was on the verge of burning the house down. He would ask for space and she would reluctantly give it to him, immediately heading to the kitchen to grab a beer. Then she would blast either Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours or Joni Mitchell’s Blue on vinyl and wait for Aaron to come out to turn it down. Once, he came out and instead of going to turn off the music, sat next to Ava on the kitchen floor where she nursed a beer. He takes it out of her hands, takes a sip, then hands it back.

“Why do you always sit on the kitchen floor when you’re upset?” He asked.

��Because this is where we keep the alcohol and the ice cream.”

He huffed out a laugh, “But why the floor? We have chairs, you know.”

She shrugged, “Sitting on the floor feels more dramatic.” Silence fell between them and she took a large gulp of her beer while waiting for him to speak, too stubborn to break the silence herself.

“I’ve never learned how to share parts of myself with another person.” He said quietly. So quietly, she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly over the sound of Joni Mitchell’s voice. “My childhood wasn’t like yours, I wasn’t encouraged to talk about my feelings or how my day went. No one wanted to hear that from me. I never had a serious relationship like this that I wanted to put the effort in for.” He sighed and she immediately softened, wondering if she’d been too hard on him. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m still learning how to be a good partner and I’d… appreciate it if you could give me that patience. But I understand if you don’t want that and you’d rather be with someone who isn’t so hard to love.”

Her heart broke when he said that. The anger that just a little while ago had risen in her like a tsunami, ready to wreak havoc on everyone around her, became no more than the gentle kiss of the ocean lapping the shore. “I don’t want anyone else.” She said firmly, “And I’m so sorry that I made you even question if that's what I wanted.”

He didn’t say anything, only reached over and rested a hand on her thigh, so she continued, “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.” She put her hand on top of his and lightly squeezed, “We’ll figure it out together, okay? But I’m not going anywhere.” She turned her head slightly and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Aaron turned his face into hers, eyes closed, and she could feel the way the tension went out of his arms at her words. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, nudging his nose against hers.

“It’s okay,” She said, placing a hand on his cheek, “We’ll be okay.”

Aaron used to be softer then. He was rougher now. She thinks the FBI has changed him, partly for the better, but some for the worse. He had been alone for so long and had seen the worst that humanity had to offer. He still struggled with being vulnerable, even more so than when she knew him the first time, but she could see him taking down those walls for her again. That scared her even more. If he kept dismantling the fortress he had built around himself in her absence, if he laid down the drawbridge for her, she knew she would have no choice but to cross it.

***

When they get to the house, she shuts herself in her office and Aaron stares down the hallway after her. He chews the inside of his cheek before sighing and turning away. He leaves the house again to go to the hardware store to get what he needed to repaint her door, replace her window, and install an alarm system.

He works quietly, doing his best to make sure he doesn’t disturb Ava while she’s working. He tries to stifle the rage he feels while he paints over the graffiti on her front door. Anger at the people in this city, but mostly anger at himself, because was he any better than them?

“Oh.” The sound of her voice startles him and he peaks around the door to look at her, “I thought you’d left.” She looks around, sees the fixed window and the alarm system still in its box, “How much do I owe you for all of this?”

He frowns, “I don’t want your money.”

“Aaron, I can’t let you pay for all of this.”

“It’s already done.” He says with a small smile, “Look, I know you hate owing people, but this isn’t that. I just want to help you. And I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to the gun range with me tomorrow after the hearing. To teach you how to shoot.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, “Let’s go tonight.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Don’t you have to prep?”

“I had already prepped before I got shot.” She shrugs, “Most of it will be your testimony anyway and you’re a pro, so.”

He smirks, “Are you admitting that I’m actually good at something?”

She actually cracks a smile, “Oh, please, Aaron. You don’t need me to fuel your gigantic ego.”

His grin widens, “Well, let me just install the alarm system and then we can go.”

***

When they get to the gun range Ava finds herself unable to stop her hands from shaking.

“Ava?” Aaron turns to look at her when he notices she’s not following.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

His warm brown eyes search her face and she remembers that look. Even before he was a profiler, he’d naturally been able to read her mood, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She’d never been able to lie to him, even about trivial things, like a surprise party she’d thrown him or a date she’d planned. “Yes.” He says finally, “But only if I absolutely had to.”

She slowly shakes her head, “I don’t know if I could do that. Not even with my own life hanging in the balance.”

He looks down at his feet for a moment and then back up, “You’d be surprised how your body will react when faced with death. You’re not making a decision to end another’s life, you’re making the decision to save your own.” She looks away from him and starts picking at the skin around her thumb nail. He gently takes her hands into his own to stop her from breaking skin and her eyes meet his again. “Just let me teach you how. There’s no harm in learning. And if I teach you well enough, you’ll be able to shoot in a way to injure instead of kill whenever possible.”

“Okay.” She says softly.

He brings his hand up to caress her cheek lightly, something he used to do a lot when they were dating, knowing that she found his touch soothing. “You can do this.” He says now, slowly dropping his hand to hold hers again. She nods and he lightly tugs on her hand to start walking again.

“The three things you need to remember,” Aaron starts as you both put on the goggles and earmuffs, “Are front site, trigger press, and follow through. Focus on your front site, not the target.” He points to the front site on the gun, “Second, trigger press, self explanatory. And three, follow through, after the shot keep the gun on the target.” He bends down and pulls up his pant leg slightly, revealing a gun at his ankle.

“You carry two guns?” She asks.

“I like to be prepared.” He hands the gun that he pulls out of his ankle holster to her, “You can borrow it today.” He quickly goes over the basic mechanics of the gun, the safety, the trigger, loading and unloading the magazine. Once she’s able to label all the parts of the gun for him, release and load the magazine without his help, he shows her how to shoot. Taking the gun off his hip. She watches him as he lifts the gun and reiterates the steps to her before firing off three bullets in quick succession, all striking the paper target ahead of them right in the head.

He gestures for her to step in front of him and she hates herself for how hyper aware she is of his presence behind her. Lightly, he puts a hand under one of her wrists and lifts as she clutches the gun. “Front site, trigger press, follow through.” He reminds her and then drops his hand. She immediately feels vulnerable, but repeats his words in her head again. Looks to the front site, pulls the trigger, and does her best to keep her hands steady until she’s sure the bullet has torn through the target.

“Not bad.” He says, looking at where the bullet had landed, just on the edge of the target’s abdomen. “How’d that feel?”

Pushing the safety back into place, she puts the gun down and steps away, “Um, weirdly comfortable.”

He grins, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Feels wrong.”

“I know,” He says, “But you’re learning for safety, not because you want to hurt anyone. You have to remember that.” She’s still staring at the target, but he can’t take his eyes off her. “Try again.”

Her smile is shaky when she looks back at him, but she steps back up all the same, picking up the gun again. “Front site,” She murmurs to herself, “Trigger press,” The gun pops, “Follow through.” When she drops the gun again, she sees the hole she made right in the middle of the target’s abdomen.

Aaron lets out a low whistle, “That’s impressive, ba–” He catches himself before calling her “babe,” but she still hears it. “Nice shot.” He finishes instead.

She glances his way, but he refuses to meet her eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment. She wants to tell him not to be embarrassed, that she wishes he would call her babe. And then she feels crazy for thinking that so she picks up the gun again.

***

“You ready?” It’s the next morning. Aaron had dropped her off back at home the night before, showing her how the new alarm system worked before reluctantly leaving her alone. Now she stands in front of him, briefcase in hand outside the courtroom.

“I should be asking you that.” He says.

She shrugs, “You’ve done this before and your testimony is solid, I’m not worried.”

“Are you okay being here again?”

Her face darkens, “I’m fine.” She says sharply, though he can read it all over her face that she’s not.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He says softly.

He thinks her eyes are shining, but she looks away too quickly. “I’ll see you in there.” She says and then she’s gone.

He’s called in soon after and he concentrates on the sound of Ava’s voice as she asks him the questions they’ve rehearsed dozens of times. He tells the court that he believes Jason is innocent and that there is a serial killer still on the loose. Ava rests, sitting back down next to Jason, and then it’s time for the cross. Aaron recognizes the prosecutor, a man who had called him several times since seeing his name on the defense’s witness list. He had answered the call once and explained his side before hanging up, ignoring the prosecutor’s desperate plea that he not do this. He let all further calls go to voicemail.

“Agent Hotchner, how long have you been with the BAU?”

“About thirteen years, I believe.”

“And you’ve testified in many court cases since then, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“And in that time, have you ever testified on behalf of the defense?”

He pauses, “No, I suppose I haven’t.”

“So why this case?”

Aaron frowns, “I thought I had already made it clear that I was here to clear the name of an innocent man.”

“And why do you believe that the defendant is innocent?”

“Objection,” Ava says tiredly, “Your honor, we already went through all of this, if the prosecution doesn’t have anything new to add we can let Agent Hotchner go.”

“Withdrawn.” The prosecution says before the judge can respond, “How did you get involved in this case, agent?”

“The defense had done some research on profiles and believed that the profile of these killings did not match the defendant. She contacted me as I am the Unit Chief of the BAU. We talked about the case, I drew up a profile for her and confirmed that it didn’t match the defendant.”

“Was this the first time you had met the defense?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes, “I’m sorry… I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Fine, I’ll make it more simple for you, are you and Ms. Wilmington romantically involved?”

The court erupts in whispers, Ava’s staring at him dumbfounded before standing, “Objection,” She says, “Relevance?”

“Your honor, I think it’s relevant to know whether the defense is sleeping with her witness, don’t you?”

“Order,” The judge says, banging the gavel, “Everyone settle down. The prosecution may proceed.”

Ava looked like she wanted to use that gavel to beat the judge’s head in, but she set her jaw and sat back down.

“No.” Aaron said firmly, “Ms. Wilmington and I are not romantically involved.”

The prosecutor pauses, “I’d like to remind you that you’re under oath, Agent Hotchner.”

“And I’ve answered the question honestly and to the best of my ability.”

“I’ll rephrase then, have you and Ms. Wilmington ever been romantically involved?”

He can feel Ava staring at him, practically begging him to lie, but he won’t compromise his integrity. The fact that they had once been romantically involved had nothing to do with this case or what he believed about the defendant, and he would prove it. “Yes, we were, we ended our relationship fifteen years ago.”

“And did you keep in contact with Ms. Wilmington after the relationship ended?”

“No. I hadn’t spoken to her again until she contacted me about this case.”

The prosecutor nodded, “And you don’t think having a previous relationship with Ms. Wilmington affected your profile? Maybe you wanted to help out an old lover, no one would blame you for that.”

Aaron hated having to air out his personal laundry for a whole courtroom to see, especially on such a high profile case, but he knew if he wanted to save this case he’d have to be honest. Brutally honest.

“The problem with that theory, Mr. Dremel, is that the relationship with Ms. Wilmington and I ended badly. We hadn’t spoken because I did not wish to speak to her. Because I thought, like a lot of other people in this city, that Ms. Wilmington was immoral, setting humanity’s worst free to commit the worst atrocities we can imagine. So when she called me I immediately shut it down. I didn’t want to help her set another murderer free. But she begged me to look over the files, and I did, if only to prove her wrong one last time. But she was right and I stand by the fact that Jason Bajaj did not commit these murders. If anything, your questions only affirm my integrity rather than denounce it. I wanted the profile to lead to Jason Bajaj. It didn’t.”

Whispers slowly rise in the court as Aaron finishes his statement, the prosecutor staring at him blankly. He assumes he caught the prosecutor off guard, it was clever to assume Aaron would be biased when building the profile given his and Ava’s previous relationship. He might have tried the same tactic as a prosecutor. But it wasn’t the truth. When he glances over at Ava, she’s urgently whispering to Jason.

Finally, the prosecutor sighs, “No further questions.”

***

“Aaron?” He turns at the sound of his name, Ava stands there, looking nervous. She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and licks her lips, “Would you want to have a beer with me? At my place?”

He pauses, “I can send an agent over if you’re worried about being alone.”

“No, I…” She shakes her head, “I just wanted to thank you for saving the case.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I only told the truth. We both know he only pulled that up there because you’re a woman and if you were a male attorney he never would have considered that line of questioning.”

“I know, and I know the judge hasn’t decided yet, but if we win I know it will be because of you.” She sighs and looks down at her feet, “Please just come have a beer with me, being this nice to you while sober is making me nauseous.”

He chuckles, “Okay, I’ll follow you in my car.”

***

He can’t explain the sense of relief he feels to see her walk in her home and disable the alarm before it dials emergency services. He watches her kick off her shoes, shed her blazer, and pad delicately over to the fridge where she grabs a couple beers. She takes the bottle opener out of a drawer, uncaps both beers, and then hands one to him as she wordlessly sits on the kitchen floor. He smiles to himself before also lowering himself to sit next to her, reveling in the nostalgia he feels sitting on the floor next to her like this.

“I thought you only sit on the kitchen floor when you’re sad.” He says.

“Well, I am sad.”

He frowns, “Why? You almost certainly just won one of your biggest cases.”

She takes a sip of her beer, “Because soon I won’t have an excuse to call you anymore.”

He huffs a laugh through his nostrils, “Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“You didn’t really think you could get rid of me again that easily, did you?”

“Mmm,” She hums, “Well, it was even easier the first time, so.”

“Ouch.” He murmurs, and knocks back some of his beer.

She’s silent for a few moments. “Do you think,” She starts again, “Do you think that the real reason you left me was because you were afraid of committing to me fully?”

He sighs, “There were a lot of reasons and at the time they all seemed rational to me. And yes, I’m sure that was one of them. I don’t think I fully believed that you would still love me if I was truly vulnerable, no matter how much you told me otherwise. But no, Ava, most of it really was that I was just an asshole.”

“Are you still an asshole?”

He looks at her, wondering if she’s really asking what he thinks she’s asking. She won’t meet his eyes and is peeling at the label on the bottle.

“I’m doing my best not to be.” He says finally and she looks back at him.

After a few moments of staring at each other, she places the beer bottle on the floor and straddles his hips, lightly placing her hands on his shoulders, “What are you doing?” He whispers.

Instead of responding, she slowly brings her face to his. He nearly holds his breath at her closeness, terrified that if he moves too quickly, she’ll go away again. Slowly, so slowly it feels like torture, she brings her lips to his. He thinks she has to know the way the taste of her is his undoing. His hands shake as he brings them to her back to pull her just a bit closer. Her breath hitches at his touch and he wonders if she’s coming undone as well.

After a few moments, she pulls away and his mouth follows her, but he hits only air, “I’m sorry.” She says breathlessly, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t,” He says, and he’s also trying to catch his breath, “Don’t take it back, please.”

Her eyes are darting all around and her lower lip is starting to wobble and she looks frantically from his shaking hands up to his face and back down again, “Are you okay?” He asks slowly. She used to have panic attacks when they were in law school and he still remembers how she used to look, the signs she’d give him. She doesn’t answer him now, but he can see her breathing rapidly increase and without giving himself time to think about it, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest.

Ava doesn’t fight him, but she doesn’t hug him back. He remembers that she used to like pressure when she was feeling anxious so he squeezes her lightly every so often, keeping his arms tight around her until her breathing slows again. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He says gently, “I can leave if you’d like.”

“No, no.” She says quickly and finally wraps her arms back around him, “Stay. If you don’t mind.” She buries her face in his neck and he feels as if he could burst into flames. This was all he wanted. She was all he wanted.

“I’ll stay.” He says and tightens his arms around her. They sit on the floor like this for a long time, neither wanting to break their embrace. Eventually, her arms loosen and her breathing evens out. He smiles to himself knowing she feels safe enough with him to fall asleep in his arms like this. Doing his best not to wake her, he carefully stands with her in his arms.

Ava groans a little, but doesn’t fully wake as he walks down the hallway to her bedroom. He manages to pull the sheets back and place her under them before she starts blinking up at him, “Did I fall asleep on you?”

He smiles, “Yeah.”

She swallows, “Can you hold me while I sleep?” She looks away from him, seemingly embarrassed, “The last week or so, the only time I really slept was when we fell asleep on your couch.”

“Sure,” He says, and he’s sure she must hear the way his voice breaks a little. He climbs into bed with her and pulls her to his chest. She’s asleep again almost instantly, her slow breaths turning into soft snores. He smiles a bit to himself, reveling in the fact that she’s so close to being his again. He can’t let her go.

***

Waking in Aaron’s arms is a trippy feeling, to say the least. Her first instinct is to absolutely freak out and push him away, but she manages to slowly breathe through that and push the thought away. He had stayed. He had come for her and despite her best efforts to push him away, here he still was. He still wanted another shot.

And then her phone rings and she’s pulled from him, her thoughts of love and romance clear as she sees it’s a work call.

“Wilmington.” She answers, “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“What is it?” Aaron asks groggily as she hangs up the phone.

“The judge has made a decision. I have to go.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” She says quickly, too quickly. She turns to see a flash of hurt on his face, “You can stay here if you want, but you can’t come.”

“I don’t understand.” He says slowly.

“After yesterday, the cross from the prosecutor… Do you understand how that would look if we arrived together today after leaving together yesterday? I can’t risk that.”

She flits around the room, hurriedly getting dressed, putting earrings in, conscious of the way he’s watching her, “Ava,” He says slowly, “Why did you kiss me last night?”

“Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” And for the first time since they met again, she hears anger in his voice.

She stops what she’s doing to look at him, “I have to go.” She says firmly.

“Fine.” He says, “I won’t be here when you get back.”

“Aaron–”

“I understand that I hurt you in ways that I will regret for the rest of my life, but I didn’t take you to be intentionally cruel, stringing me along like a lovesick puppy.”

“I’m not–”

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I still have feelings for you. You ask me here. You all but tell me you’ll miss me when the case is over. You kiss me. You fall asleep in my arms. And now you act like nothing’s changed. You give me hope and then you strip it away and now you’re looking at me like I’m crazy. Like I’ve somehow misunderstood.”

She looks down and away from him, “You’re not crazy and you haven’t misunderstood anything. But after yesterday… That line of questioning… If we get a new trial, I’ll need you again. You and your team. Aaron, if anyone were to find out it would look like you lied under oath. You could lose everything. We both could.”

He knew, logically, that she was right, but logic went out the window when it came to her and he found himself angry that she was capable of thinking that way when he couldn’t. “So what are you saying? You kiss me and that’s it? We can never be together?”

“No, I… Just until Jason’s out.”

“That could be years.”

She looks at him hopelessly and reaches out for his hand, but he snatches it away, “Aaron,” She says and the hurt in her voice and on her face is nearly too much for him to bear. “I want this.” She says fiercely, “I want you. I thought that was what you wanted.”

His phone rings before he can respond and he sees that it’s JJ, “I have to get to work.” He says coldly and looks away from her, gathering his things that are scattered around her room.

“We’re not going to talk about this?”

“You said you had to go.”

“I do, but…”

Her voice trails off and he ignores it. He’s punishing her, maybe unfairly, but he’s angry. He’s tired of things coming between them, of having to put their jobs first. It was their careers that got in the way the first time and here it was again, collapsing the bridge they had built between them.

“Aaron, please, don’t leave like this.”

She had been so sweet and vulnerable the last 24 hours, it reminded him so strongly of the girl he knew fifteen years ago. His phone rings again and he sends it to voicemail. “I’ll call you later.” He says brusquely and brushes past her.

***

When she hears the front door shut behind him, she stares up at the ceiling, doing her best to breathe deeply and keep the tears at bay. Once she felt certain she wouldn’t cry, she got ready for court, pushing thoughts of Aaron to the back of her mind. She promised herself she could let herself fall apart after the work day was done, but she had to get through the judge’s decision.

tag list: @justine-en @hotchwhore15 @writingmeow29 @mintphoenix @themoontoyourshine @art-and-thoughts @ivebeenthinkingboutu @averyhotchner @forestliz @kelstark @shawnsblue

if you want to be added to the taglist simply reply below (:

#mine #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #hotch fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch angst #hotch fluff #hotch x oc

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leupagus · 3 years

Text

It's the Mileage pt. 3, aka seriously Zach can't catch a break

More from the Twink Nightingale Verse (Nightentwink? Twinkengale?) because I'm waiting on betas for my next It's Complicated chapter and I might as well write this scene that I've been imagining in some form or another since Peter mentioned it back in The Hanging Tree:

Another problem I’d started to notice was how Tommy would sort of… randomly not be able to do the job. Or if he did, the consequences were so catastrophic that I had to do everything, anyway.

It wasn’t laziness, whatever you might think about the aristocracy (he swears up and down to this day that he’s not any sort of a minor duke or anything, but I’m understandably suspicious). It was flat out just — well, it was weird, is what it was.

The first time it happened was a couple months into our probation. We’d been called to deal with some sort of argy-bargy at a pub near St. James’s (or maybe St. James’, I can never remember the rules about the apostrophe), but once we’d arrived Tommy had balked like a scandalised goat.

'I can’t go in,' he said.

'I… think you’ll find you can,' I said. I could hear shouting and, worse yet, I couldn’t hear music. Usually they only cut the sound once the fighting has progressed to things that involve words like 'contusions.' I wanted to avoid contusions, but that wasn’t going to happen if Tommy was about to reveal a sudden-onset phobia of belligerent drunks.

'Yes, I suppose I can, but it would be an extremely bad idea for me to do so,' he said, with the kind of rapid-fire clipped speech that I already recognised as him being nervous about something.

'It’s a bunch of chavs having a bad Friday night.' Somewhere in the pub a glass broke. 'Or a bad Tuesday night,' I amended. 'I promise to beat up anyone who has a go at you.'

'No one will make any such attempt, of that I can assure you,' he said, fiddling with his shirt cuffs — he wore the standard uniform shirt, but he’d gotten them altered so that they could take cufflinks, which by the time I noticed, didn’t surprise me. 'Kay, please trust me when I say that you would be far better off going in there by yourself.' And he lifted his chin to show that he really meant it.

The thing about Tommy, though, is that he folds like wet cardboard if you give him any kind of pleading look. I hadn’t asked but I’d reckoned that he was the youngest of his family. Older siblings catch wise to this kind of emotional manipulation.

So he came down with me after all. It was the worst kind of fight, the kind where two people are sincerely trying to kill each other and the crowd’s egging them on. I started wading through, tossing spectators out of the way so I could get to the two in the centre. One of them was a skinny ginger arsehole with, of course, a broken bottle in his hand; the other was a short squat guy with his hair in unflattering cornrows, holding a crowbar. I didn’t really fancy getting in between them, but the stab vest has gone from stab-resistant to stab-proof in the past few years, and most of your run-of-the-mill drunken sots don’t know where the gaps are.

Still, I thought I’d try some vocal calming techniques first. 'Oi!' I bellowed. 'Put the fucking weapons down!'

I’m used to people shouting back at me, or even taking a swing. But neither of them even seemed to notice. Nor did the audience; the people I’d pushed out of the way had swarmed back, and I was swallowed up into the crowd. Not just figuratively, either; I felt like I was being consumed. Violence and blood and fear and excitement — I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, in the stutter of my heart. The fighters were closing with each other again, ready to strike, and I had to watch, I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but wait for it—

'Drop your weapons,' came a voice from behind me. 'Now.'

To be fair, they did — not just the fighters, but everyone in the pub, a clattering rainstorm of knives and blunt instruments and several firearms which, thank fuck, didn’t go off. I almost dropped my fucking baton before realising that the voice must’ve been Tommy’s, even though it hadn’t exactly sounded like him.

There was a pause while the crowd, the fighters, the bartender, everyone turned toward Tommy, stood still in the doorway. He wasn’t doing anything, just standing there, but the whole pub backed up a step.

And then another, and then they fucking stampeded out toward the back of the pub, knocking over tables and chairs and smaller patrons. There was yelling and a few screams and someone shouted 'the nightingale!' Then they were gone, like water down the tub drain. I could almost hear the faint sucking sound as the last of them scrambled off.

I hadn’t managed to grab hold of a single one of them, but I noticed the bartender was still here, glaring daggers at Tommy with his arms over his chest. He was another skinny guy, in his mid-forties maybe, the kind who never learned to sit still and so had made a career out of being high-strung and twitchy.

'Ten years,' he squawked, flailing his hands as he came out from around the bar. ’Ten years and not so much as a fucking postcard, you know there was a dead pool going round? And now I’m out of pocket five grand because you wanted to make an impression?'

'Dead pool?' asked Tommy, with the sort of polite interest he usually uses when he’s pretending to listen to our governor talk about his beagles.

The bartender wagged his finger in Tommy’s face. 'You tell your boyfriend that I’m putting all of this on his tab, all right?'

'We are not romantically involved, regardless of whatever rumours you and Stephen put about,' said Tommy. 'And if you want to bill the — police, you’re always welcome to open a small claims dispute with the Department of Professional Standards. However, please remember that I have a witness that can verify I merely asked that people drop their weapons.'

The bartender looked around and seemed to notice me for the first time. Which was a new experience for me, I’ll admit. I tend to get noticed right off. 'Oh — oh,' he said, and gave me a broad smile. 'Well, hello there, darling.'

'Zach,' and now Tommy’s voice sounded different, a bit like before but not exactly. It worked, though; the bartender gave a huff and went off to, I guessed, find a broom.

'Who’s that?' I asked, once he was out of earshot. 'And what was he talking about, ten years?'

'That,' he said, 'Is Zachary Palmer. An old friend of the family, I suppose you’d say,' He gazed after him for a few moments before turning back to me. 'So — what is a dead pool? I thought it was a comic book character or a film or some such.'

'You’re like the world’s shittiest time traveller,' I complained. Later on, Tommy would do some tests to see if I had some sort of clairvoyance ability or something. Jury’s still out, but I think mostly he was just pissed off that I’d managed such a sick burn without even knowing it.

#rivers of london #ficcage of interest #it's the mileage #this story feels like the ultimate 'have little a twink verse as a treat' meme #fuck me I can do magic

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magalidragon · 3 years

Text

So this is in response to a prompt ask I got awhile back from @freesoulladyaic— they requested beauty underneath and I am not sure exactly what but I think there was a mixup for which prompt list and number was requested so I went with the one I thought made most sense I hope you don’t mind and so sorry it has been so long! Enjoy!

Prompt: “I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too.”

"Fuck!"

"Language."

Jon looked up from where he'd stabbed his thumb with a pin, a series of them stuck between his lips. He made a face at his wife, who was on the other side of the room, working on another dress form. He lifted up the yards of shades of red soft organza and tulle, which he'd been alternating in a macrame styling on the bodice of the gown. He'd been pinning them to the waist, already marked on the form. It was giving it a very ethereal look, but with the deep colors, indicative of the Targaryen crest, the overlay looked equal parts ash and fire.

He finished off the bodice, taking the remaining pins from his mouth, and turned the form, frowning at the back, where he wanted to make the two straps criss-crossing from shoulder to waist thicker, both in black. The red was just the detailing. He pursed his lips, contemplating how best to achieve this, and felt eyes on him. He lifted his, meeting Dany's gaze across the studio. He smirked. "What?"

"You're so focused, so intense." She licked her lips, arching her brow teasingly. She purred, "You know what that does to me."

"Keep it in your pants, we've got dresses to finish."

"Hmm, the auteur himself, Jon Snow, working on his creation." She sauntered over, in her long black housecoat, which she wore when working, her feet bare on the hardwood and jeans rolled at the cuffs. Her hair was bound up in a scarf, kept from her eyes while she worked. It was a decidedly unsexy look, measuring tape over her shoulder, pincushion strapped to her wrist and her pockets heavy with thread and a little set of scissors tucked into a brace on her other wrist, like she was some sort of sewing superhero.

He smirked up at her, the stool he was on swiveling over to her. "Well I promised the client that I would have my best men on it." He puffed his chest. "And that happens to be me."

"Funny, I thought I was the client."

"You are, what do you think so far?" He chewed his bottom lip, studying her face as she perused the fabric draped and pinned to the form. He pretended like her opinion meant nothing to him, but in reality it was the only one that mattered. If there was even a hint of dislike, he'd destroy the entire thing and start again. It worked both ways.

She trailed a finger along the macrame detailing, the straps across the back, and lifted up the tulle strewn along the floor. On the table he had sketches of the design, fabric samples pinned to a board on an easel, and at least one of the leather leggings he'd been sewing to go underneath. While she studied everything, he got up, too nervous to watch her, and went into the adjoining office, picking up his vape.

Clamping his lips around it, he puffed, holding it in his mouth like a 'binkie' as Dany teased him, and picked up some sales reports, flicking through the assessments from their CFO. They'd poached Willas Tyrell from his grandmother, mostly because he was bored with the steadiness of the established company and wanted something new. He was brilliant, had taken their sales higher than even Jon had imagined-- and that was pretty far.

Dragonwolf had become the most sought after couture house in Westeros, while he transitioned L.Stark into an upscale ready-to-wear line, headed by Sansa. Dany still maintained her CEO position over Dracarys, but Missandei had taken over as creative director. It afforded him more time, he'd discovered, to do the things he really enjoyed doing.

Hanging out with Ghost, coming up with new creations, and Dany, not necessarily in that order.

He sucked down the fake smoke from the vape, tricking his brain it was actually a real cigarette, the action habitual and relaxing his nerves. He sank into his chair, glancing at the photo of his mother he kept on the edge of the desk, smiling briefly at the image of her laughing, arms around him as he was wrapped up in fabric from playing in her studio. His gaze darted to the image right beside it, of Dany in the same pose, hugging him after she had wrapped him up in fabric too. It was in the same place, the same location he'd just come from, their private studio in the old townhome in Winterfell.

The vape still between his lips, he moved to the window, cranking it open and blowing smoke into the nighttime air, glancing towards the castle up on the hill. The dresses were for the annual Winter's Eve Gala event, something of a who's who in the zoo of the Westerosi peerage and entertainment industry. It was a chance for the Starks to show off the castle, everyone to arrive dripping in icy couture and jewels, and pretend like they gave a shit about the lesser people among them. There would be a famous silent auction, fundraising for the Lyanna Stark Memorial Fund-- which was incredibly important to his heart-- along with an award that would honor someone who had contributed significantly to Lyanna's chosen cause-- orphaned children.

But the thing people seemed to care most about was what everyone would be wearing.

He was making Dany's dress and she was making a dress for a new young actress as well as the young cousin of her friend Ser Jorah Mormont. Lyanna Mormont was a Lady, technically, but you wouldn't know it. She was a pistol. This would be her first big event after her first movie had hit the scene, garnering her immediate raves and attention. It was a big deal for her to be getting a chance to wear a Dracarys creation, especially handmade by Dany herself, but it was the least Dany said she could do for the young girl who made her smile and laugh every single time she encountered her.

Jon finished his vape, returning to the studio, and found Dany back to work on Lyanna's dress. There were no notes left for him, so he continued to work, both of them silent. He kept at it, accepting her kiss and murmured "don't stay up too late" with a distracted nod, remaining at his station into the night. He pinned and draped and sewed, every stitch even, like his mother taught him.

Around two in the morning, his eyes burned, but he leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, and Ghost under his legs, fast asleep. He was working on the leggings, finding hand-sewing leather to actually be a relaxing task. It was soft in his hands, buttery almost, and he likened it to his mother, watching her work on making her own riding clothes. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and pulled on thread, slipping it in and out, until his eyes drooped further and further, until he was fast asleep.

The suit he'd chosen to wear was one of Dany's. The irony of L.Stark by Jon Snow, award winning and bestselling couture men's designer wearing a suit from anyone but his own line, especially Dracarys. It was something he never would have thought possible two years ago when they were at the height of their hatred for each other. Nay, he corrected himself, it wasn't hating, it was unresolved tension, best resolved by the explosion most everyone witnessed at the MET gala.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror, smoothing the velvet brocade over his chest, eyeing Ghost, who looked like he wanted to run up to him. He pointed his finger, warning. "No way. This is black velvet. I'll never get your fur out."

Ghost wagged his tail, thankfully staying put on the bed.

Indeed, it was an incredibly comfortable and finely detailed suit, black silk tie with matching black velvet brocade along it-- if you got close enough you could see it was wolves and dragons running and tangling throughout, swirls of flames and snow following them. That was a hallmark of Dany-- her ability to tell stories with her designs and the intricacies of her attention to detail.

He left their room, knowing she was elsewhere in the suite at Winterfell, where they'd deigned to stay that evening to prepare for the event. He thought it a little silly; they would have to pretend to "leave" just to "arrive" at the same location and walk up the icy blue carpet with photographers.

Price they paid, he supposed, for business.

He left the suite, taking his time down the set of stone stairs spiraling down from their sitting and bedroom areas, into a receiving hall. Davos was already waiting, their constant taskmaster, and he had Satin floating about somewhere. "Where's Arya?" he asked.

"I believe she said and I quote 'fuck this shit, I'm not going.'"

He snorted, fixing his cufflinks. "Sounds about right."

Davos checked his watch. "I'll go check on the car."

"Stupid Davos, this is stupid."

"It's just a whip around the block." Davos nodded, signing, resigned. "Although aye, it is stupid."

"What's stupid?"

Jon heard Dany's voice before he saw her, and turned, looking up the stairs to where she was at the top, waiting for him. He gaped, mute, and jaw dropping the moment his eyes rested on her form. It took his brain a second to catch up with his body, which was already responding in kind, and another second for his voice to return.

He choked, watching her smirk at him, knowing exactly how she appeared and what she was doing. Especially with the slow descent she took, every step tiny, allowing the full effect of her appearance to settle. He could not believe it.

It was one thing to see a dress on paper, another in progress, and even the final version on the form or on a model down the runway.

It was another when it was on the person who inspired it, who it was meant for, from the first sketch to the final stitch.

Dany floated down the stairs, the dress whispering around her, the crimson and black rippling through the soft tulle. It gave her a fairy-like appearance, but it was the black macrame, the black strappy heels on her feet, and her black fingernails, leather leggings, and crimson lips that warned eveyrone she was no simpering little thing. She would burn you alive.

The skirt floated about her and she had topped it off with the see-through tulle gloves he'd made at the last minute. Her silver tresses were spun in a complicated braided style, mountains of them criss-crossing and tangling in a crown about her head.

Someone asked her once why she always wore her hair in such intricate braids-- it had become her trademark. "When I was growing up I learned a lot about the Dothraki tradition of a braid for a victory," she explained. She had smirked. "I grew up with the Dothraki. They were my family. I have never been defeated. The braids show that."

Jon couldn't believe how gorgeous she was.

Or how lucky he happened to be.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, found his voice. "You know, I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too."

Dany beamed, her smile beatific. She offered her elbow to him, to take and lead her away to their car, but instead he lifted her hand delicately, even though that had was stronger than anyone would have thought at first look. Eyes on hers, unblinking, he dragged his fingertips up the tulle, delighting in her breathy hiss.

He dipped under the top of the glove, above her elbow, and began to peel it down, agonizingly slow. Her pupils dilated and mouth fell, her tongue darting out to nervously wet her lips. He plucked at fingers, removing the glove. With her skin bared, he stroked her forearm and then lifted her knuckles to his lips, brushing over them.

"Jon," she gasped, brows arching. "We're going to be late."

"Do you think I care?"

"It took forever to get into this dress and look like this."

He spun her into his arms, tossing the glove down, and nosed at her neck, whispering along her racing pulse. "I made the dress, I'll be careful."

"Not a word in your vocabulary."

He didn't acknowledge that, because he was kissing her. After a moment, he lifted her under her knees, hurrying her back towards the stairs, to her delighted giggles.

Occupational hazard, he thought, later when they were late, racing down the carpet instead of allowing photos taken. He made her the dresses, even though honestly, she looked good in anything. Or nothing, as the case may be.

"Dany, who are you wearing?" someone called out.

Dany shouted back. "Who do you think?"

He laughed, racing after her and not even bothering to answer the same question directed at him.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #writer prompts #fashion jonerys!

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

11 hours - part two

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: thank you guys so much for the incredible response i got to part one!! it made me so happy so thank you. let me know wha yall think of this bit, we’ve got some plot going on which i always enjoy. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one

You don’t hear from Bucky for a while after the party. It’s disappointing - you’re self-aware enough to admit that. But you also aren’t stupid enough to expect anything else. Bucky asked you to that party as a favour, you got a one-night-only special being in his life and you’re not expecting anything else.

You had hoped it wouldn’t have impacted your nightly rendezvous, but those had stopped too. You suppose Bucky decided not to trust you after all.

Almost three weeks later and you’re at work, thoughts of Bucky barely a buzz in the back of your head compared to the job at hand. You’ve always been able to let your work consume you, and it pays off in your line of business. Being a private investigator requires attention to detail, lateral thinking, and a questionable moral compass. Your patented paranoia doesn’t hurt either. Your dad tells you every time you visit that he wishes you’d get into something more stable, something less dirty, but you’re not really good at anything else. Considering the majority of your clients are partners trying to figure out if their significant other is cheating, it also pays well for quite minimal effort.

Quick rule of thumb for aspiring PI’s: they’re almost always cheating.

Today is one of those clients. You’ve tailed the guy in question to a tattoo shop in Red Hook, which is already a red flag. He’s an investment banker and buys Louis Vuitton cufflinks for his ugly work suits. He stands out like a sore thumb in this grungy neighbourhood. You snap a few photos of him outside the store, very obviously checking left and right for a tail before entering the place. People suck at being subtle, you’ve come to realise over the years. And at being observant, because all you’ve bothered to do to hide is sit at the cafe across the road and pretend to be taking photos of the latte art on your coffee.

Entering the tattoo parlour is a no-go, even if your grunge aesthetic would fit in with the clientele more than your straight-laced prey. There are other ways, though. You leave some bills on the table and cross the street into the alley beside the tattoo shop, wrinkling your nose at the dumpster smell. There’s a fire escape which you can reach if you stand on the lid of the offensive dumpster in question, leading to a window you hope will get you some insight into what Mike Shorditch of suspected-cheating fame is up to. Maybe he has a tattooed, lip-ringed young girlfriend he meets here? Or a heavy-set biker boyfriend? Or he just wants a tattoo and his wife is as paranoid as you are.

Squeezed uncomfortably between the bars of the fire-escape, you manage to aim your camera lens at the window and zoom in - jackpot. It’s a small window near the ceiling of the high-roofed shop, letting in minimal light to ruin the dark aesthetic of the place, allowing you a somewhat clear view of the shop inside. It’s really nice, you notice, and they have good taste in music. Slowly Slowly bleeds minimally through the glass and you try focus your lens on the faces inside, catching Mike among them like a unicorn in a goth reunion. He’s talking to someone, waving his hands around dramatically while the guy he talks to towers over him, arms folded over a ginormous chest.

You know that face, you realise as you aim your lens a little higher. The shock burns, almost makes you drop your camera and fall off the fire escape you’re precariously lying on. It’s Steve, blonde head unmistakeable as he glares at your target and dismisses whatever Mike says to him with an eyeroll. Without questioning it, you snap a few photos of Steve’s imposing figure - so at odds with the friendly, downright cuddly man you met at the party a few weeks ago. Just when you thought you’d gotten rid of thoughts about that night, they show up at your work. How is this possible?

None of this sits right with you. This strange coincidence, the weird behaviour at the party towards Bucky and his friends, Bucky’s general evasiveness and the feeling you get of being watched just being around him. Nothing is adding up and you’ve never been the kind of person to leave well enough alone. You snap photos of the shop, as much as you can - Steve’s tattoo sleeve that had been hidden under a jumper at the party, the stencils lining the walls, the locks on the front door, the counter where a scrawny kid in glasses bends over what looks like genuine high-school homework and ignores the adults in the shop. There are too many variables - you have to start making sense of one of them.

The easiest thread to pull is Mike, and he’s the one you’re being paid to solve, so it makes sense to start there. Clearly it isn’t cheating his wife should be worried about, but the meeting he’s having with Steve and the others doesn’t look like a friendly catch up with friends either. His personal cybersecurity is poor enough you figure you’ll be able to solve that particular mystery easy enough.

Bucky and his friends, however? That’s going to take a bit more digging.

***

According to Mike Shoreditch’s bank records, he owes somebody a lot of money. You get this from an account his wife doesn’t even know he has, believing all their money goes into a shared account with a completely different bank. Mike has a lot of secrets but cheating isn’t one of them - the print outs of his secret bank account statements and the pictures of him at Steve’s tattoo parlour would be enough for you to close the case and get your money. But you don’t. Not just yet. You have your own itch to scratch, now.

You’ve taken to watching the tattoo shop’s comings and goings, snapping pictures here and there. Steve comes in at ten in the morning, ready to open the shop up by lunchtime for customers and doesn’t close it until midnight. His customers are the usual sort you’d imagine at a rough tattoo shop in Red Hook - heavy set guys with full sleeves and chest pieces, grungy couples who probably live upstate but are rebelling against their trust-fund parents, random walk-ins who’s nerves you can sense from across the street at what’s become your usual table. There are a few, though, who stand out. Leather jackets and motorbikes they park in the alley beside the shop, using the back entrance you snap a shot of one night once they all went home.

You’re not jumping to conclusions just yet, you’ve learnt the hard way from doing that, but you’re also not stupid. Whatever Steve is into, whatever Bucky is by association a part of, there are some shady looking people involved as well.

It’s one of those days where you’re watching the shop from the cafe, camera left on the table in favour of devouring an almond croissant and cataloguing the people you’ve now dubbed regulars at Steve’s as they enter the shop. You should probably be doing your actual job but you can’t bring yourself to, too caught up in the shady business across the street from you. Absorbed, in fact, so you practically jump out of your skin as your phone rings and you send it flying to the pavement with an errant elbow.

You pick up without checking the ID, and boy was that a mistake. Heart pounding painfully in your chest, you answer, “Hi, hello, hi, this is (Y/n) speaking,” all in a rush.

A familiar, honey-warm laugh rumbles down the phone to you and your previously racing heart all but stops beating. Bucky says, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Does he know? Had Steve caught you spying and called Bucky asking why the random girl he brought to a party that one time was stalking him? You glance around the street, half expecting Bucky to be standing behind you and catching you red-handed. He’s not, of course he’s not, you’re just losing your mind a little bit.

“No, no, sorry,” you say, running a shaky hand through your hair. “I’m at work. What’s up?”

“I won’t keep you long,” Bucky says, sounding amused, and you hate how the rough catch of his voice through the phone all but erases the suspicions you have for him, warning you to stay away. You had missed him, is all. He says, as if plucking the thought from your brain, “I was missing you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glad he can’t see the grin you send to the table. “That why you disappeared after the party?”

“Let me explain over drinks?” Bucky asks, dodging your jab with ease. No, no, no, don’t be stupid, he’s bad news and you’ve got the proof, don’t-

“You’re paying,” you say instead, silencing the smart side of your brain.

“Always do,” he says, which is blatantly not true but whatever, “Nine at Joey’s?”

“See you there,” you say, and hang up before you can do anything else stupid.

You bury your hands in your hair, leaning your elbows on the table and letting out a frustrated sound probably inappropriate for a public place. How are you going to go meet Bucky and pretend you aren’t, essentially, investigating his best friend? Maybe you don’t. Maybe you use this to get more answers, full-stop some of the question marks that have been playing havoc with your head all week.

And sex. You’re not going to pretend you won’t be ending up in Bucky’s bed again, shady secrets be damned.

***

Joey’s is a divey, underground bar you absolutely adore, and you’ve met Bucky here multiple times. He introduced you to the place, actually, a week or so into meeting up him. He’d laughed at how excited you were over the movie posters they used as decor behind the booths, the bartender who squeezed fresh apple juice into your shot of Jameson, the dirty bass-heavy music you eventually convinced him to dance with you to. Bucky is clearly trying to win you over by meeting you here, and you can’t say it’s not working. Just a little bit. You’ll still make him work for it.

Bucky’s got a booth at the back when you arrive, two whiskey apple’s already waiting on the table as he stands up to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, not letting you set the tone at all, but you can’t find it in you to mind as you’re crushed into his chest and he rests his stubbly chin atop your head. He smells nice, reminding you of spiced rum or something else warm and comforting, and his hands feel real nice as they dip under your top to press against your bare skin. Had you really missed him this much? You squeeze him tightly, ignoring the thump of your heart as he starts rubbing circles into your back, and you stand there in his arms for far too long to be appropriate.

Pulling away, though, feels like you’ve lost something.

Across the booth from you, now, Bucky slides a drink towards you with his usual cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, popping the straw in your mouth and looking out at the bar so you can pretend not to pay attention to him. He bumps your foot under the table but you ignore him, hiding your smirk in the rim of your glass.

“Doll,” he says, exasperated, and reaches across the booth to place his giant hand on the arm you have resting on the table. You look at him then, scrunching your nose up at the pet name which makes him smile. His eyes crinkle up at the sides, all soft and blurry blue, and you feel yourself forgetting why you’re supposed to be mad at him in the first place.

“What,” you say, mimicking his tone just to watch his jaw clench. His frustration is hot, what of it? You love winding him up like this.

“Brat,” he retorts, and oh, that makes you feel something you probably shouldn’t, all low and coiled hot in your belly. “Did you think I was avoiding you?”

“You were avoiding me,” you correct, raising your eyebrows at him. He hasn’t let go of your arm, now taking to rubbing his thumb back and forth across the leather of your jacket. You refuse to let it melt you.

“I was away,” he says, eyes sparkling. He’s practically laughing at you, which is- rude. You huff, barely believing him, and he says, “I was! Did you want me to tell you I was going or something?”

“No,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. You sigh - he’s right, what did you expect? Nothing, and yet you were put out anyway, but that’s a problem you’ve got to deal with on your own. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything and he knows it. You relax, finally, putting your drink down to cover Bucky’s hand with your own. You smile, say, “I’m just messing with you, Bucky.”

“Sure you are,” he says easily, but you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s dropped, then, forgotten as you sit there staring at each other in the dim light of the bar. You really had missed him, even if you still barely knew him. His stubbly jaw, the close-cropped sides of the new haircut he’d gotten since you’d last seen him, the glint of his dog togs against tanned skin disappearing under his t-shirt. The swirl of his chest piece peeking out from the neckline, and you can fill in the blanks because you’ve seen what’s under that t-shirt. You’ve traced your tongue over it, as well as every other inch of him you’re trying to memorise in case another month passed before you saw him again. If you ever saw him at all.

“What?” you ask when you realise he’s starting to smile at you, holding back a laugh. He shakes his head, looking down to pick up his drink and take a sip. You lean back, retracting yourself from his grip and folding your arms across your chest - he’s making fun of you, you know it, but you don’t know why. He does laugh then, also leaning back in his seat and regarding you with that head tilt that infuriates you.

“Nothing,” he laughs, eyes saying the opposite. “It’s just- it’s nice to see you.”

“You going soft on me, tough guy?” you tease, but he sobers at your words, the smile dying on his pillow-plump lips. He stares you down, that deep thing that reminds you how easy it is to get lost in him (if you aren’t already).

“Maybe I am,” he says, and that surprises you. You had been joking, but the heady way he’s looking at you turns it serious. “Would that bother you?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to say the right thing. You don’t even know if that’s a good response or not, but you’ve done it now and Bucky nods, downs his drink, all without ever breaking eye contact with you. You get the distinct feeling you’ve just agreed to something you don’t entirely understand, entangling yourself further into Bucky without even trying to. Given what you’d been uncovering about his friends the past week, you should know better. You should leave.

But you don’t. You lean across the booth, coming to him this time, and peel his hand off his glass to entwine your fingers with his. The cool metal of his signet rings offsets the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way he grips your fingers tightly signs the deal. Bucky is too enticing to stay away from, and you are too tired of trying to.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you ask, but it’s not really a question. You watch his eyes dart across your face, tongue flicking out over his lips, stalling for time. You wonder what he’ll say. My friends run dodgy business deals out of a tattoo parlour? I’m involved in that, too? I’m dangerous, I’m a liar, you should stay away?

“I’m a mechanic,” he says. You try not to show your disappointment, but still, this is information you didn’t have before and you’re greedy for anything. “I have my own shop in Queens. Natasha helps me out, helps me run it. I’ve been obsessed with cars and bikes and shit since I was five.”

You smile at that, imaging little Bucky running around a car yard trying to convince his dad, or whoever, to teach him how to drive even if he couldn’t reach the pedals yet. You imagine him now, the hand you’re holding all greased up and elbow deep in a car’s guts, maybe with his shirt off and sweat dripping down his back. You’ve got to see that one day before you die, you decide right then. That’s too hot to just stay in your brain.

“Your turn,” he says, shit-eating smirk in place like he can read your mind. You blush, despite yourself, and scramble for something to say that’s not I’ve been investigating your friends all week and it’s not looking too good for them.

“My dad,” you blurt out, and Bucky give you a funny look like he thinks that’s your fact - you have a dad, isn’t that something. You curse yourself for starting this, you could’ve gone with anything and you said ‘my dad’? But you’re here now, so, “He raised me on his own, like, I don’t know my mum at all, but he always said he wanted me to have something of her so he taught me Russian. She taught him, apparently, and he taught her English. Now it’s like our secret language.”

“Russian, hey?” Bucky asks, and he seems far too surprised for the anecdote you’ve just given but you suppose it is the first actually personal thing you’ve told him. He doesn’t seem off-put by it, though, like you have expected him to be because you don’t do personal. In fact he just leans closer, almost unconsciously, baiting you to tell him more.

“Yeah,” you say, compelled to keep going. “We’d leave each other notes around the house in ‘code’, y’know, but it was just in Cyrillic. Thought it was so cool.”

“It is cool,” Bucky says, smirking at you again, “You’re cool.”

“Fuck you,” you laugh, kicking his ankle under the table but immeasurably grateful for the tone change. You don’t know why you’ve just told him that. You don’t know if you’ve ever told anyone that - Russian isn’t exactly a handy language to know. You feel drunker than you should be after a tiny bit of whiskey, high on the rush of unleashing a secret. Drunk enough that Bucky unlatching his fingers from yours to grip your wrist tight, a bit bruising, tugging you close, makes you flush from your scalp to your toes.

Bucky looks at you, dark and heavy, and asks, “Want to?”

You nod, throat suddenly very dry, and Bucky tugs you out of the booth without another word. Usually you wait a bit longer before getting on Bucky’s bike, have a few more drinks, maybe dance a bit if you can coax Bucky into it. Not tonight. You’re both on the same page - it’s been too long and you need his mouth on you about five days ago.

He pushes you into the apartment by the shoulders, rough enough you stumble but you’re quickly righted as he strides through the door after you and grabs you by the hips. Bucky crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your needy whine with soft lips and velvet tongue as you fist his t-shirt and drag you both backwards, going and going until your back hits a wall. His palm slams into the drywall by your head but you don’t flinch, only groan as he smudges his spit-slick mouth across your jaw and down your neck. Bucky bites down, sharp teeth on soft skin, and you rake your nails down his stomach as payback for the mark you’ll have later.

“Off,” Bucky grumbles as he shoves at your jacket, getting it stuck at your elbows and trapping your arms by your sides. He seems to like like this, eyes flashing something dangerous in the dark of his hallway. You hold his eyes, heart thrumming something wild in your throat at being caught, pinned, vulnerable. With Bucky, though, you like that.

You want to reach for him but you can’t, so you wait for him to come to you. Kissing you breathless, hand fisted in your hair, other undoing the front of your jeans. God, you wanna touch him so bad but Bucky has you in his grip, yanking your head back to kiss that same bruised spot. He sucks another under your chin as you cry out, pinpricks of pain-turned-pleasure bursting at the base of your scalp.

He gets his hand in your jeans, in your panties, runs two fingers down your cunt so easy with how wet you are already before rubbing bruising, slow circles on your clit. Your whole body jerks against Bucky’s hold on you, his thighs bracketing your body into the wall and his hand still fisted in your hair. Your mouth drops open in a soundless moan and you feel, rather than hear Bucky laugh against your throat. All executive function has diverted to the radiating ache of pure pleasure from Bucky’s fingers on you.

Bucky lets go of you hair only to press his hand on your throat, cold rings digging into your burnt-up skin and pressing you back into the wall. Long fingers tilt your jaw to look at him, increased pressure warning you against looking away, but you don’t want to anyway. Bucky’s eyes are dark like a sea storm, molten blue, and he squeezes his grip just once before saying, “Still think I’ve gone soft?”

Jesus christ, but you can’t answer him like this - not with your pulse thundering against his palm and the way he picks up the pace on your clit, making your thighs shake with the effort of holding yourself up. Bucky grins, boyish and crinkly, and it’s so at odds with the way he slides his two fingers down and pushes into you, twisting to the knuckle, that you think you might be losing your mind. Unravelling, Bucky pulling at the threads, and the only thing holding you together is his hand on your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, his name a broken breath as you start to lose focus. Everything’s hazy, glassy, your toes are going numb and tingly so you know it’s coming, building tight in your stomach as he rubs his fingers back and forth inside of you. At his name Bucky makes a sound almost like a growl, pressing his body against yours and somehow further into the wall. You need that contact, the press of his muscles holding you up as it gets harder and harder to breath with the heat coiling up inside of you. He presses his forehead against yours so all you can see is blue edged out by black, claiming your every breath and moan, drawing you in deeper and deeper because you’re his, now. There’s no way back from this.

He presses his thumb to your clit, thrusts his fingers deeper into you, mouth parting with yours as you moan as if he means to swallow the sound. You’re there, you’re right there, and then he kisses you so soft you might’ve imagined it and you’re coming, your whole body clenching up and whiting out while he finger fucks you through it.

Trembling muscles come to leant against the wall, barely holding yourself up as Bucky extricates himself and allows you room to breath. He gently tugs your jacket all the way off, freeing your arms to come up sluggish and heavy around his neck, holding on. He laughs, just quietly, letting you nuzzle your way into the side of his neck and breath in that warm honey Bucky smell as you try and regain mental functions. It’s hard. You think Bucky’s just blended up your brain with a swizzle stuck and sucked it out through a straw.

“C’mon,” he says, gravel rough, and nudges his nose against the side of your head. “Not done with you yet.”

“Hmph,” you say, but let yourself be picked up under the ass and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck you can reach with every second your body comes back online, digging your teeth in a little when he squeezes your ass as he walks. You’re both still fully clothes, basically, but you don’t plan to be for long. You’ve got tattoos to kiss and a dick you want anyway Bucky’ll let you. You’ve got all night, after all.

***

It’s late, you should be going, but you steal a few more minutes lying on Bucky’s chest. He’s sat up against the headboard, trying to braid little pieces of your hair with the cutest look of concentration on his face. The way he goes from dirty to dork always makes your heart do complicated things in your chest. You’re drumming your fingers on his chest, right next to his dog tags, and before you can overthink it too much you pause your drum solo to pick them up.

Bucky doesn’t pause in his hair-braiding but you can feel him watching you as you turn the worn metal over in your fingers. They’re well loved, a bit bent in places and the letters starting to rub flat but you can still read it. His birthday, March 10th, and his name. You’d never thought to read these before - they always seemed part of Bucky’s past, something you weren’t allowed into yet. But tonight has made you bold, and you run your thumb over the letters of his name so you can memorise the feel of them.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you mumble, words half said into his skin. Bucky hums but doesn’t respond, so you say, “I always knew no mother could look at their newborn child and call it Bucky.”

“Watch it,” Bucky warns, but without any real heat. You don’t ask what the tags mean, which war he fought in, when he got back. You lay them back on his skin carefully, straightening out the chain, before turning in Bucky’s arms to prop your chin on his chest piece and look at him.

“I should go,” you say, as you continue to lie there with legs tangled and Bucky’s hand now resting idle, cupping the back of your head. He bites his lip, strokes his big hand down the back of your hair and making you close your eyes for a second. You’re enjoying his touch too much, you’re getting too close for a man you don’t know. A man who you know has secrets you probably don’t want to uncover, but you can’t stop yourself.

“You could stay.” Bucky’s words hang there, suspended in the space between you. He’s never said that before. You never thought he would say that, ever. Bucky looks at you, face unreadable, and you don’t know why you feel sick to your stomach all of a sudden but you do. There are lines being crossed that you can’t backtrack from. You’re not ready to make that step yet.

“Not tonight,” you say, and it’s not a no but it’s not what Bucky wants to hear. He withdraws his hand from you, letting it drop uselessly to the bed beside him. You take that as your cue to go, rolling off the bed and dressing silently with Bucky’s eyes burning a hole in your skin.

You’re pulling away, trying desperately to regain some distance and control from his man who already has you swallowed whole, he just doesn’t know it yet. Even still, you can’t stop yourself crawling back on the bed and straddling his lap, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him. You want him to remember this - not you saying no, but the way your body will always say yes to him as he holds your hips and keeps you there, kissing you back as desperate as you feel.

But now you know you have reason to climb through the laundry room window that night and sneak away from Bucky’s apartment building, that you’re not just being paranoid because you’ve got photos to prove it. It’s that thought alone that makes it bearable to leave him, even if your heart is begging you to stay.

Part 3

#bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader fic #bucky fic #reader insert fic #pov fic #biker!bucky #biker au #biker!bucky au #avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #11 hours

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years

Note

Ode and Ethan are so cute together, my heart could burst 💓

More questions coming your way

Who says I love you first? How long into the relationship? How does it happen?

How far into the relationship do they move in together?

How do they celebrate Ethans 40th?

Whats the most special gift they have given each other?

What do they love most about each other? Do they have any pet peeves?

Do they always work together? Does Ode surpass Ethan in the medical world?

Did E make up with Louise in this universe? Of so what does she think of Ode?

♥️

> ask me anything <

Yay! Okay here we go!!!!!

So my initial reaction is... neither of them actually ever says it. They feel it and they’re secure enough to just know. They have this little head jerk and eyebrow raise that basically is their way of saying “i love you” which they do all the time. Just a silent recognition without giving too much away to those around them. But eventually like 10ish months into it it’s said out loud as an off shoot. Wasn’t meant to come out but it did ever so naturally.

How it comes out? ...................... this literally took me three days to figure out:

Ode says it first. On a phone call. She didn’t mean to say it, it just slipped out with her goodbye of “alright. love you. bye”. She didn’t even realize she said it until hours later when she was replaying the conversation, mentally checking off that she has all the things they agreed upon before she heads home.

After residency Ode and all her friends go separate ways so she needs to move into a smaller apartment. Ethan extended an offer to stay with him for a while until she finds a place (with the subtext of forever), even saying she could have the second bedroom since it’s been practically hers anyway. But Ode diplomatically declined; they’ve only been together for five months and she’s still so fearful that they’re going to fuck this up somehow. They’ve only just started having sex. So she gets herself her first solo place with one bedroom in the same neighborhood near the hospital.

They move in together when her 16 month lease is up. By then there wasn’t a doubt in her mind anymore. She loved her little third floor walk up and the independence that came with it, but nothing could beat the views at Ethan’s place, and it’s always felt a little bit like home.

So Ethan’s 40th happens before they get together. And true to form he doesn’t want to do a damn thing. But “40 is practically mid life crisis territory and he’s due for a breakdown” (as Jackie put it). So Ode, Sienna and Kyra work together to plan the most elaborate single person party. Because Ethan is such a devout patron of the arts, BOH (after much southern belle pitching from o and k) agree to perform an abridged version of Ethan’s favorite opera at their small rehearsal theatre. Sienna makes a majority of the dinner, all Ethan’s proclaimed favorites for meal, cocktail and dessert. Ode is on getting him to actually turn up. He knows she’s planning something and wants no part of it but goes along because this is “payback for my birthday”. He’s absolutely confused as to why they’re driving out of Boston.

In the atrium is set up as a cocktail hour with a handful of Ethan’s close friends and his dad - the people who want to celebrate him. 40 minutes later the people clear out and it’s just Ode and Ethan (siennas waiting on standby to drive ode home) making their way into the performance area where there’s dinner and dessert under a klosh at a single solitary table. Ethan’s speechless As ode explains the scene they’ve walked into. He sits, she pours him a drink, says happy birthday as the music of the show starts to play and goes to leave.

“You’re not staying?”

“You said you wanted to be alone.”

“Alone and at home. Not alone watching ten people perform.”

She shoots him a look and Ethan stands to look for a second chair.

“Siennas waiting to drive me home.”

“Tell her to join. It’s the least I can do since she made much too much food for one human.”

The three of them have a lovely evening. And if Ethan wasn’t fully cognizant of the fact he loves her, he sure as hell is now. Who else would do this? For him???

The most special gift Ode’s gotten from Ethan is the keyboard. Figuring out her feelings and falling for Ethan was a great inspiration to get her to start writing again. Much to some of her roommates dissatisfaction when the girl forgot to plug headphones in at stupid o’clock.

His most prized gift actually wasn’t something she’s gotten him - over the years she’s given him make shift things, ties and cufflinks, books but nothing as special as what her dad gave him when they visited him for the first time as a couple. It was a small photo album of ode from her teen years and through college. He didn’t even recognize her in a few - sitting on a table in ripped skinny jeans with wild hair and a guitar on her lap. She’s looking at the camera out of the corner of her eyes - singing something with mouth wide open and corners turned in a smile. There’s a spark in her eyes he recognizes but the one he knows it miles duller. He likes this side of her. Wonders what happened. And wants to make her feel like that happy go lucky girl every day for the rest of forever.

Ethan loves her compassion and level-headedness when it matters, and ofc that she has so many skills and talents he keeps uncovering. Wants to spend the rest of his life finding out about. He also really loves the creases at the corner of her eyes. She won’t agree they’re crows feet - she’s much too young for that atm. But he loves them because they make her eyes all the more expressive.

Ode loves his intelligence but also his gentleness. Once you get past that coarse, jaded Ramsey front he’s such a soft bean. She likes how they can talk for hours or just sit in companionable silence. There’s no expectations that need to be fulfilled with him outside of work and it’s the healthiest relationship she’s been in.

They both hate how stubborn the other can be. He hates how she leaves teabags all over the kitchen when the garbage is right there. She hates how anal he is about cleanliness and clutter. But how he can’t seem to get all his socks in the hamper - there’s always some hiding around back.

No, they don’t always work together. Ode is on the DT for another year before getting a research opportunity to write about the most interesting cases they’ve come across, alongside Ethan. He declined the title credit, but helped with the research. She dedicated her first book to him.

The more recognition she started to get in the medical world press, the more people uncovered her musical past. It was a bit jarring to have to talk about that small part of her life when she gave a keynote on new technologies in diagnostics medicine for the digital age. So much so that she got a call from her publishing house and SESAC. Basically to push her to do a one-off gig and see if she’s interested in remastering and a couple synch and derivative deals. Her first response was ‘i’m really busy and it’s been over a decade’. But after aimlessly wandering around their apartment and eventually sitting down to play, fighting a war within her, Ethan pushes her to do it.

She certainly surpasses Ethan in the medical world, but not for the reasons he’s known for. She ends up marrying her love of music with medicine and becomes a viral sensation. A new-age doctor for the on-demand generations.

No, I don’t think he does make up with Louise. not really. Ethan’s cordial but doesn’t want anything else to do with her. He doesn’t became a brat when Alan brings her up, though. He respects his dad enough - with the help of Ode - to pretend to be a three-piece family. Ode actually told Ethan that it probably isn’t a good idea that he brings her to rehab - she suggested scheduling a therapy session at the rehab to try and work things through when everyone’s minds have had time to settle. Ethan told her he’d rather rip the band-aid off so they drive her together.

Louise is skeptical - she doesn’t like the idea of someone influencing her son. Yeah, the girl is pretty but who tf is she? Alan says Ethan’s been single and no chance of dating as he’s much too restless for that. Months after being released from rehab and sticking around the Providence-area, Louise tries to get back in contact. She has a job and she’s been clean ever sense. She and Alan talk every now and then but no chance of repairing the family. Louise is there for lunch when Ode and E drive up for the weekend. It’s a whole rush of emotions for E again, and Ode is oddly hopeful, wanting to make the best of the situation. Louise sees the way the ramsey men look at her and she has no choice but to get on board.

as always, thank you for these. I love them and you so so much ♥️

#Anonymous #asked #Ethan x Mc #Odette hall #a freaking ESSAY #hit me with some more 😆

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

Text

If You Just Realize

Part Eight: Marry Me

Summary: Whether they’re ready for it or not, Sebastian and Y/N’s wedding day arrives. Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader Word Count: 2585 Series Warnings: Death, angst, sadness. Lots of creative licensing, I’m sure. Chapter Warnings: Drinking, confused feelings, fluff ... oh and that one scene at the end ... Square Filled: This entire series will fill my realized feelings square for @marvelfluffbingo. A/N: I’ve much enjoyed writing this series, and I hope all of you enjoy reading it! The tag list is open; requests to be added can be done so here. There are bits and pieces of Romanian throughout the series, mostly from Google Translate and the few things I’ve picked up as I learn the language.

Series Masterlist

The morning of the wedding, Y/N woke up in a room at the Waldorf with Kennedy. Everyone except for Kennedy was unaware of the truth in their arrangement and had insisted that the engaged couple not sleep even in the same apartment the night before. Y/N’s family was in a couple of other rooms in the same hotel but had given her space with her friend for the time being.

She started the coffee pot then went to the bathroom to do her business, wash her face, and take a good look in the mirror. These were the last few hours she’d ever be single; even after their marriage ended, she wouldn’t be ‘single’, she would be ‘divorced’.

“This is too weird,” she mumbled, moving away from the mirror and towards the coffee pot. She poured herself a cup and then one for Kennedy too when her friend began to stir. Y/N sat back on the bed, against the pillows, trying to focus on the positives of the day.

Kennedy sipped on the warm liquid and nodded. “Mmm, yes, that’s good. How are you feeling this morning?”

Y/N snorted. “Nervous as hell. I know I want to do this, I know I’m doing the right thing, but I don’t — I don’t know. It’s weird at the same time.”

“Do you love him?”

“Sebastian? Of course I love him. He’s one of my closest friends. I wouldn’t do this kind of thing for just anyone, you know.”

Kennedy took another drink of her coffee. “I know that. I know you love Seb, but what I’m asking is, are you in love with him?”

Y/N thought about that for a good minute. She wanted to answer honestly, but she simply didn’t know — and she told Kennedy as much.

“There was a moment the other night, when he came and proposed, just the way I had told his mother that he had done. He hugged me really tight and I sort of cuddled into him. I could just breathe in his smell … it was so strong and masculine and comforting … so Seb. And I thought, ‘Yeah. I could get used to this.’” She shook her head and set her coffee on the bedside table. Her stomach wasn’t up for consuming anything. “But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him, and it certainly doesn’t mean I should get used to anything in this little arrangement.”

She slid off the bed and went to unzip the garment bag that protected her dress. Anytime now, Georgeta, Milena, Y/N’s sister-in-law, and her grandmother would be joining them in the room, anxious to get the bride-to-be wedding-ready. She ran her fingers softly over the pretty embroidery on the dress and shook her head.

“My feelings aren’t the most important thing at the moment. Getting through today, getting Sebastian custody of Milena — that’s what’s important. Finish that coffee, I’ll call down to room service to bring up a spread for the ladies coming to meet us soon.”

Y/N couldn’t meet Kennedy’s eyes. If she did, she knew that the confused feelings brewing within her would only bring her to tears, and she refused to cry anything but happy tears on her wedding day.

Sebastian couldn’t stop looking at the clock. Every minute that passed, he was one minute closer to marrying Y/N; one less minute she had to back out on him. Not that he expected that of her, but, well, he was nervous.

“I was nervous too, the day I married your mother,” Anthony commented, taking over the cufflink Sebastian had been working the last few minutes to secure. “Marrying someone with a child is a big commitment. You were older. We knew how custody was going to work with you. Marrying someone who hasn’t had that child very long, leaves a person with a lot of unknowns.”

The younger man frowned. “You think this is a bad idea?”

“Not at all,” Anthony assured with a kind smile. “What I’m trying to say — and I guess not doing a great job of saying — is that you’ve found someone really special, Sebastian. I’m very proud of you and I’m very happy for you.”

Sebastian’s shoulders released some tension. “Thanks. That means a lot, really. Mom and I both lucked out with you, I think.”

Anthony clapped him on the back before pulling him in for a hug. “Anything you and the girls need, come to us. We’ll help you. We’re here to help you.”

“Thanks.” He looked at the clock again. “An hour. How is there still an hour to go?”

With a roll of laughter that can only come from someone who has lived through the same experience before, Anthony clapped his stepson on the back.

“C’mon, let’s get you a beer to take the edge off. Shall we?”

“Yeah, a beer sounds good,” Sebastian sighed, heading down to the kitchen with Anthony.

Y/N’s grandmother zipped up the back of her dress, and her stepmother helped her balance while she pushed her feet into her shoes and fixed the buckle. She stood and smoothed out the dress, tucked her curled hair behind her ears, and took a shaky breath before going to the floor length mirror to get a good look at herself.

“So pretty,” Milena told her, smiling shyly as she leaned into her grandmother.

Y/N looked at the small girl, wearing her own pretty dress, and grinned. She remembered now why she was doing this; why her own feelings didn’t matter. She would have a good life with Sebastian and Milena, for as long as they would have her. Milena would have the support and the family she needed. Sebastian wouldn’t crash into parenthood alone.

Y/N crouched in front of Milena, careful not to crease her dress. She took Milena’s hands in her own. “Not as pretty as you. It’s just about time, princess — you ready for me to marry your uncle?”

Milena nodded emphatically. Y/N held out her hand and the two of them walked ahead of the other ladies, hand in hand all the way to the courthouse.

Despite the beer he’d had before coming to City Hall, Sebastian was well-aware of his nerves as he waited for their appointed ceremony time. Y/N was waiting behind with Milena and her father, wanting to wait until the last possible second before Sebastian saw her.

“Give me that much tradition, anyway,” she had smirked.

He could see that it was something important to her, and once she walked through the doors, her arm hooked through her father’s and her other hand holding tight to Milena’s, Sebastian decided the wait had been entirely worth every second of anticipation leading up to the moment her father placed Y/N’s hand in his. They both leaned down to kiss Milena on the cheek, then sent her to sit with Georgeta for the rest of the ceremony.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered, taking her hands in his.

She smiled up at him and he knew his compliment had gone far. “Thank you. You’re quite handsome in that suit.”

He smiled, too. The justice was ready to start the ceremony then, but Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off of Y/N; she was truly a vision in that embroidered dress. She was done up more than her everyday appearance, but she was still the woman he knew. He was proud to know that she was his, at least for a little while.

In fact, he had a difficult time keeping up with where they were at in the ceremony for all the staring at her he was doing. Y/N didn’t seem to notice, and thank goodness Sebastian was paying enough attention to know when it was his turn to speak.

Repeating after the justice, Sebastian said the vows they had chosen together. “I promise you, Y/N, that I will be your loving and loyal husband from now on. I will share with you all of life’s joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, until death parts us.”

Carefully, he slid the band from her wedding set onto her finger. Her eyes were glazed with tears, and Sebastian hoped they were happy ones. Y/N slid a gold wedding band on the appropriate finger of his left hand and repeated the same vows. Her voice caught and a couple of tears fell before she go to the part about death parting them; perhaps knowing the vow was a lie already was difficult. He would have to remember to apologize to her later; he would never stop thanking her for doing all of this for him. When her vow was complete, she squeezed his hands and let out a deep breath.

“As a ceaseless reminder of this hour, and of the promise you have made to each other, these rings also speak of the oneness you now experience as husband and wife. By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I officially pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide; Sebastian realized they had never discussed this part. Of all of the people watching, though, only Kennedy knew that this was not a marriage borne of love, but of necessity. Of one friend in need and the other friend coming to his aid. Quickly taking control of the moment, Sebastian dropped her hands to cradle her face.

“I love you,” he whispered before pressing his lips to hers.

Her response was soft and hesitant at first, but after that first initial meeting of their lips, she pressed into him, her arms going around his neck. Sebastian wrapped his arms around her middle to have her as close as possible. Were it not for the applause of their audience, he might have let the kiss go on until she pulled away.

The reception dinner was a small affair, only attended by the family members who had attended the ceremony, Kennedy, and a couple of other local, mutual friends. There was good conversation and lots of laughter. The newlywed couple felt so much love surrounding them.

At the end of the night, Milena went home with her grandparents. Y/N and Sebastian headed to a different room in the Waldorf — a gift from his parents — amidst a beautiful sparkler send off. Kennedy winked at Y/N when the girls hugged, letting her friend know the sparklers had been her idea. Even under the circumstances, she appreciated that Kennedy had remembered Y/N always liked the idea and made it happen for her.

The cab ride to the hotel was quiet. They were both tired, but also anxious. There were certain things expected on a wedding night … kissing to seal their vows in front of everyone was one thing. Sleeping together was an entirely different story.

Once in the room, where their overnight bags had already been dropped off, Y/N dropped down to the mattress and gave him a nervous smile as he locked the door behind them.

“Comfy,” she commented, though they both were already aware of the quality of beds in the hotel.

Sebastian nodded, nervously shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m pretty tired. You?”

She shrugged. “Tired, yeah. A little overwhelmed.”

Kicking off his shoes, Sebastian announced that he was going to shower; she should go ahead and comfortable, get to sleep, if she wanted to. Y/N nodded and waited for him to leave before moving from the mattress.

As it was, when he came out from the shower, shirtless in gym shorts, his hair still dripping a little, Y/N was still in her dress, leaning back against the headboard with her legs and bare feet stretched out in front of her. She was flipping channels on the television but smiled when she saw him.

“Can’t get the zipper,” she chuckled, “otherwise I’d be in pajamas by now. Do you mind?”

She came to stand in front of him, sweeping her hair out of the way. Sebastian licked his lips and, with shaky hands, slowly pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress. With the pull tab down as far as it would go, he could see black lace peeking out at him; it matched the bra straps coming over her shoulders and securing behind her back. He swallowed so hard, it had to be audible.

“Is that it?” Y/N asked.

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut for a second and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He hadn’t realized his hand was resting on her hip until she turned to thank him and they were suddenly centimeters apart from each other. Sebastian’s hand came up to caress her cheek. Y/N’s eyes were wide and searching his face for any type of explanation as to what he was thinking.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his head falling toward hers. “Thank you, Bright Eyes, for marrying me today.”

Barely able to breathe, let alone manage words, Y/N only nodded. Her hands came up to the backs of his arms and rested there. Seconds that felt like minutes passed in antagonizing suspense before Sebastian cupped her chin and pressed his lips softly to hers — the way he would have done if they had continued their kiss from earlier in the day.

Y/N didn’t hesitate this time to return his kiss; it was as though she had been waiting all day for him to do this. Her hands slid up his arms before clasping behind his neck, pulling him into her even more. She was the one who first ran her tongue lightly over his bottom lip, but Sebastian happily and willingly allowed her access.

It wasn’t until, from instinct, he gently pressed her back toward the bed that they parted. He kept his hands at her hips until she was steady, then took a full step back.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. This wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t expect — that’s not what you agreed to.”

“It was both of us,” she excused. “Not saying it’s not good that we stopped. That’s a big line to cross. The last few weeks have been a rollercoaster of emotions and we should be careful not to feed off of that.”

“You’re right. Anyway, I’m going to get some ice. I’ll let you do what you need to do.”

She didn’t say anything — hell, she wouldn’t even look at him. Sebastian cursed himself all the way down to the ice machine and back, wondering how many more times he was going to risk ruining his closest, most important friendship before this was all over.

Comfort came for him when they settled into bed, finally, and Y/N scooted right next to him and laid her head on his chest. She held her left hand up for both of them to see; the diamond sparkled from the light of the television in the otherwise dark room.

“Can’t believe we got married today,” she breathed.

Sebastian smirked and put an arm around her. “Me either. Regret it yet?”

She sat up only enough so she could turn and place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Not for a single second. Do you?”

Sebastian shook his head and kissed her again. She settled back against his chest, drawing in a deep breath before her eyes fluttered closed. He knew that he should sleep, too, but instead he lay awake for a couple of hours, working to process through the feelings that seemed to suddenly be too much for his mending heart to contain.

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @averyrogers83 @jennmurawski13 @connie326

IYJR: @elsatxx @tanelle83 @amanda-teaches @etherealwaifgoddess @kmuir1 @ntlmundy @jayankles @rebekahdawkins @denise1605 @rhadigen @peace-love-hobbitness @itsallyscorner @mizzzpink @auspiciousharriet @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @learisa @tellmewhatyouwill @katherinereid @lokilokilokilokilokiloki @thewolfsenate

#marvelfluffbingo2020 #sebastian stan #reader insert #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader #fluff #sebastian fluff #sebastian stan fluff #queue and i remember budapest very differently

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wikiangela · 2 years

Text

watching the last eps of Hawkeye

spoilers obvi

I did not miss Fisk lmao his slow way of talking has been annoying the hell out of me in Daredevil and it still does hahaha

Clint calling Kate his partner aww

God i love Yelena so much, she's the best

(and I'm really enjoying her scenes with Kate lol)

"stop making me like you" lmao they're so funny together 😂

wait so Jack's good? okay, sure 💁🏻‍♀️😂

omg he fell on the tree 😂😂

"we're all gonna die" why is this show so funny lmao

love the fight, this is so fucking cool

they fucking shrunk them oh my god 😂

Maya looks pretty but the hair down during the fight does not seem practical lmao

Yelena vs Clint yaaas 😍😍

okay, Kate with the cufflink (is that what it's called? lmao) was sooo cool - I knew it would come back, they wouldn't show Clint teaching her that for nothing haha

Eleanor deserved to go to jail - I only feel bad for Kate bc damn, having to see your mom as that person, and see her get arrested...

Clint did the whistle thing omg I'm crying 😭😭😭

every time without fail, they talk about Nat - I'm crying, I will never get over her death

I'm so glad Yelena finally found out what really happened (more or less)

did- did Maya just kill Kingpin?? wtf already? I mean, it's the last ep but he was there literally only for this one, I didn't think it would be so fast lmao (I won't believe he's dead until I see the body and even then imma be suspicious hahaha)

"I'm so proud of you" awww I teared up again

aw Clint got home for Christmas 😍 and omg he took Kate with him 😭❤️❤️

ohhh the watch was Laura's (I'm not that surprised bc I've seen ppl who've read the comics talk about her being a shield agent or whatever but still haha)

omg we're getting Rogers the musical whaaat 😂😂😂 it was so great lmao

this show was sooo cool and honestly might be my favorite out of all of the ones we got so far (I'm still a little biased towards tfatws bc Bucky 😍 but I wished they'd focus on characters more than they did in that one)

but seriously, it was so good, loved it so much, cannot wait to see more of Kate and Yelena in the future hah

#hawkeye spoilers #hawkeye #spoilers

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angst-and-stupidity · 3 years

Note

Everest needing to protect Treasure during a formal event, bonus a getting ready scene where he tries to change his appearance so she doesn't cause a scene in public?

PFFFFFT I love it, mostly focused on the getting-ready-scene and not so much the formal-event-scene because it was getting really long, but here you go!

I tug my comb through my knotted hair, wincing at the ripping sound it makes. Stupid rich clients, making me dress up for this event. I had to go buy a suit, I didn’t even know what cufflinks were before today. I have to admit, though, I do look pretty sharp in all dressed up.

Fuck, that might actually be a problem.

How am I supposed to blend in with the common folk when I look like a literal god? (I realize that is both an exaggeration and blasphemous). Seriously though, if Treasure spots me, my guarding will be over before it begins. I glance at all of the makeup Estelle left scattered across our bathroom counter, and it gives me an idea.

“Estelle, get in here!”

“Woah, why are you all dressed up nice?” Estelle asks, sliding into view.

“I have to go to a gala for my client, but I’m afraid my target will freak out if they see me.”

“I understand that you have to use nondescript language for privacy reasons, but ‘target’ makes you sound like an assassin.”

“Maybe one day,” I say in a mock-dreamy tone. “But can you make me look different? With all of your...stuff?” I motion to her makeup.

“Why don’t you just ditch these,” she says, taking off my cufflinks, “since you don’t even know what they are-”

“I know now.”

“Thanks to me, and just pretend to be a woman for the night.” She giggles. I shrug.

“Okay, sounds good to me.”

“Everest, that was a joke.”

“Well it’s a good idea. A perfect disguise, plus it’d be fun to be a drag queen. Something to liven up this boorish event.”

“Boring, Everest. Not boorish.”

“What’s boorish then?”

“You are.”

“Hey. That’s mean. I think. I still don’t know what it means.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come with me.” Estella grabs my hand and drags me into her bedroom, where she seats me in a vanity I honestly didn’t know she had. She opens one of the drawers and pulls out an array of brushes, lining them up with a focus she rarely contains. I don’t bother to ask why she has a whole vanity full of supplies in her room and still has junk all over the bathroom counter, and instead focus on the small tub of paste she is holding towards my eye.

“What is that?”

“Eyelash glue. Hold still! Let me work my magic.” I can’t help but squirm while she “works her magic,” trying to catch quick glances in the mirror. Every time I move, Estelle yells at me for it, and then I explain that I simply was not created to be still, and then she calls me overdramatic, and then we repeat until she gives me a proud smile.

“Can I look now?” She nods, and spins my chair around like I’m in a barber shop.

“It’s...flashier than I’m used to.” I don’t know how I feel about it. On one hand, unfamiliarity is not my friend. On the other hand, I do look beautiful with gold eyeshadow.

“You’re going to a gala, Ev. Standing out is blending in.” She thrusts a blonde wig into my hands.

“Why do you have this?”

“Oh, why do you ask so many questions?”

“It must be the investigator in me.”

“I swear, if I answered them all, you’d miss your cab.” I’m about to ask why I would be taking a cab, but it dawns on me that Treasure might recognize my car. Smart girl, my sister. Could be a great bodyguard one day. Or worse. “Now hurry up and put the wig on, and try not to let any black show through.” She grabs a tuft of my black hair. I shove her hand away and put the wig on. It frames my face well, and along with the makeup I look very feminine.

“I think I make a prettier girl than you do,” I say, giving her an innocent smile. She pretends to stab me with one of her makeup brushes. “What? It’s a compliment!”

“Sure it is. Now, you need to wear this.” She tosses something from her closet drawers at me.

“I’m not wearing one of your bras!”

“It’s padded.”

“That doesn’t change anything!”

“None of my dresses will fit properly without it. And besides, we’re going for a classic woman prototype, aren’t we?”

“I think you’re just doing this to humiliate me, you know that?” I take off my suit and unclip the bra, struggling to fasten it behind my back. Estelle giggles.

“You were the one so adamant about it, I was joking initially. Now, you should be good with your voice, right?” I nod. I can mimic almost any voice, so I have an array of girl voices I’ve collected over the years. “Good. Now...hm.” She riffles through her closet of dresses, tugging on the ends and holding the fabrics up so they line up with my body. “You like black, don’t you?” I nod again. “Right, so no black.”

“Ha ha.”

In the end, Estelle picked out some navy blue cocktail dress (she assured me the pun was not intentional) and helped me zip it up before sending me on my way. I make small talk with the cab driver to practice my voice. (When I first start talking, he asks if I have a cold). By the time I arrive at the Laurier estate, I am prepared to be the mysterious woman lurking in the shadows, keeping a watchful gaze upon the star of this event.

And with any luck, the star won’t even notice I’m there.

#my ocs #ocs #writing #fizzy writes #everest #estelle #asks #thanks for the ask!

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a-blue-secret · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER XIII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: swearing

WORD COUNT: 4.8k+

AN: Beomgyu's been a bit ia these past few chapters, but here he is! Fun fact: all of his outfits mentioned are real! 1st one is from 191116, 2nd the iconic 200104, and 3rd from the unforgettable 190801 :)

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

"Ah finally, I'm free!" Beomgyu cried aloud, flinging his arms out wide. "I'm free!" He spun around, skipping down the lane happily.

Seojung and Jisung followed behind silently, watching as the King skipped through the grasses, long coat flapping behind him.

"Sir, we are here to see your house and nothing more."

Beomgyu waved a hand carelessly back at Jisung. "Yes yes, I know that. I only really want to see my house."

The two guards looked at each other. Beomgyu laughed delightedly, stopping to reach up and smell a branch of cherry blossoms. He rushed forward excitedly, and motioned towards the guards to hurry up.

"Come on! Around this corner we can see the back of my house!" He gave a small giggle and disappeared around the corner.

Seojung and Jisung couldn't help but smile at Beomgyu's antics, following him from behind.

Beomgyu had snuck out (well, not exactly snuck out– just left without telling anyone) of the palace to see his house that he'd left behind. Since the tension between the court and the citizens was still present, he and his guards had taken a carriage up to a certain point, and walked the rest of the way down an abandoned country lane. It was alright for Beomgyu, though: he liked the time outside surrounded by nature. Standing in the middle of a field, breathing in the fresh air (and maybe making a pensive wind swirl around him, coat whipping majestically – he can't help his flair for dramatic scenes, even if no one is around to witness them) was wonderful.

Beomgyu stood outside his front door, heels clicking together cheerfully. He flourished the house key he’d taken with him from his chambers back at the palace, and slotted it inside the keyhole. Pushing open the door, Beomgyu let out a sigh of happiness as he stepped into the familiar hallway.

“Long time no see, eh?” he smiled to himself, taking in the details.

The cottage had barely changed. Beomgyu rushed into the front room, and beamed as he took in the ivory curtains, round glasses resting on a side table next to a half-filled cup of tea, and the comfortable velvet armchair which was always stuffed with too many cushions. Peering into the dining room, he smiled as he saw a dinner mat was still set at the table, an empty glass by its side. The kitchen still had clean plates stacked up by the sink, waiting to be put away. He walked into the living room, running his fingers along the dusty bookshelves, packed with novels and biographies which he’d leafed through millions of times. He rubbed a hand over the worn leather of the sofa, rested his cheek on his softest cushion, breathed in the comforting scent of his humble cottage. He sat back into the sofa, smiling contentedly up at the plain white ceiling.

“This. I’ve missed this.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Beomgyu hummed as he put the plates back into the cupboard. He’d just finished dusting the cottage from top to bottom, and had just tidied away the teacup and plates. Walking back to the living room, he scanned all the titles on his bookshelf absentmindedly.

“Ooh-” he gently dislodged a book, looking at the title. Beomgyu chuckled to himself. “Looks like I stole this from the palace. This is one of the books that the scholars use to teach us about clans.” He opened the book and began flipping through the pages. “Oh wait- it looks like there are pages missing?”

Beomgyu ran his fingers along the jagged edges between two pages, which indicated that some had been torn out. “That wasn’t me… I wonder who took them out.” He shrugged, putting the book back. “Oh well. It’s no big deal.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Inside his room, Beomgyu was going through his wardrobe.

“Oh, Choi Beomgyu, what were you thinking?” Beomgyu tutted, staring at one of his old suits. It was a beige blazer with pale blue accents, paired with a pale blue button-down and a navy and brown tie. He twisted his lips disapprovingly. “I suppose it doesn’t look too bad, but the colours just don’t go together! Bleh. I’d never wear something like this now.” He put down the offending suit, tucking it far away into the corner of his wardrobe.

“Oh, I remember wearing this,” Beomgyu smiled as he pulled out another outfit. This one was a pure white button-down with white pants and a silky cloak-like overcoat. The cloak came up to his hip and had white fur trim along the hood and top half. It even had a diamond clasp. “Wait, do I still have the wand to go with this?” He set down the clothes, and rummaged around his drawers, before pulling out a silver stick. “Aha! I do!” He laughed, setting down the ‘wand’ beside the outfit. “Wow, I didn’t even know I kept the outfit from that Christmas party. I might take it with me to the palace: it’s nice.”

Beomgyu came out of his room and yelled down the stairs. “Seojung, Jisung! I’m gonna leave some clothes by this door! Come back here some other time with the carriage and bring them to the palace, okay?” Then he retreated into his room to look through more of his clothes.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Wow, this is nice.” Carefully, Beomgyu extracted the delicate piece of clothing from its protective cloth, staring at it. It was a black button-up, stitched with white and silver stars. It still had its cufflinks in as well: five-pointed diamante stars. The design was simple. When Beomgyu twisted the shirt, the silver stitching caught the light, making it sparkle. “When did I wear this?” The faint smile on the corner of his lips died as he remembered. “Oh. Jieon’s… Jieon’s funeral.” He carefully put the button-up back into its protective cloth, putting it back in his wardrobe.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel too into looking through his closet anymore. Beomgyu put back all the suits he’d taken out and opened the door again.

“Let’s go back.”

As he was stepping outside, Beomgyu noticed that the ground was rather damp. He looked back at the guards. “Did it rain?”

Both of them nodded silently. Beomgyu groaned.

“Oh no, this means we can’t go back down the way we came! The mud will ruin my shoes!” Beomgyu sighed. “Come on, we’ll have to go through the town way.”

“I- sir, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Beomgyu pursed his lips stubbornly. “I am not getting these shoes dirty.”

The two guards shared a glance.

“Very well,” Jisung said. “But it’ll be more difficult to get to the carriage.”

Beomgyu pfft-ed, waving a hand. “It can’t be that difficult. The carriage is in a place that’s easy to get to. We’ll be fine. Now, come on!”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

He wandered out into a more bustling street. As he was constantly pushed aside by hassled citizens, Beomgyu reflected that maybe walking was a bad idea. At least no one was really paying attention to him…

He was just wondering how far he had left to go to get to the carriage, when he realised that his guards had disappeared. He spun round, searching for Seojung and the other guy. Nowhere to be found. Frowning, he stood up on tiptoe, straining to look for any sight of them. He was all alone. In a strange street.

It was then that a chill crept over him. It was inexplainable: it was so terrifying and yet compelling at the same time. The feeling kept building up, causing him to feel colder, and colder, and he started to shake. Suddenly, a finger tapped his shoulder. Beomgyu spun around, panicked, and almost ran into a noble who stood right behind him. Looking up from the blue satin coat in front of him, Beomgyu relaxed. It was a noble he recognised- Lord Soobin.

Soobin widened his brown eyes and bowed. "Lord Beom- Your Greatness! What are you doing around here?"

"Oh, uh… just wanted to see how my citizens are doing!" he said brightly. "In a bit of an incognito, get-into-the-scene kind of way."

"Ah, I see," Soobin said, nodding. He watched as Beomgyu glanced around a few times, picking up on how distracted the royal was. "Um… don’t take this the wrong way, but… would you happen to be lost?"

Beomgyu chuckled awkwardly. "I think I may be," he said. "I seem to have lost my guards." He looked around again. "Yep. Definitely lost them."

"Well, it is not right for a monarch to be left undefended," Soobin said. "Would it suit you to perhaps take refuge in my home? I can send word to the palace that you are there, and then you can wait in my home until more guards arrive to take you back to court."

"Oh, if that's alright with you?" Beomgyu asked. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Oh, it's no intrusion if the King himself were to enter my humble abode," Soobin laughed. "My carriage is just a few streets away. Would you care to come?" Beomgyu scanned the streets again, in case his guards miraculously appeared.

"I gladly accept your offer," Beomgyu said, when it was clear that Seojung and Jisung were not there.

"Right this way, Your Greatness."

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Once the carriage pulled up into the gravel drive of Soobin's estate, the coachman opened the door for them before hurrying up to the front door to inform the butler to let Soobin in.

When the butler let them inside, Beomgyu whistled.

"'Humble abode'? Soobin, this is an extravagant abode. My, some of these decorations rival that of those in the palace."

Soobin chuckled. "Many thanks, Your Greatness. I have always had a taste for grandeur."

Beomgyu eyed the ceiling, which had elegant swirls engraved into its stone. He caught sight of the golden chandelier, which also had intricate designs along it's candelabras. "Evidently," he murmured. "How do you… how…"

"How can I afford this?" Soobin supplied. He carried on talking as they followed a footman into one of the tea rooms. "My family has a great inheritance. Also, I make money by creating flowers. If you look out of that window, you can see one of my greenhouses out in the garden."

Beomgyu leaned over, staring at the glass building. "Wow," he said. "I suppose one-of-a-kind flowers fetch a high price?"

"Indeed they do," Soobin said. "Tea or coffee?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," Beomgyu said, waving away the attendant. He stared out of the window silently as Soobin calmly sipped his cup of tea. Soobin’s home was so pristine and perfect. It was like it was carved out of pure white marble, painted with the most lustrous gold, decorated with only the finest and most intricate hand. It was almost as if Soobin was the King with the lavish palace, and Beomgyu was the humble noble that had been invited for tea. Beomgyu couldn’t help but marvel at how wondrous it all was.

“Ah, yes,” Soobin said, setting down his cup. He beckoned over one of the footmen who stood outside the door to the room. “Send word to the palace that King Beomgyu is currently safe within my estate. Tell them to bring guards to Lord Soobin’s manor to come find the King.” The footman nodded, before scurrying off. The two of them sat in silence. Beomgyu glanced at the lord. He knew Soobin well enough; the two of them had been acquaintances when Beomgyu was still in court. Beomgyu, because of his faintly royal status, had been a higher noble than practically everyone else, so he’d talked to all of the lords before. Lord Soobin was a rank below him, so they had been reasonably amiable associates. However, he didn’t know the elder well enough to know which clan he came from, or even what his surname was.

“So…” Beomgyu tried, in an attempt to break the silence. “Um… How does it feel having such a young King as your monarch?”

Soobin looked at him. “Hm… well, at first it was a little odd. Everyone found it a little odd. We were expecting one of the Kangs to take the throne, after all, and yet it turned out to be a whole new clan. But if you think about it, had everything gone as the late King Seohu had planned, we would have had an eight year old on the throne.” Soobin leaned back, chuckling. “Now that would be even more odd than having a King who is a mere year younger than me.”

Beomgyu cracked a small grin. “I suppose it would be.” He frowned a little, thinking about the day. Remembering the sense of betrayal and anger he’d felt towards Taehyun. He remembered how his fury seemed to crackle within him. He also remembered the pure fear in Taehyun’s eyes when he growled at him after the Crown Handing. He deserved it, Beomgyu thought fiercely. He deserved all those harsh words, after everything he’s put me through.

Soobin suddenly laid his hand on top of Beomgyu’s where it rested on the table. He seemed to have mistook Beomgyu’s silence as being a troubled one. “It’s okay,” he said. “There is no need to worry. It’s why you made Kang Taehyun your vizier, isn’t it? His knowledge is incredible. He will help you navigate through your reign in the steadiest, smoothest way possible.”

“Thank you,” Beomgyu said, smiling weakly.

“Ah!” Soobin pushed a delicate ceramic plate of cakes towards Beomgyu. “Would you care to try some? They are infused with the essence of my very own flowers.”

Beomgyu looked at the small golden sponges. Each of them had gentle, purple-blue bruises of what must have been the flower essence. He was just about to reply when the footman knocked on the doorframe.

“Sir,” the man panted, bowing at Soobin and then Beomgyu. “The– the guards are here to take the King back to the palace.”

“Thank you,” Soobin said. “Well! It was nice finally talking to you again, Beomgyu. Ah, I mean Your Greatness. Gosh, it seems like only yesterday you were simply Lord Beomgyu. Oh, would you care to take the cakes back to the palace to try? It seems a shame to let them go to waste.”

Beomgyu felt there was no other answer he could give. “Of course, Lord Soobin. If you wouldn’t mind packaging them so they are fit for travel?”

A servant immediately stepped forward, taking the plate and putting it within a small basket, before bowing low and handing it to Beomgyu. He took it, and turned to Soobin.

“Well, I suppose I will be going then,” he said. “It was nice conversing with you, Lord Soobin. Thank you for briefly accommodating me as well.”

Soobin inclined his head. “It was my pleasure.”

Beomgyu stepped out of Soobin’s estate, walking up to a glowering Chan.

“Oh, so you’re coming to collect me?” Beomgyu asked curiously. “Where are Seojung and Jisung?”

Chan still continued to glare at Beomgyu.

“What?” he said. He spread his arms wide and gave a spin, showing his unharmed self from all angles. “Look, I’m not hurt. Nothing happened to me.”

Chan eyed him suspiciously. “Last time you said that, you’d managed to stab yourself in the finger,” he said. “Remember?”

Beomgyu sighed. “Are you really going to bring that up every day for the rest of my life? I told you, the knife fell. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure it wasn’t. And I am going to mention it every day, because this happened literally two days after you made me your personal guard.”

“I made you my personal guard because you were the only one out of all of them who I knew, and Taehyun made me choose someone. Also because you were like the most skilled out of all of them. But anyway, I promise that nothing went bad. I’m not injured. I didn’t accidentally fall on my own sword, and Soobin didn’t forcefeed me any poison. Seriously, this trip went fine.”

“If you say so, sire.”

“Yes, I do say so. Come on, let’s go back. Did you bring a carriage with you?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Sir Taehyun, one of King Beomgyu’s guards are here to see you.”

Taehyun opened his door. “Oh Jisung. What’s Beomgyu done now?”

“Disappeared,” Jisung managed to force out, out of breath. “He- King Beomgyu- disappeared- there one minute- gone the next- we looked but- the King- gone-”

“Woah, catch your breath first,” Taehyun interrupted. “I can’t understand anything you’re saying.”

“King Beomgyu vanished. He- he wanted to see his old cottage,” Jisung panted. “When we were coming back, it had been raining and he didn’t want his shoes to get dirty by going on the obscure, mud path we’d taken, so we went through the town. And he- he disappeared. Uh, Sir Taehyun-?”

Taehyun’s eyes had grown wide in alarm and he’d stood up, running out of his room. Jisung hurried to catch up with him.

“Keep talking!” Taehyun called back to the guard. “How did he go missing?”

“I- I don’t know! It was a busy crowd, but the King- he’s taller than average so we could still see him. But su- suddenly he wasn’t there. In the literal blink of an eye, he’d dis- disappeared. It didn’t make sense!”

Taehyun let out a frustrated cry. “That stupid Beomgyu! Why would he go out?”

“Sir- Sir Taehyun? Where are you going?”

“My horse!” Taehyun yelled over his shoulder to Jisung. “I need to go find him!”

“Sir!” A messenger almost ran into Taehyun.

“Not now!” Taehyun brushed past the messenger. “I’m busy!”

The messenger stared helplessly as Taehyun ran past him. Then, he saw Jisung approach and turned to the guard. “Sir! I am a messenger from Lord Soobin’s estate! His Highness, King Beomgyu, is safe within Lord Soobin’s home. He requests someone to be sent to come escort the King back to the palace.”

Jisung widened his eyes and thanked the messenger, before renewing his chase after the vizier.

“Sir Taehyun!” he cried.

“What is it? Jisung I told you, I’m busy!”

“Beomgyu’s safe! He’s in Lord Soobin’s estate!”

“What?” Taehyun yelled. He’d turned the corner and almost tripped over his own feet in his haste. “What did you say?”

“Lord Soobin! Beomgyu’s with him!”

In his frazzled, panicked state, it took a while for Taehyun to register the guard’s words, but once he did, he visibly calmed. “Lord Soobin? He should be safe.” Almost instantly, his face darkened again. “Why the fuck he thought it’d be a good idea to step foot outside the palace, I have no idea…” He looked back at Jisung, who was still running up to Taehyun. He clicked his fingers at the guard. “Fetch Chan! Tell him to go to Lord Soobin’s estate to pick up King Beomgyu!”

Seamlessly, Jisung spun around on one foot and began sprinting back the way he’d come, going to inform Beomgyu’s other personal guard.

Taehyun watched Jisung retreat, and began storming to the front gates. Beomgyu had a lot to answer for.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

As the carriage drew up to the palace gates, Beomgyu’s stomach dropped. Shit. Taehyun was standing on the steps, arms crossed.

Beomgyu opened the door and stepped out onto the pebbled driveway, walking up to the vizier. Taehyun glowered at him.

“Just what,” he said, “just what do you think you were doing?”

Beomgyu sighed. For some reason he felt inexplicably weary. “Look, it’s not my fault I lost them okay? They should have protected me better.”

Taehyun’s fingernails dug into his arm. “How can you lose two guards? Just how? How is that even possible? They’re trained to be able to follow you no matter what. How can you lose them?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Beomgyu said, annoyed. Suddenly, all the tension dropped from his face and he rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Fine. I’m sorry. I should have been more responsible. But can we just… can we not do this? I don’t have the strength to.”

Indeed, now that Taehyun looked closer, Beomgyu didn’t look too great. It was practically the first time he’d seen Beomgyu in three weeks, and the King certainly did look rather tired and wan. And so, Taehyun relented. “Alright. But there’s something we need to talk about. Come on.”

Beomgyu gestured weakly. “Can I at least wash first?”

Taehyun looked at him. “Go on. I’ll be in the Meeting Hall.”

While the vizier strode away, back ramrod straight, Beomgyu slumped up the steps to the palace. Visiting his cottage had taken an emotional toll on him, a toll which was even more tiring than a physical one. Still, he dragged himself through the palace, wanting to get that meeting with Taehyun over and done with so he could go to sleep.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Beomgyu sat himself down in the chair at the head of the table. Taehyun was already seated in the chair to the left of the head, arms crossed.

“So what do you want?” Beomgyu asked.

“Glad to see you’ve finally come out of hibernation,” Taehyun remarked. “I feared that I wouldn’t remember what you looked like.”

Beomgyu snorted sarcastically. “Sure you did.”

“Why did you go out anyway? You know the people are mad about the thing that you caused. Just why would you do that? It’s dangerous, it’s unsafe, if someone saw you and recognised you then–”

“I was homesick, okay?” Beomgyu interrupted. “I was homesick. This palace…” he gestured around at all the marble and gold. “This isn’t my home. It’s my accommodation. It’s the place I sleep and eat and live in, but it’s just not my home. It’s too large and cold and filled with judgy people. And I missed it. My cottage. My true home. My small cottage at the edge of the town, decorated with flowers and away from any accusing eyes. The little house I bought with my own money which I purposefully picked because it was far away from this hellhole. I wanted to get away from here, regardless of the dangers. I needed to get away from here.”

Taehyun frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Here, you are well-fed and well-dressed and have all sorts of luxuries. Why would you want to go back to a run-down cottage far away from people?”

Beomgyu chuckled, looking down. “Right. You’ve lived here your whole life. You wouldn’t understand.” He looked up at Taehyun. “Just because I am fed and dressed and can sleep here doesn’t make it my home. I don’t fit in within the cold, marble structures of the court. It’s why I left.”

“I still don’t get it, but it doesn’t matter.” Taehyun crossed his arms. “Would you care to explain why you’ve been avoiding all of your duties for the past three- no, three and a half weeks?”

Beomgyu rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I didn’t want to do them. That’s it. That’s the only reason. The Lords had pissed me off, and the amount of things that needed to be taken care of…” His voice trailed off. “I just couldn't do it.”

That made Taehyun flare up. Beomgyu had only been thinking about himself! “Well what about me, hm? While you neglected your duties, who do you think had to step in and take on the tasks themselves? Who do you think had to go through all the things that you couldn’t be bothered to do, in addition to his own duties he needed to complete?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, I– I completely forgot. Taehyun, oh god, I’m so sorry. I forgot that you’d have to do that for me. Wow, I… that was so selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Do you know how stressful it was to manage the court while you disappeared into your chambers? Do you know how hard it was to fend off any suspicious Lords, who were curious about where you’d gone?”

Beomgyu put his head facedown on the table. “Please, stop making me feel so guilty. I’m sorry, okay? I completely forgot.” He lifted his head to the side a little and spotted a basket sitting atop the wooden table. It was the basket filled with the cakes he'd gotten from Soobin. He must have unconsciously carried it with him into the Meeting Hall. Beomgyu lifted his hand and pushed the basket towards Taehyun. “Here,” he said. “My apology.” Taehyun looked at it suspiciously. “They’re just cakes,” Beomgyu sighed, sitting up. “I wouldn’t poison you.”

Taehyun reached forward to take the basket, lifting up the cloth. He pulled out the plate on which two, small cake slices still sat. Bringing the plate close to his face, Taehyun eyed the cakes.

They were of a cuboid-ish shape, and were a healthy yellow. The softness of the sponge’s colour contrasted with the purplish, bluish, bruise-like patterns embedded into the cake. He smelt the cake, still a little wary, but was pleasantly surprised to find they smelt like normal cakes. Beomgyu smiled bemusedly at the vizier’s antics. Taehyun looked at the cakes one last time. Then he shrugged. Eh, whatever. He popped a whole cake slice into his mouth.

Beomgyu had propped his chin up on his hand. “Nice?”

Taehyun nodded grudgingly, already lifting up the second cake. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

“Good to hear. Is… is it a good enough apology for you?”

Taehyun looked up, cheeks full of cake, and nodded.

“That’s good. No matter what you think, I don’t actually want to be hated by you, you know.”

Taehyun nodded absent-mindedly, chewing on the third slice of cake. Beomgyu smiled, endeared, as he noticed some crumbs on the corner of Taehyun’s mouth. He leaned forward and gently rubbed them away.

And just like that, something in the atmosphere shifted. Taehyun stared at him, eyes wide. He was suddenly hyper aware of Beomgyu’s gentle touch, the way his fingers grazed his cheek, and the way he was looking at him.

“You had a little something on your cheek,” Beomgyu said quietly. His eyes were suddenly incredibly soft, and he stared at Taehyun with such an indecipherable gaze. Taehyun’s ears grew uncomfortably warm and he moved away, out of reach of Beomgyu’s hands. Beomgyu quickly snapped back into his normal state, snatching his hand away. He coughed, sitting back in his seat.

Taehyun touched the corners of his mouth, now more than a little self-conscious. He didn’t know why his ears were suddenly burning up from that simple touch. He glanced at Beomgyu, and found he was staring at his own hand with a dazed look, as if he wasn’t sure about what he’d just done. But then, he coughed again, shifting in his seat. Taehyun quickly looked away. The silence dragged on between them for some time longer, before Taehyun finally spoke.

“Anyway, so are you going to come back?”

“Hm?”

“Are you coming back to court?” Taehyun said. “You know, coming back into your role as King.”

“Oh…” Beomgyu sighed. “I probably have to.”

“Good. There are some things which I need to talk to you about.”

“Can we talk about them some other time?” Beomgyu asked.

“What? No. I need to tell you as soon as possible.”

“Come on, can’t it wait?”

Taehyun frowned, and Beomgyu quickly carried on speaking before he could interrupt. “Please. I haven’t recovered from the revel. I know, I know. It's practically been a month now. I know. Call me weak, call me pathetic. But… being told I’m not good enough, and that I’m a fraud, it just…” Beomgyu clutched his hands to his chest. “That really hurt. It really, really hurt.”

He brought his hands into his lap, looking down at his clenched fists. “Also, I just came back from a really emotional experience. I saw my old house again, I went outside again. Lots of memories came flooding back to me, and I need time to process. Also, I almost became lost. That in itself is a traumatic experience.”

Beomgyu sighed, playing with his fingers.. “Going back, seeing my house… I was reminded of the times I was really happy, the times when I could be free, and be myself, within my small cottage. I was content.But I also remembered the underlying sadness which haunted everything I did– the fact that I’d had to leave you. It broke my heart, did you know that? Because you and I... we were so close, and even if we'd parted on bad terms, it still hurt me to leave you. It was like I was leaving a part of myself, and even if sadness wasn't the predominant emotion, it was still there. But then, I was also reminded of the fact that you didn’t object to me leaving, and even accepted it. In those few hours I was at my cottage today, I went through about hundred and one emotions during that short time. Happiness, sadness, anger, confusion, shock… Please understand, I am not mentally prepared to have any sort of political talk right now.”

Throughout that whole time, Taehyun didn’t say a word once. Beomgyu, confused by the vizier’s silence, looked up, and all the colour drained out of his face. “Oh my god, Taehyun!”

#court of lies #taegyu #txt taegyu #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt taehyun #taehyun #txt #txt fluff #txt angst #txt fanfic #txt imagine #txt imagines #tomorrow x together #tomorrow by together

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