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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 11 months ago

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Sweet serenade (part 1)

Bunty Windermere x reader. This is part one of two. (moodboard)

My first Father Brown fic! The Polish resettlement camp mentioned here is the one Suzie lived in, even though it hasn’t been mentioned since season 1. I usually watch Father Brown dubbed in my language, which is why I’m not sure I can faithfully portray the “voice” of the characters, with the appropriate 1950s lingo and all that; any suggestion is appreciated!

Warning: mentions of homophobia.

*****

Ten years ago

Bunty Windermere, sixteen years, three months and four days old, weeps silently, cuddled up on the spacious bed, in her family’s stately home; the walls have been recently repainted in a pretty peach colour her mother has chosen, and Bunty dislikes. She has put on her nightgown to cover the chemise that was everything she had on when her parents arrived, and tears keep flowing down her face; tears of pain, and regret, and most of all, of shame.

Oh, Merry, Bunty thinks; that’s all she can do, since the person those apologies are directed to is gone, thrown out of the house she has worked faithfully in for more than a year, and she’ll probably never see her again. I am so sorry. It’s all my fault…

Bunty’s bedroom is on the first floor, and her parents have decided to retire to the living room before starting to argue, which is why their voices arrive muffled to her ears - not so much, though, to make it impossible for Bunty to decipher their words, especially her father’s, since he’s the one who is almost shouting. A blasted invert… against nature… under my roof… disgusting…

Her tears have all but washed away Bunty’s make-up, which she tried to copy from a ladies’ magazine to look nice for her date. Hands pressed to her ears, she wills herself to become deaf to those terrible insults and accusations, and so misses the soft noise of the door opening, and realises she’s not alone in the room anymore only when, lying on her stomach with her arms hiding her face, she catches a glimpse of a pair of elegant, high-heeled shoes approaching the bed.

“May I come in, Bunty?�� Aunt Fliss asks softly, and after a moment of confusion the girl quickly remembers that of course, her aunt had been invited to that soirée -that blasted soirée, Bunty thinks resentfully; what adult people party ends before eleven at night?!- at the home of a friend of her parents, so it’s not surprising that she came home with them, maybe for a nightcap or something of the sort.

Felicia, newly engaged to lord Montague -a man Bunty doesn’t necessarily dislike, but she thinks her aunt deserves much better, or at least more than a man who is already losing his hair before turning forty- as usual impeccably dressed, stylish and just a little more daring that would normally be acceptable, doesn’t wait for an answer to her question, but goes sit on the bed next to her niece. She takes a look around -the clothes abandoned on the chair and chest of drawers, the books and magazines piled on the desk, a record by Édith Piaf Bunty had put on her phonograph to create what she hoped was the right atmosphere for the evening- comments that the room is as messy as her own was when she was her niece’s age and she likes it very much, and then, circling Bunty’s shoulders with her arm, she sweetly inquires: “You want to tell me what has happened?”

Bunty is pretty sure her aunt already knows -after all the shouting match has been going on for fifteen minutes already, that is since Felicia and her brother and sister-in-law have returned from the party- but since her aunt is the only real ally she has ever had within the family, Bunty decides to indulge her, no matter how ashamed she feels - not of the fact itself, but of the pain and trouble she has caused to someone who didn’t deserve any of it.

“It… it’s about Merry - Meredith, I mean, our maid; she’s a year older than me, she lives in the attic.” she begins, without the courage to look her aunt in the eyes; with a pang of guilt, she realises she should now use the past tense “Mom and dad came back earlier than expected, and… and they found her here with me.”

A pause.

“We were in bed together.”

“I had gathered that much, Penelope.” her aunt sighs, without breaking her hug; the revelation seems to have surprised her, but there is no trace of disgust or horror on her elegant face, which comforts Bunty more than she could explain in words. She can still hear her parents fight; she can hear her mother crying, which is something she is not used to, and that makes her feel as if a whole building were weighing on her back, crushing her to the ground.

“Dad is very angry, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so, darling; and I fear Meredith will be forced to leave. But don’t worry, I’ll speak to your father and I’ll convince him to give her good references, so that she can find a new job.”

“If he refuses you could threaten to tell mum he is having an affair with that woman working at his club.” Bunty suggests, and smiles weakly at her aunt’s surprise; her brother’s infidelity is old news for Felicia, and this club woman is the latest of a long list, but she had no idea her niece was aware of the fact “I’m not the only one in the family with a secret, aren’t I?”

“You clearly aren’t. How do you feel?”

Bunty sobs as she turns on her side, looking helplessly at her aunt; she has never felt so alone, and she has never looked so young and helpless. “I feel wretched. It’s all my fault, now Merry will lose her job, while I’ll be forbidden to leave the house for a while at worst. It was my idea, I invited Merry to come here, and now I ruined her life…”

Felicia softly points out that she clearly didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for her friend, who in any case will easily find another job, and Bunty answers that doesn’t make her feel better at all. Merry may not be her soulmate, she’s already mature enough to know, but Bunty liked her very much, and while she meant well when she started flirting with the young maid and knows Merry reciprocated the interest in full, she never stopped to think about what their difference in status may mean should they be discovered.

“Aunt Fliss?”

“Yes, darling?” Felicia asks kindly, and Bunty looks at her. Felicia Windermere is no saint, and her niece knows what is being said about her, about her friends and those parties she attends where most of the attendees arrive with a partner and leave with another, but she doesn’t care; her aunt is a clever, resourceful woman, one who has always gone her own way without letting herself being influenced by critics and disapproval. Bunty trusts Felicia, she actually wishes she were a lot like her, and because of this she finds the courage to ask for… what? Absolution? Or maybe simply understanding…

“Is what Merry and I were doing so wrong? I am… very fond of her, and she of me, no one had been forced…”

Felicia sighs as she looks at her niece, not unkindly, as she thinks back to when she was Bunty’s age and questions like that still made sense. A melancholic smile brushes against her rouged lips; she is decidedly not the most appropriate person to teach a young girl what is right or wrong concerning matters of the heart and she knows. “I wish I could tell you that as long as you hurt no one you can be free to live your life as you please.” she murmurs in the end “Unfortunately that is not how things work, and you are old enough to understand this. But there is one thing I want you to remember: don’t let anyone, especially not a person as close-minded as your father, make you feel ashamed about yourself, and tell you who to be fond of - who to love.”

Bunty’s smile is bitter as she dries her tears on the back of her hand - too bitter for her age, and for a person whose only sin has been to follow the desires of her heart. “If he catches me with a girl again I think dad would kill me; or even worse, put me in a convent.” she points out softly, only partially exaggerating, and her aunt admits that yes, her brother may accept a daughter who flirts with boys, but finding her with a person of her own gender…in that case the consequences could very well be catastrophic.

Felicia takes her niece’s face in her hands. “Try looking after yourself, Penelope” she advises, her eyes full of affection and concern, and Bunty promises she will.

Six months ago

Bunty Windermere, twenty-five years, seven months and twelve days old, walks leisurely through the streets of Kembleford, an odd feeling, both resignation and hope, filling her heart. She is obviously happy to have escaped the latest row with her parents -her father especially- and since aunt Fliss had spoken so well about the village in her letters she is sure she’ll feel right at ease as well, but this place is so tiny… there is no night club or bar, the shops are so few she can count them on one hand and the most exciting event of the year must be the parish bingo at Christmas. She has met Father Brown only yesterday and she knows he is an exceptional person already, and mrs McCarthy, who she has heard so much about from her aunt it is almost as if they knew each other already, has been very kind to her as well, but people here go to bed with the sun and there is really nothing to do, nothing a person her age could do to pass the time and have some fun…

She’s walking along an empty unpaved road at the edge of the village, not far from the Polish resettlement camp, a gentle wind making the hem of her skirt twirl around her calves, her blue handbag hanging from her elbow. Bunty is so deep in her thoughts she doesn’t realise she’s no longer alone on the path until it’s too late; one moment the roar of an approaching engine behind her reaches her ears…

… and the next a moped, coming down the road at full speed, reaches her, and as the vehicle passes her the driver reaches towards Bunty, grabs the strap of her handbag and snatches it off her.

A strangled cry, due more to surprise than fear or pain, escapes Bunty’s lips; she stumbles, already vaguely aware of what has happened but too shaken to react, and a moment later she has lost her balance, and she is falling, face forward onto the ground, and she knows it’s going to hurt, a lot, but she can’t do anything to stop it…

She hits the ground hard, and pain explodes inside her; Bunty remains still for a minute, dizzy and still partially uncomprehending, before cautiously checking herself for damages; her face is miraculously uninjured, but she has hit both her right elbow and knee, and she can feel blood trickling down her leg.

Those few seconds were enough to allow the moped, and the person driving it, to get away, the engine noise already disappearing in the distance. Bunty swears (something she had ordered herself never to do when in Father Brown’s company, or mrs McCarthy’s) under her breath. She had never been mugged in her life, a positive streak she’d rather not have broken. It’s really absurd, nothing ever happened to her when she lived in London, and then, after she moves to a tiny, sleepy village…!

“Oh, my God…!”

An alarmed, female voice fills the air, and then the sound of an hurried walk. Bunty blinks and, still lying on her stomach, sees a pair of sturdy brown boots enter her field of vision, and then a pair of knees, as their owner squats in front of her. “Are you alright? Did you hurt your head?”

“No, I… I’m fine, I think.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. Give me your hand; can you stand?”

She can, and she does, the other woman ready to intervene should she stumble or lose balance again. “I saw what happened, but I was too far to intervene.” she explains, as if Bunty could accuse her otherwise; the moped has disappeared in the countryside surrounding the village, and the two women, being on foot, have no way to reach it “Did you see who it was?”

Bunty shakes her head as she checks herself; fortunately the one on her elbow is just a scratch, but her left leg is bleeding. She gratefully accepts the handkerchief the other woman quickly retrieves from her own handbag and offers her, and she reflects that she has to adjust her opinion on Kembleford, the village is not as sleepy and boring as she expected at all! Lovely, I’ve been here for less than a day and I have been mugged already…

“Unfortunately no; it was a man, of that I’m pretty sure, but I couldn’t see his face.” she explains “And in any case I don’t know anyone yet, here in the village, so…”

The woman beams at her; she has a lovely smile, Bunty can’t help noticing.

“Ah! You must be lady Felicia’s niece; Father Brown mentioned you had moved here. Your name is Penelope, yes?”

It is; but she has not thought of herself as a Penelope since she was six. “I’m Bunty, Bunty Windermere.”

“It’s very nice to meet you; I’m (name), (full name).”

They shake hands, and Bunty finds herself looking curiously at the other woman: she’s the first person her own age she meets after her arrival in Kembleford. (name) smiles at her, but a moment later her cheeks turn pink. “Oh, I’m so sorry; you have just been robbed, and I waste time making small talk…”

Bunty shakes her head; she’s still upset, but (name)’s presence is having a positive, reassuring effect on her… as if she couldn’t help feeling better, even though her handbag is lost and the other woman can’t do anything to help her.

“It’s no problem, really; it was good of you to come assist me.”

“Don’t mention it, I just wish I were close enough to intervene. I’m sorry for your handbag; did you have… something important in it…?”

Bunty shrugs; fortunately she didn’t expect to have a reason to carry money with her in Kembleford, since there are no clothing shops or restaurants. “Not much, but it had my favourite lipstick inside, and my documents… Well, I can ask for a new copy of those. I’m mainly sorry about the handbag, it was a gift from my aunt…”

(name) frowns, her hands in her skirt’s pockets. She couldn’t look more vexed if she had been mugged herself, Bunty thinks with a sudden surge of affection, an unexpected feeling given the fact they have just met.

“I’m so sorry for what happened, and just a day after your arrival in Kembleford, I don’t even want to know what you must be thinking about the people here…”

“Well, unfortunately I know there are muggers everywhere, as well as good people.” Bunty points out; the idea of a person feeling sorry for another’s opinion on her town is a bit odd… but sweet “Are you… part of the village’s welcoming committee, by any chance?”

The question makes (name) blush adorably. “Well, no; but I’ve lived in Kembleford since I was born, and I’d like newcomers to feel at ease and welcome as well. Also, your aunt has always been kind to me.”

“You know her?”

“I’ve worked as a maid at Montague Manor when I was younger; I’m starting my own business now, or at least I’m trying, but she helped me a lot for years. You want to come to my place? I live down the road, you’re welcome to have some tea, if you want, or if you need to clean that wound on your leg.”

It is sweet of her, Bunty thinks, to worry about a person she has just met; (name) seems nice… and she’s also very pretty, she thinks without actually considering the fact - for now. “I think I’ll survive, thank you.” she says; she looks at (name), and (name) looks at her, and suddenly both of them are smiling “But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

The other woman’s response is quick, and sincere; even impassioned. “It’s no bother at all; quite the opposite.” she says; even so, there is something shy in the way she bites her lip, as if fearing her new acquaintance won’t find her company interesting enough to justify accepting her offer “Come with me, then.”

Side by side, the two women start down the road, the sun slowly setting down behind them and the theft of the handbag all but forgotten.

Three days ago

Bunty Windermere, twenty-six years, one month and nineteen days old, stopped dusting one of the round tables arranged around the room’s perimeter and grinned as (name) bent over the table and kissed her nose.

“To what do I owe this display of affection?” she inquired, and the other woman winked as she smiled, that open, sunny smile that, six months after their first meeting, still had the power to make Bunty’s heart tremble.

“To the fact that you are so adorable I simply couldn’t resist; and as a thank you for all the help you’re giving me, obviously.”

Bunty, who like her partner was wearing old trousers and a blouse already stained with green paint after the two of them had spent an hour preparing the sign to hang above the shop’s door, admitted that sweeping the floor and unpacking boxes of supplies was not exactly her idea of a fun morning. “Which is why I expect to be paid, mind you.”

(name), who looked happier and more excited than ever even though she had never been so busy, or running on so little sleep, pretended to think about it. “That can be arranged. Do you accept payments in kind?”

“From you? I might as well…”

The two women exchanged a smile, and then (name) turned to look all around her, equally proud and nervous for her shop. The room had a circular shape, the walls painted teal, her favourite colour; comfortable stools and chairs surrounded the round tables, while the counter was still empty, ready to be filled with fruit or cream-flavoured desserts. A second large banner, that Bunty had prepared herself since she couldn’t find one she deemed appropriate in the shops, hung from the ceiling. “SWEET SERENADE ICE CREAM PARLOUR - GRAND OPENING TODAY” it said in large, bright letters.

Bunty smiled; she reached (name) and circled her shoulders with an arm. “Are you excited?”

“Excited? I haven’t slept for a week!” (name) exclaimed; she bit her lip, suddenly unsure “What if no one comes?”

“I’m sure they’ll all come. Yours will be the first ice cream parlour in Kembleford, and the whole village has been talking about it for weeks. I’m sure you’ll have an incredible success.”

“I hope so! I’ve worked in six restaurants or cafés since I was maybe twelve, and I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but this place is my own, and an ice cream parlour…” (name) bit her lip, as if not daring to believe her lifelong dream was finally about to become reality “I can’t wait for the shop to open! I really hope people like it.”

“I’m sure they will; it’ll go splendidly, since you have devoted so much time and effort to it. You should be proud of yourself, (name).” Bunty urged her; she remained silent for a moment before adding: “I am, in case you want to know.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, wordlessly, two practically dressed young women -they planned on changing before the grand opening; as the shop’s owner (name) was determined to look her best for her new clients, while Bunty had always taken a leaf out of her aunt’s book and never appeared in public looking less than fabulous- a little weary after a whole morning spent cleaning the ice cream parlour and preparing it for its debut, and breathless for a completely different reason. Bunty felt suddenly shy, even a little self-conscious, which was absurd, since she had not uttered a love declaration, not at all, she had simply made an observation, even though for her standards -the standards of a woman who had had many flings and special friendships, but could count the real relationships of her life on one hand… and still have a couple of fingers to spare- that was no small matters, and she felt deeply close to the woman in front of her, a woman she had been fond of since their first meeting, when (name)’s sincere concern and earnest offer for help had won her over without either of them realising. It was difficult to give a name to, to define, that relationship, that was friendship and passion and trust and affection and empathy all in one, and yet so much more, a feeling she wasn’t used to and that, truth to be told, scared her a little, but Bunty knew she could never give up on…

She remained waiting, almost holding her breath, for a reaction, and thank God (name) did not disappoint; the other woman took her hands in her own, and smiled in that special way she had, happy and beautiful. “Of course I want to know; I care about your opinion more than anyone else’s.”

“... really?”

“You know it, Bunty. You know how much I care for you… and I don’t want to brag, but I know you care about me as well.” (name) said; she grinned, her eyebrow raised “Or am I wrong?”

A moment later they were in each other’s arms, joined in a kiss so intense it made both of their heads spin; it was a sweet moment, intense beyond words, but Bunty felt stupid -worse, she felt a coward- because she knew what was between her and (name) was special, almost magical, and she would have wanted nothing better than to shout it to the whole world, but she couldn’t, and the fault was her father’s, and the threats that had remained with her for ten years’, but still…

Cowardly. Cowardly and mean.

… still, she knew it was unfair, and that the other woman deserved better.

“Is everything all right?” (name) inquired; she broke their kiss, and placed her hand against Bunty’s cheek; she was wearing a simple ring - her greatest treasure, she had explained to the other woman, not because of the jewel’s intrinsic value but because it had belonged to her mother “Bunty, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Bunty reassured her, forcing herself to smile; she felt guilty, as if she had cruelly hurt (name), and it pained her enormously. She was searching for a way to change the subject when, to her immense relief, she realised they were not alone in the shop anymore, which gave her a pretext to let the conversation drop.

“Hello, Father.” she said, looking towards the door and missing the disappointment on (name)’s face “Hello, mrs McCarthy. You’re more than a little early.”

“Are you quite sure you have made the right decision? What I mean to say is, he seems like a proper boy, polite, but you know what sort of family he was born in…”

“As I said already, the fact that Maksym’s father has made some mistakes, and that perhaps he will make some more in the future, doesn’t matter; the boy needs a job to help support his family, while we need someone to do the cleaning at St Mary’s. And in any case, what are you so afraid of? He can’t very well steal a confessional, can he?”

On that clear, sunny morning, Father Brown and his parish secretary had decided to take the long way to reach St Mary’s church, enjoying a brief walk before checking on the new cleaner’s first day of work. Mrs McCarthy sighed, still unsure the object of their discussion was up to the task. “It is true that there are no objects of value in the church.” she admitted; she waited for the priest to stop and greet a parishioner walking past them, and then added, her voice lowered to a whisper: “But even so, I’d feel more at ease if we waited a week before hiring him on a permanent basis.”

“That sounds reasonable. I’m sure Maksym will not disappoint.”

The priest and his faithful companion went through the church’s front door, and even the fastidious (she would have said particular) mrs McCarthy had to admit the wide room, bathed in the late morning’s light, looked way better than the day before; the single aisle’s floor had been swept meticulously, and the old wooden pews, each with two prayers’ books neatly placed on the seat, looked freshly dusted. The new cleaner had also replaced the flowers in the vase next to the altar, a gift from a parishioner’s garden, and polished the brass candle-holders on the sides of the door. “Well, he clearly didn’t inherit his father’s slacking tendencies.” she admitted.

Her approval made Father Brown smile. “Good morning, Maksym.” he said then, noticing the newly-hired cleaner, walking towards them from the other end of the church, and who smiled broadly in response. Maksym Czarniecki had recently turned fifteen, and lived in Kemblefold’s Polish resettlement camp; he was a sandy-haired, tall and slender boy, serious and polite when he wasn’t too shy to express himself. Father Brown was quite fond of him, and had been happy to give him a job. “We were just saying you’re doing a very good job.”

“Good morning, Father; good morning, mrs McCarthy.” the boy replied politely, the handle of a broom grasped in his hands; like many of the Polish camp’s residents, he spoke with a heavy accent, but his English was better than most “Thank you. I have just finished sweeping the floors here, and now I’ll do the same in the sacristy. I think I’ll be done by lunch time.”

“There is no rush, the afternoon mass is at five. Do you have everything you need?”

Maksym thought about it for a moment, more focused on the matter than many would have been in his place. “Now that you mention it I could need some more detergent for the floors; do you mind if I go check?”

Father Brown answered that they didn’t mind waiting and Maksym left, hurrying towards the sacristy, connected to the church’s main room through a small door behind the confessional. “Are you sure you want to visit (name)’s shop before the opening ceremony?” mrs McCarthy asked as she examined the church’s floor in search of remaining dust grains “It is not exactly along the way home.”

“Of course. (name) has worked so much to make her dream of opening an ice cream parlour come true, and I think she needs all the support she can get; I want to wish her good luck.”

“You’re only saying that because you hope she’ll give you some extra ice cream.”

The priest simply smiled in response, without denying; gluttony was a deadly sin, but he was confident a cup of chocolate and lemon ice cream wouldn’t lead him to perdition.

Mrs McCarthy, whose floor inspection had yielded satisfactory results, hesitated for a moment before changing the subject… to one she didn’t feel quite comfortable discussing.

“You know that after Bunty moved here in Kembleford she and (name) have become… great friends.” she started in the end; Father Brown, who knew her well enough to perceive where his parish’s secretary was getting at, pretended not to.

“Of course, they have been joined at the hip since they first met; it’s almost impossible to meet one of them without the other.”

“Exactly, about that…”

Mrs McCarthy looked quickly all around herself, as if fearing the walls or the wooden pews could listen… and chide her for discussing such scandalous matters; her voice dropped even lower. “You know as well as I do that for years there have been rumours in the village about (name)’s… inclinations.” she explained “And we know that Bunty is not exactly shy when… relationships are concerned. Besides, either she has finally started making her own bed after getting up, or in the last few weeks she has started sleeping out regularly… including last night.”

All of a sudden, Father Brown looked very focused on a damp spot on the nearest wall.

“So I was wondering… if there was something between them; something that went beyond friendship. If they were… I mean, together. What do you think?”

“I think it is very nice that two young, adult, unmarried women, one of whom knew no one when she moved here in the village and the other who lost her only family when she was little more than a child, have become close and able to find companionship and comfort in each other. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, of course.” mrs McCarthy admitted, impatient; the truth was, she was fond of both (name) and Bunty, even though she didn’t quite know what to make of their relationship. If only Father Brown would meet her halfway, instead of playing dumb! “They are both good girls, that’s for sure, but…”

“I found it!” Maksym announced, joining the two once more and inadvertently putting an end to their conversation; part of mrs McCarthy was vaguely annoyed, but the other was almost thankful “Sorry if I kept you waiting, Father, I have two bottles of floor detergent, it will be enough for two weeks at least.”

“That is good to hear. Tell me, Maksym, do you know a woman named (full name)?” Father Brown inquired, who had just gotten an idea.

“Of course, she’s that lady who lives near the greengrocer; sometimes I meet her on my way to school.”

“Well, perhaps you know already, but in the afternoon there will be the opening of (name)’s new ice cream parlour. Why don’t you come? It should be fun.”

Maksym looked interested, even thrilled, for a moment, but then his expression changed to one of regret, and he said he’d better not come. “It’s not because I don’t like ice cream.” he explained when Father Brown asked him “I do, even though I have only eaten it once. It’s just… Well, at the moment I have no money, so…”

Father Brown kindly pointed out that he wouldn’t need to pay, since for the opening the ice cream would be offered for free, in order to attract the attention of potential clients. “So you can simply go and ask for a cone the flavour you prefer.”

“Yes, but… won’t miss (name) mind that I scrounge off her? We at the camp don’t have much, I doubt we’ll be able to buy ice cream from her.”

“I’m sure (name) won’t mind,” mrs McCarthy reassured him; she wasn’t sure yet Father Brown had made the right decision hiring a person of not proven experience to take care of the church’s cleaning, but she couldn’t help appreciating the boy’s integrity “And if you want to be sure of it, you can come with us and ask her… and then return here to finish cleaning up.”

Maksym, happy and with his conscience clear, accepted; as the boy went to put away his broom, Father Brown smiled gratefully at his parish secretary, who simply smiled in return. A minute later, the trio was leaving St Mary’s and, walking unhurriedly in the early spring’s warmth, reached the still un-inaugurated ice cream parlour. The small building, not far from Kemblefold’s main square, had hosted a barbershop until the previous year, and when the owner had retired (name) had taken the opportunity to buy it for a reasonable sum and repurpose it.

As they entered, Maksym looked around, openly curious. “This is a nice place; I had never been in an ice cream shop.” he mentioned, while Father Brown and mrs McCarthy’s eyes immediately darted to (name) and Bunty, standing in the middle of the room… holding each other in an embrace, just a little too tight to be purely friendly.

They both instantly decided to pretend nothing happened… and they weren’t the only ones.

“Hello, Father.” Bunty said, smiling, a bit forcefully, at both; she was still wearing the same clothes as the previous evening and she was sure both the priest and his parish secretary had noticed “Hello, mrs McCarthy. You’re more than a little early.”

“We thought we would come to see how you are managing, and wish (name) good luck for her big day.” Father Brown explained, earning a large, grateful smile from the shop’s owner “And this is Maksym, our new cleaner… he had a question for you, (name).”

Clearly shy but politely, the boy explained his situation, and (name) told him he had no reason to worry. “This afternoon all residents of Kembleford will be my guests, and the more people will come, the happier I will be.” she reassured him; she had never spoken to Maksym before, since she had no friends at the Polish camp and the boy seemed to mainly hang around people his age, but he looked polite and well-mannered, and she appreciated his worrying about exploiting her “I’d really like you to come, and your friends from the camp as well.”

Maksym beamed at her, as if (name) had offered him a thousand pounds as a present. “Amazing! I’ll definitely come, miss (last name).”

(name) smiled, touched by his enthusiasm; no one better than her knew how a small treat, even a cheap ice cream, could make a person feel better, and offer a moment of joy even in the darkest of times. Her own parents had used to bring her to eat an ice cream at a café out of Kembleford every sunday after mass; she missed them more than the tasty dessert, of course, but she liked to think opening her own shop also meant honouring their memory.

“You’re more than welcome, precious. And you will come, will you, Father? It’d mean a lot if you wanted to bless the shop as well.”

Father Brown answered that he would be happy to.

“What about you, mrs McCarthy?” Bunty inquired with a smile; she was still holding (name)’s arm under hers “Fancy an ice cream come?”

“I wouldn’t know; actually I had decided to start dieting…”

“Oh, come on; you don’t need to lose weight.” (name) pointed out courteously “And fruity ice creams are lower in fat than creamy ones, so if you get one of those you will be safe.” Flattered by the compliment, mrs McCarthy replied that maybe she could indulge in a little treat, as long as it was just a small cup.

“Is there anything you need, (name)?”

“I think I’m all set, Father. The suppliers should be here in half an hour, and thanks to Bunty I am almost done with cleaning the place.”

“All right, then; I can’t wait to taste that dark chocolate you told me so much about.”

(name) promised she would save him a cup, and a moment later the shop’s door opened once more. Inspector Mallory, who wore a grey raincoat, marched in, sergeant Goodfellow following suit.

“Hello, inspector.” (name) greeted him; she didn’t particularly like the head of the local police and was pretty sure she was unloved in return, but in her days as a waitress and maid she had had her share of unpleasant clients and guests, and was used to put on a good face and treat politely people who didn’t deserve it “Hello, sergeant. If you’re here for the opening I’m afraid you’re a few hours early.”

“I’m not here to eat an ice cream.” the inspector answered brusquely, before turning his eyes to Father Brown “Why are you here, Padre?”

“I just came to wish (name) good luck for the opening of her shop.” the priest answered, imperturbable “What about you? What brings you here?”

“My job, obviously; and I probably shouldn’t be surprised to find you there, since you are in the habit of getting involved in matters that don’t concern you. Although this time you have missed the crime scene; starting to slacken, are you?”

Before any of those present could ask the meaning of those words, Mallory had Goodfellow pass him the handcuffs the sergeant carried at his belt… and then, to the shock of all, stood in front of Bunty to put them on her wrists. “Penelope Windermere, I’m arresting you for the murder of Tadeusz Chodakievicz.”

#Father Brown #Father Brown 2013 #Bunty Windermere #Bunty Windermere x reader #Emer Kenny #Bellona's stuff

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deehellcat · 1 year ago

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I was going to make another moodboard for the 'billionaire' fill on my @tonystarkbingo card, but then I started thinking about the surrounding events, what set it up. LOL, oops. The couple of paragraphs I meant to write to accompany the board mushroomed into its own timeline. So, here it is. (there's still gonna be a moodboard, and it's going to fill the free space on my card. hehe)

Title of Fill—In Season At All Times

Collaborator deehellcat

Card Number 7014

Link (AO3, Tumblr, etc.) https://archiveofourown.org/works/51434401

Square Filled (Letter AND number AND prompt) R2, billionaire

Ship/Main Pairing (romantic, platonic, or none) Science Boyfriends (Tony/Bruce)

Rating (Gen, Teen, Mature, Explicit) gen

Major Tags/Warnings/Triggers –Canon Divergence--post-Age of Ultron, Gardening, Science Husbands, the Russos whomst, Tony’s Love Language is Gifts, Bruce Banner Deserves the World

Summary –They were just trying to decompress from yet another insane callout. Tony was randomly flipping the tv remote, muttering “how is it there are ten thousand channels and literally nothing worth a flying fuck to watch—”

“Hey.” He thought Bruce was asleep in his arms, but suddenly he sat forward, his eyes on the screen. “Hey, Tony, stop there. What’s this?”

“Um, people with big green fruits, of some kind.”

Tony discovers his boyfriend’s secret yearning, and true to form, takes it to the limit.

Word Count (if applicable) 1543

#tony stark bingo #tsbmvii #fanfic

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sunflowers-and-snowdrops · 5 years ago

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Doctor Who 》》 Rose Tyler and Ten ❤🥺

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writing-for-marvel · 2 years ago

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saw this and you can imagine my first thought… all those corners and pillars to hide behind with Duke Bucky 🤭

It Started With A Smile - Drabble

[Bridgerton AU]

< < PART 2 | Series Masterlist

Duke!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Drabble Summary: You and Bucky manage to steal a moment alone together.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, it’s set in a different AU to the show so there aren’t direct spoilers for either season, historical inaccuracy, just fluff

Word count: 1.0k

A/N: this is set within the time jump in part 2 but it’s really just a fluffy moment that can be read on its own. Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboards by me

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

The grand, wooden clock in the entrance hall chimed loudly to signify the top of the hour had arrived.

With each resounding tick of the hand your anxiety continued to balloon in your chest. Carol had planned to meet you on the hour to deliver the most recent letter from Bucky, but she was yet to make her appearance.

Tapping your foot impatiently on the hardwood floor, your mind floated to the reasons as to why Carol had not shown on time and thinking of the worst circumstances which could have led to her being delayed.

Did Bucky not want to continue exchanging letters with you?

Had he been caught by your mother? Or perhaps one of Lady Whistledown’s spies?

Once you had been waiting ten minutes past the time previously agreed upon, and your anxiety at being discovered away from the ball peaked, you decided lingering any longer would be futile and you should rejoin the party.

However, it was at that exact moment in which you heard footsteps approaching the secluded corner of the entrance hall you were hiding in. In that instant your mind could not decide if you should be excited that Carol had finally managed to slip away from the ball or nervous that you had been found by a member of the court.

Bracing yourself for the worst, you waited with bated breath to see if the individual would uncover your hiding place.

It wasn’t Carol who ended up rounding the corner, in fact, it was the person you least expected to see away from the ball.

It was none other than your tall, handsome Duke, donning a dark blue jacket that made his eyes shine like sapphires and his characteristic lopsided smile that gave life to the butterflies in your stomach.

“Your Grace, what are you doing here?” You asked in surprise and panic, looking around the hall to ensure you were alone.

“Here to see you, of course.” James did not look at all concerned about being caught interacting with you as he gently took hold of your hand and placed a sweet, devoted kiss to your knuckles. “And to deliver this in person.” He added, pulling out a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Someone could see us!” You hastily mentioned under your breath, pulling him into your hiding place between two ornamental columns, where your bodies were forced to be pressed together.

Being found in this position with a man, let alone someone of Bucky’s reputation, would wreck your own, yet you had no inclination to put any space between you when his touch set both your skin and soul on fire.

“Lady Pepper Stark just announced she is pregnant, everyone is far too preoccupied to notice my absence for a few minutes.” He smirked, his gloved hands finding a place on your hips in the confined space. “Besides, I needed to see you.”

“I wish we did not have to hide. There is nothing I want more than to walk into a ball beside you and to dance the night away in your arms.” Bucky looked incredulous that anyone could ever want that with him, and in that moment you made a promise to yourself that you would not stop until he learnt he was deserving of being loved and cared for.

“That is all I want as well.”

“We will find a way.” You assured, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest.

“How can you be so certain? Your mother will never approve of me.” You could hear the doubt wavering in his voice. You wanted to say love will always find a way, because you truly believed your devotion towards him could conquer anything, even your mother’s disapproval, however, you could not find the courage within you to use the word love.

“I choose to believe my dreams can come true, and you, James Barnes, are my dream.”

If you thought Bucky looked emotional before, it was nothing in comparison to now, his bright blue eyes brimming with tears.

“You consume my entire being, all my dreams and all my waking thoughts.” His eyes flitted down to your lips then back to your eyes. He inched his face closer to your own, your eyes fluttering shut in expectation that you would get to experience a long awaited kiss.

A thud of a heavy door near your hiding spot interrupted your intimate moment. The realisation your brief rendezvous was coming to an end made your heart feel heavy in your chest as Bucky pulled back ever so slightly.

“I do not want to leave you.” Bucky stated, caressing your cheek and searching your face like he was attempting to memorise every detail, unknowing when you would have the opportunity to be this close again.

“I do not wish for you to leave.” You brought your own hand up to encase his, in an attempt to anchor him to you. “I crave spending every moment with you.”

“Me too. Until we meet again.” With a remorseful smile, a lingering kiss to your forehead and a muttered apology against your skin, Bucky handed you his letter before backing away to rejoin the ball.

Clutching the parchment next to your heart and closing your eyes for a moment, you tried your best to savour the fleeting feeling of Bucky’s soft lips on your forehead and the blooming affection which always erupted in your chest when you were in his presence.

With a deep breath, you unfolded the piece of paper, smiling as you recognised his slightly disordered handwriting addressing you as my beloved.

Everything taglist: @imagining-harrypotter @tripletstephaniescp @asgardwinter @demonpoxballad @nagygreta @libbymouse @mayasreadingnook @thecraziestcrayon @hallecarey1 @sea040561 @smallmercies33 @buckysbirdie @moongoddessmox @coolbeans32 @foreverindreamlandd @pitifulbaby @seitmai @emi11ie @princessphilly @daydreaming-lightly @440mxs-wife @brasspistol

Bucky Barnes taglist: @badassbaker @gitasor @psychoticmason @ajeff855 @rosepetalsinwinter @buggy14 @leyannrae @blackwidownat2814 @honeywithemoney @prettylittlepluviophile @endless-summer-soldier @highlyintelligentblonde @mrsbarnesinmyimagination @kthynes @babybluebuck @tlcwrites @matchat3a @multi-fandom-s @bxcketbarnes @mimilh @pineprincess @hannahg-thats-me @fluffycutecevans @awaywithtime @thebuckybarnesvault @scarletbich

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years ago

Note

Wifey!!! Congratulations on 1k!!!! You deserve this so much my love. Since day one of your blog I have known for a fact, everyone will love your writing! I cannot wait to see you hit more and more of these precious milestones <3333

Looking at the forbidden romance list, I cannot help but vision this:

A big company is very against coworkers dating. They prefer coworkers to see each other as competition. Of course, coworkers A and B fall for each other anyways.

With none other than our very own Dave York!

Ana darling, thank you so much ily 😘 I hope you enjoy ☺️

Playing Nice

Pairings: Dave York x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, established sexual relationship, reader being called a whore, angst, cursing, fluff, violence, guns, killing.

A/N: the gif in my moodboard inspired this one 😘

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Daves lips twitched - a smile forcing its way onto his face as he hears your voice over the com link. “Nine…ten..eleven….beat that York. Twelve..” His eyebrow quirks as he spots you moving towards the group of mercenaries. Over my dead body baby.

“Oh I’m going to beat you, and when I do - you’re gonna give me whatever I want.” Dave moves - slowly, hiding behind crates as his eyes scan the area. He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and he can make out the back of your head. No! They're going to see you.

One of the men turned in your direction, gun pointed at your head. No you fucking don’t. Dave stands now, gun aimed and starts firing. One by one they drop. “Twelve..thirteen…fourteen…seems I’ve won,” he says, a sly smirk on his face as he stands above you. There’s something hidden behind those dark eyes as he reaches his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

He pulls you up and you fall into his chest, his hand wraps around your waist to steady you. You can feel his warmth beneath the palm of your hands - searing your skin. You want nothing more than to strip him bare and trace the scars on his chest. Dave clears his throat and you back away, “thanks. We better get going.”

***

Your eyes follow him as he leaves Smith's office - having given his debrief. He walks past you, his face void of any emotion and his gaze fixed on anything but you. You hated this. The way it was so easy for him to ignore you all day - to act cold and unfeeling when you practically wore your heart on your sleeve. Did he care about you at all?

“Y/N.”

Taking a deep breath, you stand and make your way into his office, Smith gesturing for you to take a seat. “York filled us in on your fuck up.” An anger boils under the surface of your skin and you clench your fists in an attempt to not punch this fucker in the face. “There was no fuck up, sir. I had more targets taken out than York until one of the mercs spotted me. I had it handled.”

“That’s not what Dave said. He said you got caught and he had to intervene. You know this means the kills go to him, which means he’s now in the lead.” You stand abruptly now, “that isn’t fair. You can’t do that.”

“I think you’ll find I can. You will simply have to do better if you want to be in charge miss Y/N. Both of you are always neck and neck, this next mission will be the decider. You’d best bring your A game.”

“Yes, sir.” Storming out of his office you make your way straight for Dave. He’s in the conference room with guys - Resnik, Kovac and Ari. Laughing at something he said but their conversation dies down as you enter and Dave looks at you with a sly smirk. His eyes skim over your form before meeting your gaze and you can see the hint of lust in his eyes.

“Got something to say, baby?” What is going on with him? He’s never this cruel. “You lied to Smith. Why?”

“I didn’t lie. I told him exactly what happened, not my problem, your shit at this.” The guys all try to hide their laughter and it angers you even more. “You’re a dick.”

“Baby, if you wanna suck my dick, all you have to do is ask?” You walk up to him and slap him hard on the face before storming back to your office - willing the tears to hold off until you can close your door. How fucking dare he.

***

The bathroom is steaming as you let the hot water from the shower cascade down your body. You hope it will ease the tension in your muscles from the shit day you’ve had. What has gotten into Dave? He was mean today. Meaner than usual.

A squeal passes your lips as arms wrap around you from behind. A hand coming up to cover your mouth to muffle your scream. “Shh baby, it’s just me.” You lean into his touch as his deep baritone voice soothes your nerves, but then you remember how he treated you today and you turn around and push him slightly.

“What the hell are you doing here Dave? I’m not in the mood.” You try to move past him but he blocks you, his body pushing you back against the cool tiles. “Dave!” His arousal is hard against your stomach and you can help the shiver that runs through you. Why did you always want him?

“Is this about today? Baby, you know I had to. That we have to play the game and pretend we hate each other.”

“Yeah I get that, but you didn’t have to be so mean about it. You're not usually like that, so what’s gotten into you?” You place your hand in his cheek gently and reach up and kiss his lips softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

***

Dave feels his heart flutter again and butterflies erupt in his stomach. He’s developing feelings and that can’t happen. He grabs your neck a little roughly - his thumb running along your bottom lip before trailing it down your chest and pinching your nipple “Nothing has gotten into me baby, but I want to get into you.”

He pushes his hips against you and you moan a little. Such a filthy whore. “If you want me to leave?” Your eyes widen and you grip him harder, pulling him close. “No.”

He smirks and begins kissing along your neck, his teeth biting into the skin. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard baby, you’ll forget all about today.” He pumps himself twice before lining up at your entrance, thrusting into you in one fluid motion. “Oh fuck”

His pace is brutal as he pounds into you, his thick length hitting that sweet spot over and over. You feel so good wrapped around him, he never wants this to end. He wants to be buried inside you every minute of every day.

“Fuck Dave…harder..” Filthy fucking whore. He loves watching you come undone. He loves the faces you make, the sounds that escape those plump lips. All for him. Only him.

“You belong to me. Do you hear me? Every inch of you is mine, and if you let another man touch you, I won’t hesitate to kill them.”

“Yes. Yours, all yours.” He crashes his lips to yours and you come around him, crying out his name. Pulling out, he pumps himself before spilling his come all over your stomach. His hand rests under your chin, “I’m sorry, if I hurt your feelings. I’ll tone it down a bit, baby.”

“Thanks. Are you staying tonight?” His lips quirk into a smile, “do you want me to?” With a nod of your head he turns off the shower and lifts you into his arms, carrying you into your room. “Guess I’m staying then.”

***

The mission has gone to shit and Dave can’t find you anywhere. Fuck! I should have told her how I feel. It had been a set up from the beginning and they ambushed you, and he hasn’t laid eyes on you in over an hour. I’m gonna fucking kill them.

He’s on top of the tower, eyes scanning through the scope of his gun. Come on baby, where are you? His heart is beating erratically and he’s gonna lose his shit if he can’t find you.

“Fuck. Dave…”

“Baby! Baby is that you? Where are you?” Your voice comes through - slightly muffled - on the comms. “I’m ok…I got knocked out when the cafe blew up. I’m just a little sore.”

“Hey it’s ok…just wait there…I’m coming to you.” Dave rushes down the stairs, taking two at a time until he reaches the bottom. He moves as quickly as he can while also keeping an eye out for stragglers.

He releases a breath when he finally lays his eyes on you. You're ok. “Hey.” You say with a smile plastered on your face. That beautiful smile that he loves. Bending down - he helps you up -pulling you into a hug. “Thought I fucking lost you baby.” His hands rest on either side of your face as he whispers “I love you, so fucking much”, before kissing you passionately.

“What?” You’ve pulled back a little, eyes boring into him - hope shining behind them. “I love you baby. I didn’t want to admit it but today…today I almost lost you and…I’m not hiding it anymore. I’m not hiding us.”

“Dave we’re not allowed…” he stops you by kissing you again, his arms wrapping fully around you now. “I don’t give a fuck anymore, I love you and I want to be with you.”

“I love you too. Now please, take me home.”

***

Dave pulls into the drive and you both look at each other - a devilish smile on your face as you reach over and kiss him passionately. “You ready baby?”

“Born ready. Now let’s get this done, then you can take me home and fuck me.” Dave growls as he pulls you into another kiss. “Come on.”

Both dressed in black head to toe - you enter into the huge house, careful to make no noise. The house is quiet, everyone fast asleep. Perfect. With the silencer on your gun, you make your way behind Dave towards the main bedroom.

Making your way inside, Dave gives you a look - one you know is him telling you to take this one. And you will, with great fucking pleasure. With the safety off, you point the gun to his head - right between his eyes.

He startles awake and the fear in his eyes when he sees you is so satisfying. “What the?” You place your finger over your lip, shushing him. “Y/N? York?”

Dave smirks as he comes to stand behind you, hand resting on your hip. “Thought you could take us out and we wouldn’t find out?”

“What? I never..”

“Cut the shit Smith, we know what you did.” You watch as his face morphs into a sadistic smile. “I should have killed you both myself. You both could have gone far, if only you didn’t catch feelings. You knew the rules and you both disobeyed them. You had to face the consequences.”

“Well you forgot that we are the best you have and now, we’re eliminating you. Any last words?” Panic creeps onto his face again as he begs for you to let him go, that he’ll allow you both to continue your relationship. You pretend to consider his plea, “nah I’d rather kill you,” before pulling the trigger and killing him.

“Fuck that was so hot baby.” Dave says as he bites into the skin in your neck. “Now, let’s get out of here so I can fuck you good and hard.”

“Yes, please.”

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @trickstersp8 @nembees

Dave York: @vanemando15 @anaaaispunk @hb8301 @stevie75 @almaeunice @readsalot73

#pedro pascal #dave york x fem!reader #pedro pascal x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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tom-whore-dleston · 3 years ago

Text

Spoiled

Pairing: sugar daddy!Simu Liu x f!reader

Genre: smut (lemon)

Warnings: sex toys, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, making out, overstimulation?, preludes to face sitting, sugar daddy/baby relationship turned romantic relationship, implied round 2

Summary: Your sugar daddy/boyfriend spoils you for Valentine’s Day.

Word Count: 2.1k

Beta Read: N/A

*All mistakes and errors are mine*

Notes: Happy late Valentine’s Day sexy friends 😘😘 This fic was inspired by this moodboard I made for a previous sleepover. I ended up really liking the concept and said 'yolo swag lets make it an AU 🤪🤪' I'll make an AU post like how I did with Teach Me Tonight in the near future and maybe give a new and improved moodboard idk ehehe Remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed what you read 😊

Fuckuary Day 14: Mutual Masturbation + Toys - sugar daddy!Simu Liu

Banners by @maysdigitalarts | Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Simu Liu Masterlist | Honey Baby AU | Fuckuary Masterpost

Dating the Simu Liu has been a dream come true. The way you two met was kind of a funny story. You ran into him almost a year ago, gawking over how he inspired you to get back into acting after dropping out of college. He offered to help pay for your student loans, claiming that you should be focusing on your acting classes instead.

Of course, the handsome actor stayed true to his word. However, over time, he started buying you jewelry and dresses, and all the things you never thought you would own. Part of you wanted to question all the extra gifts, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful. Especially when it was Simu Liu that was catering to you. As expensive as these items were, you realized that you really loved them. More importantly, you realized you loved him.

Before Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings was released in theaters, Simu offered to take you on the press tours so you could see firsthand what they’re like. At the press tours, he’d show you off and make a point to introduce you to everyone at the events, telling them that they’d better remember your name because you will be just as famous as him. As the press tour came to an end, you finally asked him why he did all this for you of all people. You claimed that you didn’t deserve any of his gifts, let alone his kindness, because you were just some ordinary girl.

Simu responded by pulling you into the most breathtaking kiss you could possibly experience. Just like the movies, time slowed down and the rest of the world ceased to exist as your lips moved in unison. Once you broke away, you were left speechless, which allowed Simu to explain himself.

“You deserve all of the finest things in life, success included. I don’t think anyone else can give you that.” You stared longingly, and he combed his fingers through his silky hair. “Safe to say I fell pretty hard for you and this is me trying to prove it to you.” He didn’t need to say anything else. It’s not like you wanted him to anyway. All you wanted was him and only him. And that's how you became Simu Liu’s girl.

Your first Valentine’s Day has been a real treat. You were used to being spoiled and treated like royalty by Simu, but this time, it came from a place deep in his heart. When you woke up, you were greeted by a million balloons scattered around the room you shared. Following the rose petals on the floor into the kitchen, your boyfriend met you with a hearty breakfast. You were so enamored by this gesture that you jumped onto the kitchen counter to make out with him. Before you could snake your hand down his pants, Simu pulled away from you with a teasing laugh. You sighed in frustration as your nose grazed against his.

“I know, honey. So eager to take me now,” he taunted, mischief painted across his face. “Just you wait, baby girl. I have plans for you tonight.” He winked, causing your eyes to light up in excitement. “Let’s just get through the rest of today and I promise I will make you feel so good, you’ll need to call off work the next day.” You ate your breakfast alongside Simu, pondering the endless possibilities of how your Valentine’s evening could go.

When you arrived home after an intensive acting class, you found Simu reading over a script for an upcoming project. You creeped up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your lips ghosted over his earlobe, a spot that he didn’t realize turned him on until after the first time you both had sex. Simu began to melt under your touch, yearning for your mouth on his ear.

“I’m home, Daddy,” you purred seductively, gently engulfing your lips around his earlobe. You calling him daddy was his absolute weakness. It took all his willpower not to slam you onto the couch and fuck you senseless. Simu didn’t want to cave into your temptations. Not when he had the whole night lined up for you.

“Hello to you too, honey. How was your class?” Simu turned his head so he could peck your lips.

“It was okay.” Simu nodded, waiting for you to continue. “All I could think about was what you plan on doing to me tonight. I was imagining how good you’re gonna make me feel and it just made my pussy so wet.” Your finger traced his sharp jawline, angling his face towards yours. “Tell me Daddy. What are you gonna do to me?”

Simu was two seconds away from stripping you and fucking you right then and there. He snapped himself back to his senses, keeping his dominant demeanor.

“Actually, before we get started, I have something for you.” He paused. “Make that some things. Go upstairs and open the first gift I got you–I think you will know what to do with it–Then, I’ll give you the second part of your little gift.” You giggled like a schoolgirl before spinning around to head upstairs. Simu bit his bottom lip as he watched you run up the stairs.

In your room, you found a pink box wrapped in a red ribbon. Unraveling the present, you opened it to find a lacy lingerie set that only covered your most intimate parts. You removed your work clothes to put on the lingerie set that hugged you in all the right places. Even after dating him for a couple months, it still surprised you how well Simu knew what you felt comfortable yet confident wearing. You circled around yourself, admiring your own reflection in the same fashion Simu would have. After a final glance over, you headed downstairs where he waited for you.

As your foot left the final step down, Simu turned his attention towards you, his jaw falling slack and his eyes widening. You licked your lips as he stared at you with hunger and lust.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy, honey. Come here to Daddy.” You strutted towards him, crawling into his lap and linking both legs on either side of him. The palms of your hands rested on top of his chest as Simu scanned his eyes over your lace covered frame. You were so delectable that he had to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Mmm, I meant to treat you this Valentine’s Day,” Simu said, reaching to the side to grab another box almost identical to the one that held your lingerie. “But this…” His finger trailed over your bra straps, “is as much of a treat for me as it is for you, honey.” He handed you the next gift, which you wasted no time in ripping open. What was hidden behind the wrapper made you breath hitch.

In your hand was a box that carried a vibrating wand, one that you had been looking at on the online sex shop that you were too nervous to purchase from. Your panties dampened, picturing how the vibrator would bring you to a mind blowing orgasm. The sound of Simu’s smug laughter pulled you back to reality.

“I know you wanna try it out, huh, baby?” You nodded meekly as his brown eyes stirred with desire. “Why don’t you sit on the love seat and put on a little show for Daddy?” Your cheeks warmed up at his words. Your legs were jelly, but you managed to get up and obey his orders. Once you were settled on the loveseat across from Simu, you yanked your panties down until they dangled from one of your ankles. Your wet pussy was on display for your boyfriend, which caused his jeans to tighten.

You sucked in a breath as you pulled out the wand from its box, testing your grip on the device. Your thumb swiped over the switch in the same manner Simu’s fingers would over your pussy before penetrating your sopping hole. Before your mind could wander further, you flipped the switch on, the buzzing sound filling the room. You brought the head of the wand to your cunt, chills creeping up your spine from the vibrations on your most sensitive area.

“Holy fucking shit! Woah!” You didn’t mean to, but you snickered at how overwhelmingly good the device felt touching you. Simu palmed his bulge through his pants as he studied your reactions to the toy.

“How does it feel, honey? That pussy feel good?” His voice was deep with fervor and it only added to your arousal.

“F-feels s-so good, Daddy!” Your voice cracked and you let out a flustered whimper. “Thank you for my new toy, Daddy!” You tossed your head back and curved your back into a C shape. This allowed your pussy to ride against the vibrator, which made Simu growl like a rabid animal.

He grunted a faint “fuck it” before undoing his pants to whip out his hard cock. Spitting into his rough palm, he rubs the thick liquid all over his girth while lightly squeezing his balls. Precum glistened over the tip as he slowly stroked over his length. His dark eyes drooped as he admired the way your pussy ground against the buzzing toy. Your gaze locked with his and you gasped at the sight of Simu jacking himself off. The view was so delicious, your carnal instincts took over, aggressively rutting your hips over the vibrator.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy! You’re so hot when you stroke your big cock for me. You’re gonna make me fucking cum.” Now, your moans were louder than the vibrator that sloshed against your wetness. The sweet mixture of sounds was something that would be ingrained in Simu’s mind for eternity. Still, he wanted to hear more of those pretty noises.

“Me too, baby girl. You’re so sexy when you play with yourself.” He huffed in desperation. “I love watching you fuck yourself with your toys. Maybe I’ll get you more if you’ll be a good girl and cum for me.” This led you to plunge your fingers inside your cavern while pressing the vibrator harder against your throbbing clit.

“I’ll be your good girl and cum for you. Holy shit! I-I-I’m gonna, oh god-” Your fingertips brushed against your G-spot at the same time the wand quivered on your engorged bud. You shut your eyes and cried out, letting the waves of pleasure wash over you. Simu was not too far behind you. He grunted your name like a broken record until hot cum erupted from his swollen tip. His pulsing cock and taut hand is covered in his seed.

Both you and Simu sprawled out on the furniture, slick with sweat and panting for air. He was the first to pop his head up and check on you. Still bathing in the afterglow, you laid there humming and giggling to yourself. It didn’t hit you that the vibrator was still on until you felt the buzzing on your thigh. Clicking the device off, you tossed it to the side, letting it roll out of your hand.

“You like your present, baby girl?” Simu’s calm voice returned along with his soft face.

You sighed in bliss. “I love it so much! Thank you Daddy for always treating me like a princess. I love you!”

Simu laughed, his dimples forming by the corners of his mouth. “I love you too, honey.” He gestured you towards him, reeling you in with his index finger. “C’mere and gimme a kiss.” You hopped up and immediately attacked him with a searing kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth, flicking against yours, causing drool to drip from your lower lip. You moaned as he pulled away to suck your neck, your pussy growing with need once again.

“I have something for you too, Daddy.”

“Oh really? What is it?” He cocked an eyebrow, pretending to be dumbfounded just to see what you would do next.

“Lie down and I’ll show you.” You shoved him flat on the couch and climbed over his face. He smirked below you, taking in your scent. That familiar darkness in his eyes clouded his tender gaze.

“Oh baby girl, you really are a sweet treat. I don’t call you ‘honey’ for no reason, ya know.” With that, Simu gripped your hips and pulled you onto his tongue.

#simu liu #simu liu imagine #simu liu oneshot #simu liu fic #simu liu fanfiction #simu liu smut #simu liu x reader #simu liu x you #smut #rpf smut #rpf #fem!reader #reader insert #no y/n #*fuckuary '22 #lemon fic #honey baby au

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vivianweasley · 4 years ago

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Reason Why I Hate You (Fred Weasley X Reader)

Summary: You hated Fred Weasley, but you just didn’t know why. Maybe it was because there was some unfinished business between you two from a past life? past life au and a bit of enemies to lovers.

Prompt: this is for @slytherinsunrise‘s writing challenge and the prompt is Historical AU! Hope you guys would like it:)

Pairing: Fred Weasley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: murder, major character death, arranged marriage, terrible husband, reader’s family in past life is pureblood supremacist, sound of explosion (firework), angst in the past life, fluff in this life

Word Count: 2.2k

Special thanks to @valwritesx for giving me wonderful advices<3

Disclaimer: all the pictures in the moodboard are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

It all began on an early autumn afternoon.

1815, an afternoon in September, Frederick Weasley just threw a water ball on his potions professor, and he was now hiding in a broom closet, waiting for his angry professor to go away.

But he heard footsteps approaching the door. Just when Fred was sure that detention is waiting for him, he saw a girl at the door.

“What are you doing-” before you could even finish your question, Fred pulled you into the broom closet, closed the door, and covered your mouth with his hand.

The space inside the broom closet was so limited that your bodies were pressed together now. You felt your face heating up, and your heart was racing. You should be furious. You should scold the man in front of you for being rude or even slap him for that, but you were just standing there stiffly, with your eyes wide opened.

There was another series of footsteps approaching the broom closet now, and you heard the potion professor yelling, “You’re dead if I catch you! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

After the sound of footsteps faded, Fred finally let go of you. You finally got the chance to step on his foot, causing him to jump in pain.

“I probably deserved that.” His hands were still rubbing his foot, but he didn’t forget to joke, “So, tell me, what brings you to the broom closet?”

You glared at him, “I was looking for my cat.”

He nodded, “I’m guessing that you are curious about what brings me here, to this broom closet, to meet with you.”

“Oh, I already know. You just threw a water ball on the potions professor, and now you are on the run.”

His face suddenly lit up, “So you just saw my work?”

“Who doesn’t know about Frederick Weas-”

“It’s Fred.”

You glared at him and continued, “Who doesn’t know about Frederick Weasley’s shenanigans.”

“So you already know my name!” He smiled, couldn’t hide the pride on his face, “May I have the honor to know yours?”

You rolled your eyes, “Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

He bowed a little and pretended to tip his imaginary hat, “Y/F/N Y/L/N, my pleasure.”

This man was frivolous, reckless, and didn’t respect any rules. You had all the reasons to hate him, but why was your heart beating so fast? You sighed, as you could already foresee a future that’s out of your control, “My displeasure.”

Like many romance novels from that period, the girl with a strict upbringing fell in love with the infamous troublemaker. You and Fred were very different people. You were like different sides of a coin, but this couldn’t affect the attraction between you two. Once the spark between you was ignited, there was no turning back. It was as if fate was pulling you together.

You decided to get married after graduating from Hogwarts, but your family forbade this marriage.

They said the Weasleys were blood traitors, and Frederick Weasley was nothing but an ignorant boy of ill-breeding. Your pureblood supremacist family could never give you their blessings. In fact, they already betrothed you to the youngest son of the Burkes, Ralph Burke.

You’ve met Ralph a few times. Not only did he believe in pureblood supremacy, but he also believed that women should do nothing but stay home and be a good wife.

Fred’s situation wasn’t too good as well. His family hated your family, and they wanted their son to marry the Johnson girl.

You and Fred met under a sycamore tree. He sounded desperate, “Let’s run away! Let’s run to a place where no one knows us. France, America, anywhere but here!”

You nodded. You didn’t want to care about how eloping would ruin your and your family’s reputation. These ridiculous rules controlled you all your life; it was time for you to finally do something reckless, something for yourself.

He let out a sigh of relief and held you tightly, “Three days later, I’ll wait for you under this sycamore tree at night. We will get married the next morning!”

After the longest three days in your life, you tiptoed around the house to make sure that everyone was asleep, and you started running as soon as you left the house. You only brought a small bag of galleons to help you survive the first few days and left everything else behind.

You wanted nothing from your past. All you wanted was to start a new life that is carefree and full of choices you could make on your own. A life that you could spend with someone you love.

But when you reached the sycamore tree, the person waiting for you wasn’t Fred, but Ralph.

Ralph’s face was emotionless when he told you that Fred already left the town two days ago because he was afraid. He was afraid of being tied down by you and being forced into another marriage by his family, so he ran away on his own.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew Fred loved freedom, but he was never someone who would break a promise.

Ralph took you to the Weasleys, and Mrs. Weasley’s reaction confirmed everything as she yelled, “Where is my sweet Frederick? What did you do to him??”

So it was true. He ran away, without you.

You felt lifeless as you collapsed. You couldn’t understand it. If he was so afraid of the restrictions that marriage brings, why would he even suggest eloping with you?

You felt deceived and betrayed. Anger and sorrow were clouding your reasons. You were willing to sacrifice everything for him. Your reputation, your family, the life you had, everything. But he still ran away without you. He left you behind.

You felt like a joke.

You felt hopeless.

Three months later, after still not hearing anything from Fred, you gave in to your family’s expectations and agreed to Ralph’s proposal.

You were locked up in the Burke Manor after becoming Ralph’s bride. Misery and resentment were the only things that kept you company in this cold cage that was shaped like a luxurious manor.

Finally, after two years of living in this agony, you closed your eyes forever.

You left this world still resenting Fred. You left without knowing that two years ago under that sycamore tree, he closed his eyes before you.

That night when you and Fred met at the tree for the last time, Ralph was there, too. After hearing that his fiancee was planning to run away with another man, a blood traitor, he couldn’t stand the humiliation. He confronted Fred, but Fred didn’t seem to care at all. Merlin, Ralph hated that smug smile of Fred.

Rage took over him, and he raised his wand at Fred. It was a simple death curse. Ralph took care of the crime scene calmly and returned home, pretending like nothing ever happened.

And just like that, Fred disappeared. No one knew the truth. No one knew that until his last breath, he was still holding a wedding ring. The world only knew a coward called Frederick Weasley, who ran away on his own after promising forever to a poor girl.

~~~

September 1991, you were admitted to Hogwarts along with the famous Harry Potter. You soon became friends with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. And naturally, you also became friends with the other Weasley kids, except for one, Fred Weasley.

You were even great friends with George, but there was something about him that warned you to stay away from him.

Fred was hurt, but he wasn’t too worried because he knew for sure that he could find a way to make you like him.

1995. You were having lunch with your friends at the Great Hall. It was a perfectly normal day until you saw a spark floating in front of you. And before you realized what it was, something exploded on top of your head. For a moment, you thought your heart was jumping out of your chest.

You looked up and saw fireworks exploding across the Great Hall and spelling out “Y/N Happy Birthday.” You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly who would come up with something dramatic like this.

You also heard some people gasping and saying that they were jealous. But you weren’t happy with it at all. It not only almost scared your soul out of your body, but also made you feel embarrassed.

You stood up and tried to run away, but you heard Snape’s voice, “Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Weasley, this is not a carnival. Detention.”

“Professor, it was all me. She has nothing to do with it!” Great, at least he’s not only a stupid git, but a chivalrous stupid git.

“Good. Ten more points from Gryffindor.”

The Gryffindor table soon started groaning, and you sighed. What kind of birthday gift is this?

After class, you and Fred were sent to the divination classroom to wipe all the crystal balls. You were sent here because Snape didn’t want to risk having Fred breaking all of his precious potion bottles. As of Trelawney’s crystal balls? Snape couldn’t care less.

Looking at the classroom that was filled with crystal balls, you sighed. What did you do to deserve this bloody simpleton in your life?

“Y/N, I’m sorry...” You could hear the guilt in his voice.

But you still replied bitterly, “Forget it. It was nothing. Who cares about spending birthday at Hogsmeade anyway, right?” You knew you shouldn’t be so passive-aggressive, but you just couldn’t put away the hostility towards him.

But Fred couldn’t take it anymore, “Why do you hate me so much? If it was something I did, I apologize. But you hated me from the very beginning. What the bloody hell did I do?”

“I-” You rolled your eyes. Isn’t it clear enough? You hated him because...Then it struck you. You didn’t know how to answer his question. Yes, you could say you hated him because he was reckless and pompous, but was this the real reason why you hated him?

“I-I don’t know.” You lowered your head, feeling both defeated and confused.

“Then could you at least try not to hate me that much?”

Guilt started rising in your stomach, but you didn’t want to admit your defeat, “Why do you care? There are so many others who love you.”

“I care because I fancy you!”

You were still dumbfounded and not sure how to react, but you heard a cough behind you. You and Fred turned together and saw Trelawney.

Except now, her eyes were rolled back, and she started speaking in a hoarse, guttural voice, “180 years later, the star-crossed lovers meet again...One with regret... and one with resentment...On this fateful day...destiny ties them back together once again...”

And then she coughed again and returned to her usual self, “Oh, that was embarrassing. What was I doing here again..Oh right! You two can leave now. I don’t need cleaning here.”

“But Professor Trelawney, Professor Snape said...”

“Oh don’t worry dear, I already told him. You two are good to go!” Trelawney thought back on how scared she was when Snape told her that Fred Weasley was cleaning her classroom. She came here as fast as she could and was relieved when she saw all the crystal balls were still intact.

“Do you think Trelawney was talking about us?” Fred asked after you two left the classroom.

“When did you start to believe in that?” You sounded nonchalant, but deep down, you always believed that Trelawney was actually excellent at divination, so you started panicking after hearing that oracle.

Fred ignored your question, “What did she say? One with resentment? That sounds like you.”

“And you’re the one with regret? Do you even know what regret feels like?”

“Yea! I regret that I did make a great impression. I regret that...I didn’t make you fancy me like I fancy you!”

“You are hopeless, Frederick Weasley. Stop saying that if you don’t mean it!” You were angry. Does he even know that he shouldn’t say something like that? What if people took it seriously? But knowing how frivolous he was, he probably said that to everyone. So why were you still blushing? The more you thought about it, the angrier you got, so you decided to walk faster to get rid of him.

But Fred kept up and stopped you, “But I’m serious. I mean it.”

He looked so sincere when his warm brown eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat. You stuttered, “F-fine...then I guess I...don’t hate you either...”

“Great! That’s some progress!” He grinned, “You know, if we start running now, we might still have time to go to Hogsmeade.”

You raised your eyebrows and he continued, “If I could make up for your birthday, would you go on a date with me?”

“I... could consider that.” Your face was heating up, but you started walking faster again so he won’t see how flustered you were.

But of course, he kept up again. “Why are you always calling me Frederick?”

“I don’t know. It just appeared in my head. Plus, I feel like you hate it.”

“I do. It sounds sad.”

“Who knows, maybe it’s your name in your past life,” you joked.

“Then I’m pretty sure I hated it in my past life, too,” he shrugged, “Whatever, this life is all that matters now.”

You didn’t reply as you looked at him. He was smiling at you, and at this moment, you knew your future was going to change, in a good way this time.

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halfway-happyyy · 4 years ago

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Bright Eyes

AN: hello friends! this is a little something i came up with using this lovely moodboard by the ever-talented @flowers-in-your-hayr . this is also in celebration of her hitting 650+ followers! congratulations my dear, you are a light and deserve all of the love.

warnings: this piece is under the cut because it delves heavily into pregnancy and babies!

The changes were somewhat slow to note in the beginning.

There had been intense morning sickness throughout the first trimester; nausea on a level she had never fathomed before. It had been so terrible that some days the only task she could muster successfully was peeling herself from her duvet to stand beneath a near-scalding shower, arms braced against the glossy, tiled walls and chest heaving under the duress of the waves roiling deep in her belly.

Sleep, when she could come by it, was an absolute reprieve that came fast and all-consuming for her.

And then one morning- a couple of weeks shy of her third trimester, she had been standing naked and dripping in front of the fogged mirror in their on-suite washroom, when she noticed as if for the first time, the burgeoning bump of her belly. She watched the rounded curve of the life form growing inside of her with a hungry, fascinated gaze.

“Good morning baby,” Alexander had appeared behind her suddenly, his warm hands reaching around her front to caress the growing bump. He dropped to his knees to press a series of tender kisses to the taut skin there. “You be kind to your mama today, hm? She's been having a bit of a rough go of it lately…” Rising to stand, he reached for the stick of Shea butter balm, removed the cap, and began to roll it over her stomach in soothing circles. She had grown self-conscious of the opaque lines that had started to grow on her belly in the months leading up to their child's birth but he remained steadfast in his utter adoration and admiration for her and what her body was doing for them, regardless. “How are you feeling today, gorgeous girl?”

She had considered the question carefully; mulled over each possible answer in her mind and sighed softly, opting for the truth. “I'm tired today, Alex.” And she was. She had known that they were approaching the tail-end of this whirlwind adventure. Knew that in the next few months their baby would be earth-side with them, knew in her heart how quickly time would pass until then.

He smiled down at her, his azure blue eyes glassy and utterly empathetic. “I'm sure you are. I have two meetings in the city today, and then I'm all yours for the next couple of weeks. What do you say we grab dinner out tonight?”

A small sigh of relief before her lips curved up into a half smile. “I'd say you got yourself a date, Skarsgård.”

And then there was the moment she had woken up from a dead sleep three weeks before she gave birth. A slick sheen of perspiration covered every square inch of her body as she fought for a proper breath, and Alexander- bless his heart, in his sleep-heavy state had assumed that this was it. He had leapt out of bed, hand poised around the leather handle of the diaper bag next to his night side table. It, of course, wasn't it- rather she had been the victim of a nightmare of such terror that she could not begin to explain, or quantify, but that had shaken her to her very core. She was gripped with a fear the likes of which she had never felt before or since. It was a palpable, ugly thing that sidled itself inside her chest and caused tears to rush in rivers down her cheeks. All Alexander could do was hold her tight and rock her until the heaving stopped, the seemingly bottomless well of saltwater behind her eyes dry for the time being.

“What on earth is going on, kid?”

She had taken a deep breath, her eyes felt as if someone had dried them with sheets of sandpaper. “I'm scared, Alex.”

He clicked his tongue and held her ever tighter to his chest. “Of course you are. Of course you are. That's completely normal, my love.”

She trembled violently beneath him. “I need to feel like I'm not going to fuck this child up somehow… I need to know I'm going to be okay at this.”

Alexander pressed his lips to her temple, his warm breath as it fanned out over her face helped to quell her panic somewhat. “You're going to be okay at this,” He rubbed reassuring circles into the small of her back. “We're going to be okay at this. Together. We're going to make mistakes- that's a given. But there’s no way this child won't know love. Because it lives right here with us.”

One Monday morning, about a week prior to giving birth, she had found herself admiring the finishing touches to their nursery. A wooden rocking chair- possibly her most favourite part of the room, stood unsuspecting in the corner next to the open window. It was cracked to help the heady scent of fresh paint dissipate and she held her arms a little tighter to herself to ward off the early morning May breeze. A brand-new bookshelf was already chockful with material- titles ranging anywhere from The Very Hungry Caterpillar, to Where the Wild Things Are, to The Little Book of Fika- stood next to the rocking chair. Adorning the top of the shelf were photographs from their maternity shoot, some framed sonograms and a bear-shaped lamp. The walls had been washed in a soft beige, with Alexander insisting on some kind of fun decal- a tall tree and a rainbow helped to spruce up the adjacent accent wall. The whimsical plush animals of their baby’s mobile swayed gently in the breeze and she smiled to herself again. Reaching for the radio next to the crib, she flicked it on and braced herself against the wooden railing to stretch. Everybody Wants to Rule the World had come on and she dropped her head back and began to dance to the calming sway of the song. Regrettably, she hadn’t done much of it all during her pregnancy, but it felt necessary and wonderful to be as connected as possible to the little light inside of her before they were separated for good.

“Whatcha doing there, mama?”

Not noticing her sudden company until he had made himself known, she splayed her hands around her bump and beamed up at Alexander from his perch in the doorway. “I’m dancing this baby out, papa.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Her smile grew tenfold. “We’d love that.”

Alexander closed the short distance and wrapped himself around her; the velvet-soft rust coloured sweater that he had chosen for the day reminded her of the miniscule onesie tucked away in the dresser a few feet away. She leaned into his touch, letting his embrace warm the pair of them wholly. “Are you ready?” She murmured, after a while.

“Not even remotely,” He confirmed. “But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

Their baby girl arrived early in the morning of the twenty-first of May. At about six pounds thirteen ounces, she was almost incomprehensively small but easily the most beautiful creature they had ever laid eyes on. She fit nearly perfectly in the palm of Alexander’s hands and came complete with ten miniscule fingers and toes. Her eyes, when they were open, were a breathtaking hue of blue- one of the countless things her papa had bestowed her. A name had been elusive to them until they were in the comfort of their own home, her tiny frame swallowed up by an expert swaddle, and tucked easily inside the crook of Alexander’s forearm. “Well, what do you think kid?” He peered down at her, his eyes tired, but alight with a fire she had become familiar with in the days after their baby's arrival.

“I think it’s a beautiful name, Alex.”

He cleared his throat and blinked back a couple of tears as he gazed down at his sleeping daughter. “Welcome to the world, Maja Elizabeth Skarsgård. We love you endlessly already.”

And he had been right all along, of course.

It was never going to be easy and sleep was never going to be readily available again. They were going to screw up somewhere down the line. But to be blissfully hopeful for the future and for their family was easy- because love lived there.

#tw: pregnancy #650followers #flowers-in-your-hayr #pregnancy #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander skarsgard drabble #fluff #drabble #writing #alex sstuff

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mortaljin · 4 years ago

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Maybe Ever After | Chapter 9

Word Count: Warnings: Cursing, implied smut/left to the imagination, Genre: Angst and fluff || Royalty!AU | Magic!AU | Fairytale!Au Pairing: Prince!Seokjin x Reader | Sorcerer!Yoongi x Reader (+ side Jungkook x OC)

Summary: Do you have what it takes to break a six century curse, or will you be caught in a romance between the indecisive prince and power-hungry sorcerer?

Masterlist | Moodboard | Jungkook’s Moodboard | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | 6.1 | 6.2 | 6.3 | 6.4 | Seven | Eight | Nine |Ten | ? ? ? | Epilogue

A/N: Hello everyone! Here is chapter 9 of Maybe Ever After. We are getting pretty close to the end, actually, and I am so excited to see where these characters end up!

*Please Note: I am currently in the process of updating my masterlist. All summaries, headings, pairings, links, that you see above are going to be the standard across this series' posts! Please bear with me over the upcoming days as I clean up my blog!"

Thank you and please enjoy!

Previously on Maybe Ever After…

If there was a way for Min Yoongi to make her hurt the way she hurt him, Yoongi would travel across time and space to do so.

For what felt likes hours, he let himself feel like a human; broken, lost, and aching. Yoongi had grabbed that last painting, the one he spent so much time to afford a commission, and had fallen to his knees in front of the flames.

His rage had subsided, and he was left with a bitter coldness encasing his heart again. Staring down at the painting, he drowned out the outside world—the sound of the horses travelling by, the birds signing outside his windows.

The thought of trashing this painting in particular shook him to the core, but he knew it was something to be done. Countless times he had heard (and seen) the destruction you left in your wake after heartbreak, and he understood now how freeing it felt to rid himself of all the things that linked himself back to Odella.

He resigned to toss this last piece of art into the flames too.

But, like most of his plans, they do get interrupted. This time, he was interrupted by the sound of his door being tossed open with a fervor, and the frantic panic in a woman’s voice. It sent shivers down his spine to hear his name fall from those lips with an adoration he had not heard in centuries.

“Oh Yoongi…”

Yoongi’s POV

All he could do was stare at you. Numb with pain but seething with anger. The look on your face was one of pity.

This angered him.

So much so that he unconsciously began to dig the tips of his fingers into the edges of the painting where he so desperately clung. Dry flakes of paint were building up under his fingernails; the reds and blues clinging together to form dirty chunks.

He turned his face to the ground, angry to see you staring at him in such a shameful state. A broken shell of what he once was, tears clouding his vision on the floor of his lowly cottage. A cottage that wasn’t even his, not originally; it was Odella’s. The failure of not even being able to call this home his own elicited another sob to break from his chest.

Oh yes, Min Yoongi was ashamed that someone was seeing him in his weakest state. Least of all it be you that sees him this way.

But, when he realized you weren’t backing away or mocking him he felt even more embarrassed. Instead, you were creeping closer to him with an uncertain hand outstretched, waiting to see if he would accept your presence.

“Yoongi, are you okay?”

You had knelt in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The light weight of your touch sent shivers down his spine.

“Yoongi?” You asked, probing one more time for a response.

Min Yoongi cried once more. He knew he didn’t deserve your kindness. For the last few weeks, the entire month perhaps, he had been short, quick tempered, and cold to you. The poor behavior was an attempt to push you away and you failed to acquiesce to his bitter requests, albeit unspoken.

To be fair, the rudeness wasn’t disingenuous. Any distaste he had for you was real. And so was the distaste for the prince. He hated the way you light up every time the charismatic prince stepped into the room; the way he twirled you around every time you showed off a new ball gown he had made for you.

Yoongi hated the way you always found a way to bring Jin’s name up in conversation: “Jin said that he would be renovating some of the castle’s rooms,” or “Do you think this soup tastes okay, Jin said it was too herbal,” or any innocent inquiry into his whereabouts.

He hated the way you did not hide the feelings you had for that damned Prince.

Most of all, he hates the feelings you hold for him too. The late night rendezvous through the royal gardens, the stolen kisses between shelves of books, the sweet nothings you whisper in his ear behind marble pillars.

Deep down, Min Yoongi knew you fancied him too. At least that’s what he thought until he caught you in a moment of passion with the flustered prince. It was only thanks to the urgent business of announcing Minho’s passing that he was able to ignore the feeling of betrayal coursing through his veins.

Right now, what he really hates is how lovingly you were treating him right now; the way you spoke his name makes him feel like Odella is standing right there, only a breath away.

“Please leave,” he muttered.

The tension in the air grew thick and you sighed, shifting your weight into a new position. He felt both of your arms sliding around his middle before you placed a heavy head on his back.

“I’m not going to leave you until you’re okay.”

Your reply was muffled by fabric, but he felt the sentiment all the same.

He lifted a hand from the painting, still clutched to his chest, to wipe the half-dried tears from his cheeks. To stall from the question, he busied himself with furiously rubbing at his eyes. Next he let the painting go with a soft thud on the wooden floor. Again, he busied himself with straightening the cuffs of his shirt to avoid bearing his heart to you. Yoongi felt you sigh against him, and he knew there was no way to hide from your imposition.

“I’m angry,” was all he said.

“Who are you angry at?”

“The world. Myself.”

“But why?”

“The world is cruel, and I—” He paused, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I am a fool,” he finished with a whisper.

When you stayed silent, Yoongi moved to rise. You released the light grasp you had on him and allowed him to go as he pleased. He turned fully towards the fireplace. The flames now dying down were relit with fervor with a slight movement of his hand.

The fire roared once more, and he heard you shuffling to your feet behind him. Time seemed to slow, now, after such an emotionally driven moment. Dozens of paintings, good and bad, were ashes like the last 600 years were. He picked that last, commissioned painting up off the floor and stared down at it.

Odella’s hair was still perfectly placed and Yoongi’s hand was still gentle on her shoulder.

“Do you still love her?”

He scoffed, looking up and blinking another tear away. If she ever genuinely loved him, if there was some mistake in all this, that girl he loved was gone. And he was going to be okay.

“No,” he said as he turned, half facing you, half towards the fire. “Not anymore.”

“Then what was all that?”

“It was… damage control.”

This elicited a small snort from you. The brief moment of humor was quickly buried under your gaze, prompting him to elaborate.

“I haven’t been sad like this in quite some time.”

You stepped closer to him, reaching out to grab the hand that wasn’t holding on to the painting.

“And what about now? Are you sad now?”

He wasn’t sad this time. No, Min Yoongi was just tired. Tired of hurting, tired of jealousy, tired of not having you.

“Not with you here,” he murmured.

Min Yoongi tossed the painting into the flames as he dipped his head to place a deep kiss on your mouth.

You smiled into the kiss, emitting a soft sigh at the sensation. He let you run your fingers along the trim of his clothes, thumbing the embellishments of the royal Kim family.

“She was a fool, Min Yoongi.” You said, taking a tassel between your fingers and looking at him so sweetly. “Any girl would be better off than a queen if she was yours.”

This made Min Yoongi falter, a brief thump echoing in his chest. It pleased his ego greatly to hear you elevate his worth past that of royalty. He grabbed your hand and eagerly clasped them between his own.

Before you walked into his cottage, Min Yoongi felt like he was being damned to this God forsaken book once more. The weight of an eternity spent in outcasted solitude came crashing down on him worse than any storm he had weathered.

Before you walked into the book itself, he suffered alone. He was damned to one single scene in a fairytale.

Only rarely did he venture from his cottage, a dozen times at best. There was no one that he felt he could even call a friend. The closest person being a friend of Odella’s whom he saw frequently.

They left town shortly before the curse, destined to live their life until its natural end.

Min Yoongi was a fool.

But that was before, and this? This is now. Right now he is with you, a beacon of hope.

Every moment longer spent in the kingdom of Avis is a moment closer to breaking the curse. And every moment with you is one more moment that Yoongi feels free. You make him forget his solitude; his mysterious role in the book; his burning jealousy of Kings and Queens, princes, and princesses.

You almost make him forget that he is nothing more than a drunkard’s son. The eagerness subsided not long after it came. He pulled away, turning his head to gaze into the burning flames of his fireplace.

“And what about you, Y/N?” He said, his heart beating more intensely. “Would you be better than a queen if you were mine?”

From the corner of his eye he saw a soft smile form on your lips. He could tell from your grip loosening in his hand that it was a formality and not endearment. You fumbled over your words, and pulled your hand away from his so that it could awkwardly lay in your lap.

It was your turn to look away, and you rest your hands at your elbows now as if to hug yourself.

“I think that would be nice, if it were possible…” You trailed off.

“But?” Yoongi’s prompt to continued elicited a pitiful sigh and a shake from your head.

“But it is just not possible, Yoongi. I couldn’t be yours.” You said exasperated.

Yoongi remained motionless; silence prompted you to continue.

“It’s not you, I promise!” You tried to say this reassuringly.

“Is it the prince?”

You reeled back, almost in shock. “Why would you say that?”

“Y/N, it is well known amongst the kingdom the relationship that you and the Prince have.”

“It’s not that serious, Yoongi.” You smiled, again to reassure him. Not that anything could reassure him though.

“But you have feelings for him, yes?”

“Well of course I do,” you scoffed as you spoke. “But Yoongi, you are also equally as precious to me. The moments I spend with you are wonderful!”

Yoongi appeared visibly confused.

“Then what reason do you have to not be with me?”

Your irritation was becoming more and more obvious, despite how levelheaded Yoongi still was.

You lifted your hands in the air and let them fall again. You shook your head, as if you had no better explanation.

You couldn’t contain your annoyance, though: “because I don’t want to be Yoongi!”

Shock flooded your face, and you tried to reach out immediately.

Yoongi cleared his throat, and began to stand. Before he could leave you grabbed his wrist to prompt him to stay. He sighed, sitting back down.

“Yoongi,” you tried to say again. “I love the things we do together. I want to hold your hand, and run my fingers through your hair when we kiss. I love it when you whisper sweet nothings to me.”

You took a deep breath.

“But Yoongi, I want to be single and be able to do this with the Prince as well. I want to play the field and figure out who I want to be with. Besides, there’s no harm in having fun, right?”

Gently, Yoongi removed your hand from his wrist. He stood up and allowed you to stand up with him. He frowned deeply before taking a couple steps back. You tried to back, reaching out to him, but he tore his gaze away from you.

When you got the hint, you shuffled awkwardly in place.

“I think you are brilliant, Y/N, and I quite enjoyed the times we spent together.” His speech became more formal and certainly more standoffish. “But I do not want to “play the field” as you put it. My love for you will not be shared by another man.”

You scoffed pettily this time. “I’m not an object to be shared amongst people, Yoongi!”

He turned and paced. “I do not love you because you’re an object, Y/N. I love you because you are a person that I want to be with. But I cannot be with you if you will be with the prince at the same time. I’m sorry Y/N.”

“Why is it so hard for you to let me do what I want?” You huffed.

“I AM letting you do what you want,” he emphasized, “that’s why whatever this is,” he gestured between the two of you, “needs to end. Y/N you are free to do whatever you want, but I do not want to be with you if you want to be with another man at the same time.”

Your face twisted up angrily, “fine. I see how it is.”

You moved to grab your things that you had set down upon entering, and Yoongi turned to the shelf he was nearest to. Fumbling with the bottles to give him some reprieve, he barely noticed you inching towards the door. Dejected, you opened the door to his cottage to see the beginning of a sunset. The warm glow casted a shadow on the edge of Yoongi’s clenched jaw.

For a moment you wondered if you were making the right decision to not commit. But Yoongi’s feelings for you were obviously conditional if he required you to make a decision this quickly.

“I won’t return, Yoongi.”

“I will miss you, Y/N,” he said with sadness at the back of his throat. “But we cannot be together in an uncommitted relationship. We are past the point of simple feelings.”

“You’re a fool, Yoongi. You can’t ask me to sacrifice my freedom.”

Yoongi just nodded his head before drinking from a glass bottle. “I know.”

When you realized that Yoongi would stand firm in his rejection, you turned on your heel down the steps of the cottage.

The door swung shut behind you and Yoongi was once again left alone. He let out an airy breath and smiled in disbelief. Was he too harsh?

No, he kept his cool and maintained his respect for you. Yoongi knew it was for the best for him to part ways with you, but it still pained him deep down inside.

With a loud crackle, he noticed that the last corner of Odella’s commissioned painting was going up in flames. Staring at the bright warmth of the fire, Yoongi knew that a chapter in his book had come to an end.

The infatuation that you felt for him would surely dissolve once you returned the Prince’s waiting arms. Yoongi sincerely hoped you would eventually commit to him and stand by Jin’s side. But for now, the sorcerer resigned himself to solitude once more.

He brought the ale in the bottle to his lips again; something to warm his bones. A gentle tear rolled down his face as he pulled a chair closer to the fire. Youwill be missed sorely, but he knows an uncommitted love will hurt more than your absence.

Maybe Min Yoongi wasn’t a fool after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

*Your POV*

“Who does that stupid sorcerer think he is?”

You muttered as you threw open the heavy door to your bedchamber. You cursed and mumbled your entire trip back to the castle and you had not been silent for two moments before you were furious at Min Yoongi all over again.

“He has a lot of gall to think he has any place to ask me to commit to a relationship! Like what kind of person gives someone an ultimatum like that? I’ve only known him for what, eight months?”

“Only known who for eight months?”

A voice came from the hallway and you realized that you had left the door ajar. Redness started to sneak its way up your neck at the thought of a passerby listening to you ranting and raving about your love interests.

“Jungkook?”

Ex love interest, that is.

It was surprising to see your lovable best friend leaning against the door frame of your room. Even more surprising was the fact that his new love interest was nowhere to be found.

“Where is Sora?” You asked after a brief embrace.

Jungkook looked out into the hallway then quickly shuffled into your room with a giddy smile on his face. He pulled out a little box from his pocket and your eyes widened in horror.

“What are you—”

“Dude, really?” He looked at you with a frank expression. “You really think there’s a ring in this box?”

Well…

He rolled his eyes at your hesitation to answer, and made a move to show you the contents. This little action you had just missed because you, instead of keeping your eyes on him, sat in a not-so-subtle huff on your bed. You heard the soft clap of the case being closed and felt the surface of the bed dipping under Jungkook’s weight.

“What’s going on, Y/N?”

When you glanced at him, his eyes were full of concern. He was brimming with curiosity but holding his tongue.

Wrestling with the question for a moment, you thought about the two men in your life.

Min Yoongi was a strong, reliable shoulder to lean on; his mellow demeaner provided you with genuine conversation about the deeper things in life. He made you care about your purpose in life and the formation of your mind.

But he was hot headed. Where his passion burned brightly, so did his aggression towards that which hinders it.

Kim Seokjin, however, was like a breath of fresh air. His squeaking laughter echoed through any room into your ears; the sound waves crashing like a melody into your ear.

But he was impulsive. Where his heart beats boldly, so does his impulsivity towards that which provokes it.

“Yoongi wants to date me.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the blunt declaration. “That’s awesome! Why… are you… not… happy right now?” His smile wavered once he realized you had said that statement without a hint of emotion. Underlying what would normally be excitable words, was a tinge of melodrama. And he could already tell that this was going to be messy.

“He asked me—No. He demanded that I stop seeing Jin if I wanted to be in a relationship with him.”

“Yikes. That sounds super controlling, Y/N.”

“Exactly!” You shouted this with exasperation. “He basically said that our relationship has to come to an end because he’s not going to share me with Jin.”

“Well when you put it that way—”

“Like, I’m not an object that can or cannot be shared amongst people. If I want to play the field, he needs to understand that.”

“Y/N you need to—” Again, Jungkook was interrupted.

“I bet Jin wouldn’t mind if I wanted a loose relationship. I know this is like the 12th century for them but women can’t be controlled anymore.”

“Y/N get a grip!” Jungkook finally lost it and interrupted you.

“Excuse m—”

“Yes. Excuse you. You’re being a psychopath right now.” The look on your face was one of utter shock, but he ignored it. “Yoongi isn’t being controlling. He’s being reasonable. He’s asking you to be exclusive not demanding you never see Jin again.”

You were taken aback by Jungkook’s abrupt hit to your ego.

“Did he scream at you when you told him that you didn’t want to be exclusive?”

“Well, no but he—”

“Did he threaten you into submission?”

“No but the fact that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore just because I’m unsure about committing means that he must not care enough to prove himself.”

Jungkook flung his arms in the air and gave one last exasperated sigh before heading towards the door. The look on his face was one of disappointment. Such disappointment made your blood boil.

“The fact that he isn’t coercing you into being with him obviously means he cares about you. You’re just being spoiled rotten that he’s not groveling at your feet to be with you no matter what. Do you think the Prince is going to grovel at your feet despite wanting to be exclusive?”

With that, he slammed the door.

Who the fuck does he think he is.

Never has Jungkook shamed you so much. It was almost as if he was purposefully taking their side instead of yours.

Jungkook left a burning pit in your mind after his rebuttal of your feelings. So much so that you were going to find the answer to the question he left you with. You were going to prove to him how much of an understanding person Prince Jin is.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jin’s POV

At the end of a luxurious bed, sat a deeply contemplative prince who ran his fingers along the lace stitching of the blanket. His mind has focused on the Kingdom of Avis, where he had resided for so long. Jin considered the people who lived under his command—the nobles, the commoners, the merchants alike. What would come of these people once the curse is lifted?

Would they magically transition into the modern world as if they had been there all along? Or will they land in a world that has no space for them?

What will become of him when the curse is broken? What role will Prince Jin play in the modern world without his crown?

These questions swirled around his head for a few more moments while he took in his surroundings. Deep curtains and golden accented furniture sprinkled the walls around him. The room he currently stayed in is not his original room; no, this was simply a room that was left empty upon the curse’s arrival. It only took a few years after being bound inside the book did the prince realize he could not stomach the satin, lace, and embellishments. Even now, looking at what would be considered underwhelming furnishings for a prince. The adornments almost blinded him as he thought about all the duties that came with the luxury he lives in.

The duties that came with being…

“… the King.” The word fell off his tongue in a choked whisper.

Though Seokjin is crowned at the end of the story, he never got comfortable calling himself that. No, the Prince-King never forgot about his father’s prevailing authority. What even is a king?

Is it the lace, satin and gold that adorns all the things he sees?

Or is it that gilded throne that the men in his bloodline have sat upon for centuries?

Seokjin always thought it was the man who did everything he could for the good of his kingdom. That was, until he saw it justified to follow his heart.

What is a king then?

*knock, knock, knock, knock*

The prince was taken from his contemplative state by the rhythmic noise of the distressed knocking.

“One moment!” He yelled as he straightened himself up in the mirror.

He worked a few fingers through his hair so that it was intentionally unkempt. Then he made sure that his clothes were hanging in a flattering manner.

“The kingly style is a look, but you gotta loosen things up a little bit man. Maybe undo a couple buttons.” Jungkook had said not too long ago.

The prince did not want to appear so reserved and aloof, but still wanted to look his best for whoever waited on the other side of the door.

*knock, knock*

“I’m coming!” He shouted, all but lunging to the door.

When he opened it, there you stood. Your face was red, eyes swollen and wet. It was a pitiful sight that made his heart wrench.

“Y/N… what are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

You nodded, inching closer into the doorway.

The prince took a couple steps back, letting you into the room. You didn’t go around him to flop on the bed like you normally would. No, you just inched a little closer staring him down with fire in your eyes.

“I just need someone right now…” You murmured, throwing your arms around his neck.

Jin’s hands wrapped around your back to hold you in a tight hug. The two of you stayed like this, silent in a comforting embrace, for a few minutes before you stepped away. You closed the door behind you and moved further into the room.

“What’s going on, my sweet?”

You sighed, “I’m just so confused with everything that’s going on lately.”

“Well, you know just as much as I do how to fix this curse.” He trailed off with a slight chuckle, equally as confused with that situation.

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. Every time I see you my heart burns with desire for you. I love the time we spend together and everything that makes you, you.”

“This seems to be a pleasant confusion to be in.” He smiled, grabbing your hand and kissing it lightly. “I feel strongly about you too.”

“I know, and that’s the problem. I just don’t know what to do about this.”

Jin stood near you again, lifting a hand to carress your cheek with his thumb. AS if instinctively, you gently nuzzled your face into the warmth of his hand.

“What do you want to do about this?” He said in a breathy whisper.

“I want you to hold me, to treat me right. I want to feel the warmth of your touch on my skin..”

This sent a shiver down the prince’s spine and a blush crept up to his ears. The knowledge that his feelings were reciprocated made his heart flutter and burn.

“Where?” He whispered, his face moving closer to yours.

He watched your eyes scanning his face for any hint of doubt. When you found none, you smiled gently and closed your eyes.

“Everywhere.”

Then his mouth was on yours.

~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke to the sound of a faint rumbling noise. Blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you glanced outside for any proof of a thunderstorm. There was no flash of lightning nor was there the rhythmic sound of rain bursting onto the glass windows or their metal frames.

Blinking tightly again, you turned your head to glance at the bed you were laying in.

Mine.

It took a moment to register in your head that you had returned to your own room last night. Your face grew warm thinking about the events that transpired the night before. Better yet, it was all steamy. You felt like you really grew closer to the prince last night.

After calming down from any shenanigans you may have gotten up to, the two of you laid peacefully on his bed to talk to one another.

“What am I to you, Jin?”

“You mean much to me, Y/N,” he responded softly.

“I’m sure this isn’t normal, for you. Laying here with me like this.”

The prince chuckled. “No, nothing I’ve experienced in the last eight months is normal for me. But, I think I have finally gotten used to it. You’ve helped me adjust a lot.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” you said. You smiled gently at him. “I am glad to be here with you.”

The prince leaned into you, pressing a kiss at your forehead. He hummed, thinking deeply about something. You scanned his face, looking for any hints of frustration.

“I am thinking about what you said when you first came to my room this evening. You said you didn’t know what to do with the way you’re feeling. May I give you a suggestion?”

Curious, you nodded your head silently.

“Normally this would be out of my hands and someone else would be telling you this. But, I think that I have come to enjoy our time together a little more than I should say. I think it would bring me even greater joy if you were mine.”

His usually cheery voice had dropped and melted into a deeply a serious tone. He looked at you with such fondness in his eyes. The charm rolled off his tongue so delicately. His words were polished and refined like royalty. In this moment, you utterly understood how much of a prince he really is. Truly, he is a prince from a fairytale.

“And what if I don’t want to be yours, Jin?” You said grimly. “What if I’m not prepared for that yet?”

“Then I’ll wait for you to be ready.”

“What if I want to be with other people?”

“Then… I cannot stop you. But, I won’t lie and say that I won’t be wounded.” He paused for a moment. “Is that what you would like to do?”

Your answer was hesitant. Jin would still be hurt if I wanted to have an open relationship. But unlike Min Yoongi, it doesn’t seem like he will cast you aside so easily.

“I don’t know what I’ll want in the future, but I know I want you.”

You were brought out of your day dream by another rumble resonating through the walls of your room. Skeptically, you got out of bed and searched for your phone through the moonlight. After stumbling around for a frustrating moment, you were able to grab the device from a dresser.

The screen was bright in the dark, blinding you briefly. The time was only 3:30. Meaning you had only been asleep for a few hours.

Suddenly, your door creaked, as if a large draft was blowing in from the other side. You threw a robe on not knowing who would be awake at this hour. When you opened the door, you felt a gust of wind behind you, prompting you to go forward.

You walked for five minutes down the hallway, which was silent besides the occasional rumble of the walls. When you came to stop at the intersection of the other hallways, you took a moment to consider your surroundings.

Taking a left will lead you towards the maid quarters, kitchen, and the like. Going straight leads you to the ballroom, and foyer. And taking a right leads you towards the royal wing. This is where the royal family would have stayed. Currently, the Prince’s bedroom is one of the first down that way.

You took a right down the hallway, the light of a lamp guiding you. Soon you were in front of Jin’s door once more. You let a brief smile form on your lips before your attention was taken by another, now deeper, rumble coming from further down the hallway.

Curious, albeit alarmed, you continued on down towards the source of the sound. You passed multiple rooms, some you have entered and others you haven’t. When you reached the stained glass window at the end of the hallway, you realized that there was an unfamiliar path leading off to the left.

The Prince had never taken you down this far. And, you had spent much of your time in the library, the kitchen, or even just outside on the royal grounds.

Again, a gust of wind blew through your hair. Urging you to go down the hallway. Throwing caution to the wind, you let your feet drag you down the new path. Soon after proceeding, you felt that there was something odd about the corridor. It felt too long.

This was a once a high traffic area, you observed. The threads of the carpet had gone bare in some areas.

Now, as the historical carpet laid forgotten and coarse under the bottom of your bare feet, you wish you had waited until Jin was awake to take you.

The dimly lit lamp swayed to-and-fro in your hand, casting a dull, moving shadow across the corridor. The small sliver of a crescent was doing nothing to aide in your sight.

Once charming suits of armor now loomed over you as you continued on in search of something new. Each step closer to your unknown destination made a spine-chilling creak echo off the walls; this corridor is void of tapestries, and the fire in your lamp allows the shadows to jump out to you even more.

The light bounced off something straight ahead, a sign that perhaps you finally made it somewhere. You leaned your head back slightly; some number of weary steps lead you to…

A door?

Looking upward, you noticed at the arch of the wooden door there was a faded symbol: You could make out the faint edges of what looked to be a heart. You held your lamp higher above your head, and you confirmed that it was an incredibly broken heart.

A shiver ran down your spine as you caught a glimpse of a wet sheen running through the cracks adorning the heart. And you shook your head before you thought it was anything other than water.

With a shake of your head, you reached an unsteady hand towards the worn, bronze door handle. It gave way with barely a touch; the silence the door held as it slowly swung open left a dry feeling in your mouth.

Gulping audibly, you pressed forward into the room and noted the destroyed furniture. You began to tiptoe your way around the perimeter of the room, and you kept in mind the plethora of tattered dresses and clothes scattered along the floor.

You reached a bare wall that was cracked and decayed with a single spot left untouched.

A picture frame covered a decent portion of the wall in front of you. Stretching your hand out to grab ahold of the cover, you relished in the soft velvet between your fingers. You tugged at the fabric, getting an idea of where it had been hooked.

Immediately, a corner of the cover fell down. You grabbed firm and pulled the cover off the painting and away to the floor.

It hit the ground with a light thud, but there was enough weight to force a cloud of dust. Coughing, you covered your mouth and stepped back from the painting.

Your peer through the dim light onto the painting, trying to distinguish who it is. You stepped forward once again in order to see better. Raising the lamp, you inched your way up the body of the portrait.

When the light of the lamp met the head of the painted individual, you audibly gasped. Jerking backwards, the light in your lamp began to flutter. The flickering light obscured the painting, but you only needed a glance to know who it was.

You were frozen in your spot, the only thing moving is a shaky hand up towards the painting once more. When the light focused again, you found a fury of emotions welling up inside of you.

Standing there in faded glory was a painting of…

You?

No.

Princess Ariadne.

#bts x reader #bts angst #min yoongi fic #seokjin fic #jungkook fic #bts fluff #bts fantasy fic #bts ot7 fic #bts #bts fics #prince!seokjin #sorcerer!yoongi #bts royalty au #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader

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voldemortappreciationfest · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to the first Voldemort Appreciation Prompt Fest!

The Voldemort Appreciation Fest is a prompt-based fest, for both artists and writers. We welcome any rating and any (or no) pairing, as long as Voldemort is the center of the story or image.

Please note that due to the focus of the fest – that is, on Voldemort in his capacity as an unrepentant villain, be that Dark Lord or otherwise – fest participants must be 18 years of age or older.

It will be run by @atlantablack and @kitastrophea (who is the biggest Voldemort stan ever).

Schedule:

prompting opens: May 14th

prompting closes: June 5th

claiming starts: June 7th

submissions due: August 1st

posting starts: August 13th

Requirements:

Stories must be at least 1000 words. There is no maximum word count.

Each story must be complete and entirely your own. You cannot submit a WIP. It also can’t be part of an ongoing series - if you want to continue your story in the future, that’s up to you, but for the fest, there needs to be a proper ending.

You’re welcome to collaborate! Just let us know your co-author when you sign up.

We recommend you get a Beta, although it is not required. If you don’t know where to find one, you can submit and ask and we can try to set you up with someone through Tumblr, or you can reach out in the discord server and see if anyone is willing to beta!

Art can be any form or medium but should be equivalent to at least 1000 words. Artwork files should be at least 640x480 pixels, and scans of physical artworks should be clean and clear. A lossless format such as .png is preferable to a lossy format such as .jpg, if you have access to lossless export formats.

Gifsets must be at least 8 gifs that tie together to tell some kind of story.

Moodboards must be at least 5 images and follow a theme and/or narrative.

Fanvids must be at least 1 minute long and tell some kind of story.

Prompting & claiming:

You can leave up to ten prompts, and you don’t have to create anything in order to do so.

Each prompt can be claimed once for fic, and once for any medium of art (two claims total). Claiming will work on a first-come, first-served basis.

You can only claim one prompt at a time. If you finish before the deadline, you’re welcome to claim another one!

Self-prompting is allowed. If you’d like to work with your own prompt, please do not send it in, or others might claim it. Once claiming starts, you can sign up with your own prompt.

Submissions:

All works must be posted to the Ao3 Collection we will send you. The collection will be moderated, and the works released by us. If you don’t know how to do this, feel free to ask us.

Works will be anonymous, and the authors/artists revealed after every work is posted, to give everyone an equal chance at recognition. This means that we ask you to keep your prompt a secret!

If you decide to write about sensitive and/or potentially triggering content, please use additional tags in addition to Ao3’s rating and warning system.

Last But Not Least….

Once you claim a prompt, we will send you a confirmation, together with an Invite link to a Discord Server for the fest that you’re welcome to join!

You can also contact us through asks and messages on our Tumblr, or send us a mail at [email protected]

We will post reminders and further information regularly.

And most importantly - have fun, and give Voldemort all the recognition (and love) he deserves!

#voldemort #harry potter #signal boost #prompt fest #Harry Potter prompt fest #tom riddle #snake lovers anonymous

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echo-bleu · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 11/11 Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Helen Blackthorn/Aline Penhallow, Background sizzy - Relationship, background clace - Relationship, Lorenzo Rey/Andrew Underhill Characters: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood, Maryse Lightwood, Catarina Loss, Madzie (Shadowhunters TV), Lorenzo Rey, Andrew Underhill, Aline Penhallow, Helen Blackthorn, Clary Fray, Simon Lewis Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Alec Lightwood, Amnesia, 3x19 divergence, Magnus erases his memories, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, They will probably get them at the very end, This is very angsty folks, chock full of angst, This is all because of Em, Prompt Fill, Or it started that way, Major Character Injury, Disabled Character, Autistic Alec Lightwood, Disabled Alec Lightwood, Falling In Love, Again, But this time with angst, Season 1 callbacks, Discord: Malec Server, Discord: The Fandom Playhouse, Gratuitous Worldbuilding, Random use of angels, demon venom, injuries, gay wedding, But it's not Malec, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Self-Harm, Depression Summary:

Over the ten months that follow Alec's deal with Asmodeus, Alec struggles to adapt to a world without Magnus in it, Magnus falls in love all over again and everyone just tries to make it through another day.

Alec is dying from venom poisoning and Magnus doesn't even remember him.

COMPLETE

The epilogue is up! I can’t believe I made it to the end.

So many thanks to my beta @jeanboulet, who knows my writing patterns even better than me, for bearing with me through this entire journey and making my ideas and my writing so much better, to @moonlight-breeze-44 for your unconditional support throughout and being a truly wonderful friend, to @thelightofthebane for the incredible moodboard she made for this fic, and to all my friends at the Fandom Playhouse discord server for all the encouragements and brainstorming and sprints that brought this fic to life.

Go straight to the epilogue here.

#shadowhunters #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec fic #mine #echo's fanfiction #take me back to the start

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ineloqueent · 4 years ago

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party for one

Roger Taylor x Reader

synopsis: you’re not excited about your birthday, and have thus decided not to tell anyone about it. but then Roger finds out, and refuses to let it go.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.8k

see moodboard here!

⭒

December, 1979

Turning thirty was not something you looked forward to.

It was a big number, the number at which everyone expected you to have your life together, be married and have children, have a steady job.

Well, you could check one of those boxes.

As the newly-appointed tour photographer for Queen, you were well-liked, and thus had no fears of unemployment in the near future.

You’d gotten quite close with the members of Queen over the past month, during the aptly-named Crazy Tour, sharing late nights and early mornings with the four musicians. Late nights and early mornings had a funny way of bringing out the true personalities of people, because lack of sleep meant that no one had a filter, and your mutual exhaustion had made you the best of friends with the band you were travelling with.

You liked to go dancing with John, when nobody else would, because Brian couldn’t dance for the life of him, and Roger hated disco, and Freddie was often busy.

You went with Brian to the science museums he wanted to visit in many of the cities where you stopped, because everyone else had had enough of his rambling. Brian was talkative when he was talking about something he cared about, and it was a sort of reprieve for you not to be the one talking— to tour managers, to publicists, to press, to the lighting department who spoke in riddles, to the security guards in various nations that did not speak English.

Freddie loved shopping, for anything and everything, and was ever so pleased to have a companion on his many expeditions in search of rare records, paintings, clothes.

And Roger… Well, Roger. What could you say about Roger?

Roger was the in-between moments. Not that he wasn’t around— because he was, and practically everywhere you looked— but because whenever things seemed to slow down, or grow drearily quiet, or when you stood at the eye of the storm that was the never-ending flood of work that came as part of your employment with Queen, Roger was there, with an easy smile and a striking insightfulness.

He became the quiet moments when he took you to see strange, foreign films on off-nights, showed you forgotten corners of sprawling cities across the continents, or called you over to read you a quote from whatever book was currently occupying his headspace.

One such night, you were sitting in the games room of a hotel, cleaning one of your cameras, as Brian and John attempted to beat one another’s pinball scores, as Freddie sat watching telly with a few friends, and a handful of crew members played an intense game of pool.

You had taken a seat on one of the two sofas in the room, leaving ample space, should someone else want to sit down, but Roger occupied an entire couch to himself, feet up at one armrest, head at the other. He’d been wearing headphones, plugged into a brand-new Sony Walkman portable cassette player, the one which both band and crew had gawked over when he’d first bought it, back in July. But now he took the headphones off, mussing his blonde hair— recently cropped— and sat up.

“Hey,” he said, and you looked up. “Come listen to this.”

With a small sigh, you carefully deposited your camera on the coffee table, and crossed over to the other side of the space to join Roger.

You flopped down at his side, and he looped his arm through yours, pushing his reading glasses up on his nose before softly clearing his throat.

“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people,” he read quietly, “and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?”

“I don’t—”

“Shh,” Roger peered at you over his glasses, nudging your shoulder with his, “I’m not finished.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well, sorry. Go on, then.”

“It’s the too-huge world vaulting us,” Roger continued, “and it’s goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Roger smiled. “It’s us,” he said, and then said nothing more, until you relaxed into his side and sat there with him as he read in silence, and your eyes fell shut and your mind fell into a dream.

With the days, the tour went on, and as the date of your birthday approached, you took great care to pretend that it did not.

But your birthday had always been an ordeal for you, and you weren’t doing particularly well at hiding the sense of impending doom that came over you, when there was only a week until the day.

John noticed, that much was obvious, but said nothing, ever respectful of your personal matters as you were of his.

Brian noticed, but only asked what was wrong in such a roundabout way that you felt inclined to say he had not noticed at all, or was too polite to ask directly.

Freddie noticed, and asked outright what was bothering you, but he did so right before going onstage, and refused to perform before you had answered his question. So you answered, albeit untruthfully, with a hurried, “Nothing!” to make him get the fuck onstage.

And Roger noticed.

He caught your arm the day before your birthday, as they were all departing the stage in the wake of raucous cheers, a towel slung around his neck as he caught his breath from the physical exertion that was playing the drums. He pulled you off to the side before you could protest, before Freddie and the others could drag the both of you off to some party, and looked at you in such a way you thought he’d stare right through your very heart.

“What?!”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, folding his arms with an inquisitive expression.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

Roger snorted. “‘Course it is. You’ve been like this for weeks. What’s the matter?”

You shrugged your shoulders in discomfort, avoiding his gaze. “It’s—”

“If you say nothing one more time, I’ll go get Brian and ask him to explain zodiacal light, and we’ll be stood here for literal hours before we can get any sort of food or drink or bed. So spit it out, because I worry about you, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He stared you down, and you felt a sudden compulsion to embrace him for having cared enough to ask about you, to take the time to ask about you.

With a heavy sigh, you conceded your secrets to him, as simply as had you been a book he’d opened, intending to read from cover to cover.

“It’s my birthday—”

He frowned, “When?”

“Tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow?” Roger balked. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell us? We would have organised something!”

“No, no, I don’t want you to make a fuss—”

“Well, what if I want to make a fuss?”

“You want to—”

He grasped your hand, and with the contact, your heart clenched. “You deserve to be fussed over,” he told you, earnestly. “Don’t you get that?”

Your mouth had fallen open, and you now pressed your lips together, glancing down at the floor.

“No,” you mumbled. “I don’t get that.”

“And so you’ve been living your life wrong,” said Roger. “Get that into your head, love.”

It was strange, how words so simple could strike a chord, but there was a lump in your throat when you swallowed, and when you nodded, you couldn’t look at him.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go back to the hotel. I’m sure you’re as tired as I am.”

You nodded again, avoiding his eyes, and he set off.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t mind.

And as testament to Roger’s assertion, when you had parted from him and gone to your hotel room, you’d changed and fallen asleep as soon as your head had hit the pillow.

The following day was your birthday, and a day without a scheduled show, so you slept in. No one would miss you for a few hours, you thought, and indeed, no knocks roused you from your sleep until you got up, well into the afternoon.

You ran into Freddie in the hallway, and, suddenly possessed by the notion that you should do something fun on your birthday, even if no fuss was to be made, you asked Freddie if he wanted to go with you to see a movie, and where the others were, should they wish to come as well.

“No, sorry darling, I’ve got a thousand things to do before tomorrow, and I’m afraid I’ve got no idea where anyone else is.” He pursed his lips. “In fact, I’ve been looking for those three idiots for the better part of an hour.”

“That’s… rather strange,” you said, in all honesty.

“Rather,” Freddie agreed. Then he clasped his hands. “I’m going to keep looking for them, if you don’t mind. But enjoy your film, and I’ll see you at dinner?”

Your heart dropped, but of course, the great Freddie Mercury was a busy man, so naturally, this was to be expected. “See you at dinner,” you replied, and let him be on his way.

You wandered the hotel for a little while, perhaps ten minutes or so, before you came upon Brian, who had pink-flushed cheeks and wore quite the coat— bulky, and oddly overstuffed, like some sort of armchair.

“Hey,” you said in greeting. “Freddie’s looking for you.”

“Freddie’s— oh, is he? Right. Well. Better find him then before he loses his temper, ha ha.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Are you okay, Brian?”

“What?” he folded his arms around his body, in an awkward fashion, because he was clearly not accustomed to the bulk upon his frame. “Nothing. I mean, yes, I’m fine, yes. I’ll go find Fred.”

And then he hurried down the hall, before you could open your mouth to ask him if he was free to go see a film.

“Never mind,” you muttered, and proceeded in the direction you had been going before.

Two down, two left. This was truly going to be a rotten birthday, if you were to go to see a film on your own. Not that there was anything wrong with that, aside from the glaring fact that you didn’t actually feel like being alone.

You found Deacy in the lobby, leaning his elbows on the counter as he called to the person using the phone in the adjacent room.

Approaching him, you realised he was talking to— or rather, talking at— Roger, who had leaned out of the room, one hand covering the mouthpiece of the telephone.

Roger’s gaze met with yours briefly, before his eyes widened and he hissed to John something that sounded distinctly like shut up.

John saw you then, and smiled as you approached.

“Hello, Y/N. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” you responded airly, feigning a happy demeanour. “You?”

“Lovely,” said John. “Just getting Rog to make a few phone calls about the next show.”

You shook your head, puzzled. “The next show?”

“Mmyes. There was a mix-up with some gear, last time, so we thought we’d get onto it ourselves, so we know exactly what’s going on. Hands-on, you know?”

“Yeah,” you answered slowly, though in actual fact this made absolutely no sense to you, and you were sure that it made no sense to the person who had spoken it.

“Finished, Roger?” John called back to his friend, his tone more warning than inquisitive. You wondered why.

A muffled, bell-like sound announced that Roger had hung up the phone.

“Finished,” he affirmed, adjusting his round-lens sunglasses.

“Well,” said Deacy, “I’ll be off, then. See you later, Y/N.” He raised his hand in a wave, and disappeared around the corner.

You blinked at his sudden departure, then turned to Roger and asked your question before he could disappear as well.

“Rog, come see a film with me?”

Roger was pulling on an overcoat, and promptly shook his head. “Can’t. Sorry, love.”

Your fingers caught on his sleeve as he passed you, and he stopped.

“Please,” you murmured. “I know I said I didn’t want a fuss, but it’s my birthday. Come with me?”

Roger shook his head again, squeezing your hands in his. “I really can’t,” he said. At least he had the decency to look apologetic. You supposed that was something. “But I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

You tried not to sound too dejected, but truth be told, you were crushed. “Yeah, tonight.”

“Alright, then. Well, I’d better be off.” His grip gentle on your forearms, he tugged you forward and kissed your cheek, and you blushed beneath the touch of his lips to your skin, at the warmth that passed from him to you. Drawing back, he winked, let your hands fall, and was gone as well.

You went to see the film on your own.

And then you saw another. And another, just for the hell of it.

By the time you returned to the hotel, it was dark, and you found no one anywhere once more. Until you more or less crashed into John on the landing.

“Blimey, good you’re here!” he said breathlessly. “You’ve got to come quickly. Something’s wrong.”

“Wrong?” you asked. “What do you mean, wrong? Is everyone alright? Is someone hurt?”

John shook his head. “No, no. Just… Come on. You’ll want to see this.”

“See what—”

He more or less dragged you down the hall, until you reached the games room, and ground to a halt.

“In there.”

“The games room?” you said dubiously.

Deacy nodded. He stepped aside, indicating you should open the door.

Eyeing him warily, you reached for the door handle, and pushed it down. The room was dark—

And then abruptly, it was not.

Streamers burst forth, and twinkling fairy lights glinted off of the faces of your friends— Brian, Freddie, Roger, and smattering of crew— smiling from behind a table piled with all sorts of food. Food, and presents.

“Surprise!” came the cry, and you barked a laugh, half in surprise, half in disbelief at your stupidity for not having seen this coming.

“I— thank you,” you said, just as Freddie blew a party horn, to the dismay of those standing immediately beside him. You laughed again, “How did you manage all of this… with such short notice?”

Brian grinned. “It was all Roger.”

“And your bulky coat?” you asked.

“I was carrying bags of ice,” Brian admitted, to a chorus of laughter. “I was cold, okay, but I couldn’t let you see it, so I had to get away from you as quickly as possible. Sorry if that came off as rude.”

You merely laughed once again, then turned to Deacy, who stood beside you. “And, John?”

“Head of organisation,” he said. “Though it was Roger’s master plan.”

“Freddie?”

“What do you think, darling? I did all the shopping,” he swept his arm in a grand gesture, indicating the food and the presents.

“Oh, come off it, Fred,” Roger scoffed, pushing past Crystal. “Not all of the shopping.” Roger now stood before you, and, inclining his head, he handed you a rectangular package, wrapped in butcher paper and white string. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said.

“Thanks, Rog,” you smiled, as you felt yourself be filled with a happiness you had long since thought gone.

“Go on. Open it.”

You looked down at the parcel in your hands, then began to tug at the string.

“We haven’t got all night,” called Freddie. “There’s cake for you as well, so hurry up!”

You glanced at Roger. He shrugged. You tore the paper from the present, and let it fall to the ground.

In your hands you held a first-edition copy of Lord of the Rings.

You gaped. “But how did you—”

“Made some phone calls,” said Roger modestly.

Without a way of putting your gratitude into words, you threw your arms around him, so forcefully that he stumbled backward, before he wrapped his arms around you as well, chuckling.

“Thank you,” you murmured, as someone started a record on the nearby deck, and the party was set into motion.

“You deserve to be fussed over,” he murmured back.

And if it was possible, you hugged him even more tightly, for once at home in this quiet, strange world, with its triumphs and its downfalls, and its in-between moments.

With its Roger moments.

Yes, that was what they were. There was no in-between when Roger was in your world.

And he knew that for as long as you would let him, he would damn well stay.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #roger taylor x reader #fic

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sooibian · 4 years ago

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Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol @j-pping @kyungseokie @exosmuttytalk @his-mochi-cheeks @littleflowercrown13 pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula.

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs.

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think.

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt.

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level.

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz…

“Late again?”

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef.

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner.

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!”

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him.

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation.

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin.

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney.

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall.

But you know better than to argue.

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.”

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual.

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market.

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself.

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!”

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you.

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo.

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine.

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically.

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager.

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope.

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously.

Ketchup.

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor.

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs.

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok.

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears.

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes.

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing.

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business.

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now.

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service.

Customer service.

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine.

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example.

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough.

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document.

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you.

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen.

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.”

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….”

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents.

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him.

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.”

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with.

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time.

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized.

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up.

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon.

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning.

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right.

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!”

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time.

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink.

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands.

11 P.M., two hours past closing time.

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too.

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you.

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?”

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market.

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -”

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini.

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain.

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence.

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

At first you thought you were imagining this.

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.”

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality.

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?”

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.”

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders.

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy.

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face.

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out.

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time.

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?”

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm.

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash.

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound.

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol.

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault.

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him.

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him.

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for.

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.”

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life.

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?”

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day.

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you.

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice.

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning.

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently.

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation.

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?”

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension.

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck."

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door.

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time.

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all.

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable.

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe.

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing.

Someone beneath him.

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you.

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book.

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him.

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same.

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say.

You’ve been so stupid.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed.

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday.

But, you used to.

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths.

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music.

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings.

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks.

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles.

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim).

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile.

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

202 notes · View notes

cherrybracelets · 4 years ago

Text

Politics & Violence (one)

masterlist | requests

summary: Your father is one of the most progressive presidents in history, and many praise you and your family for all the good you’ve done for the country. But there is a select group of radicals who plans to take the entire administration down, and the threat to you and your family is growing every day. Your father takes matters into his own hands when he hires individual body guards for each member of your family.

pairing: bodyguard!a. hotchner x presidents daughter!reader

words; 11.5k warnings: this fic will be 18+!!! lots of heavy stuff, drugs, alc, depression, sex, guns, violence, death

song inspo: politics and violence by dominic fike

an: hey this is my first hotch piece and I’m super nervous so please let me know what u think!! i will be making a full playlist for this fic and a moodboard so keep ur eyes peeled; this is also obviously non canon and the backstory hotch has here is completely made up by me also this is gone be two parts ok bye

Being the daughter of the president was hard enough, it doesn’t make it any easier that you’re fucking your bodyguard. You wouldn’t trade Hotch for the world, but it was exhausting keeping up with this life sometimes. You never thought of yourself as someone who would get entangled up into a secret like this. You felt it weighing on you all the time. Every secret glance between you two in the hall, every ‘accidental’ touch at an event, the secret kissing in the closets with the door locked and the lights off. It was a thrill, but also added unneeded strain to your life.

Hotch saw the effects he had on you, too. Both negative and positive. He knew that the love you two shared, the passion between you, would be unmatched with any other person. But he also knew how hard it was to keep that love a secret, to not hold hands in public, to lie to all of your friends and family. Most importantly, to lie to your dad. Loving him, being with him, it was a sacrifice.

Your dad had spent the past 23 years of his life doing everything he could to protect you. He hated that he brought you into this life; he hated this life himself. All he wanted was to help people, and he thought the best way would be politics. But he didn’t know that with his more modern takes, many people would hate him. And it got so bad that last year you started receiving death threats. A group of radicals had recently started sending individual letters to your whole family, making it clear how much they hated you and what your family stood for.

It was terrifying. And you were tired of it. You had been dealing with it your whole life, as he had been an important politician for a long time before winning the presidency. The cameras following you everywhere you went, never having real relationships with anybody because people just wanted the clout that came with knowing you. You were miserable, and were only finding happiness in the darkest of places, ironically. Partying, alcohol and drugs had taken over most of your nights, with a group of people who you wouldn’t really call your friends, but people who had allowed you to be miserable with them.

You had never really had friends, besides your siblings. People always wanted to be your friend, but almost never for genuine reason. And when someone was being genuine, which was rare, you had a hard time trusting and ultimately hurt the person to avoid being hurt yourself. It was a terrible cycle that you’d been dealing with for... a long time. Twenty three years to be exact, because the night of your twenty third birthday was when it all changed.

Your dad had called everyone to the house for a family dinner. At the time, you were living in some tiny studio across town, and your brother was shacking up with some girl he knew from college. It was pretty rare to get all of you together in one place, but for you and your brother, Matt’s birthday, it was extra important that everyone was there.

Your father always blocked out his schedule for birthdays, they were a big deal to him. And although you were dreading having to put on your happy face for an evening of passive aggressive comments and awkward small talk, you did it for him. He was the only member of your family who deserved even a second of your time.

So that night, you drove to your parents house, reminding yourself that it’s only a few hours and everything will be fine. There won’t be any issues, you and Matt won’t fight, the two younger siblings won’t fight, mom and dad won’t fight. No one will fight, you promised yourself. You’ll hold it together. You practiced your smile as you pulled in the driveway, hoping to not be too disingenuous when you saw everyone.

None of them were especially bad people, they just all had a lot of problems, and were especially bad at dealing with them. But, so were you. Comes with the territory of being a high profile political family, apparently. You already saw Matt’s car there as well, which made you nervous. Matt and your mother being alone together for very long without you to interject was never good. It could already be a disaster as soon as you walk in.

You got out of your car and walked slowly to the entrance, your head down. You didn’t like making eye contact with the secret service, they always made you incredibly nervous. They stood so still, but their eyes always followed you like a haunted painting. Someone opened the door for you, and you stepped through the entrance to an empty hall. You assumed they were in the dining room already, waiting for you.

As you walked there, you noticed an unusual silence of guards and other employees. Most people at least said hi to you as you walked by, but there was nothing tonight. Every face you passed was buried in paperwork or their phones, looking worried. When you finally arrived to the dining room, you walked into an unusual silence. There were quite a few guards that you hadn’t recognized, one specific one watching you intently as you greeted your family and sat in between your dad and Matt.

“Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence, princess,” Matt grumbled, raising his eyebrows in discontent as he shifted in his chair.

“I’m like, five minutes late dude, can you relax?” You protested, crossing your arms in frustration and avoiding looking at him.

“Guys, please don’t do this, not tonight for God’s sake,” your father interjected, his teeth tightly clenched together as he stared daggers at the two of you. His forehead was sweating, and his nails were bitten down to the point of bleeding. It had been almost two weeks since you’d last seen him, but he was not like this before. Something was happening, and you felt your stomach turn as you looked around the rest of the table and realized you were the only one out of the loop.

“What is happening with everyone right now?” You looked at your dad first, hoping he would step in and explain the obvious elephant in the room.

“Someone is trying to kill us all,” your little brother, Charlie, blurted out. He was young, only ten, and clearly didn't understand the gravity of the situation.

“Jesus, Charlie, way to freak her out,” your sister yelped, pushing him slightly.

“Charlie, Dani, both of you shut up!” Your mom yelled, slamming her fists down on the table loudly and making you all jump.

“Everyone, relax, okay,” your dad instructed calmly. It used to be you, mediating every fight and solving every issue. But you couldn’t do it anymore, and your dad knew. He needed to step up and fix the shattered remnants of your family. Unfortunately, that was a harder job than being the president.

“There have been some… issues, with this radical group based in Virginia. I get threats all the time, but, they are threatening each of you now. And I’m not going to put up with that. So, there’s going to be some changes around here.”

“Yeah, go ahead and tell her about how we have to move back home,” Matt objected.

“What?”

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N). We are doing everything we can to catch the guys who are doing this. But for now it is safest for all of you to be home.”

“I have a life, Dad. I can’t give up everything because you did some things that pissed people off.”

“Don’t be so selfish, (Y/N), this is about all of us, not just you.” Your mom took a long sip of her wine and sat back in her chair, preparing for the yelling that was about to ensue.

“You all each have a personal bodyguard as well, with high levels of combat training. They will be with you all day, everywhere you go. At night there will be a rotated shift of guards outside your doors.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Aaron, why don’t you come meet my lovely daughter,” your father muttered, motioning to one of the men standing behind him. As you suspected, the man who had not taken his eyes off of you since you arrived took a few steps forward, nodding respectively at you.

“At least yours is hot,” your brother whispered to you, rolling his eyes.

“My name is Aaron Hotchner, and I will do everything I can to keep you safe.” He stuck his hand out to you, and you grabbed it reluctantly, shaking his hand lightly. His touch was gentle, but his hands were strong and large compared to yours. He definitely looked the part.

“What about my trip next week?” You questioned, turning away from Hotch and back to your dad. “I’m supposed to go do that college campus tour in California. I leave in two weeks.”

“We all think you should still take that trip, it’s only a few weeks and Aaron will be with you the entire time. I don’t think the jet is a good idea, though. We’re going to have you fly commercial.”

“First class, I hope?” Your brother and mom both collectively rolled their eyes, and you just ignored them and continued to stare at your dad, awaiting his answers.

“Of course, darling.” He smiled politely, hoping to end the conversation here and get on with dinner. You decided it wasn’t worth pressing it, seeing how clearly your dad was falling apart, you didn’t want to add anymore stress to him.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful, for a change. You all made small talk, caught up on work and school- pretty boring stuff. The whole time, you felt his eyes on you. When you looked at him, he dragged his eyes away slowly, as if pretending he wasn’t watching your every move. You weren’t sure why he kept looking away when you noticed him- it was his job to watch you. It was almost as if the thought of your eyes meeting scared him.

The most exciting part about a dinner with your family was when you could finally leave and go home- but tonight, unfortunately, you did not have that luxury. Your bedroom here was already prepared, and you always had a few spare pairs of clothes here. You knew there was no way you could convince any of them to let you go home.

And you definitely could not go out with your friends. But they were blowing up your phone, talking about their plans to go out to some new club with some amazing new party drug. You looked around the room nervously, trying to plan an escape somehow. There had to be a way, you basically had a PhD in sneaking out.

“Well, it’s getting late, I think it’s time for us to get Mr. Charles to bed!” Your dad teased, making funny faces at your brother, who just laughed in return. It was nice seeing him so full of joy, still loving life. He hadn’t hit the rough years, yet. You missed that feeling, the feeling of not knowing that every day, no matter what, would be miserable.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head out. Breakfast tomorrow, Dani?”

“Really,” she sat up, tilting her head in confusion. She was 16, now, and was more miserable than the rest of you. Being sixteen and living this life is utterly exhausting. She looked up to you highly, and you always paid her extra attention. You didn’t want her to end up like you.

“Of course.” You kissed her on the head and hugged your dad, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone else. You walked through the doors quickly, a reluctant Aaron Hotchner following close behind.

“I thought you left me alone at night.”

“Once you’re safe and I’ve secured you in your room, I can pass my duties to another guard. I don’t see you safe in your room.”

“Okay, dude, I got it,” you rolled your eyes, watching him get closer to you with every step. He was right beside you, now, your arms both at your sides, your hands accidentally bumping together as you walked. The moment his flesh touched yours, you felt your whole body fill with heat, your throat feeling tight as the forbidden flesh touched yours. That was the first time you knew you wanted him, the first time you felt like you could lose yourself in him. He smelled of strong coffee and vanilla, pulling you in like a flower shop in a Spring day.

You stayed silent the rest of the walk, coming up to your bedroom door. “Honey is secure, send in the first shift.”

“Honey?”

“Code name.” He responded sternly.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I just picked it when I saw your picture.” He seemed caught off guard, as if nobody had asked him that question before. You were pretty sure nobody had a codename like Honey.

You saw the other guard approaching, and Aaron seemed to relax a little as he saw the man. This man was a lot younger, and you didn’t feel nearly as protected with him. Which was probably why he was the night guard, and perfect for your plan. Aaron and the other man spoke secretly for a moment, before he turned and walked away without saying goodnight. You felt a little hurt, but also knew that it was his job to protect you, not to get close with you.

You went into your room and closed the door behind you, praying to God you had something cute to wear somewhere here. You searched around the closet, pulling garments off of hangers in frustration. Luckily you found an old dress that somehow still fit. You wiggled your way into it and fixed your hair a bit, hoping the low light of the club would cover for your bare face. You threw a robe on top of everything and shoved your heels into each pocket. You realized it was still pretty early, and decided to work on your presentation for your college tours.

You were pretty proud of your program actually. You had created a program for colleges to help get students to care more about politics, helping them to register to vote, understand laws and policies, amongst a million other things. It ended up being very successful, and your dad even credited you for helping him to win the presidency. Most of your life felt like you were stuck inside the darkest cloud to ever exist- but when you were working on this, doing your presentations for people just like you… it gave you something to live for. It was one of the few reasons you had to keep going, in all honesty.

And by the time you looked up at the clock, it was already almost 11, and your friends were on their way to the secret exit to pick you up. Yeah, there were plenty of hidden exit spots around the building that weren’t patrolled. You and Matt pretty much discovered that the first day you moved in here. You let your friends know that you’d be out soon, and you got yourself ready to go. You quietly opened the door to see the guard standing silently, turning towards you when he heard the noise.

“Hey, super sorry, my mom just texted me to come to her room. I’ll be right back!” You smiled confidently, closing the door and trying to start walking before he questioned you.

“I should probably go with you,” he requested.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. There’s a million of you guys on the way to her room. Plus, what if someone tries to sneak in my room. How will you know?”

“Oh… alright,” he muttered, awkwardly. “Just don’t take too long.”

You nodded in agreement and skipped down the hallway, people stopping to look at you momentarily before ultimately deciding they had something more important to do than worry about you. When you got to the back secret staircase, you dropped your robe and slipped your heels. Your friends were waiting for you at the door, greeting you with squeals and hugs.

“The uber is right outside the gate, let’s go!” One of them said, sprinting to the exit. You all followed quickly, laughing and twirling in the warm summer air. That was weirdly easy. You had never had such an easy time getting out. You slowed down a bit, your friends brushing past you. Something felt off. But right now, you were out, and you could at least enjoy it while it lasts. You shook your negativity off and ran to catch up with them, exiting the gate and running up the street. You stopped at your Uber and slid into the back with two others. When the doors were all closed and the car started moving, your friend in the passenger seat turned around with a handful of small blue pills.

“Have one!”

“What is it?”

“It’s a whole lot of fun, that I know for sure.” He raised his eyebrows goofily, giggling as you shrugged and took a pill. You washed it down with a swig of vodka from someone’s flask. You winced at the sharp taste of the alcohol, feeling it burning your throat and descending into your stomach.

The music on the radio was bumping loudly, each beat of the bass shaking the car. You felt everyone moving around you so quickly, but you were frozen. Your body wouldn’t move. You didn’t feel scared, though. You almost felt that if you couldn’t move, if all you could do was just sit there and listen, no one could possibly hurt you anymore. You were finally safe.

But then a hand touched yours, and the reality of your pause in time came crashing down. Your whole body jerked, and you snapped back to reality to see your friend trying to drag you from the car and into the club. She hadn’t even noticed your temporary disconnect from reality, or if she did, she didn’t care. She, just like all of you, just wanted to party. The last thing you wanted was to come face to face with your problems.

The club was dark and smoky, blurring the faces of those around you, everyone just becoming silhouettes of themselves. Someone passed you something to smoke, and you took a drag without hesitation. You got swept up into the crowd, your body moving with theirs like seaweed in a flowing ocean. Your feet were attached to the ground, but your body floated as if the wind was carrying it in her hands. Someone came up behind you, wrapping their hands around your waist and tracing their lips up your neck. Their body moved in sync with yours, the universe holding you together like a moon to it’s orbiting planet.

“Shots!” A voice nearby called. You instinctively recognized the voice, and trailed off to find the rest of your friends passing around a bottle. You joined excitedly, wrapping your arms around one of them and reaching for the bottle. You took a long swig, not even tasting the overpriced tequila, just letting it pour straight down your throat and into your body. The walls around you turned into stained glass, the sunlight pouring in a shining a beautiful rainbow of light on the crowd around you. You remembered the blue pill you took in the car, and felt happy. He was right, this was a whole lot of fun.

The music picked up a bit, and you felt each beat pulsing through your body as if it were your own heartbeat. You dragged a person from your group out to the dance floor, needing to move your body. Luckily the rest of the group followed, dancing with you, the blue pills pulling you all into the same universe. You loved moments like this, where you lost yourself, where you couldn’t even remember what real life was like even if you tried. The thought of that scared a lot of people, and you understood why. For many people, their reality was way better than anything a drug could create for them. But for some people, and for you, you needed to disappear into another existence in order to survive.

You had no idea how long you had been dancing, it felt like only seconds but your body felt like it had been moving for hours. You were still slightly lost in your mind, the drug slowly wearing off and bringing you down to the harsh reality of the come down. You felt a hand grab tightly onto your wrist, and you yelped. You couldn’t see who it was, but they were tugging at you harshly, and you couldn’t resist much longer. Your body was tired and weak, and this man was strong. You finally felt yourself moving through the people and towards the exist, still no sight of who had their hands locked to you.

If you someone snuck out and died, your dad would be so pissed. You started feeling scared, not enough drugs left in you to block out the reality of the situation. You panicked, trying to pull your hand away and scream. But no one noticed, everyone was lost in their own universes, completely away from reality, where you needed them. That was the downfall of this lifestyle, of course. Sometimes people could lose themselves a little too much.

You managed to get pulled out the door, the fresh air smacking you harshly right in the face. You felt dizzy, the lights of the city around you spinning wildly. You sat down on the pavement, pulling whoever took you out down with you. You tried to look up at him, but felt queasy when you moved your head.

“Just take a deep breathe,” a man whispered, placing his hand on your back and rubbing slowly. “Here’s some water.” He handed you an opened bottle, your fingers touching lightly and instantly making you feel better. His touch was almost healing, like he was pulling the pain right out of you. The longer he kept his hand on you, the better you felt. You sipped slowly on the water, the cold liquid flowing through you and cleansing your body.

“We need to get going,” he instructed, pulling at your arm to get up.

“Hotchner,” you muttered, finally realizing the mystery man that was stealing you away into the night.

“It’s Aaron.”

“I don’t like that. Doesn’t fit. I do like Hotch-” you hiccuped. “Hotch, actually, that’s pretty bad ass.” You giggled loudly, Hotch helping you into the front seat of the car and buckling you in. He went around the front and got into the drivers seat, starting the car with a grunt.

“How did you find me?”

“How long do you think Cooper would’ve waited until he realized you weren’t with your mom.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you sat up, taking a deep breath and looking over at the man. “I knew you’d realize I was gone. How did you find me?”

Hotch moved his lips uncomfortably, his eyes shifting back and forth.

“Why would you go out when you know how much danger you’re in? You’re an extremely intelligent woman on paper, (Y/N), but you are clearly so incredibly stupid.”

You gasped in awe, your heart racing and heat flushing to your cheeks. You were blushing like a strawberry, digging your nails into your palms to refrain yourself from screaming at him, or punching him, or just getting out of the car at the next red light.

“You don’t know anything about me, Aaron. Don’t pretend you know me from reading a few of my daddy’s notes.” You sat back in exhaustion, feeling your eyes fill with tears. You willed yourself to not cry in front of him, to hold it together until you were alone. The last person you wanted to break down in front of was him.

“We’re stopping somewhere, before we get you home.” His voice was calmer this time, clearly realizing you were upset. He didn’t look at you the rest of the ride, staring ahead at the road, focusing intently on the cars around him. You recognized the street as he started to park, realizing you were at your apartment.

“What are we doing here?” You muttered in confusion, looking around at the familiar buildings.

“Let’s go inside.”

He turned the car off and got out, walking around to you and opening your door. You reluctantly got out, and walked slowly to the front door of your building. You realized quickly you didn’t have your keys, and turned to him. As if he read your mind, he held up your keys in his hand and nodded at you. He walked to the door and typed in the code to unlock it, revealing the lobby of your apartment building. You were on the second floor, and the two of you walked slowly up the stairs to your place. He continued to stay silent as he unlocked your apartment door, opening it hastily as he braced himself to walk into your place. He shuttered uncomfortably as he stepped inside.

“Can you tell me why we’re here now?” You insisted, shutting the door loudly behind you and locking it. You were still feeling kind of uneasy, and needed to reassurance of a locked door if someone happened to come look for you here.

“Get your things. Everything you need.” He crossed his arms, a look of authority overcoming him. You realized now that he was dressed down- wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. His arms looked stunning in the cut off sleeves, the nicely displayed muscles in plain view.

“Why… why do I need my things?”

“Because, you’ve lost your privileges to privacy. Since you want to act out, you no longer have your own place. Take everything you need and say goodbye, because we’re not coming back here again.” He had raised his voice quite loudly, his arms uncrossed and at his sides. He had gotten closer to you as he spoke, now only a foot or so away from you.

“Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am trying to protect you. Do you not care at all about your own life, or your families? You are being incredibly selfish, you know that. You have an amazing family that loves you, millions of people around the country that adore you. If something happened to you, the world would be devastated, and yet you are so reckless with your life? It’s… I truly don’t get it, (Y/N).”

You stood in awe, unsure of what to say to him. You felt like a thousand pound weight just dropped on your chest. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, especially not someone who was hired to protect you. You stepped away from him, stumbling over your steps as you rested yourself against the wall.

“What… what about you?” You muttered, looking up at him. “You want to talk about recklessness with life? You don’t know me, or care about me at all, and you’re here ready and willing to die to protect me. Don’t you think that’s a little fucked up? Or, what is it, Hotch? Do you have a hero complex?” You cocked your head at him, grinning. Your moment of sadness had passed, and now you were pissed. Nobody talked to you that way. And now you wanted to piss him off.

“No, you’ve got me all wrong sweetheart,” he chuckled, walking closer and closer to you until he was inches away and you were completely backed against the wall. He moved his arms to the base of his shirt and ripped it over his head, revealing an unsurprisingly ripped body. He had multiple scars across his chest and abdomen.

“I’ve been in and out of foster homes my whole life. Switched schools constantly so I never had many friends. Went right into the Marines after high school and kept to myself for the most part there, too. I have no one, (Y/N). If I die, nobody would blink an eye. If you die, the whole country would shut down. Do you see these?” He pointed to his scars, touching them gently as if taking a moment to remember each one. “I’ve taken bullets for many before, and I’ll do it for you if I have to, Honey. That’s why I do this. I’m not reckless with my life. I have no one, no life outside of this. I can give up that to protect someone like you.”

His hand was resting on the wall behind your head, his body towering over you. He was breathing heavy, trying to relax himself.

“That is so…” you took a deep breath, bringing your hand up to his flesh and tracing your fingers over his scars. You gently circled the rough skin, watching him look down in confusion as you touched him. “Incredibly sad.” You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as your hand still pressed against his bare chest. “I’m so sorry nobody has made your life feel worth it. You don’t deserve that,” you whispered, your face only inches from his. You realized now the vanilla scent that rolled so deliciously off of him was his cologne, because it was much stronger as you got closer to the base of his neck.

“We need to get out of here. Get you home.” He muttered, turning away from you harshly, and looking around to find his shirt.

“I’m… I didn’t mean to upset you, Hotch.”

“It’s Aaron,” he barked, his eyes filled with fury as he scrambled around for his missing clothes.

“Why don’t we just get my things tomorrow? I promise I’ll stay in the rest of the night.”

“You won’t have the chance to sneak out again, I can promise you that.” He said sternly, putting his shirt on quickly and heading for the door. You followed quietly behind him, your head racing and your body flushing from being so close to him just moments ago. He ushered you into the car quickly and slammed the door behind you. His energy had changed so dramatically from moments ago, but you were still feeling so drawn to him.

You remembered the way his bare skin felt to your touch. Even one small brush on your fingertips against his flesh made him melt, as if he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had touched him with such pure intentions.

He was driving quite recklessly back to the big house, not saying a word as you stared silently ahead, replaying the moment over and over in your head. You wanted to say something, trying to come up with the right words to handle this situation. But your brain came up empty, and you continued to stay silent the rest of the drive home.

Hotch parked the car in the garage, sitting back in his seat for a moment as if he wanted to get something off his chest before going in. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell anyone you’d snuck out. I’ll cover for you this time, but don’t count on it if it happens again.”

“I’m sorry I made you come get me,” you whispered, fully realizing how dumb and selfish your actions were. He was right, you were reckless with your life. But you’d never really cared about it, or even thought about it, until now.

“That was, um,” he shifted, clearing his throat. “That was unprofessional of me to talk to you that way. I apologize.”

“No… I… you were right. I kind of needed to hear it. And, again, I’m sorry that you feel the way you do.” You slowly reached your hand out and grabbed onto his, your delicate hand resting gracefully amongst his strong, tired ones. It was almost comical, the difference in the sizes.

Your fingers intertwined in his, your palms meeting as you sat silently in the car. You looked up at him, his eyes staring deeply at your hand in his. His thumb grazed gently over your skin, his silent way of acknowledging your touch. You knew, in that moment, that your feelings towards each other were the same. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, despite every element working against a relationship. And you both knew that. It could never work, and nothing could ever happen.

He tore his hand away with haste and looked out the window, refusing to verbally acknowledge the moment you just shared. One of many moments you had shared since you met.

“You need to get inside before anyone else realizes you’re gone. Cooper is inside the door. I’ll see you in the morning.” He refused to look at you, his body backed up into the door as far away as he could get himself. You nodded silently and opened your door, getting out onto the concrete and beginning to walk to the door. You turned back to look at him, and he was watching you, as always.

“I want to make sure you get in safe,” he muttered through the cracked window of his car door.

“Thank you, Hotch.” You smiled at him, and were hoping to catch a grin from him, too. But he didn’t seem like the type of man to smile very often, and this definitely wasn’t the right moment. He continued to watch you until you got in the door, an angry Cooper ready to lecture you as he walked you back to your room. You did your best to ignore his taunts, your mind still on Hotch.

You fell asleep quickly after you got back to your room, your body craving the healing powers of sleep. Your dreams were fluttered with thoughts of him, his touch. You could not even escape him in your solitude, your soul, your subconscious, was so encapsaleted by him. They would not let you forget him, even if your slumber.

You finally woke up around eleven the next morning, confused and dehydrated, your head throbbing. You clearly had a wicked hangover, and were still feeling pretty laggy from the drugs the night before. You crawled slowly out of bed and into your connecting bathroom, sticking your head under the sink and slurping down faucet water like a child on a hot summer day. The cool taste felt refreshing on your throat, but the minute it hit your throat you felt nauseous. You clipped your hair back so it was away from your face, which was still rocking last night's makeup. You finally opened the door of your room to a different man, one you hadn’t recognized.

Seeing a stranger made you startled, especially standing right outside of your room. You instinctively wanted to call for Hotch, pleading for him to come sweep you off your feet and save you. But, there was nothing to save you from, as this man was just the third shift night guard. He confirmed that when he muttered, “Honey has left her room. Send in A3.”

You waited for him to greet you, say anything at all, but he stood silent and waited for him commanding guard to relieve of him his duties. You started to walk towards the kitchen, the nausea you were facing earlier now turned to hunger. You were stopped by his arm, blocking you from going any further.

“You have to wait until he gets here, Miss.”

“Right, sorry.” He had already turned away, you weren’t even sure if he had heard your apology. You didn’t know how long you’d have to wait until Hotch came and released you from your prison cell, so you scrolled through instagram in annoyance as you waited.

“Good morning, it’s wonderful of you to join the living. Long night last night?” Hotch was smirking at you, a look of contempt as he clearly saw the misery of the previous night sweating right out of you. His mood clearly changed to despising you, again. And if that’s how he wanted to play things this morning, you were happy to play right along with him.

“Not all of us have no life at all, Aaron. Sometimes people, ya know, do things.” You rolled your eyes as you walked passed him quickly, trying to get down to the kitchen before all the food was gone.

“Not all of us have death threats hanging over our heads, either,” he snapped back, his voice sharp and stern. “Where are you going, (Y/N)?”

“Breakfast. I’m hungry,” you shrugged, continuing to walk fast and not get too close to him. Everything felt so hot and cold, you honestly had no idea what he was feeling. The times where you were close, where you felt him, it was so genuine. You knew there was a chemistry between you. But his anger towards you also felt so real. If he was somehow faking, if it was an act or a defense mechanism for his true feelings, he was doing an incredible job.

“All the food is gone. They won’t be back till lunch in another hour.” His smirk came back, as if he was excited by the idea that you now couldn’t eat. “We could go get food, though. If you’d like. If you can’t wait.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea actually. There’s a little diner right near my place that has the best chocolate chip pancakes I have ever had.” Your thoughts were racing, the idea of delicious food filling your brain. You did that, sometimes, just lost yourself in your thoughts or an idea. You caught him smiling, maybe at you, maybe at just a passing thought. But the feeling of him watching you, seeing your beauty, and smiling. It made your heart race.

“Let’s get to the car, we don’t wanna be gone too long. You’ve got a lot to prepare for your trip coming up.” Hotch motioned towards the stairs, and you remembered the current state of your wardrobe and stopped in your tracks.

“I can’t go looking like this… I mean, this is bad,” you laughed, pointing at your messy hair and smudged mascara.

“Maybe nobody will recognize you if you look that… well…” he chuckled, raising a brow as he looked you up and down.

“Well that’s a little rude.” You both laughed together until silence ultimately fell on the room. You felt like there was more to be said, but you weren’t sure what. You stood still, waiting for some instruction on what to do next. Why was it that you could never figure out what to do with yourself in situations like this?

“I think you look beautiful,” he observed, a slight comical tone to his voice. But the way he looked at you, the way he said it, for a slight moment, it felt real. His words felt real. And you would lose yourself in the chaos of it all if you had to spend every day decoding his words, trying to figure out what is real, what is truly him, and what is a facade. You couldn’t fall for him, you couldn't put yourself through that. But each moment with him drew you in more and more, you almost felt that you would be unable to escape him if things went any further, if the small flirtatious comments and slight forbidden touches when you were alone.

“Let’s get to the car, go get you something to eat,” he instructed, beginning to walk away. You followed him close behind, not sure why you craved the security of him so much. It was his job, but he really did make you feel safe. You followed him down the garage silently, and hoped into the passenger seat of his SUV.

“Where are we going?” He asked, trying to program the address into the GPS. He looked up at you for an answer, his eyes wide and childlike, the simple act of asking you for assistance making you melt.

“Uh, Ruby Street Diner,” you stuttered, watching his hands diligently as he typed in the address. He turned on the radio and started driving, and you stared eagerly out the window as you drove. You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you heard him humming with the music. It was those little things that reminded you he was still human, and that was the last thing he was supposed to do. The more human he became, the more he showed you of himself, the harder it would be for you to walk away.

The drive was silent, but you didn’t mind it. It didn’t feel awkward. Neither of you had anything to say, and sometimes that’s okay. You watched him out of the corner of his eye, watching his face, the way he studied the world around him. Sometimes it seemed like he saw everything, like he saw you watching him. If he knew, he didn’t care. He would glance over at you ever minute or so, maybe to just check if you’re still safe, still breathing. Maybe because he, too, was wondering how he could walk away from you.

He parked his car on the street across from the diner, and checked his pockets and gun before turning the car off. He looked around him, checking for anything suspicious and out of the ordinary. He clearly didn’t see anything to worry him much, because he opened the door quickly after and got out of the car. He walked to your side and opened your door, checking for oncoming cars as he did so. You were used to people opening doors for you, but something about him holding it open and grabbing your hand as you stepped out of the large truck was hot.

You walked into the diner and were quickly seated at a small booth in the corner, per his request. It was never a good idea to be in the center of the scene, he said. You nodded in understanding, looking around at the crowd, which wasn’t anything to be worried about. The scene at a diner at noon on a Thursday was never very eventful.

“Thanks for taking me out,” you whispered, your eyes lazily scrolling over the menu even though you already had your heart set on those chocolate chip pancakes.

“It’s my number one duty to make sure you are safe and satisfied.”

“Satisfied? I don’t feel like that’s really a part of your job description.”

“Of course it is. If you’re unhappy, angry, sad- you’re more likely to rebel, lash out, sneak out.” He chuckled softly, taking a sip of the hot coffee the waitress just poured for you both. You ordered your food, and Hotch ordered some wheat toast and a fruit bowl. You rolled your eyes at his order, knowing you were about to stuff your face.

“So, are you saying the only reason I go to party is because I’m unhappy?”

“I don’t want to make any assumptions about your life. It’s just, in my experience, people turn to that life if they aren’t satisfied with their normal existence.”

“Is anybody happy with their normal existence?” You questioned, sighing loudly as you sat back in the booth. He watched you for a moment, his eyes paying special attention to your rising chest as you started breathing heavily. He set his arm down on the table, laying his palm out as he looked up at you.

You stared at his exposed hand, a sudden remembering of your fingers intertwined in his car last night. He needed your touch, then. He needed a pull back to humanity, a remembrance that nobody is truly alone in this life. And now, you needed it. You needed somebody to hold your hand. And he knew.

You reluctantly placed your arm down on the table, looking around at the people in the place. No one was even paying the slightest attention to you. A rare moment where nobody cared who you were, or what you were doing. Your fingers moved towards his, and you grabbed on to him slowly. It was a slight touch, nothing that would be noticeable to anybody passing by. But it was enough for both of you. It was enough to mean something.

“I would like to think that everybody has a chance to be happy. It’s just a matter of finding your happiness.” His fingers moved closer to yours, his thumb slightly rubbing your fingers. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, his illicit touch sending sparks through your whole body.

“Alright, you guys ready to eat?” Your waitress cheerily interrupted, causing you to both instinctively rip your hands away and put them at your sides. It didn’t appear that she noticed anything but your heart was still racing and you could tell his was, too.

You ate your food quickly, avoiding eye contact with him as he nibbled on pieces of toast. You only seemed to have two types of moments with him; ones where neither of you could think of any words, or ones where words flowed out of you like a poet. You felt like you could tell him anything, but at the same time you were afraid to say anything.

“I think we should go,” he quietly muttered after you had finally finished a majority of your food.

“Um.. is everything okay?”

“This… this is really bad, Honey. What is happening now. It cannot be happening. I apologize for any inappropriate actions I’ve made since we’ve met. I would offer to step down and let someone else take this roll but I spent weeks training on how to protect you, and I don’t think you’d be safe with anyone else. I hope that’s okay with you.”

You stared at him in awe, a sick feeling overcoming your stomach. You shook your head for a moment, trying to think of the right words to respond with. He was right, this was stupid, and an extremely self destructive act. Besides, nothing had even really happened, and it was probably way better to shut things down now before it went any further. So much of you didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to not know what a life with him could be like. But you thought about your family, your life, and knew it wasn’t smart, or safe.

“You’re right, um, yeah. That's okay. I think it’s smart to keep you on, especially with the trip coming up.”

He nodded in agreeal, pushing his food away in disgust. You wondered if he felt just as sick as you did, just as heartbroken and miserable as you were. You knew one thing, for sure. That he was just as lonely and disappointed in life as you were. He was living in the same boat you were, and maybe that’s why you connected so easily. Sharing a common pain, it was easy to feel drawn to him. But you had to draw the line, as terrible as it was.

“Let’s go back home.”

The next few weeks went by uneventfully. There was nothing new to report on Hotch, or Aaron, as he now insisted you called him. There were no passing glances, no secret touches. You had both controlled yourself, and it was much easier than you thought. You were starting to wonder if the attraction was all circumstance, and there was nothing of real sustenance to your ‘relationship’. His touch still existed in your dreams, though. That was one place where you couldn’t control your thoughts. Every morning when you woke up, the thought of you in his dreams made you wonder.

Today was the day you finally left your trip, and you were flying out to San Francisco now. You sat eagerly in the airport, a crowd of men surrounding you, Aaron sitting at your side. He would accompany you in first class, and the rest of your night guards would scatter around coach to keep an eye on anyone suspicious. You had your headphones in, trying to distract yourself from the upcoming flight. You were quite a nervous flyer, and you were feeling exceptionally overwhelmed today. You couldn’t wait to get seated and have a drink, something to calm your nerves.

You were leaving pretty late, and would arrive pretty late as well. When you got in, you were all going straight to the hotel and preparing for your first presentation tomorrow. You boarded quickly, being one of the first allowed to get on the plane. Aaron held on to your carry on bags, and his, and followed you into the cabin. The rest of your guards stayed behind until it was their turn to board. Luckily, nobody had seemed to notice or recognize you on the flight, yet. You were hoping it would stay that way, as you were utterly exhausted and weren’t in the mood for small talk with a stranger today.

“You all buckled in?” Aaron asked as he placed your bags in the overhead storage bin.

“Yep, all safe and secure officer,” you giggled, leaning your head back in the large seat.

“Sounds good,” he smiled, taking his seat next to you and buckling himself in. You sat and scrolled through your phone mindlessly as the rest of the plane boarded, watching your night guards pass you by and give Aaron a slight thumbs up when they passed each other. You faked your way through listening to the emergency instructions, pleasing Aaron as he urged you to pay attention. The plane finally started moving and you settled into your seat, your nails digging into your palms as you prepared for the ascent.

Going up was always terrifying, but what you weren’t expecting was the turbulence as you headed into the sky. There was a storm coming in, and the pilot mentioned it might be bumpy until you get high enough. The shakiness was torture, but an unexpected drop in altitude made you jump and latch onto Hotch’s hand in instinct. Your fingers were locked with his, squeezing tight as the plane leveled out and you caught your breath.

“Sorry about that, folks,” the pilot spoke over the intercom, his voice light and cheery as if nothing just happened. “Should be clearing out of this storm in a minute or so. Keep buckled.”

You looked over to him, your hand still clutched in his, your heart finally coming to a normal rhythm. He was staring down at your hands, the remembrance of your touch sending him somewhere he was desperately avoiding.

“I’m… it was an accident, Aaron. I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to pull your hand from his, but his grip was locked around you.

“Nervous flyer?” He joked.

“Yes. I hate it.”

“I fly all the time,” he assured, your hand still in his. “You know you’re more likely to die in a car than a plane?”

“I’m not so much nervous about dying as I am getting stranded on an island like Lost.”

“Weren’t they all dead in the end, anyways?”

“I never got that far, but that still doesn’t sound ideal. The whole point of death is to not have to deal with life anymore.”

Your hands were still linked together, his thumb now tracing circles on the back of your hand. His leg moved closer to you until you were touching, the closest you two could possibly get while sitting in a plane. It was in that moment that you realized whatever you had been trying to avoid with him was no longer unavoidable. You had reached a new level of intimacy, a door was opened that could not be closed.

“Aaron…”

“I don’t like that. I like Hotch,” he teased, his eyes twinkling as they met the dim overhead lights of the plane.

“Hotch… are you sure you want to keep touching me?”

His eyes widened at your voice, and he instinctively ripped away his hand and pulled his leg from you. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather a thought.

“Do you want a drink?” You asked, trying to change the subject.

“I can’t, I’m working.” He turned forward and looked at the stared at the screen on the back of the seat. You decided not to say anymore, clearly realizing the moment had passed and there was nothing left to be said.

A flight attendant came by shortly after and you finally got your well deserved drink. Hotch stayed silent, watching you sip the forbidden liquid and get slightly more calm with every sip. You had two more before finally falling asleep, the exhaustion of anxiety taking over. You woke up when you felt your ears pop as the plane began descending. You bolted up with alarm, Hotch watching you quietly. You couldn’t remember if he looked over at you after you woke up, or if he had been watching while you slept.

“We’ll be landing soon.”

“Can I have some gum?” You motioned to your ears, cringing in pain. Hotch handed you a stick of mint gum from his bag, which you chewed happily as you watched your descent into the night. The lights from the city were beautiful, and you felt extremely happy to be back doing what you love, in one of your favorite cities. You had always wanted to move here, but your father would’ve had a heart attack if you weren’t within 20 minutes of him.

The plane landed on the ground with a jolt, shaking you awake. You looked to Hotch, who was already turning his phone on to inform your family that you had landed safely. He spoke swiftly to your dad, assuring him that he would let him know when we arrived at the hotel. You watched his every move, the way his lips moved with such assurity at every word he spoke. He knew you, everything about you, truly. He was the one person in the world that was 100% dedicated to you. He would die for you. Holy shit. Maybe you had a bit too much to drink.

“You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah, let’s.” You stood up quickly, without paying attention, and slammed your head right on the overhead. “Shit,” you groaned, holding on to your forehead in pain.

“Oh man,” Hotch mumbled, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. He reached his hand to your forehead and ran his thumb over the bump. He moved his hand down to your cheek, and looked down into your eyes.

“It’s a little red, but I think you’ll be okay,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours.

“That’s good,” you mumbled, the tip of your nose brushing against his. You had placed your hand to his chest, playing with the buttons on the hem of his shirt.

He pulled away from you suddenly, shaking his head and taking a breath. He opened up the overhead and pulled out the bags, not looking at you once again. You felt your legs shaking, your heart beating, and your center throbbing at the thought of his lips. It took all of your strength to not pull him back to you and kiss him. But you couldn’t, not here, anyway.

You followed Hotch off the plane and stood at the gate for the rest of your men. Hotch didn’t say a word to you, only waited in authority for his men to meet him. He was their leader, they did everything he said. Watching him boss them around was kind of sexy, and you felt your body aching more and more for him. Finally the rest of your team came out and met up with you.

“I want you guys to wait for Honey’s bags then meet us back at the hotel. There will be cars waiting. I want her out of here as fast as possible, so we’re leaving now. Are we clear?” He nodded at them in clarification, and they all nodded back in agreement. They began walking towards baggage claim, and you followed Hotch the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

“Secret exit, there’s a car waiting for us there.” He walked steadily at your side, weaving through crowds and shielding you from oncoming people. A few people glanced to your direction with curiosity, most likely thinking “I know that girl from somewhere.” But Hotch rushed you out too quickly for anyone to fully remember you. You passed behind a guarded door, Hotch flashing his badge to the guards as they nodded at him and opened doors. You were rushed down a flight of stairs and out a back door, into the California night air. And as Hotch said, a black SUV with a driver you didn’t recognize was waiting for you.

“Who’s that?”

“One of my old men,Derek, a good friend. It’s not safe for me to be driving here. We're in good hands with him, though.”

Derek rolled down the window and greeted Hotch, a large smile of the man's face. “Nice to meet you, Miss. (Y/N). Welcome to my ride,” he laughed. Hotch opened the door for you and you stepped in the back, him following close behind. Derek started the car and began driving, flashing Hotch’s badge as you went through various gates to get back on the road. The partition was up in the car, blocking Derek’s eyes and ears from you and Hotch. You weren’t sure why he had it up, as most of your drivers usually leave it down until asked. Maybe he just assumed you would be having a confidential conversation or something, right?

“Thanks for getting me out safe, Hotch,” you teased, placing your hand playfully on his shoulder.

“Of course, Honey.” He turned towards you, his head tilted as he looked down to you. He rested his hand on your thigh, his thumb teasing your exposed flesh. You shivered at his touch, his hands cold against the warmth of your inner thigh. His fingers continued to trail up your flesh, toying with you as they moved slowly to where you craved him most. You moved your hips awkwardly, trying to get closer to him, trying to get him closer to you.

He started to play with the hem of your underwear, his thumb grabbing onto the fabric and brushing against your flesh. His other fingers slowly began to touch you, moving rhythmically over your clit. You sighed in relief, finally getting the much needed pleasure. You wanted more, you would’ve straddled him right then and there. But he quickly took his hand away, leaving you defeated and unsatisfied. You turned to him with a frown, only to find a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Later, Honey.” He whispered, his eyes locked on yours. You nodded, excitement overtaking you as you thought of what could happen next. You turned back forward and straightened yourself out, trying to catch your breath.

The rest of the drive was torture, craving someone so close. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold yourself together. Right as you were starting to convince yourself to just kiss him, you finally pulled up to the hotel. Derek parked in the entrance and got out of the car to open your door. He opened Hotch’s side, first, and shook his hand as he exited the car. You got out after him, declining for him to walk around and open your door, as well. Hotch had already grabbed the few bags you did have and was holding on to them tightly. You thanked Derek for driving you and assured him you would see him tomorrow. Hotch and him said their goodbyes, and then you followed him into the lobby of the hotel. You stayed behind as he checked you in, not trying to look too conspicuous.

Hotch walked back over to you and flashed the room keys. “Let’s get to your room, get you settled.”

You followed him to the elevator, which was an awkwardly silent ride. You rode up to the top floor, where the Presidential suite was, no doubt. Your father always insisted you had the nicest room in the place. It was a bit much, in your opinion, but it wasn’t worth arguing with him about things like that. The elevator finally came to a halt and opened its doors. Hotch left first and you followed him down the hall to one of the suites.

“Alright, here you go,” he said, handing you your key and dropping your bags to the floor.

“Uh, are you leaving me?” You questioned, your eyes wide with confusion.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “I’m right across the hall. I’m just gonna change, I always feel so gross after a plane. Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll check on you in a few minutes?”

“Alright,” you grumbled, disappointed that your night with Aaron was clearly ending here.

You opened the door to your room and brought your bags in, Hotch waiting for your door to close until he went into his own room. You laid down with a huff on the bed, sulking into the covers in frustration. What a fucking tease, you thought. You shook your head in anger and jumped off the bed, willing yourself to relax a bit before tomorrow.

You changed out of your clothes, stripping completely naked and throwing on your silk robe before you got in the shower. You started unpacking your toiletries, placing your obnoxiously expensive hair and skin care in the shower, ready for you to use at your convenience. You searched in frustration for your toothbrush, tossing things around your bags as you looked. You felt like you’d been searching for a half hour when a knock on the door through you from your search.

You stood up uncomfortably, realizing you were almost naked. You looked around for clean clothes, but were worried if you didn’t answer the door immediately one of those big-head guards would knock the door down. You groaned loudly and ran to the door, hoping to god you weren’t too exposed.

Hotch was standing in the doorway, a filthy grin on his face as you opened the door. You backed away from the door and he walked in, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked up to you, his body inches away from yours. He grabbed on to the sash of your robe, pulling at the end so that the loose knot would come undone. The front of the robe spilled open, exposing your nude front. Hotch brought his hands to your shoulders and grabbed onto the robe, pulling it completely off your body.

He brought his hand up to your chest, slowly caressing your breast and toying with your nipple. He ripped his shirt over his head aggressively, and then wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled your face close to his and kissed you, a much needed kiss full of desperation. His tongue invaded your mouth forcefully, his body taking complete and total control of yours. His lips tasted like scotch, which he clearly drank pretty quickly in his room before coming over. Maybe he needed the courage, or maybe he needed to take the edge off. Either way, the taste made you crave a drink.

You started to push away from the kiss, planning to run to the mini bar and grab a bunch of bottles for the two of you. Hotch just chuckled, grabbed onto your wrist and pushed you on the bed.

“Hotch, I want a drink,” you giggled, trying to evade his grip.

“Not now, Honey. Now you want me,” he ordered, biting his lip as he looked down at you.

“Yes, sir,” you teased, blowing Hotch a kiss. He moved down lower and spread your legs, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes. He spit aggressively on your pussy, and then dragged his tongue across your entirety. He was lapping at your clit sloppily, your body jerking with pleasure as he shoved two fingers inside of you. He started to focus more with the tip of tongue, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, arching as they went inside to hit your spot.

“Fuck,” you squealed, arching your back as your body was overcome with pleasure.

“Are you gonna cum, sweetheart? Are you gonna cum for me?” He growled, pouting his lips as he looked up at you.

“Yes, keep doing that,” you stuttered. A satisfied smile came over his face, and he went back to eating you out. He focused on your clit, his tongue stimulating it in ways you’d never experienced before. Your body was almost shaking as you finally reached your climax, Hotch licking you up as you finished. You went limp, for a moment, trying to catch your breath from your high.

“Turn around,” he instructed, slapping your thigh.

“I need a sec,” you muttered.

“Now. Turn around, now.” His glare was intimidating, but you could still see a gleam of light in his eyes. The dominance was something you hadn’t experienced yet, but it was turning you on wildly. You nodded at him, getting on your knees and bending over. He slapped your ass with a force, making you yelp with an equal mix of pleasure and pain. You could hear him chuckle behind your back, already feeling your skin raising where he marked you.

You heard him unbuckling his pants, and you’d realized you hadn’t seen his dick yet. You wanted to be surprised, though. You wanted to experience him for the first time inside of you. You felt him placing himself at your entrance, the tip of his dick playing with you. He started to slowly slide in, and you were uncomfortably shocked by his size and girth. You winced as he fit all of himself inside of you, feeling his length overtaking your whole body. He was by far the biggest you’d ever experienced, and you were taking a second to adjust.

“Oh, poor Honey,” he chuckled. “Am I too much for you?”

“No, I can handle it,” you replied in defiance. “Fuck me, Aaron. Fuck me.”

He laughed again, taking your instruction to heart and pounding himself in and out of you, fast. It was too much at first, feeling like he was breaking you. He was so much bigger than you, he could literally overcome you. You felt his presence watching your ass as he fucked you, realizing now how hot it was that he was so big.

“You have such a tight little pussy, I fucking love it,” he moaned, his nails digging into the flesh on your hips. His pumps were getting sloppier, each thrust you could feel his body getting more tense. He was twitching inside of you, and finally you felt his warm release fill you up. He stayed inside you a moment, both of you catching your breath. He pulled himself out and sat on the edge of the bed. You turned around and laid flat, staring breathlessly at the ceiling.

You heard the sound of a phone, and you winced as the comfort of the silence was broken. Hotch stood up, his naked body glowing like a statue in the low light. You took in his body, examined it like a piece of art, remembered every bit. You never wanted to forget him. You didnt think you could.

Hotch grabbed his phone and answered quickly. “What’s going on?... Alright…. Sounds good.” He ended the call and set the phone done on the desk.

“Get dressed, make the bed,” he requested, rather harshly.

“Ugh, cmon Hotch, can I just have a second?” You groaned, flopping to your side in exhaustion.

“Do I need to ask again? Get up, put your clothes on and make the bed. Now!” He barked. He was already searching the ground for his clothes, trying to put himself back together after unraveling with you. You got up and did as you were told, putting your robe back on and searching for pants. You made the bed to the best of the ability, although it wasn't really your strong suit. You shrugged, apologetic as Hotch gave you a disappointed look when he looked at your work.

A knock on the door prevented Hotch from lecturing you on your cleaning skills. He ran to the door and opened it to reveal the rest of your guards. They dropped your bags off in the entryway and shared a few words with Hotch. He turned to you and started to talk.

“First shift will start now. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Of course.”

Hotch grabbed his phone and dialed a number, holding it to his ear. He waited a few seconds before the person on the other end answered.

“It’s me. Honey is secure. I’ll check in in the morning.”

#aaron hotchner #hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotcner x reader #criminal minds

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