#which ironically was before the lady told me to tie it

[bryverros]

was stopped by a lady today. she was gesturing something but i was way too out of it to understand what she was trying to tell me rapidly.

the shoelace. she wanted me to tie my shoelace because. it was untied. now look i intentionally dont tie my shoelaces for i consider it to be a waste of time and im too cool for tied shoelaces and i can actually give you a powerpoint on why i dont like tied shoelaces and i DID give it to several people

but if a nice lady tells me to tie my shoelaces, im tying my shoelaces, horrendously humbled and ashamed of my choices

[reidsrambles]

An Invisible Locket

Chapter 3: Painted Me Golden

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader // Secret relationship

Description: You work with your best friend and your boyfriend. The only problem is, nobody knows Spencer Reid is your boyfriend of over a year. When you find out that Spencer's getting sent out on a case immediately after getting back to Quantico, impulses take over. (Content/Warnings below the cut)

Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, oral sex (M & F receiving), PIV sex, unprotected sex within an established relationship, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of abortion (in a pro-choice context, though Reader ends up choosing to stay pregnant), minor mentions of alcohol and cancer.

As for the crime subplot, much of it is very canon-typical (referenced child abuse & grooming by an extended family member (non-sexual), violence, blood/gore, drugs. As always, please feel free to let me know if I miss any CWs!

A/N: This fic is obviously heavy on the Spencer and Reader relationship, but it's also got a significant Garcia best friend plot line and crime plot line. This fic also features an unplanned Reader pregnancy. Reader debates abortion and is pro-choice, but ultimately ends up keeping the pregnancy. If any of that isn't up your alley, please feel free to skip this fic!

Names used: Baby, baby girl, good/sweet/pretty girl, daddy, good boy (once), my love.

Words (this chapter): 4.1 K

Words (total): 29.1 K

Pulling up to the FBI Academy for the first time was quite intense. You had only moved to Virginia two days prior, and your apartment consisted of a mattress on the floor and stacks of boxes all over the place. When you pulled them out of the box the night before, deep wrinkles littered your white blouse and black pencil skirt. Thank god you had thought ahead and put an iron and ironing mat in with your box of work clothes. First impressions are important.

Penelope had prepped you on what to expect for your first day. Security was a lot, but knowing what to expect definitely made the process easier. Your new boss was the first one to greet you as you stepped out of the elevator.

“You must be Y/N.” He reached his hand out to shake yours, which you promptly took. His handshake was firm, but not at all aggressive; a fine line that he straddled well. “I’m your Unit Chief, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. Penelope Garcia has told us so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope!”

“Oh, of course. Everyone should be free right now, so I’ll gather them and introduce you.”

Penelope had told you all about every member of the team, both casually, before you got hired, and after, in order to prepare you. It was strange to put faces to the names you had heard so much about. Penelope didn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone, but she did give you some warnings about everyone’s… quirks.

Everyone was very kind as they greeted you, but you couldn’t help but notice the timid guy, about your age, keeping some distance and standing off to the side. Penelope had told you about one, Dr. Spencer Reid, but the image you had crafted of him in your head wasn’t matching up with reality.

Your eyes kept drifting over to him and Derek must have noticed.

“Kid, stop being shy and get over here!” he said to Reid.

To you, he whispered, “I’m not sure if Penelope has told you about our little Einstein, but he gets nervous around pretty ladies.” The way he had said it wasn’t at all flirty towards you; he was slyly ridiculing Spencer.

Spencer put a hand out for you to shake. As he stood in front of you, shaking your hand, what you had been told about him was blending into the reality of him. Nerdy, ‘Boy Genius’ meets attractive FBI agent.

His light brown hair—mostly wavy, besides a few distinct curls—was just at the length where he was having to brush it off his face. His hazel eyes, framed by glasses, appeared to subtly shift in tone as his face moved. He wore a cardigan over his dress shirt and his tie was slightly too loose; not crisp and neat like Hotch’s was.

He wasn’t even physically your type, really. The guys you slept with in college tended to be athletic and more of the douchey frat bro type.

Your high school was small, and you were the lame girl who would spend her lunches hidden away in the computer lab coding. Teenagers can be cruel, and you weren’t exactly the epitome of popular. In senior year, you’d decided that when you got to college, you’d “fake it ‘til you make it” in regard to confidence. Turns out, guys found your confidence hot; they didn’t care what your major was. You never quite “made it” with your confidence, though. You just kept faking. It was tiring.

You never dated in college because you could only keep the façade up for so long, and once you felt yourself becoming invested in a guy and wanting something real, you ran. In therapy, you’ve since worked through a lot of that, thankfully. But meeting Spencer was what got you to delve into that aspect of your past with your therapist—something you only realized later, when you started dating him.

Love at first sight doesn’t exist, but from that first meeting with Spencer, there was some sort of spark. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust. You just felt something when he shook your hand.

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to finally meet you,” he said, his eyes avoiding meeting yours.

***

The door to Penelope’s apartment opens and standing before you is your best friend, already in her pajamas and fluffy unicorn slippers. Her face is a bit puffy. She’s been crying.

You lift up the reusable shopping bag you’re carrying to draw attention to it. “You go sit while I put these away and get changed, all right?”

With the ice cream in the freezer, the wine in the fridge, and your pajamas on, you regroup with Penelope in the living room. She’s on the couch, wrapped in one of her many throw blankets. The TV is playing reruns of a show you know she doesn’t even watch, but the background noise is appreciated. You reach down and grab a blanket for yourself from the basket she keeps them in and settle into the opposite end of the couch.

Penelope blankly stares at the TV, making no effort to address you. Knowing your best friend, you’d guess that she wants you to start this conversation. She hates confrontation even more than you do, somehow.

The show on the TV dances across your field-of-view, but you have no clue what’s happening on it. It’s time to put on your big-girl-pants and go for it.

“Please, just spill,” you say. “I can’t stand seeing you like this and I’ve been a nervous wreck all day because of it.” Your words come out soft. “What did I do? I genuinely have no clue what I did wrong.”

Taking a throw pillow from the couch, you hug it to your chest as if it can shield you from whatever she’s going to say.

“You and Reid.”

Shit.

An enormous sigh falls out of you, and you aren’t sure if it’s relief that your secret is finally out of the bag or that you finally know what’s wrong. Regardless, that’s enough confirmation for Penelope.

“How long?” she continues, before you can even start.

The guilt of having hidden this from her for so long has been weighing on you much more than you previously realized, and now it’s all come to a head.

“Fourteen months. A little over a year,” you say, “Penelope I’m so—”

“Stop,” she cuts you off and begins to cry as she continues. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to find out that your best friend has been lying to you about something this big? And Spencer’s been lying to me, too! Does anyone else know!?”

Seeing her this hurt is killing you. You should have told her sooner. If you had a sister, you probably would have told her a long time ago. You’re an only child and Penelope isn’t super close with her stepbrothers, so you’d determined that you must be twin flames or something like that. Soul sisters, maybe.

“You’re the only person at work that knows. Even outside of work, only his mom and my parents know. When this started, we took things slow. We were casual for like, a month or so and we obviously weren’t going to tell anyone about that. Once we started dating, we thought it made more sense to keep it between us; to avoid comments and eyes on us at work, you know? We kept things entirely professional at work. Neither of us was sure that it was going to last and, if it didn’t, we could navigate working together as exes, but we didn’t want to navigate the entire unit knowing that we were exes.”

You shrug your shoulders and let out a defeated breath. “Regardless, look at what happened this morning with your meeting. I know that the team wouldn’t let anything happen to me or Spence, but if Strauss wants to play games and threaten someone’s job…?”

You don’t even need to answer that question because Penelope already knows that an intimate workplace relationship would put a target on your back with Erin.

“But you know you can trust me. Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I should have,” you nod. “It’s not that I actively distrusted you, Pen. I swear.” You reach out from your blanket cocoon and grab her hand, which she reciprocates. “I think that, after we decided that we wanted to make an attempt at something serious between us, we wanted to be able to focus on that without any external influence, especially from anyone at work. And it’s definitely been a lot of work. I love him so much, but with our jobs and our schedules…? We’ve both had to fight to find the alone time and the space where we can just be a couple.”

Penelope starts gently rubbing the palm of your hand with her thumb and her face softens with a feeble smile.

“You love our boy wonder?”

You mirror her expression with your own shy smile as you reflect on your partner.

“I love him so much. I mean, you know how amazing he is. I definitely don’t need to tell you that. He’s such an amazing boyfriend, though, too. I always feel happy and safe when I’m with him. He’s always teaching me new things and I know the team just wants him to shut up sometimes when he goes all Professor Reid at work, but I could listen to him talk for hours. When we’re together, sometimes I just let him ramble while I knit. He’s my free audiobook,” you giggle.

The smile on both of your faces has brightened and you’ve slowly shifted closer to each other on the couch throughout the conversation. Penelope grabs your other hand and lovingly squeezes it.

“You know how much I love you and I’m so, so happy that you’re this happy. The Good Doctor has good taste too, it seems.” There’s some wistfulness in her expression as her eyes meet yours again. “I just really wish you had told me, so I didn’t have to find out like this.”

Your demeanor rapidly shifts into perplexity as you remember that Penelope never explained the discovery to you. “Wait, how did you figure it out, anyway!? You never told me!”

An air of pride washes over her. “Well, you may have fooled an entire unit of profilers, but as we both know, my dear Y/N, I’m the divine being from which no secrets can be kept …for longer than one year—give or take.”

You giggle, always pleased by how easily she can make you laugh.

“Okay, now, Miss Divine Being, tell me how it actually happened,” you prod.

She rolls her eyes and begins narrating her version of today’s events to you. “So, I was already back at my desk when I got your text saying that you were going home for lunch. I was so surprised, because I was like, ‘I didn’t know Y/N was leaving! I was going to offer to buy her lunch from her favorite fancy French café down the road as an apology for stressing her out this morning!’”

This woman’s flair for the dramatics is showing, but you can’t even complain because you’re already thoroughly entertained.

She continues, “I didn’t want to text you to ask if you had already left, in case you were on your bike. No distracted cycling for you! So, I checked the security camera that’s in the bike cage of the parking lot, and I saw that your bike was still locked up! Maybe you were still making your way down to your bike, I thought. So I totally didn’t check the very precise geolocation of your work phone, because that would totally be crossing a line and very much against policy, right?”

Your jaw drops open. Are you entirely surprised? No. Disappointed in her? Yes.

“Anyway, I learned that you were up on the 2nd floor of the parking garage. Weird, right? I pull up the 2nd floor parking garage security feed—which, I very much am allowed to do—and what do I see?”

You try extremely hard to hold back a smirk as the full picture of her discovery comes together in your mind.

She claps her hands together. “I see my best friend getting into the car of none other than Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“So, that’s it? You saw me get into Spencer’s car and your Spidey-senses just knew?”

“I put two and two together, Y/N! Well, first, I thought about the reasons you would lie to me about going home for lunch in order to go somewhere with Reid, but I couldn’t figure out where you would want to go with him.”

“Penelope Garcia!” you gasp. “Did you track my work phone all the way to my house?”

“I also tracked Reid’s phone,” she quietly admits. “Both of you sneaking off to your apartment was enough for me to figure out there was some hanky-panky going down.”

“Well, I hadn’t seen him in a week, and he was about to leave again on this case, so we needed—”

She plugs her ears with her fingers. “Nuh, uh! I don’t need to hear any more of that. I’m still processing the dating thing, so please spare me the dirty details!”

You crack open the wine and ice cream you brought while catching up on the Bachelorette, yelling at the screen whenever something outrageous happens (which is often). You skip out on the wine, though, because you’ve got to be able to wake up for work tomorrow. One glass and you’d be zonked.

After getting in bed, you and Penelope lie facing each other. You’ve worked through a lot tonight, but something still feels unsettled for some reason.

You speak in a whisper, breaking the silence. “Pen, I’m sorry I never told you. I wish that I had been the one to tell you versus you finding out like that.”

“My little pumpkin pie, it’s okay.” She gently pinches your cheek. “To be fair, I shouldn’t have tracked your phone. I should have just waited until you got back after lunch and just asked you about it.”

“Yeah, probably,” you laugh. “I’m not telling Hotch, but you know you’ve got to apologize to Spencer later, right? For tracking his phone, too?”

She nods. “I know. I’ll talk to him once you tell him that I know so I can apologize.”

You know she will. She screwed up, but her heart is always in the right place.

“Neither of us are perfect, that’s for sure. Think about it this way, though. Yes, you fucked up, but at least you came clean immediately and didn’t lie to me for over a year, right?” you joke.

Penelope laughs alongside you. “You only lied to protect your relationship. Now that I’ve had a hot minute to process that my best-friend-slash coworker has been secretly dating my other best-friend-slash-coworker,” she pauses to take a breath and you have to pull your lips between your teeth to prevent a giggle, “you know I could never, ever fault you for that.”

Only a beat passes before she continues, asking, “Can you promise me something?”

“Promise you what, Pen?”

“No more secrets,” she says, “for either of us. You’re my best friend in the whole world.” In the faint glow of pink lava lamp light contrasting the pale moonlight shining in through the window, you see the reflection of her eyes becoming glossy. “We got through this, but in the future, let me in. Let me be by your side.”

You feel your face heating as your already dim vision gets blurrier.

“Yeah. Okay. But, now that you know, we need to have more girl’s nights and sleepovers so I can keep you up to date on things. If we talk too much at work, one of us will slip up in front of someone.”

“You mean, I’d slip up, and I totally get that because I would definitely be the one to accidentally spill the beans.”

“And I’m trusting you not to. Think you can do that for me, Pen?”

“You know I can’t promise that with a 100%, money-back guarantee because I’m me,” her gentle smile is faintly illuminated, “but I’ll definitely try my best.”

You know you could never ask for anything more from Penelope. It’s the way her brain works, and you couldn’t ask her to change that without fundamentally changing who she is, and you love her as-is. If she accidentally slipped up, it would suck, but it also wouldn’t be the absolute end of the world or anything.

“Hey, I love you, Pen”

She reaches up and taps the tip of your nose.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

You both roll onto your backs. The air feels lighter.

“So, when are you gonna tell the team?” she asks.

“I’m not too sure, honestly. Things are just so good right now and I’m scared to change too much. I’m also scared to paint that big, bright target on my back, you know? I can’t have Strauss or hell, even Hotch thinking that I’m less competent at my job because of my relationship with Spencer.”

Penelope takes a moment before asking, “What about Spencer? How does he feel about it?”

“Now, I think he’s a bit more ready than I am. In the beginning, he was the one who had more to lose by telling the team, especially before we became official, official. I was still relatively new to the team then, but he had known everyone for years and he didn’t want everyone’s perception of him to change so drastically.”

“Well, whenever you decide to tell the team, you know everyone’s going to be really happy for you, right? You both are a part of the BAU family.”

“Yeah, I know. I think we’ve just gotten so comfortable hiding that the idea of everything being out in the open is scary. Thank you for everything, though, Pen.”

She reaches over and grasps your hand with hers. You squeeze back; your silent reassurance to each other that everything is going to be okay, no matter what.

***

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to finally meet you,” he said.

Every time his eyes flicked back to your face, it felt raw. You had to look away. You felt naked.

After that awkward introduction, the first six or seven months of working at the FBI were uneventful, as far as any sort of relationship between you and Spencer. You primarily only left your cave of an office to go to the bathroom, to make coffee, or for case briefs, anyway.

You did see him a few times outside of work, though. Dave had invited everyone over to his place for dinner a few times, and there were a handful of times that the team got drinks at the bar after work. He didn’t ignore you and you didn’t ignore him per se, but you still didn’t interact a whole lot. You grew closer to the rest of the team over those months, but not to Spencer.

Even with that first flicker of something when you met him, you knew you couldn’t pursue Spencer, even if you wanted to. Even if he were somehow attracted to you, you couldn’t date a coworker, especially not when you had barely been there half-a-year.

You reminded yourself that you were given the chance work with your best friend and to actually make some positive change in the world. You couldn’t willingly choose to fuck that up over some guy, especially when you weren’t even sure how you felt about him. Sure, he was an attractive guy. But being around Spencer felt like looking at a statue behind glass; close in proximity, but entirely untouchable. Entirely unreachable. What did he even feel like?

Everything changed the day you were caught sobbing in the bathroom. That day, the glass shattered before you and you reached out to touch. It was early afternoon and the usual ambiance of the office had quieted, most people out to lunch or heads-down at their desk, enjoying the peace and quiet.

The large pane of mirrored glass spanning the wall above the bathroom sinks made you feel as though you were in a funhouse; you, the clown. You dabbed at the black mascara stains under your eyes as you tried to somewhat-preserve your makeup, but you couldn’t hold back the tears. It turned into whack-a-mole, but with smeared mascara.

There were two quick knocks on the bathroom door before it opened, ever so slightly.

“I’m not coming in,” the male voice declared, clearing his throat, “but, is everything– uh, are you okay… in there?”

You froze. “Reid?”

“Y/N?” he asked in return. “I didn’t know who was in there, but I heard the crying.”

“Shit.” You covered your mouth. “Sorry, I mean, uh–” Fuck. “I didn’t realize I was so loud, sorry. I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay.”

He went quiet for a second and neither of you moved a muscle. It was so awkward and the only noise to fill the silence was the buzz of the fluorescent bathroom lights.

“Do you want me to go find Garcia?” he asked.

“No. She, uh– She left for lunch a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Well, sorry for… intruding.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for checking on me, Reid.”

“If you need or, uh, if you want someone to talk to, you know where I’ll be.”

He gave a couple seconds before closing the door, his footsteps growing fainter as he walked away.

A few minutes later, you returned to your office to a sticky note on your desk which read:

“Here’s my personal number if you ever need a listening ear. I hope everything’s okay.”

You: “Hi, Spencer. It’s Y/N. Just got your note. Do you have a few minutes to swing by my office?”

You had figured the least you could do was explain and thank him for reaching out. Your text went unanswered, but about a minute later, he knocked on your door.

You explained that you were crying because you overheard two security guards making fun of the way you and Penelope dress. You see those two guards every morning at the security checkpoint on your way in. While you were on your way to grab stuff from the printer, you heard them joking with each other around the corner.

“I know it’s a really stupid thing to cry over. It’s just clothes. I didn’t want to tell Penelope though, obviously.”

“That’s a completely valid thing to cry over, in my book,” he said, his tone completely free of judgment.

“What, like you ever cry?” you joked.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he laughed. “You’re good, don’t worry.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for checking up on me and to explain. It was nothing serious. I’m fine.”

As he turned to leave, half in your office and half out, he said something that immediately had you reconsidering how you felt about him. “I’m glad you’re better. If you ever need to chat or something though, you can always text my personal cell. And, for what it’s worth, I think you look great.” His tone was probably more suggestive than he had intended because he panicked a bit as soon as the words left his mouth. “Your outfit, I mean!”

His simple compliment felt like that first flicker; like a spark. This spark went straight into the pit of your stomach, though. When he tried to backpedal, it was like a baby deer, fumbling while trying to walk on ice; adorable.

You and Spencer first began texting that night. The texts rapidly turned into mini-essays back and forth, replying to the numerous topics of the previous lengthy text. Texting turned into nightly phone calls. What started out as a practical shift to save your fingers from falling off turned into your nightly comfort. In contrast to the quick glances you began to give each other at work, his voice, quiet and sleepy coming through the speaker on your phone, felt intimate. You knew you were getting a side of him that nobody else at work was getting. His walls fell down before your very eyes, and it was extremely hot.

Two weeks after the initial text, Spencer was in your apartment. Two hours after that, he was in your bed. Two months later (Spencer would remember exactly how many days) you had the “so what are we to each other?” conversation.

It was never just hooking up though. It had been more than that from the start and you both knew it.

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[imfinereallyy]

For the dialogue prompts steddie #14

Ask, and you shall receive :) from the dialogue prompts found here

14. “I know you’re the president of the Anti-Social Club, but why don’t you join me?”

_____

Steve couldn't believe he had agreed to this. He was in hell, for sure. Steve would take the Upside Down over being back here in Hawkins High. But he just couldn't say no to Robin. He had begun to think it was near impossible to say no to her. Especially when her voice got raspy and sad, and she did that fucking head tilt.

Steve honestly wasn't sure how Rob hadn't managed to get laid yet. She was charming when she didn't try. Steve wasn't even remotely attracted to her, the girl was his sister at this point, and yet she had managed to make him melt repeatedly. The only people who had managed to make him cave without romantic feelings involved were the kids, so she had to have some sort of game.

Still, Steve can't believe he gave in to the prom.

Robin had wanted to go so badly, though, which had surprised him. Very conformist of Robin, but Steve understood the need to fit in, even in your last moments. And Robin had told him if she didn't get to go with who she really wanted, if she didn't get to go with a girl, she wanted to go with her best friend. So sue him; he caved and went to prom with her.

"I'm not wearing a tie." He had told her.

He was wearing a fucking tie. Purple to match her dress.

The only thing that made it better was Eddie was stuck with him in his misery.

"Look at them." Eddie nodded to the dancefloor from his seat. Apparently, Eddie's weak point had been Nancy, of all people. And he wasn't even attracted to her (he'd insisted on the matter, in fact. And considering his own friendship with Robin, he was inclined to believe him). They had become weird friends over the past few months. So much so that Eddie came to the one place he swore would only see him for graduation. Steve had to admire Eddie's commitment to the friendship.

Steve was also pretty sure Eddie was terrified to say no to Nancy.

Steve looked in the direction Eddie pointed at. There, in the middle of the dancefloor, were Robin and Nancy giggling, dancing like maniacs. Ironically, maniac was playing.

Steve's early tension eased a bit at the sight. If Steve coming had gotten Robin to smile like that, it was worth the bad memories that came with the school gym.

"How long before Nance makes a move on her, you think?"

Eddie raised his eyebrows, and looked taken aback by Steve's question. "Bold to assume they are into each other, Harrington."

Steve snorted, "Not really. I know you know about Robs, so it's not like I'm outing her. Wouldn't do that. And sure, Nancy hasn't said anything. But I dated her for over a year. I know what she looks like when she's in love with someone."

"Aaah yes, the star-crossed lovers of Hawkins High. How could I forget about the lovebirds."

Steve looked at Eddie across the table, "No she never looked at me like that. I meant Jonathan."

"Oh," Eddie whispered. Steve wasn't hurt by the assumption; he was past that. Well, he was trying to be. He didn't love Nance like that anymore, but the way it ended had left its mark.

Steve felt a bit of envy as he looked at the two girls, now slow dancing. He wanted that. To dance with someone like no one was watching. To hold someone. He never got that.

"I think probably soon, to answer your question from earlier. I'm a little jealous, I have to admit. No one bats an eye at two girls dancing."

Steve wrinkled his nose in confusion, "What, you not gonna dance Munson?"

It was Eddie's turn to snort. "Um, no, Steve. I've never done it, and even if I could, the ladies aren't really who I would want to dance with. Believe it or not, my time with the bats was a one-off. I prefer to be alive, and this town wouldn't take too kindly to my dance partner preferences.

Steve's heart stuttered for a moment. Something ignited in his chest. Something that couldn't be confused with anything other than hope. "What?"

Eddie stared for a second, "Dude. I'm gay."

"No I got that. It's just, you've never danced with someone? Like ever?"

Eddie laughed, "C'mon man don't be surprised."

Steve suddenly stood up and extended his hand. "C'mon."

"Harrington, did you not hear a word I just said. Besides, I'm not going to give these assholes a show."

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, "Look, I know you’re the president of the Anti-Social Club, but why don’t you join me? I have an idea, and I promise nothing bad will happen to you on my watch.”

Eddie hesitated but grabbed Steve's hand. Eddie was stiff as Steve dragged him from his seat.

Steve walked them through the double doors of the gymnasium and out into the hallway. Eddie let out a confused yelp. "What—where are we going, Steve?"

"Just trust me."

Eddie stayed silent the rest of the way until they reached O'Donnell's classroom. "Are you seriously taking back here? Is this a joke?"

"No, I just know she's the only teacher who doesn't lock her door. C'mon." Steve walked Eddie inside the room and shut the door. Luckily, the desks had all been stacked and pushed to the sides of the room, so there was plenty of open space for his plan.

"Okay, so, put your hands around my neck. We are going to do this the easy way instead of the traditional way."

"Ooo, kinky Stevie. Didn't know you were into that." Eddie listened anyway and threw his arms over Steve's shoulders, connecting his hands at the base of Steve's neck.

A blush spread over Steve's face. "Shut up. You knew what a meant."

Eddie gave his first genuine laugh of the night in response.

Steve placed his hands on Eddie's hips. He took a moment to collect himself before proceeding. Steve could feel the warmth of Eddie's hips through the fabric of his black button-up. It was thrilling to be able to feel him this way. Steve had always imagined him to be cold, but he was pleasantly surprised by the outcome. It fit Eddie to be warm; the man was a ball of sunshine despite his outward appearance.

After a moment, Steve started to sway them back and forth. "Move with me, Munson. There is no one around."

Eddie obeyed easily. "Ya know, when you claimed me the president of the anti-social club, I thought, ya know, we were going to be social."

"You are being social, Eddie, just being social with me. Besides, you want me to stop?"

Eddie whispered, "No. It's nice." Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve's as they continued to sway.

Steve began to hum under his breath. The music from the gym was too far away to make out any sort of beat. He decided to make his own music, just for Eddie.

Eddie giggled, "Are you humming 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac right now?" He rubbed his thumbs against the nape of Steve's neck.

Chills went down Steve's spine at the contact. He would have to remember to thank Robin later on for dragging him to prom, for giving him this moment. "Yea, you got a problem with that?" Steve's tone wasn't mean but scratchy and raw. Vulnerable. He didn't want to do anything to break the moment.

"It's perfect," Eddie said as he looked directly into Steve's eyes.

"Good." Steve brushed his lips against Eddie's. Then he sang in a whisper against his mouth,

"It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams/And have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"

____

This was a cute one to write; thanks for the prompt. hope it lives up to what you wanted :)

Sorry if this feels rushed; I accidentally posted it before it was finished at first, so I panicked to go back and made the final edits.

[cadet-aviator]

Quality time

And we went, I think it was the same weekend or the weekend after, but pretty soon. Dad must have made some quick changes in his schedule, to free himself up. 

We had compromised: no cadet uniform, but ‘just’ my school uniform, shirt and tie, grey pants, normal shoes. It was quite relaxed, actually.

There are some photographs where clearly I have unbuttoned my top button and loosened my tie – very uncharacteristic of me. 

I think now that I did that to please my Dad, mostly, to show that I was not a robot, but perhaps I did unwind a bit.

It was fun. Lovely food, some culture, just me and Dad on a market, in a restaurant, chatting. I had missed the Christmas holidays, remember, when I was at Camp, and I had been working away ever since.

But when we talked some more, later at night, in our nice hotel room, I still felt lost.

It felt wrong to escape the Saturday morning school cadet drill, and it felt wrong to not fulfil my punishment duties at the barracks, in the afternoon. I felt like a deserter. 

I couldn’t tell my Dad that I really wanted to talk to the Admiral some more and ask him why he felt I was ‘officer material’, or why he thought I would be best placed as a household aide, and what that would mean. I certainly couldn’t tell my Dad how I felt about kneeling for the Admiral and putting my head on the floor in front of him, and how good it felt when he kept me waiting like that for a few minutes, before telling me to get up.

I remember that on the third or fourth day I ran out of clean white shirts. My Dad told me ‘to just let the hotel staff take care of that’. Which made sense, but when the lady came to pick up the laundry I made sure to tell her exactly how I wanted them washed and ironed. I even went down to the laundry room with her. I didn’t tell my Dad that, neither.

On the last night we went to a more expensive restaurant, overlooking the beach, and my Dad (bless him) put on a shirt and tie for me – ‘just proper dress code for that place, son, nothing disciplinary, I’m not joining your bloody cadets’ – and I really appreciated it. It made talking easier. 

I told him I was not a nerd or autistic or something, I just felt so safe and at home when things were organised like that, ‘you know, with rules’ and he said he understood.

I told him that I had sometimes hoped that he would wear formal clothes at home all the time, ‘so we’d have a really formal home, with structure but just normal, happy, clean…’ He smiled at that, and I guess he understood that too – over all these conversations in Thailand hung the shadow of my mother, who was away in Europe, battling her demons. 

He said: ‘It’s fine, son, you can wear what you want and do what you want.’

And I said: ‘I have to do the camp, Dad. I know it was hard last time but I want to go again. Please let me do the camp.’

‘Very well, son.’

‘Thanks Dad’.

‘There’s a chance I will have to spend a month or so on the coast, and another few weeks back home in Europe, for this deal. Would you like me to talk to the Admiral’s office about a place for you there?’

‘Yes. Yes Dad. I’m sorry Dad, but yes.’

And I cried a bit, again. Dad hugged me. It was all fine. 

It was also a goodbye.

We had to wait a while, at the airport. Dad got out his phone and did some work.

I went to have a haircut. Not just any haircut. A proper haircut, a cadet haircut.

I loved my Dad and I was grateful for the trip, but I was going to be a better boy. I was going to wear uniform forever, I was going to stay pure, I was going to obey, obey, obey, and I was going to serve.

(All images are AI-generated)

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

hi, i just wanted to say i loved your charles oneshot :) i was wondering if you could do an enemies to lovers w/ daniel ricciardo? thanks!

DANIEL RICCIARDO ONESHOT

TEMPORARY STRANGERS

( WARNING: swearing, alcohol, blood/injury, little bit of fluff/angst? )

word count: 5.4k

< this is my attempted version lol >

You’d debated whether or not to go to Theo’s party. For one, it was on a Thursday night, which, in itself, was rather tragic for a party thrown for an adult because surely he had to have thought that most people would be working on a Thursday night? Secondly, you had an early shift at the hospital in the morning, so you weren't sure if staying at a party fit for Blair Waldorf for a couple of hours was entirely worth your presence.

But, after a persuasive conversation on the phone — in which Theo spent the majority of it begging you to make an appearance — you’d caved and now you found yourself standing in the middle of a kitchen sipping on a lemonade, expertly avoiding everyone’s eyes and wondering why you agreed to come in the first place.

The apartment was a large, luxurious one, decked from head to toe in pricey decorations and with an open-plan layout. You even had half the mind to compare it to what you imagined a Royal Palace looked like.

In other words, it was big and incredibly tasteful and fancy, in the most annoying way possible.

Then again, Theo did own a successful Estate Agency, which specialized heavily in selling buildings in the centre of London. The money pooled from that spoke for itself, and it also meant that since university he’d met people in all aspects of his work, all of which looked like they’d been invited to his party, which unfortunately meant you didn’t know anyone, and the couple that you did, you had absolutely zero intentions of actually talking to them.

The guests themselves were glamorous, dressed to the nines and decked with expensive watches and jewellery, and you felt out of place wearing your best dress with your favourite high-tops and a blazer.

On another note, the lemonade and food were delicious. It was almost as if he’d hired a private caterer and then shoved them out of the back door before people started arriving.

“You know, I didn’t think you meant it when you said you’d come.” A smooth voice knocked you out of your reverie, and you whirled around, hastily swallowing the lemonade when you noticed the familiar blonde that you’d befriended in uni.

“I didn’t think I did either if that makes a difference.” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek as Theo rolled his eyes, making his way around the kitchen island to place a couple of collected empty glasses near the sink.

“Well, are you having fun?” He asked, leaning back against the counter next to you, his shoulder judging yours teasingly.

You hummed, narrowing your eyes, “Not as much fun as when you crashed my Grandparents party and scared away the boy they tried to set me up with, let’s just leave it at that.” You breathed a laugh, swirling the lemonade in your cup as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing.

“Oh, I haven’t had that much fun in ages.” He said, his attention turning to the other partygoers in the near vicinity, his eyebrow raising as he spotted someone trying to sneak one of his clocks into their bags without being caught. It didn’t work; they saw his gaze and turned a suspicious shade of red and pretended as if they’d simply been admiring the thing before walking away.

Theo cleared his throat, adjusting his tie.

“I think I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, his finger pointing in the direction of the culprit, an apologetic look in his eyes. You nodded, breathing a short laugh in understanding.

“I think I’m going to head out anyway—”

“Oh, please stay.” He held out a hand, silently begging for you to stay.

You hadn’t seen each other in at least a couple of months because of clashes with schedules, and it was getting to the point where the odd texts and phone calls and video calls were starting to feel more like a chore than a privilege. You had been close friends for the best part of ten years now, and you were still close, but adult life was more difficult than you expected trying to balance relationships and work.

You breathed in deeply, eyes flashing around the guests, accidentally catching the eye of Daniel and flicking your attention back to Theo hastily.

“I’ll stay for now but I’m going home in an hour, I have an early shift in the morning.” You promised, offering a small smile as Theo nodded, returning the gesture before disappearing into the throwing of people.

It wasn’t long before you were approached by an unfamiliar face. She was — like all the other people in the room — dressed nicely, and she stumbled slightly in her heels, almost running into you.

“Oh, shit, sorry about that.” She muttered, and you could smell the faint, bitter scent of alcohol on her breath, indicating that she wasn’t completely sober.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” You reassured, asking if she wanted something else to drink, seeing as though you were standing next to the drinks table and the fridge.

She shook her head, instead resuming Theo’s place against the counter next to you.

“Do you see that man over there?” She whispered, pointing her finger in the direction of the crowd out in the living area.

You furrowed your eyes, trying to lean slightly to make sure you could see who she was pointing at.

“I think you’re gonna have to be more specific because there’s about thirty people in that general direction.” You said, resisting the urge to laugh as the woman sighed, shuffling closer to the group and standing in her heeled tiptoes to see over the sea of heads.

“Okay, so he’s about 6 foot, brunette, curly hair…” she snuck a glance at you out of the corner of her eye to make sure you were trying to look out for the person she was talking about, “really fit and has an Italian nose.” She concluded.

You pursed your lips, suddenly feeling quite awkward in the presence of a stranger. You averted your eyes back to the pile of drinks on the kitchen island and halted your actions in searching for who could only be Daniel Ricciardo.

She noticed your reaction and gasped loudly, her hand flying to her mouth as if you just spilled the hottest gossip of the season.

“You know him.” She stated, stepping back slightly with an accusatory shine in her eyes.

“I don’t know him, I just know of him.” You lied, trying to brush the topic off as subtly as possible.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, taking your arm and ignoring the cry of protest from your lips as she dragged you away from the kitchen area and into the heart of the party, where the chatter was significantly louder, “I don’t believe that. You can introduce us.” She insisted.

You dug your heels into the floor as best as you could, trying to push away the wave of panic that surged through your veins.

“Lady,” you started, ripping your arm out of her iron grip, “I don’t know him.” You reiterated.

“If you don’t know him, how can you know of him?” She enquired snarkily, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow in your direction.

“How can you not know of him?” You returned, shrugging. Her face remained blank, and it occurred to you she really didn’t know who Daniel was. “That’s Daniel Ricciardo. Formula 1 driver for McLaren this year.” You told her, straightening out your blazer uncomfortably, unaware of the eyes on you from the other side of the room.

“Formula 1? So he’s, like…a millionaire?” She licked her lips,sultry eyes slipping over the crowd and fixating on who you assumed to be Daniel.

You cringed, resisting the urge to turn your nose up at her. You suddenly regretted telling her about his career because even a blind man could see that his money was the main thing on her mind at that moment in time.

You neglected from answering her question, instead trying to slink back to the kitchen, but you were interrupted by the scuffle of feet and the sound of something shattering before an obvious cry of pain was heard throughout the room, nearly drowned out in the volume of the music pumping from the speakers.

You swivelled back around, and several people had stepped away from the scene leaving an open gap in the crowd as more people gathered around to see what the kerfuffle was.

The girl had disappeared seemingly into thin air and you were about to take the moment of peace as an opportunity to leave, but Theo’s voice called your name over the crowd, laced with urgency.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, heart pounding with anxiety at the panic in his voice. You made your way to the crowd, apologising to people as you pushed your way through to get to the centre of all the attention.

As soon as you edged into Theo’s vision, he dragged you by the elbow into the centre, pointing to the person who’s cry of pain was heard over the music.

Blood was dripping from a deep gash in the palm of their hand, and the person in question looked a little pale, holding their hand up above their head, a permanent wince etched onto their face. Despite that, they looked rather uncomfortable with all the attention, and it was this that caused Theo to turn to the crowd and usher them away.

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.” Theo informed you, and you wasted no time in helping the injured person raise their arm higher above their head, guiding them through the crowd with a secure arm around their waist.

“A cut on my hand doesn’t hinder my ability to walk, okay?” They tried, shifting out of your grip.

“No, but if you pass out, it hinders my ability to patch you up.” You retorted, hurriedly passing your glass of lemonade back to Theo.

The person let a weak, sarcastic huff pass their lips, but they let you guide them to the bathroom, keeping an eye on the blood dripping down their arm and creeping into the sleeve of their blazer.

“Toilet or tub?” You asked, kicking the door shut behind you and casting a weary glance back at their hand.

“Depends on the context.” They answered.

You rolled your eyes, settling them on the toilet and quickly rifling through the sink cupboards, locating the first aid kit with ease.

“I’m gonna need you to take off your blazer.” You said, never imagining that you’d say those words to Daniel Ricciardo of all people.

Your relationship with Daniel was weird to say the least. You first met at — surprise, surprise — Theo’s party a few years ago. You’d gotten along swimmingly, perhaps a little bit too well, and it was safe to say he was incredibly charming and cursed with good looks. You were quite good friends, actually.

Until one day he pulled a face at you when you approached him at an award’s evening of some sort. You’d got no idea what happened to elicit such a negative reaction, or any idea on what you could have done, but he’d sneered at you and turned around, making conversation with the person next to you. He’d never explained why, but ever since that day he’d ignored you as much as possible, and it wasn’t exactly hard not to enjoy his company when he was so obviously disgusted with your presence.

Maybe it was the fact that you only managed to snag one piece of cake that night.

“You want a striptease? At least take me out for a date, first.” He muttered, pressing his lips together in obvious discomfort as he peeled his blazer off, being cautious of the blood. “I don’t even know why you’re bothering with this anyway, I’m fine.” He insisted.

You perched yourself on the edge of the bath, placing your bag on the tiled flooring and zipping open the first aid kit.

“Dan, you’re dripping blood…you’re clearly not fine.” You muttered, carefully rolling his shirt sleeve up past his elbow, ignoring the fact that this was the first time in a long time you’d been this close to him. Ignoring the fact that he looked positively fine in a suit, minus the blood.

He let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and shifting uncomfortably under your touch.

You turned his hand over, assessed the gash and winced, trying to ignore the tingling, uncomfortable sensation mirrored on your own palm as your eyes ran over the gash. It ran the width of his palm, and it didn’t take a genius to notice that it was quite deep in some places.

“Can we please be quick?” He sighed, his other hand smoothing out non-existent creases in his dress trousers.

You hated to admit it, but his words stung.

“Can you at least pretend like you don’t hate me, for fifteen minutes at least?” You said, an unintentional fierceness to your tone, one that you’d tried your best to dial down in his presence, but it seemed to no avail.

“Only if you do the same.” He muttered, and you took the liberty of ignoring his comment, reaching to fish an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit, gently dabbing at the edges to clean off some blood so you could see the extent of the damage. You flexed his hand, ignoring his hiss of pain as the cut stretched slightly.

“What was that for?” He asked, his free hand slapping your hand as he fought to take his cut up hand out of your grip.

You opened your mouth in surprise, the skin on your own hand stinging slightly with the sudden contact.

“Don’t slap me! I’m trying to make sure you don’t have glass in it, you twat.” You said, shaking your head, “Which it doesn’t, by the way, so you’re welcome for checking.”

“How did you even know to check for glass?”

“Because there was broken glass on the floor?” You answered, applying pressure to the wound and lifting his hand a little higher again.

He huffed, turning his face away from you, so he was facing the wall, his lip curling into a sneer.

You rolled your eyes, “What did you mean when you said ‘only if you do the same’, anyway?” You murmured, keeping one hand on the wound and reaching to the floor to pick up your bag and unclip the front.

He narrowed his eyes, watching you root around in your bag for something, and he was about to say something, before he was interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door.

“Everything ok in there? Everyone still alive?” Theo’s muffled voice echoed into the room.

“We’re fine.”

“Yeah.”

Daniel grimaced, brown eyes burning through the door as if he was trying to send a telepathic message to Theo through the door.

“Good.” Was all Theo said before the full sound of his shoes against the wooden veneers could be heard on the other side of the door.

You hummed in delight, producing the very thing you were originally looking for in your bag.

“Haribo?” Daniel asked, raising his brows expectantly.

“To get your blood sugar levels up, you’re still pale.” You answered, ripping open the packet, and just as you were about to pour the sweets into Daniel’s outstretched hand, you paused, recoiling.

“What?” He asked, noticeably frustrated that he wasn’t scoffing the sweets.

“Why don’t you like me?” You questioned, biting on the inside of your cheek anxiously as he stared straight at you, his face expressionless.

He was quiet for a while, and you almost told him to forget you even said anything because the simple question looked like it hit home, but he opened his mouth, quickly closing it again. He looked at you from behind furrowed brows, apparently confused by your question.

“Why don’t I like you?” He repeated the question. “Why don’t you like me?”

You gaped at him, your cheeks flushing with irritation at his words.

“I don’t—I never—” you sighed in frustration, the hand clutching the packet of Haribo clenching unconsciously as Daniel looked at you with mild concern, “Why the hell would you think I don’t like you?”

He blinked, casting his sights back to the wall, ignoring your eye contact.

“Theo told me you, and I quote, ‘hate me’,” he answered, swallowing roughly as you continued to stare at him.

His discomfort under your gaze brought a sick sense of satisfaction, but at the same time you were having difficulty wrapping your head around what he’d just admitted.

“Theo? My Theo?” You clarified, arching an eyebrow.

He nodded.

“When did he tell you that?” Your heart was starting to hammer in your rib cage, the power of which was almost painful to endure.

“When we went clubbing a while back,” he shrugged.

“Why would he—?” You muttered, before turning back to Daniel. “Are you sure he said that?”

“Positive.”

“So you’ve been so hostile towards me for months now, all because of something someone else said to you in a dark, loud club when you were — let’s face it — probably drunk?”

Daniel sucked in his cheeks, now realising how there would have been so many chances for misunderstanding in such an environment.

“Yes…” he replied, dragging the word out slowly, trying his best to take his mind off the way your grip on his wound was slowly increasing.

“I never said I hate—”

“So…you don’t not like me?” He interrupted, his eyes wide.

“No…Yes…I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that, but I never hated you.” You said, ducking your head down at his intense glare, instead turning your attention back to his bleeding hand, carefully peeling off the gauze to take a peak. You suddenly remembered the scrunched up packet of Haribo still clutched in your grasp, and you shoved it in Daniel’s direction, not bothering to even look at him when he took it, humming quietly in thanks.

He didn’t know how to respond to that, the revelation sending his mind spinning about a hundred different directions.

He was mad at Theo, even if what happened wasn’t entirely his fault, but he was mostly mad at himself for not even bothering to try to talk to you and hash it out. The months he spent trying to ignore you were completely miserable, and the worst part is, he put you through hell without even giving you any reason, and all of that ignorance was not even worth it…that is, if what you said was true.

“Oh.” Was all he said, taking to watching you strap up his hand after telling him he (thankfully) didn’t need stitches, but he did need to rest it for a while, which was probably for the best because the F1 Summer Break was currently in full swing.

Once you’d put the soaked gauze in the bin and tidied everything away to how you’d arrived before the bloodbath ensued, you stood up, brushing nonexistent dirt off your dress, and offered Daniel a rather confused smile.

He bit his lip in thought, your eyes unconsciously zipping to his mouth, before steering your gaze back up to his eyes when he caught you, raising his eyebrow slightly, a pale shade of pink tinting his cheeks as he fought back a smirk.

You turned away, looking at the door, which was very much tempting you at that moment in time.

He cleared his throat once he’d noticed your attention flicker away from him, and it was only then he registered he practically craved you to be looking at him. Whenever he was at functions with Theo, he would always unknowingly search for you, even when he thought you hated his guts, he’d still scan the crowd of unfamiliar faces in the hopes that he’d see you again.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, feeling your eyes on him. It was as if he’d suddenly melted into a teenager again right beneath your eyes. He cleared his throat again, sinking back against the toilet in an attempt to make himself smaller at the revelation he’d just arrived at.

It was weird, seeing him so shy when he was naturally such an outgoing character.

You found a part of your brain secretly admiring his flustering, but you quickly shut that down, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t be having those thoughts, especially since you’d just had to mop up a slice on his hand.

“I think I’m gonna go grab a drink and join the fray.” You said, hating the way your voice sounded so small against the echoing walls of the bathroom tiles.

Daniel snapped his eyes to yours, holding them intently, slightly alarmed at your words.

The last thing he wanted was for you to leave him; call it soppy, but he wanted to make up for lost time as soon as he possibly could, and he knew there would be very few opportunities considering both your careers were so demanding.

“Um…” he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I just want to say, thanks for all of this.” He gestured down to his hand, and you smiled.

“No problem. Just…stay away from broken glass for a bit and you should be fine.” You mumbled, words not registering in your brain as Daniel breathed a small laugh, looking utterly starstruck and sad at the same time.

“I’ll try my best.”

You offered one last smile, checking you still had your bag, and without another word you slipped out of the bathroom door, hearing the handle click behind you.

You could still hear the thumping remnants of the party in the next room, and without really caring who you bumped into along the way, you made a beeline for the kitchen, filling up a plastic wine glass with the nearest spirit and downing it as quickly as possible. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, immediately feeling guilty because of the early shift, and hurried to fill the glass back up with water, trying your best to dispel the effects of alcohol before they even had an impact.

It seemed to work.

Your head was spinning, unrelated to the liquids you’d just absorbed, but because of the bathroom fiasco that had just occurred only moments prior.

You were that caught up in your own thoughts, trying to separate fact from fiction and thought from feeling, that you completely missed the very brunette on your mind stride past the kitchen and into the living area, looking like a man on a mission as he tried to seek out Theo.

It didn’t take him long, he just had significantly more trouble trying to shake off a blonde that refused to let go of his arm, and he found Theo leant against a table, looking worn out, his mind absent from reality.

In the time it took for you to patch Daniel up, it looked as if Theo had faced a war and somehow escaped.

“You okay?” Daniel asked, hand clapping into Theo’s shoulder in an attempt to bring him back to reality.

He jumped, immediately relaxing when he registered just who was standing in front of him.

“I’m fine, but if that…person over there takes another step towards my Grandma, he’s not going to know what hit him.” He answered, finger pointing at a rather suspicious looking man.

“I don’t see a Grandma anywhere.” Daniel pointed out, slightly concerned.

Theo rolled his eyes, as if he’d had to answer the question a million times already, “She’s the purple one on the mantelpiece.” He muttered, taking a swig of whatever was in his glass.

Daniel nodded, feeling guilty for even bringing up the topic, but the completely detached behaviour from Theo was giving him a hard time in focusing on what he actually came over to do.

“Sorry about that, mate.” He apologised, breathing in deeply.

Theo shrugged.

“Anyway, does Y/N still have the same phone number or did she change it?” Daniel questioned, attempting to pretend like the question wasn’t that big of a deal by shrugging and avoiding making eye contact with Theo, but the raise of the eyebrow and curious, piercing blue stare proved that his attempt was futile.

“I knew you still liked her.” Theo chuckled.

“Am I that transparent?” Daniel quipped, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

“Only for me.” Theo grinned, patting Daniel’s cheek.

Daniel pulled a face, swiping Theo’s hand away.

“But no, she’s still got the same number. Why’d you ask?”

Daniel shrugged, already backing away, attention flickering around the room, once again searching for something — the action of which didn’t go unnoticed by Theo, who positively cackled inside, “Just curious.”

“If curious means ‘I-fucked-up-with-a-really-good-person-big-time-and-I-need-to-make-it-up-somehow-before-I-ask-her-out-for-real-this-time-instead-of-practicing-it-in-the-mirror’, then, whatever you say.”

“That was ages ago!”

“People don’t forget!” Theo yelled, smirking in triumph as Dan disappeared around the corner, no doubt searching for you.

You were sitting on the cold, stone steps outside the apartment building, your phone in your hand and debating whether or not to call a taxi or walk home before it gets too dark.

Your thumb was hovering over the call button to your local taxi when the building doors slammed open, the sound of shoes slapping against the concrete as a tall figure leapt down the last three steps, running a hand through their curls in frustration as they looked left, then right, and sighed, reaching into their jacket pocket to produce their phone.

You couldn’t see their face, only the back of their head, but you’d recognise that figure anywhere.

You looked down, your heart stuttering at the sudden buzzing of the phone in your hand.

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to laugh at the hilarity of the situation, and answered the call, lifting the phone up to your ear, your eyes fixated on the pacing figure on the pavement, watching him from your spot at the top corner of the stairs.

“Hello?” The person asked, sounding a bit breathless through the phone.

“Hi.”

“It’s Daniel...Ricciardo.” He winced at his own awkwardness.

“I know. You’re still saved in my contacts.”

“I am?” He replied, tone laced with shock.

You were almost embarrassed to admit that you’d held onto a little shred of hope in thinking he’d eventually get over himself, “You had a paddy with me, remember?”

“About that, I’m really sorry. Like, really, really, really,really, really—”

“I get the idea.” You sighed.

“No, I don’t think you understand how sorry I am for it. It was so insanely stupid of me to stop talking to you because of something I thought I heard in a club — a fucking club of all places — without even thinking of talking to you—”

“Why didn't you talk to me?”

He was silent for a while, and you noticed he’d halted his pacing on the pavement. “I know it sounds like I’m making up excuses, but I really thought you hated my guts, and that...it hurt because I kind of had a bit of a crush on you and I pushed you away because I think a subconscious part of my mind thought that if I did that then it would be better in the long run because I wouldn’t be so attached to you if something went weird later on.” He explained, his voice lowering and quieting towards the end, as if he’d just understood what he didn’t understand.

“That’s...a lot to unpack.” You murmured, noticing the way his shoulders had slumped.

“Yeah...we don’t have to do it right now, though.”

“No, I agree, I think we’d need a nicer place to sort though our emotional struggles than outside Theo’s apartment building.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird — what?” He caught himself, spinning around on his heels.

You offered a shy wave once he’d tilted his head in your direction, realising you’d been watching him talk to you the entire time.

“I was looking for you.” He said once he’d hung up the phone, meeting you halfway on the steps.

“Why?”

“Can I walk you home?” He resorted to asking.

_____

The journey home took about twice as long as it usually would, and by the time you’d both made it onto your street, night was beginning to creep through, the sky changing to a darker blue, street lamps beginning to turn on.

The conversation flowed remarkably easily, albeit there was a noticeable hesitance in dancing around that subject, but you pretended not to notice it, and you had a feeling Daniel was trying to do the same.

He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, almost disbelieving of that fact that you were in front of him, even after what he’d put you through, and he had to keep catching himself to ensure you didn’t notice him looking.

You did.

“So, how are you feeling about going back after the Summer Break?”

He stifled a smile, “I don’t know why, but I have a really good feeling about going back. You know what? It has to be those Haribo’s.” He breathed a laugh.

“What? I hand out magic Haribo?” You smirked, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“No.”

“You say that now, but you’ll take it back when I get a podium.”

“When you do win, just don’t go around telling everyone about my magic Haribo.”

“Oh, the Haribo are reserved for me and for me only. It won’t have the same effect if you give some to Lando.”

“I’ll just take your word for it, I guess.”

You breathed a laugh, coming to a halt on the pavement, the familiar house standing to your left.

Daniel looked up.

“I thought you had a Fiesta?” He asked, pointing to the blue Hyaundi parked on the driveway.

“I’m sorry, is my car not up to the standard you’re used to?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow teasingly in his direction.

“Oi, I’ll have you know that I learnt to drive in a — I can’t even remember what model it was, but I do remember having to really press down on the brake…and the air con was broken.” He defended, throwing his hands up as if to say he was surrendering.

You bit your lip, “I learnt to drive in a Mercedes.”

His reaction was priceless.

“A Mercedes? You learnt to drive in a—wow.”

“It was just the company car, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Still…wow.” He paused, feet tapping the pavement agitatedly, “I have a proposal.”

You met his eyes, unable to help feeling slightly anxious by the prospect.

“Go on.” You encouraged, crossing your arms tightly.

“If I win a GP…wait—can we make a deal?” He asked, throwing his hand out.

You nodded.

“If I win a GP, I get to take you on a date.” He offered, raising one eyebrow but somehow maintaining eye contact.

“But…what’s in it for me?” You smirked.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “That’s so rude…but, okay…I take you to Monza, and if—when I win a GP, I get to take you out. For my own sake, I’m gonna pretend like I will win one because I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t.”

“You’ll win one.” You stated simply, shrugging.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because you’re Daniel Ricciardo, when have you ever not been successful in a car?” You asked, pulling a face as if it was obvious from the get-go.

Daniel didn’t say anything after that. He just sort of looked at you, twisting his mouth up in thought. You couldn’t tell what was going through his mind at that moment in time, but you had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to believe your words.

“You really believe that?” He finally said, a hint of what sounded like insecurity laced in his tone.

“You don’t?” You shot back, your heart breaking slightly at his demeanour.

“I never left.” He mumbled under his breath, turning away from you slightly with furrowed brows, seemingly having a conversation with himself.

You knew those words would stick around in your mind for a long time.

But there was something so addictive about ‘Daniel Ricciardo wins the 2021 Italian Grand Prix’.

[makeitagood0neao3]

Safe Inside

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2,754

Warnings: Non/con. Explicit sexual content. Dark!Peter Parker AU. 18+ only!

The knock on your apartment door couldn't have come soon enough. After a long, tiring day working virtually, all you wanted was your take out, likely still warm from the restaurant downtown. Hair in a messy bun, long shirt covering a pair of shorts you padded to the door. Looking through the peephole, just to be safe. You couldn’t be too careful nowadays.

You opened the door to see your usual delivery guy standing before you, grey Supreme hoodie beneath a black coat, the hood pulled over his head. In his hand were the handles of a plastic bag as he balanced a soda on top of it.

“Greek delivery for a pretty lady in apartment 410?” He asked, barely able to contain his smile.

“Hey Pete,” you greeted, matching his energy. “I just Venmo’d you.”

“You better not have included a tip, Y/N.” Peter handed over the soda and bag before grabbing his phone from his pocket to check for the transaction. “I told you to stop tipping me.”

“I know you did,” you answered smuggly. “But you deserve a tip when you give me life by baklava.” He smiles back before peering into the apartment behind you. He was always doing that; checking, observing. You only ever ordered dinner for one, but that didn’t stop him from being curious. Not one to easily trust, you know the little world you built can be easily destroyed if you let the wrong person in.

He never asked if you were seeing someone or overstepped. The most flirting you had done with this younger man was to tell him that if he got straight A’s this semester at the university, you’d invite him inside for a drink. 

“Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you. I gotta run, but I’ll text you.” He waved and made his way down the hall.

Using your foot to kick your door closed you locked it with your free hand and set the food down on the counter. Setting your Spotify playlist to shuffle on 80’s rock before digging in at your tiny dining room table that barely fits in your small apartment.

You met Peter on a whim. Never one to plan meals out in advance, you were often left to starve or eat cereal for dinner after working. Never one to leave your apartment when it was dark out, you settled for having dinner delivered. Peter was delivery guy on a food delivery app and learned your dinner routine and favorites quickly. Which was surprising, because you couldn’t possibly be the only person in Queens ordering take out every other night.

And he couldn’t be the only delivery guy around, but he somehow became your usual delivery guy and you, his regular. Usually one to get chips as a side at a nearby deli, you didn’t order any one evening. He messaged you No chips tonight?

It surprised you, but you brushed it off, telling him you were cutting back on junk food. He dropped off the meal at your door with a knock, but by the time you opened it, he was gone. Sitting at the top of the paper bag was a bag of your favorite chips.

Always one to drop off your food quickly and not stay to chat, you caught him one night to thank him and tip in cash. Since then, you two would talk in your doorway briefly, mostly keeping your friendship to text as you were both busy. After a year of limited in person social interaction, any casual conversation over your threshold was greatly accepted. One day soon you’d venture outside, but with the availability to have nearly everything delivered, you doubted that day would come soon. You just weren’t ready.

Soon you ditched the app and just text him when you wanted dinner and he dropped it off to you. The price for you didn’t change, but gave him some extra. You honestly didn’t know why he chose to deliver food; he was always dressed extremely nicely in name brand clothes and you later found out he has a lucrative position at Stark Industries.

Once you had asked him why he chose to do this, in the literal rain and snow, and he told you that it was something to do. He got bored often and it was better than sitting in a lab all night. He made it seem like he did this for several people, but you didn’t see how he had the time to.

In the middle of scrolling on your phone, there’s a slow delay in registering what you’re seeing. Shaking your head and blinking hard, the sensation didn’t go away. Your body seemed to relax as a deep buzz set in and your body movements sluggish. Bringing the fork up to your mouth for another bite, you missed completely, the rice pilaf dropping onto the table. You tried for another bite and this time succeeded.

Are you... high?

You tasted the mineral chalkiness before you noticed the white powder poorly mixed into your rice pilaf. Brain fuzzy, you tried to analyze the substance. Thinking it strange, you drank from your take out cup of soda to wash it down. It became harder to swallow each sip, but you had already finished half the meal.

A knock at your door echoes through the wood. Each footstep towards the door bounces between your ears. Struggling with the lock, you finally got it open, your legs almost numb and your arms heavy. On the other side of the threshold stands Peter, his hood over his head, eyes assessing you through his lashes as his head angles down.

“Pete?” 

You feel his arms around you before the whoosh registers in your head. Blinking hard, you are lying on your back, limbs heavy. Some time must have passed, but you can’t be sure.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered from above you. “I think I gave you too much.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, a shiver blankets your skin. You let out a whine when your tongue refuses to curl with your words. It lies heavy, your jaw loose as you slur out questions.

“Peter?” You try again. Your question is slurred and there’s a pitched whine to your voice.

“Shhh, this is for your own good.”

“Mmph” you mumble, unsure if you actually feel hurt right now at this moment. Your movements are heavy and slow, like running through water. Your back is against something soft that smells like your fabric softener. Your bed. When did you get here?

“I’ve wanted you for so long. Now I can finally have you.” His hands seem to be frantic as he pulls your shorts from your hips and down your thighs before discarding them. Is he frantic or is this normal speed? His coat is gone and he pulls his hoodie over his head, his shirt stuck inside it. He’s next to you a fraction of a moment later

His warm hands graze your hips as he pulls the oversized shirt off of you, the crack of static electricity sparking from your hair as it's pulled through the collar in your ears. His hand gently rests your head back down on the pillow. You whine again and try to cover your bare chest with your small hands. He notices and pulls them away. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he reassures, mistaking your modesty for insecurity. He’s lying on top of you now, chest to chest. The heat of his bare skin as he presses into you, his hands tracing the shape of your waist and hips. He seems to be mesmerized.

“We can’t-” you want to scream, but even you aren’t sure your thoughts matched what came out of your mouth. Your hands try to push him off of you, but he’s too solid, too in control. When that doesn’t work, you slap his chest, but you don’t really feel the impact on your palm. You’re too numb. He grabs your wrist.

“I don’t use my hands to harm and you won’t either.” He says this firmly, eyes locked on yours, but follows up with, “Behave or I’ll have to tie you up so you don’t hurt yourself.” The latter comes out softer, more timid like the Peter you know.

His head dips down as he places sloppy, unpracticed open mouth kisses on your neck and shoulder. Quickly this turns into full sucking. You angle your chin to the side, scanning your nightstand for something, anything to help you. You eye a book, hardcover, heavy hand reaching up to grab for it. Maybe you can hit him hard enough to buy time.

Peter catches your movement and lets out an irritated, though shaky, sigh as it leaves his lips. “What did I say?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silver device. He grabs both of your arms and places each palm on an iron bar on the headboard before a white, sticky, material shoots from it and seals your hands to it. You pull, but they don’t budge. He tosses it aside and slides down your body as you fight against your restraints.

The cool air brushes against you where your panties were. Vision unfocused, try to reconcile the split image of him and merge it into one. It’s dim in here, but it looks like he has your panties in his fingers as he tosses them aside. He lowers himself to his forearms, eyes never leaving your face. Or you think he’s looking at your face.

His nose brushes against your slit, tentatively, as you flinch. Your tongue is motionless in your mouth, but feels swollen, like it will suffocate you. All the things you want to say are being swallowed in your constricted throat.

His tongue pokes out as you manage to shake your head a fraction bit side to side. It probes your folds, uncertain. It takes him a few attempts, but he seems to find a technique he likes. The flat of his tongue swiping up as he breaks eye contact and his eyes roll back, indulged in the taste of you.

The sight of him enthralled in your most delicate region forces a squeak from you. His eyes snap open and his hands grip your hips a bit harder as he dives his mouth onto you. Seemingly encouraged by your noises and movements.

“You taste so good, baby.” He says, breathless, before he dives back in. Suddenly, his mouth finds your clit and he flicks his tongue against it hard. It’s too much pressure and it has you wriggling, brow furrowed.

He seems to notice this, because he modifies and begins sucking on your clit instead. A shock wave is sent through you, your hips angle up to meet his mouth eagerly. Taking this as a sign to continue, he inserts two fingers inside you, stretching your hole.

Quivering, you try to fight off the orgasm building, thighs clenching his head. He seems superhuman as his fingers never cease their rhythmic curling inside you and his mouth sucks the life from you. Whatever he gave you makes it impossible for you to take deep breaths and the orgasm that drenches your body in sweat steals the air from your lungs. He slows his motions as you ride his fingers and mouth before slowly removing both from you.

He seems proud of himself as he says, “I’ve always wanted to do that to you.” It’s almost endearing, but then you remember you’re drugged and bound.

Stalking you like the prey you are, he crawls up your body and slides his pants and briefs off his hips. He’s already hard as you try to focus your vision on him. Unable to tell how thick he is, you wonder if it will hurt. Perhaps if he caused you pain, your body would snap and find the adrenaline you need to get away. You pull against the bars again, hoping to break free. In the very least, your head lulls side to side in protest.

“I didn’t bring a condom, but we don’t need to worry about that. I’ll always take care of you.” He says, his forearm resting next to your head while his other hand reaches down, lining himself up with you. He pushes forward, breaching your entrance. Removing his hand, it moves to cup your head in his hand, sound muffled as he presses his palm hard against your skull.

Unable to move your head as he cradles it, your eyes flutter, unable to make him out clearly. His eyes penetrate yours, his eyes a deeper brown than you noticed before. His lips are parted as he catches his breath.

He slowly pushes forward, inch by inch. Your wet channel stretches and forms to him as he slips inside you. Despite the heaviness in your limbs and numbing to your skin, you can feel how your body accommodates him. The feeling of him is amplified by his heavy breathing in your ear as he pulls back and slams back into you.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” You try to tune him out, the only thing you really focus on is the wet sound of your slick as he draws more from you. Your body operates on sensation alone and all you can feel is him. He finds a rhythm that seems inhumanly fast as his hips push yours into the mattress harder and harder. 

He presses his chest against yours again and you can’t tell whose body temperature is higher. The desire within you builds. Fighting through the haze, you cry out, spine arching off the bed. The fabric is damp beneath your hips and you wish you could be embarrassed by it.

Both of your breaths grow louder, more frantic. On particular thrusts when he tilts his hips. the tick of his cock angles up to hit your g spot, you let out a moan. Encouraged by this, the corner of his mouth lifts into a cocky smile.

“Louder, baby.” He commands breathlessly, seeming to find his courage.

He lifts his chest from yours and kneels, his hands lifting your hips up with him, your ass no longer on the bed. Grabbing for your ankles, hooking your heels over his brawny shoulders, he slams back into you. His forearm wraps around your shins, holding them in place while his opposite fingers find your sensitive clit. Letting out breathless gasps, you can’t catch your breath or restrain your vocal cords. He continues plowing into you, fingers rubbing diagonally, frantically, against you.

“Come for me, Y/N. Soak my cock.” Something about this version of Peter, this feral side of the sweet delivery guy you thought you knew, makes you come again. Eyes rolling back, your lids closing as his hips become frantic. He squeezes your legs like a lifeline as he comes inside you, a loud grunt from above you.

He pulls out of you and lowers your hips to the bed. The euphoria sets in and your taught muscles relax into the bed. Leaning over you and he connects his nose with yours as he catches his breath. You’re both hot, a thin layer of sweat over your skin, but that could be from whatever he gave you. Your shoulders are stiff and you try to tug again on the headboard.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “those will dissolve soon.”

Abruptly, he gets up, wiping his cock against the inside of your panties, before he slips them back on and settles them on your hips. His come drips out of you and into the panties, keeping you wet and reminded of him. How did this happen? You never let anyone inside the safety of your home.

Moments pass as you process this. Faintly, you hear his feet on the carpet before he’s back in your room, sipping on the soda he brought you.

“Thirsty?” He asks and angles the straw to your mouth.

“My shoulders hurt,” you murmur out.

“Then next time don’t fight me. I think you understand that now, don’t you?”

Even without touching you, he is still inside of you. There is a faint pulsing from your clit that radiates down to the soles of your feet. Rhythmic and matches your pulse as you come down. Your arms and thighs goosebump from the chill in the air and you can feel the balloon in your head deflate. But you’re still unable to respond to him so you lie there, surrendering to his power over you. 

[diamond-coral]

Bargaining Chip

Hello! This is my first time posting on Tumblr ever:) I pulled this one-shot from a fic I posted on AO3 a few months ago but the plot is irrelavent and I changed it from first person to second as well as some details so it can be read as a stand alone. There’s some plot from the actual story but you really don’t need to know it at all.

There might be a few errors, especially because I changed the entire point of view and converted it to present tense from past tense so sorry:) 

Loki manages to get his hands on you and exchanges you and your body for his ticket to independence from the Avengers. Bucky gets to go first.

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters included: Loki, and a little bit of Tony, Steve, and Thor

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY!!! SMUT (NON-CON TOUCHING, FORCED ORAL SEX (m receiving), KNIFE THREATS, DARK! AVENGERS, BUCKY’S AN ASSHOLE IN THIS, DEGRADATION, BASICALLY FORCED PROSTITUTION) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

You awake in the passenger seat of your own car with only foggy memories of you and your partner before everything had gone dark. Your mission from the CIA...breaking and entering the motherfucking Avenger’s facility and managing to escape...you were so close. If it weren’t for him. In your haze, you look to see who could possibly have the audacity to be driving your car, and there sits Loki, the God of Mischief, who you had only scene on the news, driving one hand and inspecting something in his other.

“Good evening my lady. Sleep well?” he mocks without taking his eyes off the item in his hand which upon further inspection from you looks to be... a red leash?

What the hell?

“I do hope you like your outfit,” he continues. “I think I assembled quite the get up for you.”

Looking down, you let out a muffled scream that was cut off by a strip of duct tape. Your hands are bound in your lap, but that isn’t what horrifies you. It’s what’s underneath them. You take into account your bare legs, fully on display, with a black dress leaving little to the imagination. The top half is just as horrifying with it’s plunging neckline. Your legs end with a pair of strappy gold heels that ensures any chances of running away to be futile while your upper arms are adorned in golden bracelets accented with emeralds. Whether the emeralds were real or fake, you could care less. You have bigger problems to worry about.

“What the fuck?!”

Is what you try to say, but the gag only makes it come out as a mangled ball of muffled murmurs. Though the chuckle Loki lets out implies he understands your enraged speaking attempt.

“You, my dear, are going to be a bargaining chip. I heard about your little escapade at the Avenger’s facility last night. Impressive, I must say, but my brother and his little hero posse had been looking for you relentlessly after that. They are practically obsessed with catching the women that managed to break into their high security building.”

Loki takes a sharp turn into a parking garage, narrowly missing the wall. You squeal as your precious car runs over the curb.

“I forgot how much I hate mortal transportation devices. But Stark had to build this tower in the middle of New York to feed his ever-growing ego and now I’m the one that has to rely on a car to get me there,” he grumbles while pulling into a parking space. He takes a deep breath once the car is parked. “Now, I’m going to remove that gag out of your mouth, and if you scream, I will peel your skin off of your body in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Understood?”

You nod frantically and he rips the tape off, extracting a whimper from your now stinging mouth. You open your mouth for him to take the wad of cloth out that was under the duct tape. As he extracts it, you snap your mouth shut in an attempt to bite him, but he’s quick to evade and grabs your jaw harshly.

“What did I say before?” he seethes. 

“You said not to scream. I didn’t scream. Now let go of my face.”

Loki roughly throughs your face to the side, letting go, and looks around the surroundings of the car, probably checking for any unwanted onlookers.

“Out of the car. Now,” he orders and you hastily oblige using your bound hands to open the door.

As you shut the door, you catch a glimpse of your own reflection and grimace. You look like a hooker. Aside from the skimpy outfit, your hair was pinned up and intertwined with gold strands. Your makeup is done as well. Sultry eye shadow and dark red lipstick.

“I didn’t know the God of Mischief was a makeup guru,” you jab.

He ignores you and harshly pushes you forward. “Walk.”

“Where’s my partner?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki replies. “She has other uses than the one I currently need you for.”

“And what use am I needed for?”

“I already told you. By the gods, you mortals are stupid. You are to be a bargaining chip, (Y/N).”

Your blood runs cold. “How do you know my name?” you ask.

“I know everything about you. Including your peculiar abilities.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“Now, don’t worry,” he adds. “As amusing to me as it would be, I have no interest in enlightening the Avengers to your secret identity. As far as they will know, I am simply giving them the criminal that broke into their compound.”

“And what’s in it for you?” you ask as he guidesyou into an elevator.

After pushing a button, he goes to fix his dark green tie. “Clever girl now aren’t you?”

“Answer the question.”

“How about-no?” he muses and a soft ding resonates through the elevator.

The doors opened and, for a moment, you forget the predicament your in. Inside was the most beautiful penthouse you had ever seen. The opposite wall was made entirely out of glass allowing a view of the New York City night skyline. Everything little piece of furniture each looks as expensive as your car, but your focus becomes drawn to the minibar. The Avengers were all sitting there, laughing, and most were obviously drunk.

“Here James, try some of this,” Thor booms.

Bucky makes a face. “Why would I drink something from another planet meant for Gods?”

“Jeez Buck it’s the only thing that can get you and I drunk,” Steve slurs and claps Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s your birthday. Live it up a little.”

Bucky hesitates before grabbing the flask Thor offers him and throwing his head back, downing the flask in one go.

Loki seems to have enough of the party scene as he clears his throat to interrupt them.

“Gentlemen-”

Before Loki uttered another word all the Avengers clambered from their seats to grab their weapons, but their intoxicated state just makes it a comical sight. Captain America falls over in an attempt to reach for his shield below the table. Tony Stark’s iron man mask smacks him over the head as he fails to turn in time to catch it on his face. Sam Wilson chokes on his drink and falls backwards off his barstool in shock.

“I come bearing no ill tidings.” Loki spread his arms.

“Then why bother coming at all?” Thor growls, shifting his hammer to his right hand.

“I’ve come to make an offer.”

With that, Loki snatches your wrist and throws you towards him and the other men. You stumbled in you stilettos and let out a yelp as you land on the floor looking up at the 5 present Avengers: Thor, the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Iron Man, and the Falcon. They all look down on you with perplexed looks etched onto their faces.

“You guys have been so caught up and stressed about finding your security breaches that I was generous enough to do some finding myself,” Loki explains.

“And how do we know you didn’t just pluck some prostitute off the street?” Caps eyes rake up and down your body.

Loki scoffs. “Always the skeptic captain. Does this answer your question?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flash-drive.

Tony snatches it from his hands. “Jarvis, what’s on this drive?” he asks, holding the drive up to a scanner in the glasses he’s wearing.

“It appears to be the files you have been collecting the 2 vigilantes you have been tracking and-.”

“Okay thanks J!” Tony interrupts quickly before Jarvis could spill any more information. He proceeds to storm up to your cowering and kneeling form that hadn’t dared move and harshly grabs your jaw.

Jesus, what was with these men and your poor, bruised jaw?

“Why would you possibly need this information?” he asks calmly, but his eyes are feral. He studies you and his brows furrow. Did he manage to piece it all together that you were the alleged vigilante they had been hunting? He lets go of your jaw and throws you back on the floor. “What business do you have looking for them?”

Looking for them? You let out a sigh of relief.

“None of your business,” you spit.

“Anyways,” Loki continues, and the drive suddenly disintegrated in Tony’s hand while reappearing in Loki’s. “I will happily hand over this seemingly important information along with the girl for you to do with her as you please, but…” He pauses. “Only if you stop tracking my current whereabouts.”

“And why would we do that, Loki? You’re dangerous,” Steve notes.

“I was dangerous,” Loki interjects. “I have been a good boy haven’t I? I would like to lead a normal life without you imbeciles tailing my every move. If I slip, Thor here will know within the second if I’m involved with anyone wrong doings, won’t you brother dear?”

Thor grunts at that statement.

“Besides, Stark’s satellite can track any magical energy if I use it. Which I won’t.”

“Fine. Now hand over the drive,” Tony snaps and holds his hand out.

After Loki drops the small gadget into Tony’s hand, he hauls you up and spins you around to face him.

His voice is quiet and low. “Be glad I didn’t tell them about my plans for you friend. It would be a shame if they found out about her abilities...and yours.”

He spins you back around to face the 5 men whose eyes were now raking up and down your body. “Easy on the eyes isn’t she?” Loki mentions, hands falling on your waist making you squirm. “You know, I almost considered keeping her for myself. Her exotic beauty is that of a pleasure maiden on Asgard.” Your struggles are invigorated at his implications. “Enjoy your whore.” And with that, he gives you one final shove before vanishing.

It’s silent for half a minute before one of the men speak up.

“Alright who wants to take her for a spin?” Tony asks, clapping his hands together. “I vote the birthday boy gets first dibs. Huh, Buckaroo?”

You blanch at the idea. Were they really going to go through with what Loki wanted? What happened to the valiant heroes you saw on your screen?

“Wait Tony, you can’t be seriously considering Loki’s suggestion?” Sam Wilson sounds surprised.

Tony shrugs. “Why not, Birdie? It’s either this or high security prison and I don’t think she wants to rot in a cell.”

“She is standing right here and would rather rot in hell than do what Loki had in mind,” you hiss.

“Well it’s a good thing we weren’t asking for her opinion,” Tony says.

“Tony’s right, Sam,” Steve adds slowly. “We bust our asses out there. We deserve something nice.”

“Day after day we save this pathetic world, and no thanks are given. Just everyone saying what we did wrong. We should’ve left the world to fend for itself after they tried shoving those ridiculous accords down our throats,” Thor murmurs

Sam raises both of his hands up in defense. “Fine. Do what you want with her. I’m gonna head out.” And with that he leaves. Your heart sinks, watching the only glimmer of hope, your knight in shining armor, walk out the door. Your self-pity party is cut short by an arm snaking around your waist.

Bucky Barnes, trained assassin, mass murderer, and now current Avenger, puts his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, sending shivers down your spine while you stand frozen like a deer in headlights. “What do you say, doll? Wanna finish what we started the other night?” His hand on your waist slowly drifts down to your ass.

You stomp your heel down on his foot eliciting a groan of pain. “Last time I checked, you were in the dirt, and I was driving away that night after a successful robbery. There’s nothing to finish.”

He moves quickly as he rips your hair out of what’s securing it up, using the opportunity to tangle his hand into the roots and drag you away to a separate room. He wrenches open and throws you in, leaving you to stumble and trip. A searing pain on your forehead signaled that you hit your head.

“How about we use that snarky mouth of yours for something better hmm?” His voice is ice cold with malice as he grips your hair and yanks you up.

You cry out in pain, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he sneers down at you. Hearing the sound of a belt unbuckling and pants unzipping, you shut your eyes.

A tear escapes, cascading down your face, but his thumb gently wipes it away.

“Open your eyes, doll,” he coos.

You shake your head and screw them shut even tighter.

“I said...OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!” he roars and your eyes fly open only to see his member sticking out of his slacks right in front of your face. He’s almost fully hard as precum dribbles out of the tip. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now, since you can’t seem to keep your snarky mouth shut, let’s put it to better use. How bout that?”

You don’t move, and he sighed as you look down to the floor. You hear some shuffling, a small click, and suddenly something cold and sharp is pressing under your chin, tilting your gaze to his steel blue eyes.

“Let’s try this again.” He pushes the knife harder, digging it a little deeper, but not enough to draw blood. A knife. This dirty bastard has a knife. “Suck. My. Cock.”

Pushing all your pride aside, you direct your gaze to the task in front of you. Bucky lets out an approving hum and the knife is removed from your throat. You swallow before opening your mouth and dragging your tongue from his base to the tip before wrapping your lips around him and sucking lightly.

Bucky was no slacker down there, you had to give him that. You ease your mouth down his shaft and his head tilts back.

“Oh fuck that’s it,” he moans. “Take my dick down your throat.” He grunts. His metal hand fists your hair to push your head down, sliding a few more inches into your throat. “Oh-that’s a good whore,” he breathes.

A gag is torn from you and you slap your hands against his thighs to imply you couldn’t take much more. Bucky’s only response is another grunt as he jams the rest of his length down your throat leaving your only intake of oxygen to come from your nose which was now mashed right above the base of his thick cock. As quickly as he pushed you down before, he pulls you back off by your hair, letting you go to wretch, gasping for air and freedom. A strand of saliva still connects from his tip to my lips.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He snags your hair again. “Open wide, slut.”

You do just that and he begins to fuck your throat at his own pace, sliding his entire length down every time. Tears brim at your eyes, not just from the lack of oxygen, but the humiliation of the moment as well. The time passes much too slowly for your liking, minutes dragging on for eternity, before he begins to reach his climax.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His cock twitches in your mouth.He holds your head with both hands as he releases straight into your mouth, warm thick strands of his release coating the back of your throat. He pulls out  with a pop and smirks down at you. “Good little sluts swallow” he orders.

You glare up at him, making a show of not doing anything.

“Well?” he demands and raises a dark brow.

You spit his own climax onto his expensive shoes.

“Why you-!” He raises his hand, getting ready to send a smack to your face.

“Barnes!” A female voice comes from the doorway as the door flies open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

There stood none other than the Black Widow.

[timextoxhajima]

Accelerate [Dana’s 600 Special]

Track: Feel It by Michele Morrone / Drunk-Dazed by ENHYPHEN / Insanity by THE BOYZ

Member: I swear he’s not even my bias

Genre: i-ion know-

Word Count: it’s pretty damn long so please don’t make me write a part two

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal​ @lsangyeons​

The first time you laid eyes on Lee Hyunjae, you were both in Italy as he was being blinded by a billion flashes in his face. The light reflects off his dark hair - which was once a brighter color - as he maintains that polite, miniscule smile on his face. Most of the photographers and interviewers were male, for the sole reason that female photographers and interviewers would be too stunned to continue at their job. 

Not that the males rushing to get a shot of his face or a string of words out from him now weren’t stunned themselves. 

Despite being hailed for looking like every woman’s wet dream, Lee Hyunjae was more known for being South Korea’s youngest first class F1 racer. Sure, if he ever bothered to utter a single syllable of speech to you, you could pass out on the spot. 

But right now, all you wanted was to get an exclusive modelling contract from Louis Vuitton to his manager. Not Lee Hyunjae, not his bodyguards, his manager.

“Lee Hyunjae! Do you have anything you want to say before your final race of the season? How do you feel about being so close to coming out top?”

His manager stands a step behind him to Hyunjae’s right, and gives the racer the green light to respond. The flashes and sounds of clicking from the cameras were so overwhelming, it’s impossible for you to even imagine how it felt like being in the spotlight.

But the celebrity couldn’t receive the question any less gracefully, and offers one of those swoon-worthy smiles before leaning into the microphone.

“I feel nervous but I’ve prepared for this. Consistency is key and I believe in myself, so if that answers your question...” 

“Do you have any other plan other than racing? Word has it that you’ve received offers to be the face of Gucci and Louis Vuitton!”

The contract in your briefcase is still ironed out safely in its file when you pull it behind your legs, away from plain sight.

Hyunjae turns to look at his manager when the question posed obviously isn’t one of those in the list prepared, so the manager steps forward, and coincidentally spots you at the back of the crowd. He recognises you from the meeting he had with your higher-up.

“My apologies but Mr Lee isn’t permitted to answer to any of these, so if this is all then we must be going. Thank you for coming to the conference tonight.” 

Lee Hyunjae and his manager step back away from the microphone and bow for the press to continue their aggressive, merciless snapshotting. You wait patiently for the duo to disappear behind the conference area, and for the press to switch their attention to the pictures they have on their camera before you make your round backstage. 

The 5-star hotel is grand in all the ways possible: chandelier, white wines and champagnes being served in waiting areas and water was served sparkling. Finally fishing out the tag that you were given at the registration for entry to the event, you hand it to the lady at the meetings’ conference registration counter.

You wonder how the Louis Vuitton logos on your clothes and briefcase had gone unnoticed earlier at the showcase. Even on the tag, the ‘LV’ logo was so apparent. How far does the company need to go in order for them to have the logo printed in some shiny, golden print on the tag-

“Welcome to the F1 internal press conference and meeting, Miss l/n!” She pulls a sticker off a page and presses it onto the tag below the LV logo. “If you need anything at all, please just approach one of our staffs. All waiters and staff concerned will have a red tie tonight.”

“Alright, thank you,” The tag gets slid across the table to you. “Where’s the nearest washroom?”

“Oh, she’ll show you the way,” The lady gestures behind her for one of the staff members with a red tie to accompany you. 

“Oh-” Slightly taken aback by the aggressive escorting, the younger female grins at you before holding out her arm in the direction of the washroom. “Thanks.”

The hotel’s grandeur only gets more and more apparent as your heels click through the hallways and corridors. For an event night, the hotel’s pretty desolate. Then again, the press conference happened outside where all the photographers and journalists were. The one you were here for was an internal press meeting, and last you checked, there were fewer than 10 names on that list. 

“I can find my way back to the main hall after,” The slight panic in your voice humors you when the staff member seemed ready to wait outside the washroom. “Thanks.”

She bows and takes her leave only after you enter the bathroom; you can tell from the sound of her shoes echoing down the corridor. The scent of lavender is so overwhelming, you could almost taste it. Walls of cream and silver strokes cut through the tiles, a vase made of bronze sits in the corner of the platform where the sinks were, filled with roses.

The crisp reflection of yourself stares down at you in the mirror; it’s one of the few times you were dressed in branded goods head to toe. None of the articles of clothing you were wearing right now, you owned. Usually, you’d be gaping in awe at how beautiful these places where - after all, you were in a five-star hotel in Italy. 

But no, after almost five years of working with Louis Vuitton as a brand ambassador and subsequently becoming an assistant model-scout has numbed your habit of wandering eyes. 

The LV briefcase gets set on a dry area of marble, your fingers automatically clutching the edges of the sink as the jewelry on your ears, neck and hands twinkle under the fluorescent lighting. The makeup looks close to perfect - because someone had done it for you. Your clothes and shoes fit right down to your skin - because they were tailored for you. 

You were more upset you couldn’t sell it off and donate the money over having actual ownership of these fabrics. 

News of the orphanage had reached you hours after you touched down in Italy, and your heart yearns to stop the ache that seeps through you. They had run out of funds to continue the orphanage, the kids already enrolled would be split and sent to other organizations instead. 

What you had once called your home was going to be non-existent in another years’ time. Those whom you called your teachers, mentors, parents... were going to be in places you were not familiar with. The children that you always bring back food, clothes and toys for were going to be separated into different cities and states. As if not having a family was not bad enough, the people you now called your family was going to be split apart. 

You hadn’t noticed your eyes were closed until you opened them, the weight of the makeup on your face urging you to rub your eyes and skin but the discipline written into your hands stop you from doing so. 

Standing back to fix your posture, your eyes land on the one garnish on your body that doesn’t belong to Louis Vuitton - the ring on your middle finger. A gold band that looked more like a wedding ring than anything else. 

It had the name of the orphanage engraved on the inner side, so it feels lighter on your hands than it would otherwise be. 

A deep breath expands your chest as you take your briefcase and step away from the sink, attention scrutinising yourself more than you actually would.

The corridors of the hotel collect you back into its wealth again, drawing the thickest line between the realities of people like you and those who enjoy the luxurious life. 

The racer’s manager was sitting at the end of the meeting table when you enter, and you immediately recognise half the list of names you had seen before. Gucci’s manager was here personally. Another racer and his manager were here too. Stefano Domenicali and Michael Masi were here. 

Why were they here? Their names weren’t on the list.

“Ah, Miss l/n!” Masi gets off his seat and holds out his hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Honor on my part,” Reaching out a palm, you smile the most graceful smile you can find in the muscles of your face. 

“Can I get you a drink? We’re still waiting for Mr Lee before we begin our discussion on the collaboration.”

Collaboration?

“Pardon my ignorance but... I thought I was here for a sponsorship or a model-contract request for Mr Lee... I wasn’t expecting your attendance or... a collaboration.”

Domenicalli chuckles heartily at his seat as he whirls around to gesture to one of the staff members in the room. “Will you get her a Mojito?” 

Then he stands up and pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. “We’ve been looking for a company that’s willing to do a three-way partnership with us and Mr Lee’s agency. Right now, it’s boiled down to both Louis Vuitton and Gucci so... it depends on which contract Mr Lee’s agency is more interested in.”

“Oh... Um, if that’s the case then I’m not entirely sure if the contract I have with me right now is appropriate-”

“Oh, it’s not. LV has already told us you’d sell them better unscripted than if planned,” Masi leans forward and mutters away from your ear. “Don’t tell Gucci though. Their manager’s only here because they panicked.”

He pulls away and before he can say anything else, the door clicks open with a staff member pushing the door open for the star of the night. 

“My apologies,” He’s changed out of his formal suit and is in a more comfortable set of hoodie and baggy pants now. “Did I keep everybody waiting?”

“No, not at all!” Masi throws his hands up into the air and beckons you to meet Lee Hyunjae. “Might I introduce... Miss l/n from LV. She’ll be the one pitching the collaboration for LV today.”

Hyunjae’s eyes are wide and clear, despite his fringe covering his eyelids. “My pleasure,” He holds out his hand and you take it to shake, but he doesn’t stop there.

Lifting the back of your hand to his lips, the contact is soft and gentle on your skin. 

Your hairs stand against your will and goosebumps erupt all over your neck when he pulls away, eyes now locked with yours. Nobody else in the room bothers to provide a reaction - it’s like he’s done this before and it’s perfectly normal. 

The rest of the evening is spent listening to your own pitch, and Gucci’s, but you couldn’t really keep your head in the game when... all that was in Lee Hyunjae’s head was... you.

You’d be lying had you said you were comfortable with how much he was glancing at you across the table, obviously not listening to Gucci’s pitch at all. His manager was the one busy jotting down all kinds of things, almost like it was an act of dictation. But the racer’s eyes fail to leave you for any longer than five seconds, and it was becoming glaringly obvious that he wasn’t really paying attention to the pitch. 

Gucci’s pitch finally finishes, giving you some kind of escape because now his manager is pummeling him for not listening to the benefits provided as Gucci’s ambassador. The contract document from LV was sitting before you, very single term and condition now inapplicable because you had just pitched something that wasn’t in the instruction manual.

God help me not to get fired.

“Mr Lee has some to a decision,” Masi claps his hands together, earning the attention of everybody in the room. “The Formula One federation would like to officially welcome Lee Hyunjae as the brand ambassador in a stellar collaboration... with Gucci.”

The Gucci ambassador scout smiles with triumph as the room provides a round of applause, you included. 

“Thank you so much, Miss l/n, for coming down. Your pitch was nothing short of commendable and I will make sure your manager will hear of that, alright?” Masi and Domenicali take turns shaking your hand. In your peripheral vision, you watch the Gucci ambassador shake hands with both Lee Hyunjae and his manager. 

Masi and Domenicali finish up with you, and Lee Hyunjae’s manager approaches you for the handshake with his client behind him. “That was a stellar... impromptu pitch, Miss l/n.”

A gentle chuckle rolls off your tongue as you pull your hand away, tightly clutching the briefcase. “I work better when things aren’t planned, so...”

“We’ll... we’ll keep in touch, LV. You’re an excellent scout with marvelous presentation skills. It makes me sad Mr Lee didn’t choose you.”

Your eyes drift to Hyunjae’s and he’s already looking at you like he hadn’t eaten in three days and you were a bowl of soup.

“Of course we’ll keep in touch. He’ll still be valuable asset and ambassador after his contract with Gucci ends,” Ignoring him, you return your attention to his manager. 

“Now, let’s hope the Prince of Korea doesn’t screw anything up, yeah?” His manager grins as he pats Hyunjae on the back. “Anyway, it’s been a mighty pleasure. We’ll be in touch.”

You lower your head as a small nod, turning on your heels to exit the room. Even then you can feel his eyes on your back. 

By the time you’re back in your hotel room (which was in the same hotel as you had the internal meeting), your feet are half dead from the heels you were wearing and the makeup on your face was starting to wear off. It took a nice, warm bath and a rather long conversation with your own manager on the phone as he congratulated on pulling through an impromptu pitch. 

He finally finishes, and you drop your phone into the towel by the bathtub as the steam fogs up the mirror. But your peace is cut short when someone rings the doorbell of your room. 

“Room service for Miss l/n!”

Tightening the robe around your waist, you pull open the door and watch the hotel staff hold out a bottle of wine and an envelop. “Mr Lee Hyunjae sends his regards, Miss.”

Surprised, you receive the bottle. The hotel staff bows and leaves, letting you turn around and the door click shut. 

To: Miss l/n

I apologise for the inappropriate staring earlier this evening. This is an attempt to compensate for my behaviour. I’ll be leaving Italy the day after tomorrow so if you could do me the pleasure of having dinner with me tomorrow... I’d like to be acquainted.

I’ve made a reservation at La Terrazza for 7pm. I’ll meet you in the guest lobby downstairs at 6.30 to pick you up. 

Love, 

Lee Hyunjae

You can see how the material of the paper trembles a little between your fingers. The thought runs, So he’s a creep and a national treasure. He can’t hurt you, right?

Again, the evening gown is more than fitting on you. It’s been tailored to hug all your curves at your chest and your hips and thighs and it exposes your leg where the slit is. It’s like LV knew you had an important evening appointment coming up and had you pack all these different sets appropriate for the event. 

The usher standing by the guest lobby nods when you head for the door, and he pushes it open to reveal only one person in it: Lee Hyunjae. 

On the phone, he whirls around when he hears the doors swish against the carpet flooring. His eyes are glimmering under the soft, rosy lighting and the glossy collar of his suit looks like plastic from the reflection. 

“I gotta go, I’ll call you back.”

The phone clicks to black before he opens his blazer and slides it into his inner breast pocket. 

“I’m gonna guess that’s your manager,” Your fingers wrap around the clutch tightly as he takes a few steps toward you, obviously very stunned by how different you looked compared from the previous day. 

“Uh, no, actually,” That million-dollar smile gleams at you. He reaches up to his forehead and scratches his brow. His hair is styled upwards so seeing the glory of his forehead was pretty enticing. “My mom. Making sure I’m doing well and fine here.”

He stops a safe distance away from you, finished with taking in whatever of you his eyes and memory can allow him. “Not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“I think LV would fire me if they knew I stood the Lee Hyunjae up.”

Hyunjae licks his lips then purses them together, attention finally peeling off your face as he reaches for your hand. He presses his lips into the back of your palm, then casually hooks your arm around his while he walks to your side. “Ready to go?”

At a loss of words for his flirtatious mannerism, all you can afford is a nod.

But as if your vocabulary bank wasn’t already exhausted, you can’t help but stare in complete astonishment when you are led to the matte black Sian Roadster already waiting at the drop-off point right outside the lobby. 

“Have them send the Dior package to Miss l/n’s room by 9pm,” He instructs the bell boy by the hotel entrance as he reaches for the vehicle door. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Yes, Mr Lee.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait a minute,” Your vision is finally peeled off the car when Lee Hyunjae pulls the door open. “What Dior package?”

“Just a token of appreciation from me, that’s all,” He releases your arm as he guides you into the vehicle. “I knew if I gave it to you over dinner, you’d reject, so...”

Twitching his eyebrow, he smirks and retreats, closing the car door. 

Flirt.

The vehicle moves off with a sharp rev of the engine, and you almost feel guilty for being able to be comfortable in in your clothes, shoes, sports car and on the way to a fancy-ass restaurant. 

If only things could be like that for everybody and everything. 

“So, when are you leaving Italy?”

“Oh, um... tomorrow too actually,” Rome’s lights are wondrous on the outside, some of them blinding you. “I have... something to attend.”

“Hmm, that’s... vague.”

You turn to eye him at his silent call for clarification. “I’m attending a closing event; help out with administrations.”

“Like... a pet store or something?”

“Yeah, ‘or something’.”

“That confidential, huh?” He lets out a soft chuckle. 

The gut in your abdomen tells you not to look at him. He’ll see right through you, figure out that there’s something more to it than something ‘confidential’. 

“Yeah,” You mask it with a sigh. “Funds and things.”

You can feel his attention sink into your back as silence befell the atmosphere. 

There’s a kind of light in his eyes when he talks about racing. When he’s describing the feeling of adrenaline in his fingers, gripped around the steering wheel. He’s unexpectedly kind to the service at the restaurant, then again he was a celebrity and he had a reputation to uphold. 

It’s the kind of light that made you panic throughout dinner, because there’s no way this specimen of a man would ever pay you a second thought. Maybe you were going to be his Italy fling that he would boast about to his friends and colleagues and they’d laugh at you without you even knowing. 

What was a rich, handsome racer even doing, single? It was too good to be true, and even if it was, you? Of all people?

Dream on.

“It’s been... an amazing night. Thank you so much for dinner.”

Lee Hyunjae walks you into the lift, letting you press the button to your floor first. 

“I’ll walk you back. I have time.”

Standing with your feet together, in the safety of your gown, your hands are holding your clutch like your life depended on it. You could tell that he wasn’t the most comfortable now, not with his hands over one another and placed politely on his abdomen.

When the lift door dings open, the silence remains. He trails behind you as you walk your way to your room, hands fumbling through your clutch to search for your keycard. The slick of the door is fast and you push the door open, with a black and silver box with the label ‘DIOR’ printed on it sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Oh, my God!” You rush in and grab the box, eyes widening as you turn to him, who has one arm extended to keep the door open. The box was almost as big as a pillow.

There’s a soft, warm smile on his face. A stark contrast to all his flirty ministrations throughout the evening. “Goodnight, Miss l/n. Sleep well and have a safe flight.”

“Wha-” Then he lowers his head, and turns around. “Wait!”

Without another moment of hesitation, he disappears down the corridor and the door swings shut. 

It feels ironically empty. Your hands are carrying this Godforsaken box of a gift and yet you cannot think of a way to properly thank the person who gave it to you. With slight reluctance, your fingers find the edge of the cover.

It’s a beautiful Dior blazer, packaged with a perfume and a cosmetics set. The cream letter in it is handwritten and signed the racer himself.

I wish we had more time. Love,  Lee Hyunjae

The nauseating sensation of your heart sinking in your chest beats all the logic in your brain when you find yourself reaching for the door handle. The box is mindlessly thrown back onto the bed as you rush out, kicking off your heels in the moment of folly. (Of course, remembering to use the door latch to keep the door open.)

“Hyunjae!” You call down the corridor, and he was just about to enter the lift. He turns, providing you with a gorgeous view of his jaw. 

It feels like a fairytale, when you run down the carpeted corridor, barefooted and still in your gown. The urge to throw your arms around him far supercedes your brain yelling at you not to, but you do it anyway. 

He catches you by the waist as your rest your forehead in his blazer, arms already struggling to meet the height of his shoulders. 

A whisper. “I wish we had more time too.”

He pushes you back by your upper arms, tucking one bit of your hair behind your ear. “If time is what you want, then I’ll make time.”

“But... I- Will you get in trouble?”

He looks you dead in the eye and subtly shakes his head. 

Time stops. 

Fear. That’s what you’re feeling. 

Then he tilts his head and slowly leans in. 

“I don’t think I’d care if I do.”

His breath hits your upper lip and your instincts flutter your lids shut. 

White wine and strawberries from dinner. That’s what he tastes like.

Warmth radiates off his palms and into your cheeks as he holds your face close to his, unable to resist the satisfaction and sweetness you were providing him. In this moment of intimacy, he loses all sense of realism and urgency - all he wants is you to himself, for the rest of the night until the sun rises. 

Then he’d have to worry about never seeing you again because his manager had chosen Gucci over LV. 

But right now, he has your heart and soul in his hands, as does his in yours. 

Being the romantic and (probably) egoistic man of a celebrity he is, he lowers himself and slides his arms where the back of your knees would be, somehow never breaking the kiss. The material of the gown dribbles over the cotton of his suit and your arm circles behind his neck, only minimizing the distance between the two of you. 

It feels like you’re getting married in this black and gold sparkly evening gown when he pushes the door open with his back. The scent of the room is inviting, but definitely none in comparison to the scent of his cologne beginning to stain your hands and your clothes. 

Gently resting you into the cool sheets of the bed, he pulls away to remove the Dior package off the bed, placing it on the mini coffee table by the bed. 

You were never one to deal with one night stands. Hell, the only person you’d ever slept with was some stupid kid back in the orphanage when your stupid teenage hormones were running-

He pulls off his blazer and leans in again, picking your awkward hands and resting them on the knot of his tie. His fingers are grazing the skin on your upper arm, trailing down to your cheek and then your hairline where he combs his hands through your hair. 

The knot on the tie comes undone with some slight tugs, and you slide it out from under his collar. Undoing only the first one, you rest your palms against his chest, creating a small rift where the air rushes to your lips where his should be.

He’s slightly stunned at the slightest breakage, but he is overwhelmed with more care and concern than he was upset. “Why? What’s wrong?” He traces your jaw and rests his fingers on your chin, noses almost touching.

“Are you sure... You want to do this? I can’t risk you losing your career,” Your index finger traces the likes of his cheekbone. “You barely just started.”

Hyunjae shakes his head subtly, taking your hands to his lips and pressing them into the back of your palm. “When I saw you in that room, I was... star struck. You’d think being the celebrity in the room would mean everything, but I felt like I was nothing if I didn’t know you, much less be able to get close to you.”

And for someone who hasn’t really had a biological family to love, his words stuck. 

“I just... knew. There are some things in the world you can work for, but I don’t think any amount of effort can give me you.”

His brown orbs find your gaze and it melts you thoroughly. Like ice cream on a hot day; like the way the ocean washes against the sand by the beach, taking grains of sand away with it - the same way Hyunjae was winning you bit by bit, if not already all of you. 

Your hands find his collar again, and it tightens around the stiff material to pull him back down. He smiles into the kiss, hands pressing into the mattress by your hair while you undo the rest of his buttons. His skin is hot under the shirt, blood running on the adrenaline and tension he was riding on from the intimacy. Muscles pumped and heart racing, you finally get his shirt off and he does you the honor of dropping it to the ground. 

He gives you time to gasp for air while he dips his nose into your neck, inhaling your perfume and the scent of the hotel shampoo in your hair. His back muscles tense up under your cold fingertips as you run them along his spine. It’s almost beast-like, when he flexes his arms and every single move shifts his shoulder blades under his skin. His lips leave gentle pecks in your neck and your exposed collar bone, letting goosebumps erupt all over your skin. 

His hand caresses your waist as a way of request, and you arch your back just enough for him to find the zipper on the back of your gown. The vibrations of the zip being pulled downwards already feels like little bolts of electricity up your spine, and the straps around your shoulders loosen with every inch unzipped. 

He’s done, when his fingers return to your shoulders to push the straps off. The cool air kisses your skin in spots where he isn’t touching with any part of his body. The silk of the gown gently slides off with every inch of a movement you make, more and more of your torso exposed to him. 

Sliding one of his arms under your lower back, he pulls you out of the dress instead of stripping you of it as he helps you further up the bed. Your hands press into the mattress in a bid to help him shift yourself without breaking the sloppy, messy kiss. Your back finally meets the pillows and he pushes the gown off the bed with his leg. 

Chin tilting to the ceiling, he finally creates some distance between the two of you, eyes drifting down to your collar bone and chest still covered. His palms are hot around your waist as he trails butterfly pecks on your cleavage, while your fingers find his hair to tousle and grip. 

Goosebumps start to surface when his breath is heavy on your stomach, then he reaches your underwear and it’s almost embarrassing to have him kiss you. 

Your clouded vision is manually stuck to the ceiling when you can feel your face burning with adrenaline. The tickle of the material when it gets pulled off your hips and down your legs bring your cheeks more color, and before you know it, Hyunjae has your breath hitched in your throat. 

He rests your thighs on his shoulders as he works his way around, the bare minimum sanity left inside you decides to grip onto the sheets instead of ripping out his hair. 

Chills shoot up your spine mercilessly, emanating in the form of lewd mewls directed into the air. The crown of your head meets the cushioned head board of the bed when his grip on your thighs tighten to keep you from squirming too much. 

Without warning, he drags a finger down your sensitiveness and slides it in easily, the sensation erupting a more-than-shameful groan from you. Pulling away, he adds another finger before shifting his attention back to your upper body, now eyeing the last piece of material covering your chest. But he captures your lips first to earn your attention, and your arms naturally find your way around his neck to keep him close. 

His free hand goes around your back to unhook your lingerie, and it’s nothing but a new addition to all the clothes on the carpet now. He removes his fingers, and breaks the kiss first, for the sole reason of giving you a perfect view of him licking his glistening skin. 

You can feel your brows furrow with frustration now, the warmth from him dissipating when he leans back on his heels in a kneeling position. By providing you a gorgeous view of his being while he undoes his belt, he’s only adding more fire to the fuel. 

It’s significant enough to stretch out the material of his boxers, and so he climbs over you as he removes his last bit of clothing. He harshly yanks you downwards into a lying position by your ankle, and the sharp friction against your back is an addition to the heat between the two of you. 

His breath is heavy on your lips as he rests his palms by your ears, weight pushing in the mattress. “Tell me if it hurts, love.”

Then he presses his lips into yours, like his life depended on it, and in one swift motion, he buries himself inside you like it was the most natural thing to do. 

You suck all the breath out of him as you gasp into the kiss, and he finds your arms to hook around his neck and shoulders. 

If you could feel the taste of honey throughout your body, this must be how it feels. 

He gives you some moments before he starts grinding his hips slowly, his palms finding your thighs and digging into your flesh as he hooks them around his hips. 

Breathless, you pull away first, whimpers in the back of your throat louder than what you would’ve expected. His nose dips into your neck again, arms now stretched out to use the headboard as support when he picks up the pace. 

Cursing under your breath, you feel guilty for the bliss that was spreading through you. Your nerves are all heightened by the adrenaline and your vision is blurred from the sole nature of the intimate act. 

He’s not fast, but every spot he’s hitting feels like cloud nine over and over again. 

Like a spark in the dark, the sacred spot reveals itself in the form of harsher breaths and groans. Your fingernails dig into his back and your thighs are losing stamina to remain wrapped around him. 

“That’s it,” He breaths into your ear, pressing a kiss into your lower jaw. “Come for me.”

Tremors burst through your body like lightning in a storm upon his request. He helps you ride it out with a few more thrusts before he pulls out himself, releasing on your stomach, chest heaving. 

Resting his forehead on yours, he smiles. “Let’s hope that one day I wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out.”

You scoff, slightly tired. “We’ll see.”

You are woken up by the unfamiliar warmth you normally don’t have under the blanket. White sheets and tousled hair come into your field of vision before you can process the face, partially hidden, but eyes wide open.

“Jesus,” Your morning breath billows out between your lips and you swallow to dampen your dry throat. The room looks too damn bright for it to be morning. “What time is it?”

“7am. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. My manager hasn’t called me so... we have time to spare.” 

You shuffle around under the sheets and your arms slide under the pillow where its cool. He shifts and pulls out his arm to rest on his tricep, palm under his ear and hair as he perches up his head. 

“What?” You pull the blanket up to your face and inhale the scent of it. It smells like him now. 

“You look pretty when you’re asleep.”

“What?” You frown, but a smile is on your lips. “How long did you watch me sleep for?”

“Not long, don’t worry. I’m not a perv.”

“Well, considering we just slept together after 24 hours of knowing one another-”

“Hey, we’re both about to be deported back to Korea to work. Give us a break, would you?” He groans and shifts again, this time trying to pull you into his chest. 

“Ah,” Snorting, you let him cradle you in his arms, his bare skin pressed warmly into yours. “‘Deport’? That’s what you call your job?”

“Only because you’re involved now,” He pecks you on the lips. “So... can I ask about your ‘administrative matters’ you said you needed to attend?”

Right. The orphanage is closing down. 

The guilt washes through you again. 

“Oh,” A look of seriousness overtakes your facials, and he notes the change in expression. “Um... I- Well... It’s an orphanage. It’s closing.”

He blinks at you, gaze filled with wander. “Were you a volunteer or...?”

Silence. 

You can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Unable to bear the incoming judgment he might provide you, your eyes dart away. 

“Hey, hey,” He finds your chin and tilts it back up to his attention. “What’s wrong? I don’t see anything wrong with being who you are. Why are you ashamed?”

“I... I’ve lived all my life with that label. ‘Orphan’. It only got better when I came out to work.”

“Is that why you are so worried? That... we might affect something and possibly implicate that?”

“Maybe.”

He sighs, thumb stroking your cheek as he shakes his head. “Nah. It shouldn’t matter.” Pulling your head into his chest, you can hear the steady thumping of his heart through his skin. “’Administrative matters’, huh? Are you like a... committee member or donator?”

“I’m an unofficial sponsor ambassador from LV. Well, LV was supposed to arrange for official funding, but they just never really had the time or resources to build the rapport. The orphanage was doing too badly for any company or brand to want to help and invest their attention on.”

“Mm,” He hums, stroking your hair. “I’m sorry about that. I truly am.”

“It’s okay. Nothing could’ve been done about it anyway. All I hope now is for the kids to be safe, no matter where they go.”

It feels empty again, having Hyunjae being ripped from your side at the airport once the plane touched down. The manager was surprisingly not surprised to know that you had spent the night together, the only question he had asked being something that concerned a future pregnancy, which the two of you have already confirmed negative. 

It’s late when you reach back your apartment, and you ready yourself for the private meeting with the committee members of the orphanage. Though tired and severely jet-lagged, you cannot miss this meeting. It’s the last time you’ll see all the caretakers and members of the organisation in the same room.

You shift into the taxi in a new set of clothes, but topped with the Dior blazer and smelling like the Dior perfume, you feel like you were probably going to get slapped once you reach the meeting.

The building of the orphanage looks so run-down, it could be mistaken for a prison had it not been for the words HILDA’S ORPHANAGE in big, block letters above the entrance. Before you can exit the taxi, your phone starts vibrating in your purse.

It’s the President of the orphanage.

“I’m right outside the building, going in soon,” You push open the car door and thank the driver. 

“The meeting has been cancelled. Someone bought the orphanage and we’ll be managed under a new system.”

“What?”

“Surprise.” 

You turn around and see the last person you’d expect to see here, in his hands, a folder of documents and a small bouquet of flowers. 

“Um,” Your eyes are stuck to Hyunjae, but you’re still on the phone. “The buyer... Does it have anything to do with Gucci or F1?”

“Yes, it’s an F1 sponsorship but there will be more details into the managerial and planning system. Some things will have to change.”

“I’ll... I’ll call you back.”

Hyunjae watches you lock your phone in shock, attention unrivalled. He takes a few steps towards you and you now realise he’s still in the same clothes he was in on the plane. His eyebags are obvious but the prideful grin on his face makes him glow. 

Stopping about an arms’ length away from you, he holds out the folder.

“I checked with my manager and he checked with F1. They green-lit it, but on a few conditions. I heard them out before I told them it would be more likely than not you’d accept it, so here are the legal documents. All the terms and conditions and sponsor contract are already in here, so you and the President can sign it when you deem fit.”

Taking the folder, you didn’t even notice your hands are trembling as you flip through it. 

But your eyes flitter up from the page when you notice the printing: 

OWNER’S SIGNATURE (Y/N L/N): ____________________

“It’s yours if you sign it.”

Now, he holds out the bouquet. “I thought of putting it under my name but I don’t want you to think you owe me a favour and have it bugging you all the time.”

Gently shaking your head, as if you could shake out the surprise, you close the file and look to him in awe. “But I’ll still owe you, big time. This is... this is everything, so thank you.”

He sucks in a deep breath and shakes the bouquet of flowers a little. 

“You can return the favour by going out with me. Properly, whenever I have time, and I promise, no Dior packages.”

Taking the bouquet into hand, you throw your arms around his shoulders, tears welling in your eyes.

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

soooo shhhh this actually a part one shhhh but i’m just trying out writing out different things and getting out some of my ideas outta my head that i’m really excited about, this one being one of them!! for now...just pretend that this is just a regular ol’ drabble hehehehe. this part is the set-up chapter (shhh i mean drabble) 

One

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst 

Tags: (overall) bodyguard au, moderndayprince!chan, bodyguard!reader, secret agent au, royal au, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, softswitch!chan, hardswitch!reader, some skz side characters, jeongin third wheel and comedic relief LOL, travelling, chan being expensive and having a lil bit of a superiority complex, flirtyyyy chan, bits of mystery, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, idk think like 007 vibes hehe 

CWs: guns and gun violence, a shooting in a ballroom, mentions of blood 

Word count: 4.6k 

Parts

ONE | TWO 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here early.” 

“Well, expect the unexpected.” 

“Don’t turn the motto back at me. I’m sick of hearing it so many damn times.” 

“What? You and I both know that it’s true. You’re here early too, so, technically you don’t get to say anything.” 

Jeongin straightened his bow tie, then patted down the sides of his perfectly ironed tux with not a crinkle to be found. Knowing him, it was a miracle that he hadn’t messed it up in some form yet. He promptly took out his pocket square to clean off his glasses. 

“You’re looking nice. Seems like they don’t mind spending money now on you these days.” He blew off the flecks of dust on his lenses. 

“They know that they get their return on their investment. And thank you.” 

You smoothed down the sides of your dusty pink dress that nearly went all the way down to your ankles. Had you any other choice, it would’ve been something different, but, dresses were really good at hiding your thigh holster compared to the slacks you usually favored. You didn’t mind the times that you would have to put on a pretty dress, it somewhat reminded you that there was normal life outside of your job. Not to mention, they had started sending you jewelry as well. You always had liked the look of a diamond necklace. 

“You do your research for tonight?” 

Jeongin nodded, then took from his pocket his phone to read over the details. 

“I’ve done a background check on everyone attending, we shouldn’t have any issues. It’s already a low risk event anyway. Charity is never something to get too worked up over, but, you never know with the detail that some of these people come with...who they might be tied to...” 

“--The only people we can trust is ourselves.” You nodded with arms crossed. 

“Expect the unexpected, I know.” He slid his phone back into his inside suit pocket to adjust his cufflinks. 

“--Nervous?” You took note of his fidgeting actions. 

“Nervous? No. I’ve been through this before. You know that.” 

You flicked your partner right on his forehead strung with his white hair. You had really wished that he had picked a less conspicuous color, but he had strings to pull that you didn’t. 

Jeongin cleared his throat, “You do your once over?” 

“Do you even need to ask? I did it hours ago and when we arrived. You know that I’ve done this before too.” 

“I know. I know.” 

Jeongin looked out at the vast circular atrium that made up the center of the hotel. Several stories down under the glass rooftop, you could hear the faint sprinkling of the intricate fountain which smelled of copper. A bit further down, you could see the tips of the tree branches from the indoor landscaping. Across the way, a door slammed with residents tucking in their ties. The two men you had recognized from the roster: a simple thing which made you feel at ease. Your young partner must’ve started to have an effect on you. A sense of unease seemed to quell in your neck. You always listened to your hunches. 

“W-what do you think he thinks of us?” Jeongin broke the silence. 

“Well,” From inside the room you had waited outside, you could hear his distant murmuring, so you lowered your tone. “I think that he has yet to trust us. It’s only been a few weeks. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give himself up easy. That, and I’m sure his resentment of his father must have some influence.” 

“You think he hates us?” 

“I think he hates his father for hiring us. I mean, wouldn’t you? His old security detail, he had them for years.” 

“I guess so. But, we’re not like his old detail.” 

“No. We’re not. I don’t think he gets that yet. I think he sees us as one more way his father has a hold on him.” 

“It’s not like he can do much else about it when his dad’s a kin--” 

“--No, no, thank you, really, it’s lovely. Some of your best work. Thank you.” 

Chan swung open the door to his room, stopping Jeongin right in his sentence. 

“Ah. You’re here already. That’s...punctual.” 

As dazzling and showy as ever, Chan looking nothing short of a magazine model. For a prince, he had certain...appearances that he had to maintain. Today, it was a velvety and maroon suit jacket with a white button up. On the collar, two matching brooches had been perfectly placed, and they were silver like moonlight in the shape of English ivy and adorned with diamonds. On his lapel, he wore the royal insignia of the lion and the wolf. Behind him, you could see his slew of stylists cleaning up their makeup kits and obscene assortment of designer dress shoes for him to pick from. You had thought before that he even smelled like royalty: stuffy white roses with a hint of priceless cognac. 

Jeongin bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been prepared for tonight. The rest of your guards are surrounding the building, and I’ll be corresponding with them as needed, your Highness.” He tapped at his earpiece. 

Chan drew his attention over to you, giving you a rather lusty glare. Over the past couple weeks, you had gotten used to it. He was a prince to every extent of the word. If there was anything that he had wanted, he simply had to ask. It drove him insane that all he could do was merely look at you. You had  wondered if he harbored anything else for you besides the way that he would devour the curves of your shoulders and hips. 

“Fox. Bee. You look nice tonight. I like seeing you dressed up. Makes me feel less out of place.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a little sound of discontentment over his rather affectionate nickname for you. You and your partner had been introduced to him as F and B. Quickly he had figured out Jeongin’s codename as Fox, considering that he had done a poor job picking out one that wasn’t related to him at all. Anyone could tell that boy was fox-like, and he also just wasn’t that creative when it came to picking out a name for himself. B, or Bee as he had decided, was your name; as in bumblebee. After learning about Fox, he figured that there was an animal theme going, so Bee seemed to fit best in his oponion. 

You tested his glare with your best, “Thank you, your Highness.” 

Jeongin gulped. “Your assistant should be waiting downstairs with your itinerary. She told me that you should meet her first off.” 

“You work too hard F. Have some fun tonight, hm? But don’t...drink too much. You’re responsible for my life remember?” Chan clapped his bodyguard on the back. 

Your partner nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses once more: his preferred tic. 

“And Bee?” Chan rose a brow to lean into close and whisper. “Stay close, alright?” 

“Of course, your Highness.” 

Chan let out a little scoff after getting one more proper look at your frame. “Damn. You really are stunning. Just a little too dangerous for me though.” 

You rolled your eyes, dishing him outa, “Whatever you say, your Highness.” 

Jeongin threw you and annoyed glare before tracing after Chan as he sauntered down the hall to the glass elevator. 

“Bee? You coming? Or do you have something better to do?” Chan’s voice called down the hall with an echo and a little teasing gesture of his hand. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It had been seven years since you had chosen this line of work, and each time that you had to go to one of these things, you hated them more and more. Not because they were hard to control--they were easy--but you just hated how many superficial and self-absorbed people that they could fit into one room. 

The air was filled with the scent of champagne bubbles and too much Chanel No. 5. From corner to corner of the room, and even next to the ice sculpture of the lion and the wolf crest, silk, satin; velvet and the best cotton could be found. Long gloves covered the arms of ladies with wrinkling skin, and tweed vests held in the guts of men who indulged in their food just as much as their mistresses. All this effort just to appear as if they had given one care about the philanthropic efforts of the royalty.

Several neatly dressed waiters passed you with golden platters of hors d'oeuvres made of ingredients so expensive, they would’ve cost the same amount as the generous donations made by the attendees. If you could’ve, you would’ve scooped up as many of them as you could, just to eat all of their copious amounts of money yourself, but, there was somewhere a rule that you had to keep your hand to yourself when you were on duty. The best that you had to look forward too was take-out to eat at 3 in the morning with Jeongin later. 

Buzzing chatter filled your earpiece while each of the additional guards gave their hourly report. 

“Damn. It’s fucking colder out here than I thought. It’s fucking summer.” One of them joked to the tune of the other guards laughter. 

“Stay focused.” Jeongin scolded over the line. “Don’t leave your posts until your shifts change.” 

While he was a timid man, Jeongin was not one to mess around. Son of the director, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. After pleading for years for her to admit him into the academy, she had agreed. Everyone knew the reason why she didn’t want him in this line of work. Too many dead. Too many missing. In some ways, he was also yours to look after. 

You trailed after Chan who was busy talking to his assistant and his publicist. While he nodded at their words, you knew that he must’ve been barely listening. Chan never really was one for formality, but much rather enjoyed simplicity and pleasure. Jeongin and you had somewhat of a bet going: out of all the guests, you had liked to bet which one he would take with him to his bedroom. Since you had all the profiles of the guests, you liked to bet a little money on which one it would be. 

Jeongin had guessed it to be the heiress and daughter of a tycoon who had made a multi-million won donation in the name of his company. It was ironic; his very company was a big-scale pollutor who liked to make nice with the crown. She was conventionally very pretty: long legs, a thin frame, she was educated and looked as if she could hold somewhat of a conversation...not like that mattered to him. 

You had predicted it to be the foreign CEO who had just started business dealings with the crown. While she might’ve looked a bit stuck-up and prim, she was intimidating, and a challenge. Chan loved challenges. Chan also had a pension for pretty boys with a bit too much money on their hands--usually inherited--and with nothing much else to do other than dote on him. There were plenty of those attending the gala tonight. 

Chan snaked through the crowd, bowing his head at all of the Good evening, your Highnesses and the It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses. Every few moments or so he would take a bite from a golden plate and then pop it into his mouth. The whole night long, he would hold his glass with him and it would get refilled for him without him even needing to ask. You sometimes liked to pretend that in some places, they must’ve assigned someone to watch him from afar to make sure that he would never need anything before it was given to him. It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“Having fun Bee?” Chan languidly rolled his head back, swirling his glass. 

“As much fun as you are.” You quipped. 

“Anything that I should be concerned about?” 

“Nothing of concern.” You stated matter-of-factly. Had you matched his flirting tone, you knew that you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. “Fox. Report?” 

“Nothing that I can see. No one has been tagging you.” Jeongin had staked himself up on the upper balcony of the banquet hall room, and had been watching for as long as you had been following after the prince. “You sensing anything strange?” His voice tickled in your in-ear. 

“Just a bunch of the normal crowd.” You kept your tone down low. “He’s rubbing noses with the usual. You’ve seen too?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

You followed Chan to his seat nearest the front of the room which had been fashioned into a stage with a clear glass podium in the center. Right in front there was one more crest decorating it. Chan had ensured it to be so: he had wanted everyone to know that this was all for his charity. 

“It seems like our bets aren’t working out. He hasn’t talked to either of the...suspects.” Your partner changed his choice of words knowing that the other guards were listening. 

From the opposite side of the room both the heiress and the CEO stood with thin glasses of wine in their lithe hands. Chan had in fact walked right past them, and didn’t even notice. 

“Tonight is going to be a long night.” Jeongin sighed over the line. 

You politely pushed past attendees with a raised hand and a sweet smile. You had found that when you smiled, you had appeared less intimidating. 

“Oh wait...what’s this?” 

“What?” You whipped your head around after Jeongin’s interjection. “What? Do you see something? What’s the call?” 

“Relax! It just looks like he’s approaching someone he wants to talk to. I think both of us are about to be proven wrong.” 

“Ah, shit.” You sighed. “Don’t put me on edge like that.” 

“I’m only trying to entertain myself.” 

“Name. Who is it? You’ve got the roster.” 

You partner was quiet for a minute, and you watched from a distance as Chan approached the man leaned over a martini seated at one of the perfectly decorated tables. 

“Uh, I think that he’s Lee Minho. Some kind of royalty from somewhere else. Pretty low ranking from the looks of it. I think that he made a donation himself...and it’s...damn, larger than you would expect.” 

“Should we be concerned?” 

“No. Seems harmless.” 

“Thank you for coming,” You made out the words that Chan had mouthed. He drew a chair next to the unknown man. 

From what you could tell, Lee Minho was handsome to the full extent of the word: nearly all of his physical features were exemplary and his suit appeared to have been fitted to perfect for him; likely one of a kind. He too wore an insignia on his lapel, but it was one that you hadn’t recognized before. He had immaculately styled hair that had some kind of rebellious and boyish charm to it. The man had a kind of mystery about him too: you had been able to pride yourself in being able to read people, and it had saved your life on more than one occasion. But with him, there was something that you couldn’t place. 

“Do they know eachother?” You asked Jeongin. 

“Not that I know of. School friend maybe? Seems like all the royals send their kids to the same schools.”

“Hm. That would make sense.” 

“Enjoying yourself?” Chan said. 

Lee Minho nodded, and rose his glass to clink it with the prince’s. 

“Do we think that he’s our...suspect?” 

The stranger dipped his head into his hand as he listened to Chan speak. A flirty gesture that you had seen a hundred times or more. Still, the way that he inspected Chan, it wasn’t adoring. Or at least, you didn’t think that it was.

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“What the hell are you yapping about?” One of the other guards snapped over the line. 

“Um, classified stuff.” Jeongin quickly explained. “Above your paygrade. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Fox. Watch out for him tonight.” You snuck over to a corner of the room where you could watch the two of them more discreetly. 

“Affirmative....” Your partner paused. “Babydoll.” 

“Pffff--Babydoll??” The same guard stifled his laughter. “You call her Babydoll, Fox? Damn, you all must be closer than I thought. Didn’t know that I was missing out on some of the action--” 

“--Ever heard of a codename, Three?” 

“Babydoll’s her codename.” 

A grin crept over your lips. “Expect the unexpected.” 

You had almost gotten distracted enough to miss how Lee Minho had leaned over to whisper something into the prince’s ear. After he had done so, Chan laughed out a little, then reached his arm around the other man’s chair comfortably. 

“They’re...cozy.” You updated your partner. 

“I’m trying to cross-check where he might know him from.” 

Chan’s assistant and publicist finally slipped away with giddy little smiles. In many ways, you were jealous of them. They could leave whenever the wanted, eat what they wanted...

Jeongin scoffed. “Well, turns out...nothing. I can’t find anything.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Negative. I’m not seeing any crossover.” 

“So they really are strangers?” 

Your partner sighed. “Looks like neither of us are cashing ou--I mean--finding the suspect.” 

Under your breath, you wondered aloud, “Who are you...Lee Minho?” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The night drew on longer with the rest of the formalities: the formal dinner, followed by several speeches from important people while dessert was being served. It all led up to the final act: His Royal Highness, Prince Chan’s speech. On several neat notecards marked with the crest, he held them in front of him while he ate his last bits of Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. Even the name of the sweet itself sounded pretentious. Granted, it smelled delicious--as many expensive things did. 

You stifled a yawn from your little set up on the edge of the room. At least you should’ve been able to sit, but it turns out that sitting is also against the rules in this line of work. A couple other security and bodyguards had joined you at the edge: some of their heads nodded with sleep, and the others looked as if they had taken one too many energy shots. Luckily, your stamina had been well crafted. 

A fancily dressed MC made his way up to the podium and the room filled with applause after the last speaker had said all of their correct mandatory words. 

“It is my honor to introduce to the stage, our wonderful head benefactor of this organization, His Royal Highness, Prince Chan of the Crown. 

Applause tenfold of before erupted through the whole room and it wasn’t even an afterthought for the every attendee to stand up from their seats in an ovation. It was a force of habit for you, but you found yourself clapping as well. 

Chan rose with grace, and re-buttoned his jacket with finesse. A blinding spotlight found him and it made the diamonds adorning his beck wink brilliantly. Even more blinding was his pearl white, and perfectly trained smile accompanied by his wave. 

Thank you. Thank you. He mouthed. 

“It’s like he’s a frickin’ movie star.” Jeongin groaned. 

“Might as well be with the way that they treat him. You know deep down they’re all just terrified.” 

Chan made his way up to the stage in all of his regality, and the applause didn’t stop until he cleared his throat. A collective groaning of a couple hundred chairs squeaked when everyone sat back down. 

“Thank you everyone, really. I wanted to thank you all for your generous support in your donations to this organization, as well as your association with the crown. I’m sure that all the beneficiaries of your donations are beyond thankful compared to me. Without you, this would not be possible.” Chan spoke with grandiose gestures, as usual, but this time, he had found you on the side of the room. “Listen, aside from being a prince, I’m also just a person. A person who knows what it means to struggle, to--” 

“--I can’t listen to this anymore.” You whispered into the quiet room, and to your partner. 

“Just a few more hours.” He droned. “I almost wish that something would happen so that we don’t have to sit though much else of this.” 

“Be careful what you wish for.” 

In the corner of your eye, Lee Minho shifted in his seat, but still kept his undivided attention to the stage. You figured he must’ve been just like the rest of them: enamored by the flashiness of the crown--and Chan. He had a way of putting a spell on people: it was the kind of spell that a prince of deception had crafted after years of being kept under lock and key. 

“--Anyway, what I’m trying to say, royal or fanciful we all might be, in the simplest way, we’re all just people, therefore this is what connects us all. Thank you.” 

Chan was gifted yet another standing ovation that was somehow even more thunderous than before. 

“Yeah right.” You scoffed. “People born into money. There’s a difference.” 

Chan gave his last waves, then a clamor echoed from the back of the room. At first, it had just sounded like the same raucous laughter you had heard all night, but then it shifted to something different. The sound of laugher turned into shouting, then screams: high pitched and piercing. You had seconds to respond, head whipping around the room to catch sight of the confused prince. In your in-ears, the the sound of gunshots echoed with rapid-fire speed. Machine guns. Shouting commands barked in your ear, and muddled with Jeongin’s string of demands and questions. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE? REPORT! REPORT!” 

Your heart instantly started beating into hyperdrive, and your legs sprinted as fast has physically possible 

“THEY’VE GOT GUNS!” A shrill and cracked voice of an older woman wailed from the back of the room. 

Immediately after she had said so, shots fired into the darkened room with sparks, and the metallic sound of bullets hitting the marbled ground followed. 

Chan looked around in his panic for you, petrified on the stage. You slung your gun out from your thigh holster and latched onto him with all of your might. 

“TH-THEY JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IN THESE VANS. THEY’RE ARMOURED, WE CAN’T--” 

“Get the fuck down there and secure the exists!” Jeongin growled into his mic. “B--is the prince secure??” 

“Secure!” You yelled back. Using your body as a barrier, you led the cowering prince through the mass hysteria of the crowd. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” Chan shook under your iron grip. 

More shots fired into the room and bodies parted like the sea and fell over each other. 

From the balcony, you had caught Jeongin aiming his own gun at the chaos below. 

“I’ll cover you! Fuck! There’s so many of them! Get him to the car out back--Three, Six, meet B out there! Three!? Six!? Report!” 

“Three and Six are down F!” One of the guards panted. “I can provide cover out back!!” 

“Who’s speaking??” Jeongin bellowed, then aimed from above at one of the intruders. Your only focus was on weaving you and Chan out of there, but you had seen one of them in a blur. Each of the men with guns wore dark grey suits with black ties and leather gloves. Each of them wore their own crest: and it was all red. 

“Bee?? Bee???” Chan shouted out for you, and jumped every time the crack of a shot echoed in the ballroom. 

“I’ve got you, your Highness. We’ll be out soon. Keep your head down and listen to me.” Your arm held to him tightly, and you soon found the exit nearest. There was no telling if there would be more of them outside, but you loaded your gun quickly just in case, and pointed it out. 

“Jeongin, get your ass down here!” 

“Jeongin? Who the fuck is that??” Chan ducked down to hide himself behind your frame. 

His name had slipped on your tongue, but that hardly mattered. 

“I’ll be down in a second!!!” 

“Don’t fucking waste time up there when I need you down here!!” 

“Two! Two Reporting!!” A man suddenly yelled in your in-ear. “I’ve made it out back and I’ve secured the exit. The car is safe!!” 

“FOX! Now!” 

Your partner heaved, “I’m coming, I’m coming!!” 

You kicked open the exit door, gun’s still blazing, however one one else could be found on the other side. 

“Thank God,” You sighed. 

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be sick.” Chan had turned paler than white, then stumbled in your arms. 

“Hey, HEY!” You held him upright. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You need to trust me. Your life is in my hands and I’m not giving it up easy, got it?” 

“O-okay.” He stammered, then attempted to straighten himself. 

“The Prince is outside, repeat, The Prince is outside. Two, are you in position?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” 

Other than the fact that you had just escaped absolute peril, the evening was unbearably pleasant. Crickets chirped in the summer evening, and the humidity of the night smelled gorgeously of the lake that was near-by as well as the vast array of flowers that had been purposefully landscaped around the hotel. Chan’s uneven steps scraped at the gravel walkway. 

Since you had canvassed the whole building well, you had known exactly where the getaway car was, but you were still careful. 

“Bee. Bee!” Chan blabbered. “Have-have I told you yet that I-I’m in love with you?” 

“No, you haven’t Your Highness.” 

“I fucking am. If I die tonight, I want you to know that I am ridiculously in love with you, and fuck, I wanna--” 

“--I’m sorry, Your Highness, respectfully, but now is not the time for this and you are not dying on my watch.” 

Somewhere off in the distance, frogs croaked, and the splashing of fish in the lake plopped at the surface waters. You turned a corner to finally see Two waiting his his gun raised. He was a bit of a shorter and scrawnier man, but something about him told you that where he lacked in strength, he must’ve made up for in agility. 

“I’m out! I’m out!” Your partner gasped, and over the in-ear you could hear his running footsteps. “I’m almost there! I’ll be there in a second!” 

“Your Highness,” Two bowed and opened the car door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You can call me Two or J. Either you prefer.” 

Jeongin came bounding around the corner with heaving breaths and his clothes askew. His glasses which just barely held onto his face had a crack on them and his knuckles were covered in blood. 

“Let’s go.” The younger man prompted. 

“In the car you go, Your Highness.” You motioned for him to do so. 

Chan whimpered like a toddler. 

You shoved his body in, “Stop that. Get in the car.” 

“I’m in love with you Bee!” He yelled out, “I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU BEE!” 

Jeongin slammed the door in his face with a bit of a chuckle. 

“He’s delirious.” 

“Mm.” your partner smiled. “Sure.” 

[morosemagick]

On Your Lips, Like a Prayer | Sihtric x Reader One Shot

Warning: References to Suicide, Minor Character Death

Words: 4449

Tagged:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @obipoelover @thebohemianpenguin @ivarinleatherpants

You remember falling.

Through the sky. Into a river. Drowning. They could’ve been dreams or your imagination or may you’re hell because when you wake up you don’t recognize the place you’ve found yourself in. The first thing you try to do when you wake is reach for your phone... until you remember you didn’t have it. What you had done, you had done with nothing on you. You didn’t want to be found or recognized. The plan was to scrub yourself from the pages of history. Yet from what you are told by the man and his daughter; who found you in the river half dead, it seems you did the far opposite.

Instead of erasing yourself from history, you’ve fallen through it.

And that was six months ago.

They believe you to have amnesia from the accident, but you remember every detail of what happened. It’s the ninth century from what you gathered. From what you remember from taking history in school, King Alfred the Great is the King of Wessex, but you are in Mercia. Who is ruled by Lord Ceowolf? You’re unsure. Everything you’ve known is gone or rather has yet to be. You have no idea how you’ve gotten here and you want out. So in a moment of foolishness, you try to redo what you did to send yourself back but instead you wind up stuck in their beds again for a month with a broken leg. It’s hard to run after you do that, and now you know without a doubt in your mind that you’re stuck. You cry about it for weeks, and the family who found you doesn’t understand why. You can’t tell anyone, because you’re certain they’ll set you on fire if you tell them.

Because you… you are from the future.

————————————<3—————————————

You’ve been here for a year now. Osmund and his daughter, Mildryd, are kind and loving people. They treat you like family, with love and respect. This place becomes your home and they teach you all the skills you’d need to survive these times. You learned about farming, rank etiquette, and all other manners you would need to blend into your surroundings. Soon enough, you embraced this world as your own. Not that you had a choice because every day it became more clear that this was not a dream and you were indeed stuck here.

Also, you had no desire to repeat what you did to get here in the first place… again.

“Lynne? Lynne, where are you?” You can hear Osmund call out to you. Lynne was what they called you here. It meant waterfall, from what you understood.

Which made sense, because that’s where they found you... At the bottom of a waterfall.

You come out from the stables, where you’ve just finished brushing the horses with a smile on your face, “Right here, Osmund. Everything alright?”

“I sent Mildryd into town to get grain but I didn’t realize she didn’t bring water in for the goats,” He tells you as he wipes the sweat from his face with a rag, “I hate to pass on her chores, but you know my daughter-”

“She’ll be flirting with the trader for a while,” You chuckle. Mildryd fancied the boy a lot and hopes he’d ask her father for her hand in marriage soon. She was young and full of life, the opposite of you if you were honest with yourself. You envied her spirit, “I’ll go to the river.”

“Thank you, Lynne,” The older man smiled, “You’re an angel.”

You only smile as a response. They show you so much love and part of you feels like you don't deserve it. Still, you grab your bucks and head down to the river, which is quite a walk away, to fetch some water as requested. It's beautiful here, and perhaps taking a moment to stand there and admire its beauty will be one of the moments you will grow to regret for the rest of your life because by the time you turn back to return to the farm you can see smoke.

You drop both buckets to the ground and run as fast as your post-broken leg body can take you, but you're too late.

A sob breaks from your lips as you walk through the ruins of Osmund's home. His body lays blood and lifeless on the floor, the sword he carries still in its sheath. You take the weapon from him, belt and all, and tie it around your waist. Leaving the house, you head into the rest of the small village you call yours in search of the man's daughter.

The rest of the village is no better than Osmund's home. Everyone is dead, from what you can tell, and your expectations for finding Mildryd are lowering by the second.

When you find her, she's holding on to her final breath, and her body covered by the trader she loved so much.

"Mildryd," You call to her with tears in her eyes, "Mildryd… who did this to you?"

"It… it was the Danes," She coughs and blood comes up, tears flowing down her cheeks, "Is.. my father-"

She dies before she can finish the sentence, and you sob over her dead body.

The time you get to mourn is cut short by a voice calling out from behind you, “Lord! A survivor!”

From the accent in his voice, you can tell he must be a Dane, and you ready yourself to face with your hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s heavy, and you haven’t had much practice but the one thing you have plenty of right now is rage. Rising to your feet, you pull out your sword and swing it without care as you turn around but the Dane behind you is quicker. He bobs and weaves his upper half to avoid your aimless swings and pulls out a blade of his own.

It does not take him long to disarm you, your sword dropping to the ground with a clang.

“Just kill me already,” You tell him as you lower your eyes to the ground, trying not to cry in front of him, “Please! Get on with it-”

“I don’t desire to kill you, Lady,” The Dane tells you, his voice softer than anticipated, and you open your eyes to see him put his sword away. He picks up your sword, and then lends out a hand to help you to your feet, “I am sorry to have startled you.”

You are hesitant to take his hand, but you do so anyway.

It’s his eyes; one blue and the other brown, they are mesmerizing and all but command you to trust him.

“Sihtric?” Another man calls out to him, this one also dressed like a Dane but something about him looks Saxon… like the others you’ve grown to know, “Who is this?”

The one you trust, Sihtric, turns to face you and they stare for a moment as they await your name, “I am-” You almost use your real name, but you stop yourself and continue again. Hoping they don’t notice, “I am Lynne, Lord.”

“This is your village?” He asks you.

“Was,” You replied looking back at Mildryd’s dead body behind you, “They killed my family…”

“Did you see the raiders who attacked this place?” The man asked and you shook your head no.

“My… my sister, she told me it was the Danes,” You glance between the two men, watching for their reactions, “That was all she said before she died.”

“Lord?” Another voice calls out, this one with an Irish accent, and from the side, another man appears followed by one much taller than he is, “There is no one else. If they had survivors, they must have taken them.”

The Lord sighs, and puts away his weapon, “Do you have somewhere to go, Lynne? Family somewhere else in Mercia, perhaps?”

You look between the men who surround you and shake your head no, “This was my only family, Lord. I have no one.”

“We can take her with us to Coccham, Uhtred,” The Irishman starts to say, but you are quick to jump in.

“I am not a slave!” You snap as you reach for your sword, forgetting you no longer have it.

“Nor do we wish you to be, Lady,” The one named Uhtred replies, “You will be safe in Coccham, should you choose to follow us. I am the Ealdorman there, we shall find someone to take you in.”

You nod okay, knowing you don’t have any other choice, “Thank you.”

Uhtred and his men start to walk away, and when you step to follow them your bad leg gives in and you start to fall. Luckily, Sihtric is there to catch you.

“Are you hurt, Lady?” He asks you as you wince.

He helps you straighten yourself upright, and you take a deep breath, “I broke it, six months ago,” You explain to Sihtric as he tries to help you walk, “It still feels weak some days. Just… give me a moment.”

“Should I carry you?” He asks and you blush as you furiously shake your head no.

“No, no,” You chuckle shyly as you attempt to walk again, “I can walk. I just need to go slow.”

Sihtric smiles lightly, and it brings you peace, “We’ll go your speed then.”

You nod okay, and together you walk slowly out of the village that was once your home.

————————————<3—————————————

Lord Uhtred finds you work as a stable hand in Coccham. The owners of the stable is an older couple whose children have moved away with their own families, and they are more than pleased to let you stay with them. After a few months of being in Coccham, you find yourself growing to like the place. It’s a booming town, and the people who live here all seem to be grateful for their half Dane half Saxon Lord for keeping them safe and prospering. About six months into living here, Lord Uhtred puts you personally in charge of his horse, as well as the horses of the rest of his men. The old couple tells you it’s a privilege for the Ealdorman to hold you in such regard.

You wonder why they seem to like you so much.

When you aren’t working you find yourself in the company of Lord Uthred’s men. There is Finan, his cheeky, Irish right-hand man. He’s a flirt and a tease, but you find him harmless and kind. Then their Clapa, the large bear-like Dane. He’s quiet but courteous. Last, but certainly not least, there is Sihtric. You never expected to like him as much as you do, but he makes you laugh and smile and feel like maybe you survived that fall for a reason. He visits you frequently at the stables and he tells you it’s to make sure you aren’t overworking your leg.

Part of you wonders if there is an ulterior motive for his visits.

Not that he needs one to visit you. You enjoy Sihtric’s visits probably much more than he did. So part of you finds it ironic when those around you weren’t fond of you spending so much time with a Dane. Their Lord was a Dane, too, after all.

“That Dane boy,” The stable owner, Cedric, started to say one day, “Does he bother you?”

You glance his way as you brush Lord Uhtred’s horse, readying all his warriors’ horses for their departure, “Not at all,” You tell Cedric, “Sihtric is kind.”

“You are of marriage age, Lynne,” Cedric tells you as he brings over a saddle for the horse, “Perhaps we should help find you a husband. I know some young eligible men. Hard workers,” he starts to say, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth next before he can even say it, “Good Christians.”

“I’m not looking for a husband,” You tell him with frustration as you take the saddle from his hands and place it on top of Uhtred’s horse.

“My wife and I are only getting older, Lynne,” The old man tells you, and you keep your eyes away to prevent yourself from making a face, “It is not good for a Lady of your age to be unwed. This is your prime. You should be having children, starting a family.”

Part of you is ready to tell the old man off, but before you can say anything a familiar voice interrupts the conversation, “Cedric, Lynne! How are our horses?”

“Lord Uhtred,” Cedric smiles, and you can’t help but hate how hypocritical he is, “They are almost ready, Lynne ready the other saddles please.”

You nod at the two men and make yourself scarce as you go to prep the other horse. Your first stop is to Finan’s horse; because you know the mare can be fickle some days, and as you reach down to pick her saddle, you don’t see Finan and Sihtric sneak up behind you.

“Lynne!” Finan all but shouts, giving you a fright and making you drop the saddle to the floor.

“I swear to God, Finan, one would think you are the heathen and not Sihtric,” You scold with your hand over your heart as the two men laugh.

“We are only teasing, Lynne, I swear,” Finan tells you as he picks up the saddle you’ve dropped.

Sihtric leans up against a post and nudges you with his elbow, “Cedric does not push you too much, does he?”

“No, he does not,” You tell Sihtric as you go to ready his horse, but he stops you, carefully taking the saddle from your hands, “I do not need your help, Sihtric.”

“I want to help,” He tells you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile wider.

“She says she doesn’t need your help, Sihtric,” Finan teases from close by, and you both blush, momentarily forgetting he was there, “Hate to ruin the moment, but we need to get goin’.”

“Where are you riding for?” You ask them as you stand back and let the men finish readying their own horses.

“Mercia,” Sihtric tells you and a small part of you feels anxious, “Dane’s have taken Lundene."

“And King Alfred has decided he does need Uhtred, after all,” Finan chuckles and Sihtric smirks, but both of their calm demeanors don’t make you feel any better, “Don’t you worry, Lynne, we’ll be home before you know it.”

Finan passes by, rubbing your shoulder as he goes, and then leaves you alone with Sihtric. You sigh, folding your arms over your chest, “Be careful out there, okay?”

Sihtric chuckles as he takes a step closer to you, “Will you pray to your God for my return?”

“You know I don’t pray,” You lie with a smirk. You pray every single time Uhtred and his warriors leave, and you do so every night till they return. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a thin gold cross on a blue, beaded string. It’s the only thing you own, from before, and you hand it to Sihtric with a weak smile on your face, “But just in case.”

He takes it from your hand so slow, the feeling of his fingertips lingering even after they are gone, “I will take good care of it.” Sihtric pulls you closer by the back of your head and kisses your temple as he moves around you.

Your cheeks stay a rosy color even long after he is gone.

————————————<3—————————————

They are back sooner than expected.

Or at least, that is what you hear when the crowd gathers to greet their returning warriors. You overhear the Lady of Coccham, Uhtred’s wife Gisela, make mention of returning too quickly for men holding a city under siege. Lord Uhtred is the first to walk through Coccham’s gates, looking surprisingly clean for a man coming from war, then Finan comes in close behind him… and then-

Wait.

You feel your heart pick up its pace when you realize Sihtric is not with them and for a moment you find it hard to breathe. As the crowd lets its lord through, and Uhtred and his men reach the stables, you rush over as fast as your legs can take you to meet them. You feel your bad leg ready to give up as you reach the stables, but this time Finan is there to catch you.

“Slow down, Lynne, you nearly killed yourself,” Finan tells you as he holds you steady with one hand.

“Where...,” You start speaking but you can't, instead you’re huffing and puffing trying to catch your breath, “Where is Sihtric?”

Finan sighs, wiping at his mouth with his free hand, “You’re not gonna be happy, Lynne.”

You try really hard not to cry as he explains to you what has happened at Lundene and how the King’s daughter has been possibly taken as prisoner. In fact, you do relatively well at holding it all in and keeping yourself together for most of his explanation. That is… until he gets to the part where Lord Uhtred has sent Sihtric and another warrior named Rypere to Beamfleot to spy, and you suddenly forget how to breathe again. You go to reach for your cross in your pocket until you remember you’ve given it to Sihtric for good luck and almost immediately you begin to cry.

“Lynne,” Finan puts his hand on your shoulder as you sob, covering your face with your hands, “Lynne, he’s coming home… okay? Sihtric is good at what he does. The best spy we have, and I know he’s got a good reason to come home in one piece.”

You shake your head okay, and furiously wipe away all your tears away the best you can, “How long do you think he’ll be gone?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Finan shrugs, “But he is coming home, I promise.”

Finan’s words only give you some reassurance and you spend the next few days feeling absolutely miserable. You continue on with your workdays with the best fake smile you can muster, and at night you find yourself at Church. Usually, you pray in your room, partially because you feel like you aren’t really doing it right and you feel too embarrassed to pray in public. You weren’t a very religious person before, but now that you are here in this church, you pray to every God you can think of that Sihtric comes home safely.

“Lady?” A voice from behind you calls, and you jump to your feet in a moment of fear. You weren’t expecting anyone else to come to the Church that night, coming late enough in the night to certainly be alone for as long as you wish, “I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

His words remind you of the first time you met Sihtric, and you can't help but smile.

“It’s okay, I’ve just been… jumpy, lately.” You tell him as you sit back down on the bench, “I haven’t lived in Coccham for long, but I know I don’t recognize your face.”

“Ah, yes,” His smile is kind as he joins you at the bench, “I am Osferth, Lady. May I join you?”

“Of course, Osferth,” You smile back the best you can, but you’re tired and it’s late so it’s hard to put on your usual fake face.

Osferth takes his seat next to you, making sure not to get too close, and keeps his eyes on the altar ahead of you, “What are we praying for?” He asks, glancing your way.

“My-” You paused, not knowing what to call him. Your friend didn’t sound like a good enough way to explain what he meant to you, and you definitely didn’t think of him as a brother. So you go with this, “My family. Someone very important to me has been sent away on a dangerous mission for Lord Uhtred.”

"If he is a warrior for Lord Uhtred, he must be very brave," he tells you, reassuringly

"Only a special kind of warrior is lucky enough to serve a Lord like Uhtred," You agree with him, "And I have been told Sihtric is good at what he does, but I can't help but worry."

"Has prayer helped?" Osferth asks you and you look his way with a chuckle.

"Not at all," You tell him, and you both laugh.

"Sometimes it is hard to have faith in something we don't see," Osferth tells you as he looks forward again, "I try to put my faith in people. Lord Uhtred is a good warrior. So are his men. Having Faith in them… it's much easier."

So that's what you. You put your Faith in Uhtred and all of his men that will do whatever it takes to bring each other home.

————————————<3—————————————

More time has passed.

Rypere eventually returned to Coccham, and with his arrival, Uhtred and his men rode for Winchester to bring his findings to the King. You hear that men are sent to Beamfleot to bargain for the Princesses return. They are gone for a long time, longer than you anticipated. The days that pass make you increasingly more anxious.

You don't want to say your faith in Uhtred and his warriors is wavering but… it hasn't been as strong as you hoped it to be.

Cedric and his wife have been pushing the marriage thing. They aren't your parents so they can't just sell you off, luckily for you, but it's gotten annoying just how many single men they've tried to introduce you to in the last month.

None of them are Sihtric, so you do not care.

You're in the Church again one night, and you've been there longer than you wanted due to your bad leg. It's been aching something fierce in the past few days, and you think maybe you have been overwhelming yourself. You can't help but smile at the idea of Sihtric yelling at you to take it easy, and just as quickly as the memory comes to you so do the tears that start to cloud your eyes.

"You lied to me, Lynne," That familiar voice you've been hearing in your head speaks out loud, and you gasp when you turn around to find Sihtric standing behind you, "You said you do not pray for me."

You chuckle as the tears fall from your face and your lips curl up into a smile, "You're all I pray for." It stings to stand, but you push through the pain anyway and rush to greet him.

Sihtric catches you as you jump into his arms, and the two of you stumble back until he falls to the floor with you in his arms, "You need to be more careful," He smirks as he moves a hand to your cheek, "What would the people say if they see us in the church like this?"

"To hell with people," You laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Sihtrics' free hand pulls your body closer as you sit there on the floor of the church, all but devouring each other with each kiss.

"Let me carry you home," Sihtric tells you when he breaks the kiss, and you nod okay. He moves to stand, taking you in his arms as he rises. Making sure to be careful with your bed leg.

Being like this makes you feel so safe. So loved.

You giggle and kiss his neck as he carries you back to his house, and whispers things in your ear that send shivers down your spine all the way back to his house. Your sure people saw him carry you, and they are more than likely to gossip about you but you don't care.

You've never felt more alive than you do right now.

Sihtric lays you carefully in his bed, his lips reconnecting with yours as he hovers above you. He tastes sweet and your heart is racing in anticipation of what is going to happen next.

That is until you hear him moan out that name.

"Lynne," He starts to say as he breaks the kiss, "Lynne, I-"

"Wait!" You cut Sihtric off with a finger to his lips, "Before you say it, there is something else I've been lying about," Sihtric raises a brow and you take a deep breath, "My name is not Lynne."

You expect a poor reaction, but instead, Sihtric smirks, "That doesn't surprise me."

"Really?"

"Yes," He tells you as he places a kiss on your lips, "The day we met, you stuttered when you told Uhtred your name." You chuckle at the fact that he remembers that, and his smile is soft, "So tell me, what is the real name of the woman who has stolen my heart?"

Your smile is wide when you get to finally speak your real name out loud for the first time in almost two years, "My name is Y/N."

Sihtric smiles, leaning in to kiss you again, "Well, Y/N," another kiss, and then another, "It is nice to truly meet you," one more kiss, and then he leans up a bit and you can see the smirk on his face, "Is it too soon to say that I love you?"

You shake your head no as the tears come back to you, "Not at all."

"Good," Sihtric replies as he leans his forehead against yours, "I love you, Y/N."

Sihtric whispers those words for what feels like a hundred times that night. He whispers it as he strips you out of your clothes and as you remove his. It comes out as a moan when he slips himself inside of you, and it sounds like a prayer on his lips as he chants it in your ear as you reach your climax with your back arched and his lips on your neck. And it's the last thing you hear when Sihtric reminds you one more time before bed.

A few months later on the two year anniversary of you finding yourself here, on this page of history, Sihtric tells you he loves you again when the two of you return to the place where Osmund and Mildryd found you, and you tell him all about what brought you to this world. You can't help but feel this is where you were meant to be when Sihtric tells you he prayed for you, too.

For someone who could love him, more than he could himself.

It seems… you were exactly what the other was looking for.

[the-broken-truth]

I love all your headcanons with the Dimitrescu daughters, so hats off to you, if it doesn't bother, can you do a headcanon about the 3 daughters with a male S/O on their wedding night?

Broken Truth: Hmm, that sounds simple enough. Let the words...

*STATIC*: Broken, wait. I have an idea.

Broken Truth (Looks at the mask): Let me hear it, *STATIC*.

*STATIC*: Do you remember the ask you did for Lady Dimitrescu meeting her daughters' partners: Th Village Painter, The Village Jeweler, and The Village Blacksmith?

Broken Truth: Yes, what about them?

*STATIC*: Here's my idea. (Whispering something)

Broken Truth: Oh! I like that idea! Let's go with that. Let the words weave together! - Names - Bela's Partner - The Village Artist - His name shall be Magnus. Cassandra's Partner - The Village Jeweler - His name shall be Matias. Daniela's Partner - The Village Blacksmith - His name shall be Maximus.

[At The Wedding of Magnus Vilkas & Bela Dimitrescu]

The Court of Castle Dimitrescu was decorated with the finest exports all across Romania - The Vilkas Lord spared to expense when it came to making his future wife happy; she was the very light of his life.

He stood in the room allowed her future son-in-law to use to prepare himself, looking himself in the mirror as he adjusted his tie.

The gleam of his Family Ring shined in the light when he secured his tie around his neck. He holds out his dominant hand, looking upon the colored gems that created his Family Crest. This ring gave him so much power and standing as a Noble Village House but at the same time, it brought back a very painful memory.

Before the Lord of House Vilkas could think back on it, there was a knock at the door. He spoke to the other person on the other side of the door, commanding them to enter: The door opened and a familiar face stepped into the room - The Village's Jeweler, Matias.

"Greetings, Lord Vilkas." The Jeweler bowed but it was met with a scoff from the Lord.

"Do not bow to me, Matias. You are a Vilkas as well, besides you're my twin brother; no formalities." The Lord said as he faced his brother.

"Regardless of our blood bind as brothers, you are still the Lord of House Vilkas and must be treated as such, even by blood,

" Matias said.

"Speaking of blood..." Magnus inhaled and exhaled before asking his question, "Did he come?" He asked.

"No. When I went to his house to see if he would attend, he slammed to door in my face; he says he wants nothing to do with the Vilkas Family." Matias explained causing the lord to turn his gaze to the ground in what looked to be heartbreak, "My Lord, it was not your fault." He said.

"Oh, really? Then why is he not here? It was my birth that ruined his life and...it's not fair - we were both robbed: Him of his rightful place and me an older brother." The Lord of Vilkas said.

"Brother, you and I were born on the same day but you are the only one he blames. If anyone is to blame, it's father; he was the selfish bastard that robbed us both." Matias said as he walked over to his elder brother and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Try not to think about this today, it's a very special day."

"Yes, you are right. Today is the day I marry the most amazing woman on the face of the Earth." Magnus smiled.

"Second best, Brother - My Cassandra is the most beautiful." Matias said with a smirk

The brothers argued over which sister was the most lovely when they saw the time and finished up before heading down the Courtyard.

The music - composed by Matias on the keyboard - began to play as Bela - wrapped in the finest silks that made her dress - walked down the aisle by her mother with her youngest sister walking behind her with a basket of black rose petals, throwing them in the air.

Once Bela reached the front, her hands locked with Magnus', who looked into her eyes with tears in his own.

"You are a true gem, my beloved." He said.

"Thank you, My Lord."

Mother Miranda - who took the position of a power of a priestess - called out to the guests: The Lords, The Daughters of Dimitrescu, and the residence of House Vilkas.

Once the vows were read and the 'I Do's were side, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

And he did, with all the love in his heart - which was endless.

[At The Wedding of Matias Vilkas & Cassandra Dimitrescu]

The Famed Jeweler of the Romanian Village smiled at himself in the mirror as he fixed his suit's jacket with a wide smile on his face - the Vilkas Family Crest Brooch secured to his chest over his heart and soon, he was going to place the crest of the Dimitrescu Dragons beside his own.

"You smile as if you are the cat that devoured creme." His elder brother chuckled from his place by the dresser, "You are really happy, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I am going to marry the most incredible woman on the face of this planet - a true goddess given human form." Matias beamed as he fixed his tie.

"We've been through this, Little Brother - Bela is the most incredible." Magnus scoffed.

"Your opinion - Not Fact. Besides, My Cassandra shall always be the most amazing woman in my eyes; she is just too perfect to explain with words. I'm glad Madam Dimitrescu allowed me the privilege of marrying her daughter, I don't deserve her." Matias said with a smile as he thought back.

"I thought the same thing when I was getting married to Bela - she still is a wonder I shall never really deserve but I will always treasure." Magnus smiled.

"Oh, speaking of you two - I heard Madam Dimitrescu told you she wanted a grandchild soon." Matias said as he looked back at his brother, whose face was bright red.

"As much as Mother-In-Law would want a grandchild, I told her that I was waiting on Bela to be ready - we shall have a child when Bela is ready, not a moment before then." Magnus said.

"Good to know you treasure your wife's decision, did she finish redecorating the Family House?" Matias asked.

"So far, she can't seem to choose what she wants to change or what rooms she wants to make into her private rooms. On a better note, the staff willingly let Bela fed off them if she gets hungry and I'm not around. How's your construction going?" Magnus asked.

"Almost done, Cass held me draw up the plans so I know she's going to love the place. It will be ready in a weak." Matias said.

The brothers looked at the clock and saw it was almost time for the bride to come. They finished up with their own preparations and headed down the courtyard.

The violinists that Magnus hired began playing the song as Cassandra walked down the aisle with a bouquet of black roses in her hands & a smile on her face with a gleam in her eyes.

Matias stood at the altar with Mother Miranda with a smile on his face as his future wife came up and they linked hands.

"You are so breathtaking, My Beloved." Matias said.

"Thank you, you're very handsome yourself."

Mother Miranda began her rites - blessing the young couple before her and everyone else with long life, eternal love & endless happiness before the 'I do's were said and the marital bond sealed with a kiss.

Everyone was so busy celebrating the newly married couple that they didn't notice a large cloaked figure walk to the table that held the gits and place a small envelope on the table.

The feast began and the presents were given, The Lord of Iron found the envelope and didn't remember it being there at first and gave it to the new couple.

Matias opened it and turned it upside down, a pair of shiny keys landed in the palm of his other hand.

"Are those house keys?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes, but they told us that the house wasn't going to be done for another week... did they lie so that it would be a surprise?" Matias questioned.

"Well, looks like you'll be living together sooner than expected." Magnus smiled as he placed his hand on his wife's hip to pull her closer.

"It would seem so." He looked to his wife, "Darling, what would you like to decorate the house with?" He asked.

[At The Wedding of Maximus & Daniela Dimitrescu]

Alcina already didn't approve of Maximus' relationship with her youngest daughter - but this proposal filled the Lady of the Castle with rage.

She knew that she wouldn't be able to stop her daughter from loving Maximus, but she could prevent the wedding from happening on her Castle Grounds.

Daniela was upset that her mother was against her marriage just because her lover wasn't as rich as her sisters, but he loved her and he was willing to be hurt if it meant she was going to be safe.

Maximus told her beloved that it didn't matter - he could make them a great wedding, all he needed to know was where she wanted it to happen and what she wanted for it.

Daniela wanted her wedding to overlook the ocean at sunset - the light would be perfect. Maximus would give her everything she wanted but there was only one thing he asked for.

"I don't want the Vilkas Lords at the wedding."

When questioned by his future sister in laws, he told them 'I have a bad history with that family and I don't want them at y special day."

The Elder of the Dimitrescu Daughters had nothing to say about that and agreed.

On the day of the wedding - The site was lovely and everyone came in attendance; even Alcina. She didn't want to come up she wanted her daughter to be happy.

The Dimitrescu Daughters were there without their husbands and they were crossed with it.

Maximus waited for the arrival of his fiancee and when she did arrive - it was by carriage...a very familiar carriage.

The door of the carriage opened and Daniela stepped out...but she wasn't the only ones.

The Lords of House Vilkas - Magnus & Matias - stepped out in suits and had uncertain expressions on their faces.

"You?!" Maximus glared at the men, "What are you two doing here? Why were you in a carriage with my fiancee?!" He roared at them.

"I was on my way here with Aunt Donna when they pulled up and asked me where the wedding was taking place, I didn't tell them and they rushed us in the carriage." Dani said as she walked over to Maximus and Donna was getting out of the carriage.

"You forced my fiancee into a carriage?! For what reason?!" The blacksmith growled.

"Please, I know you are upset but we just want to speak with you - I want to speak with you." Magnus said as he took a step forward.

"I told you that I wanted nothing to do with your family, Lord Vilkas!" Maximus said with a glare.

"Stop calling me that! I'm not Lord Vilkas right now, I'm your little brother!" Magnus shouted with sadness in his voice.

Everyone looked wide-eyed at that confess and all eyes looked at Maximus.

"You're the Eldest of the Vilkas Family?" Daniela asked as she looked at the man she loves.

"I share their DNA and nothing else." He glared at his brothers, "I am not a Vilkas., that was taken away from me the moment they were born."

"What is he talking about?" Bela asked her husband.

"We grew up thinking that we were the only children but when we found a birth record for a son that was older than us, we asked our parents about him." Magnus began.

"They told us that he was an accident, an unwanted child, a placeholder for the Vilkas Heirship until a true heir was born..." Matias said.

"Then the moment the twins were born, my father disowned me, beat me to a pulp, and tossed me into the snow during a blizzard with dagger - the insignia of the family I once had was scratched out. I begged them to let me back in, I cried that I didn't want to die, but they ignored me and I began to walk into the forest, looking for some kind of shelter." Maximus' eyes looked to the ground at the pain of the memory.

"Brother..." Magnus said but he didn't know what he could say to his older sibling. All the pain he's been through, all because he was planned.

"It wasn't our fault. It was father and mother's, they were the ones who did that horrible thing to you! They robbed you of your place as The Vilkas Family Head & they robbed us of an older brother. Please, Maximus...We need our brother." Matias said to him.

Maximus looked at the two of them before he told them to sit beside their wives so that they could begin the ceremony. They took their seats, Daniela and Maximus took their places and the rites were read, the 'I do's were said, and the kiss was sealed.

Alcina just sat there with a stunned look on her face - the one she wanted was related to the family she respected, what's more, he was the rightful head?

Maximus looked at his brother and wondered - could he really have a relationship with them after their births took away his life?

[End]

[winter-fox-queen]

The Gentry’s Gifts:  Pero

Pero Tovar might meet the woman of his dreams, if he can make himself trust a mysterious visitor.  My  Writer Wednesday thingy.  I am tagging @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Warnings:  No smut, a little kissing, eating but it’s Tovar so the pace of that is quick, the S/O is female blank canvas.  I think there is cursing.  Not beta’d — I should be working on something else but this bit me hard, and there may be a second part with Max Phillips.  I have this idea of connecting each story and telling several tales but you know how speedy I write stuff.  So if there are any mistakes, I am sorry.  Basically wrote this and did not read it over even.

Pero’s dreams were sometimes horrible things.  

Sometimes he dreamt of monsters surging over a wall.  Of death and blood, of his sword, or his axe, slicing through men and beast.

Sometimes he dreamed of the wide sky of the desert, the starts shining bright, almost as numerous as his regrets.

And sometimes.  Sometimes.  He dreamed of you.  It filled him with such longing he would wake to the alarm clock’s cry to realize his face was wet with tears.

But, he would put on his suit (wool or polyester, not leather and metal) fill his satchel with the armor of his craft (law briefs, good pens, post it notes) and step out into the world.

He would look for you.  He would look for you on buses.  In bars.  Sometimes he would think, “If I were her, where would I go?”  And he would find himself in libraries.  Museums.  Once he took High Afternoon Tea at a Victorian style house, a dark, grumpy shadow alone at his pwn table, surrounded by ladies wearing fancy borrowed hats and gossip.

The one place he never wanted to see you was the other side of his desk, and so far he had lucked out.  He was a public defender, and the people who came to his door were almost always desperate.

Almost always.  The woman across from him was not.  Steel grey hair in a chignon, cool dark eyes that seemed to be able to read everything about him, a story in every wrinkle, in the scar over his eye, in the silver in his hair.

“We’ve been here before, you and I.”

She said it so seriously, he took it as such…looking at his pile of files.  “Have we?  Forgive me, I have a lot of cases…what is your name, again?  My secretary wrote it down, but it smudged.”

She placed a hand over his, stilling his search.  “I know how you got the scar over your eye.  The first time.  And the second.”

He shivered, pulled his hand away.  “What are…”

“You dream of the Great Wall of China.  You dream of monsters with scales and monsters who are men.  Sometimes the monster is you.”

His back straightened as his heart started to race.  “Lady…”

She folded her hands on her lap.  “I know your dreams because they are not dreams.  You helped me, once.  You could have demanded payment, but you did not.  You told me such stories.  Stories about the endless desert.  About your friend William.  And about her.”

He looked in her eyes.  “You are not yourself.  Let me call a friend — we have social services in this building, they can find you someone to talk to, to help you.”

She stood with an amused smile.  “You didn’t believe me last time, either.  But my people…we always pay our debts.  I will not rest until I have paid mine.”  She leaned forward and whispered your name in his year, like a lullaby, like a promise, and his hand, hovering over the phone on his desk, froze.

She threw a card down on his inked over desk calendar.  “If you want me to help you find her, come here tonight.  Dress nice.  Surely you have something better than that suit.”

He picked up the card.  Writing appeared, an address, in shimmering emerald.

It wouldn’t rip in half.  If he folded it, it popped back, pristine.

It wouldn’t fall into the trash — it stuck to his fingers like tape.

But it would slip into his breast pocket, where it burned throughout the day.

Pero’s after work plans were boring as usual.  A new Thai place opened up on the way home, all beautiful paint and murals.  He thought, maybe, maybe you would like it.  He stood in the doorway, he looked at the people within.

You know where she might be, a voice reminded himself, the card burned.  

He backed out.  “Fuck it.”  He muttered.  “Subway is good enough.”

He ate quickly, hunched over his food in his green and yellow booth.  He was angry.  He hated being manipulated, he hated the idea that his life, his dreams were all a game to some white haired woman who thought being mysterious was cute.  Well.  He’d show her.

He threw out the wrapper and stomped out the door,

He slumped in his car and looked at the GPS.  The card burned in time with his heartbeat.  He took it out.  “If I can’t find the address in the GPS, I’m going home, having a beer, and calling tomorrow off.”

The GPS found the address before he even typed most of it in, and the card flashed in his hand, as if saying, “I told you so.”

“Fine.”  He said, pulling in his seat belt.  “But I’m not getting dressed.”

He did check his teeth in the mirror, take off the tie and unbutton a few buttons, fix his hair, chew a couple of Altoids…

And drove.

It was dark, by the time he got there.  One window like a gold beacon.  “Not exactly the place I’d go to make all my dreams come true.”  He muttered.

Well, not the GOOD dreams, anyway.

He climbed up on the porch.  A man with short hair in an immaculate business suit that cost more than Pero’s whole wardrobe was seated at a card table.  The Queen of Hearts and the Queen of Spades face up before him.  He stared at them like a man trying to decide which chalice was poison.

Pero stood over him a moment.  The other man glanced up.  “She’s inside.”

“What are you doing?”

The other man placed his hands on either side of the Queen cards.  “Trying to choose.”

“Between?”

He smiled a little, his lower lip catching on a fang.  “Life and death.  Go on in.  She;s waiting for you.”

Pero grunted and opened the door.  

“Be kind to her,”. The other man’s voice added softly.  “She’s a good woman.”

He walked down the hall, looking into room as he passed them.  The place was like some screwy version of the TARDIS and was much, much bigger on the inside.  He passed three libraries.  A gallery.  A room with a pool table and another room with a pool.

And there, in the last room was a cozy parlor where two women sat talking.  One of them was the stern woman with iron colored hair.

And one of them was you.

“Pero!”  You almost knock over the table in your excitement.  He held out his arms, shaking, and you plowed right in.  “I thought you were a dream!  I thought you were nothing but a dream!”

He gathered her close, trying to focus past the sudden blurriness in his eyes.  “I never stopped looking.  I didn’t know if you were real but I couldn’t make myself stop looking.”

The woman at the table smiled.  “One debt down.”  

He ignored her, looking down into your eyes.  Your hands came up to gently trace his cheeks, to wipe away the tears.  You beamed at him.  “You are the most beautiful thing in the world,”

“Kiss me,” You whisper.  “I have waited far too long…”

And he did.

The clock started to toll.  “Midnight.  Good.  Take her hand, Pero, and take her out of here…and don’t look back.  Take the stupid vampire with you, if he’s not already left.”  The grey haired woman started pushing them out.  The hall was shorter.

“Th…”. Pero starts to say, wanting to thank her for her help, for bringing you to him.  The older woman pushes him hard.  “No.  No thanks.  No more debts!”

“I…I understand your kindness.”

“That was good!”  You say.  “I like that better than what I said to her, earlier…”. You both step out onto the porch.  “Where’s Max?  Max is my boss.  I don’t know why she called him a vampire…he’s very nice.”  

It’s empty.  Good.  “I don’t know, but he had his own troubles to think about.”  Pero pushes you into the car.  “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”  He says.  “I do not want you to be taken away from me…I do not know how this miracle happened, but I will follow the rules.”

He turned the car around with his eyes closed, hoping that his memory of the wide drive being surrounded by grass was true.  Good.  The car did not hit anything, and soon they were heading down the driveway.  

“Are you hungry?”  He says a moment later.  Your hand is curled in his, and he feels lighter than he’s ever felt.  “I know a great place that’s open late…”

“Take me home.”  You say, instead.  “I want to sit up late and find out everything about you.”

“I want to do everything at your pace,” he says, as she types her address into the gps.  “But I don’t need to wait.  I know perhaps once you get to know me you’ll think the dream far better than reality, but…”

She touched his face.  “But it’s a dream we’ve both had for a long time. We will have to be sensible.”

“Of course.”

“We don’t want family and friends to be like, who the hell is that?  Are you out of your mind?”

He laughed.  Snagged your hand again so he could kiss it.

“But I won’t ever let you go.  I did it once.  But I will never, ever do it again.”

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Hey folks, are we all alive after ACOSF? Because I sure am not.

Sorry for delaying this chapter, my head was just so full of ACOSF that writing had been pushed back a little. But worry not, last chapter’s cliff hanger finally is over!! I think this is one of the biggest chapters I have written (it is 3K), so I hope you enjoy it!!

In which she makes a Friend, Part Ten

Nesta had fallen asleep on the chair near her bed, where Kaelin was currently sleeping soundly. The same scene from a couple of months back, when she had just discovered that Kaelin was actually a girl, made chills run down her spine.

She didn’t like this situation. Didn’t like it at all.

Cassian had barged into the cabin with a bleeding and passed out Kaelin on his arms, making Nesta jump from her position on the couch, where she had been nervously waiting for them. She had ushered Cassian to place Kaelin in her room, trying to keep her voice low and calm as she asked what the hell had happened.

The menacing aura emanating from Cassian took her back to the memory of when she was human. Of when she had allowed him to get way too close to her. Had allowed him to scent and see the fear in her eyes at the reminder of tearing skirts and cries of help.

Had reminded her of how he had gone utterly still, the need to kill and inflict unbearable pain on the one who had hurt her.

She was not seeing Cassian, the laidback male who cooked for her, and hummed in the kitchen, or who gifted her and Kaelin thoughtful things.

No, she was seeing Cassian, General Commander of the Illyrian armies.

The Lord of Bloodshed.

But that did not frighten her. No, as it had been when she was human, she was not frightened of Cassian.

Nesta was frightened for those who would suffer the wrath of the 500 year old Illyrian, who had been compared with the great warrior god Enalius.

Cassian had left Kaelin in Nesta’s care, giving her a tight smile before leaving again.

Nesta had tended to Kaelin’s wound the best that she could, cleaning the dried blood on her face, but not daring to undress the young Illyrian of her bloodied leathers in fear that Cassian came back suddenly.

However, when Nesta was boiling some tea in hopes of easing her nerves and heard someone knocking on the door, she opened it not to find Cassian but Esmée, the healer matron with a basket full of vials and linens, a serious look on her face.

“That headstrong kurumin all but barged into my barrack, demanding that I rush here and see to that bubbly pitanga” Esmée had pursed her lips as she took in Kaelin’s appearance “Although he did not say how bad the poor thing looked”

Nesta had watched Esmée like a hawk as the healer applied some ointment to Kaelin’s cuts and bruises. Her Illyrian blood would heal her faster, but even the warrior race could be exposed to infections. That was a risk they were not going to take, especially after Cassian had told Nesta where he had found Kaelin.

She had tried not to think of the young girl being beaten in a remote area in the woods. Tried not to think of what would have happened had Cassian not arrived.

Had Kaelin’s killing power not been activated.

Too many thoughts run around Nesta’s mind. Too many variables having been added to the already messy situation.

And Nesta had also tried not to think of how Cassian had eyed her before he left. How while he had told her of Kaelin’s breakdown his hazel eyes had been searching her face for a spark of recognition.

Searching her face for a shadow of a secret shared between her and Kaelin, hidden deeply into her mind, behind the fortress of iron that surrounded it.

Cassian suspected something.

And it was only a matter of time before others started to suspect too.

Nesta was sure of it, especially when she had tensed while Esmée opened Kaelin’s leathers to examine her other bruises.

She had only eased when she noticed that Kaelin wore a thin tunic underneath it, also remembering the band she used to bind her chest.

As long as Esmée did not remove Kaelin’s tunic there was no danger of her secret being exposed.

“He broke one rib and another is seriously bruised” Esmée had informed, running her hands over Kaelin’s torso “And he will have some nasty marks on his stomach, probably due to the punches that broke them. He’s to rest for at least a week. If that good for nothing camp Lord says anything about it just tell the General to pay him a visit and politely convince him of sticking his opinions where the sun does not shine.” 

Nesta had fought back a smile at the healer’s words, walking her to the door and letting out a sigh of relief when she was gone.

Nesta rose from the chair with a loan groan, her whole body aching from sleeping in an awkward position. She turned her neck from side to side, hoping to ease the tension accumulated as she quietly closed her bedroom door and went to the kitchen. She had not eaten a single thing since Cassian had left to go search for Kaelin, the only thing in her stomach being the tea she had brewed before Esmée had arrived.

Looking at the clock on the wall, she furrowed her brows in confusion. Cassian should already have been up and about, being the early riser that he was. But now that she stopped to think about it, she had not heard him coming back yesterday night.

A cold dread settled in her stomach, and she fought the urge to tug at the thin thread hidden deep within herself, if only to be certain of his whereabouts.

“He’s fine Nesta'' she murmured to herself as she set the kettle on the stove “He can take care of himself. He’s not called the Lord of Bloodshed for nothing”

But that feeling of dread stayed with her, from the time it took for the water to boil to how long it took for Nesta to realize that she had been so far away in her thoughts that her eggs were burning.

“Oh fuck” she cursed out loud quickly turning the oven off and opening the kitchen’s window to disperse the smoke.

She was still cursing when a deep male voice came from behind her.

“Since when did Nesta Archeron know how to swear? Those are not appropriate words for a lady”

Nesta turned around to see Cassian leaning against the doorframe, an amused grin on his face.

“Should not a lady always aim to expand her vocabulary?” she inquired, arching an eyebrow.

That made Cassian laugh, a mischievous glint on his eyes that eased that feeling of dread in Nesta’ stomach.

“I didn’t see you arriving back yesterday” she nonchalantly said, placing the tea on the table and saving the less burnt pieces of eggs for her to eat.

The lack of an answer from Cassian told Nesta enough. He had not returned.

“Am I going to have to tie you to your damn bed?” she threatened “Esmée said you needed to rest”

“I would gladly let you tie me up sweetheart, although I would rather be the one tying you” Cassian’s voice dropped an octave, and Nesta had to fight back a blush.

“I am not joking you pervert” but her voice lacked the amount of spite she wanted it to have.

Cauldron, to picture Cassian touching her while she lay helpless, giving him full control over her…. Nesta was not one to let others take rein in any kind of situation, especially sex. But to have Cassian being the one in control…. making her go mad with his big and calloused hands, that deep voice saying sweet temptations and dirty promises in her ear… it was enough to make her toes curl.

His answering grin was enough to say he had noticed the change in her scent.

“Wound a bit tight these days Nessie?” he walked in her direction, and the need to taste him, to feel him against her skin….

How long had it been since she had last pleasured herself? She had not bedded a male since she had come to Windhaven, and even touching herself was a no go once Kaelin started living with them.

Cauldron, she had to stop thinking about that.

But the closer Cassian got, the stronger his scent was, that mix of eucalyptus and musk almost making Nesta groan in frustration.

“Get your head out of the gutter Cassian” she managed to say, not giving him the satisfaction of moving away from him, little to no distance between their bodies.

That infuriating smirk appeared again, as always making her blood boil, from either desire or anger at him she did not know.

However, upon close inspection, Nesta could notice how dark the shadows beneath his eyes were. How his hair was more messed up then usual and the lack of shaving more noticeable.

“As if I was going to take such an awful looking male to my bed” Nesta snorted.

“You need to rest Cassian, you cannot keep going like this” she added softly, and maybe the use of his name — something she rarely did — made him see that she was not joking. That she truly was worried about him.

“I am a warrior Ness, we are trained to go days into battle with barely enough sleep” he said, daring to grip her fingers tenderly.

“It does not mean you can punish yourself by not arriving to help Kaelin sooner” she pleaded with her eyes “ It was not your fault. And if you keep thinking like that you will have to blame me too.”

Cassian only squeezed her fingers once before letting go of her hand, a sad smile on his face.

“Eat something more than those burnt eggs or else you will faint. And remember that you have the week off to rest”

Nesta opened her mouth to retort that he should stop being such a headstrong brute and just fucking sleep but Cassian was gone before she could unleash her temper on him.

~•~

Kaelin was awake by the time Nesta had come back to her room.

And the young illyrian was smart enough to keep silent at Nesta’s murder glare.

“You, young lady, are grounded” Nesta declared as she sat on the chair, the picture of grace and calmness despite the blazing fire echoing in her veins.

She directed her powers towards the dying fireplace, silencing the flames with ease now. Nesta felt smug satisfaction at the fact that she was controlling her powers with more facility, although she still had troubles maintaining its constant flow during her training with Cassian.

“I am what” Kaelin croaked out, her throat probably sore after all she had cried and having not spoken for almost a day.

“Grounded. As in you messed up and so I am punishing you in an educational way” Nesta’s voice softened and she clasped Kaelin’s hand “It was very brave of you to shoulder everything alone in fear of putting me, Emerie and even Cassian in danger.”

Kaelin sat a little taller, no wonder feeling pride at Nesta’s words.

“However, it was also very stupid of you, even more given that your killing powers manifested and you thought it better to not tell a single soul about it” Nesta added seriously “And that’s why I think you are going to be one of the most fierce warriors in our history. The best of them tend to be the most reckless and self sacrificing.”

Cassian’s face came to her mind, remembering how he had lay his life for her more than once. How as much as he was intelligent he was also selfless. How he did not hesitate to put his family’s life first and before even his own.

And even though Nesta felt pride and awe at his attitude, she also felt fear for his life.

He walked too close to Death for her liking.

“Next time, do not feel afraid and trust me. Trust Cassian. I am sure he would have helped you, no questions asked” she gave Kaelin’s hand a reassuring squeeze “Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am” Kaelin answered, an embarrassing blush blooming on her cheeks.

When Nesta had made sure Kaelin had eaten all of the food piled on her plate — Nesta had only heated some pre-made food Cassian had already cooked, not wanting to repeat the burnt food event – she announced what the young illyrian grounding would be.

“No flying?!” Kaelin shouted.

“No flying”

“You can’t do that!” she argued, completely exasperated.

“Not only I can but I did exactly that. Esmée said you need one week of rest and that is what you are going to do” Kaelin opened her mouth to protest but Nesta beat her to it “You almost broke two ribs, no way you are going to either be flying or training so soon. If that stupid Devlon says something he will have to deal with me and Cassian about it.”

“But…”

“No buts. After your one week of rest is up and you can go back to training you will walk there. No flying.”

“You want me to walk back and forth?!” Kaelin looked as if Nesta had just told her that goats could fly.

“No flying. For a month”

“A month?!”

“Want me to make it two?” Nesta inquired, fighting back a grin at Kaelin’s hopeless face.

“No” she grumbled back, and Nesta had never seen Kaelin look so much as a thirteen year old as now. 

Despite the fact that she was quite cheerful, the young girl usually portrayed a serious expression on training and their conversations, having matured earlier than most because of her need for survival. Nesta wanted Kaelin to be able to enjoy life to its fullest, without the constant fear of having her secret exposed.

She found herself wishing Kaelin could live normally as a girl and still be able to keep on training. But change took time, especially for a kind as old and traditional as the Illyrians and Fae.

“How about you show me your penmanship? You will have plenty of time to practice now” Nesta said, trying to distract her thoughts of the ‘what ifs’ of the future.

~•~

“What in the Cauldron are you doing?” Cassian asked, coming out of the kitchen.

“Preparing to sleep, as normal people usually do” Nesta answered, arranging the blankets on the couch. She could not possibly let Kaelin sleep anywhere but her bed given the kid’ state, although she had in vain tried to argue against Nesta’s decision.

“You are not sleeping on the damn couch” he argued, picking her pillow.

“Well, Kaelin is already passed out on the bed after I gave him the painkillers Esmée left, and no way I’m making him sleep here” she snapped, snatching back her pillow.

“My bed is perfectly available” he retorted “You sleep there and I will sleep here”

He tried to take the pillow from her but Nesta took a step back, snarling in his direction.

“Look at yourself Cassian! You haven’t had a proper night of sleep in weeks!! You sleep on your bed and I will sleep here!”

“Gods, you’re such a stubborn woman!! I may be just a lowly bastard but even I have some decency to not let a female sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed!!”

“You are not sleeping on the couch” she repeated.

“Well, you are also not sleeping there so I guess the only option is for us to share a bed!” Cassian practically shouted back.

“Then I guess we will be sharing your bed then!” Nesta found herself agreeing, both to hers and Cassian’ surprise.

However, now there was no coming back. Nesta would not give Cassian the satisfaction of seeing her flustered over him.

So she grabbed her pillow and left the living room, walking towards his room and not looking back, hesitating only once she stopped in front of his bedroom’s door.

“You may open it” Cassian quietly said behind her, and Nesta tentatively turned the doorknob.

She had never entered Cassian’s room before. Not that it was that different in size from hers, but she supposed the decoration made all the difference.

Apart from a bed big enough to accomodate wings, what most surprised Nesta was Cassian’s shelf, which not only held weapons such as daggers and knives — she guessed there were even more weapons stashed somewhere in his drawer, armoire or under the bed —  but a small private collection of books.

She had seen some books in the living room, and felt a tinge of shame to think those were the only ones Cassian had. Running her hand over the books’ spine, she could see they had been well read, and that Cassian took great care with them.

“Those are military books” he informed softly, his hazel eyes following her every move “You could say I am quite attached to them, that’s why they are here instead of on top of the living room’s fireplace.”

“This is not a military book” Nesta said in the same voice tone, taking one from its place and reading the title.

‘King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table’

“I would not have pegged you for a romance reader” she teased, recalling his own words from when she had first arrived at the House of Wind.

“It is not a romance” he argued “It is a story full of blood and fights and dangerous quests for glory and—”

“And Guinevere is just a fish then?” Nesta inquired, returning the book to its rightful place.

Cassian’s only answer was a low grumble and Nesta could swear he was sulking because she was right.

“Just go to sleep and forget about this” Cassian said, awkwardly gesturing towards his bed.

Spine straight as a sword, Nesta pushed the covers back and fluffled her pillow before trying to get comfortable.

It was too much. Too much Cassian. Too much of that intoxicating scent that made her caged heart threaten to explode and pour out all that she felt for him into the open. She had no idea how she was going to be able to sleep, even more when she heard a rustling sound and saw Cassian drop his clothes in a chair, staying only in his undershorts.

“What do you think you are doing?” she exclaimed, a bit breathless as she eyed his tan and muscled torso, failing to hide how seeing him like that affected her.

“Would you rather have me sleeping naked sweetheart? Because that is my type of sleeping garments” he winked at her, and Nesta wondered if she could suffocate him with her pillow.

“But for the sake of your poor nerves I will put on proper clothes xe r-atá” he added, slipping on some cotton pants that hang so low on his hips that Nesta had to bite her tongue to not comment on the fact that it did nothing to calm her poor nerves.

Cassian turned off the light settling beside her on the bed and keeping a respectful distance from her side.

Nesta tightly closed her eyes and prayed to sleep come soon. Yet she kept tossing and turning around, not finding a comfortable position.

“I thought you wanted me to rest Ness” Cassian’s amused voice interrupted the silence.

“Well, it’s not my fault I cannot find a comfortable position and am feeling cold despite the lit fireplace” she turned in his direction, trying to find his face in the dark “Don’t you ever feel cold?”

“I am quite used to Illyria’s weather, and maybe living for so long in a piss poor tent outside made me immune to it” he said with a hint of sadness “You should have told me sooner that you were cold. Wait a minute.”

Nesta’s eyes slowly got used to the dark and she could faintly see Cassian moving towards his wardrobe and returning with a huge fur blanket.

“Warmer?” he asked, tucking it so tenderly around her that her heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, but….”

“Still not comfortable?”

She felt her cheeks getting hot in embarrassment and thanked the gods Cassian could not see it because of the dark.

“Can I—” Cassian cleared his throat and Nesta felt him move a little in her direction.

“Yes'' she laid utterly still, not daring even to breath as Cassian moved and embraced her, his arm acting as a pillow for her head.

“It’s just body heat” he murmured, his breath hitting her forehead.

“Just body heat” she agreed, eyelids suddenly heavy with sleep.

“Aundê aicô, xe nhia” Cassian whispered, Nesta’s soft breathing letting him know she was fast asleep.

•

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[asprettyasyourown]

How/Where do you think Jon and Arya will meet again? And how/where do you think Dany and Arya will meet?

Honestly, I can’t see Arya and Jon meeting anywhere else other than Winterfell. It would be such a satisfying “conclusion” to this aspect of their storyline. For Arya, both Winterfell AND Jon have been associated with home. She has tried since day one to return to either of them, and to see her do both at the same time would be so lovely. And Jon too, who has struggled for so long with his desire to have Winterfell (feeding his rivalry with Robb and his conflict with his status as a bastard) and Arya (contradicting his position as a member of the Night’s Watch, who have no family), would then get both at the same time. I know GRRM doesn’t like to hand things on a silver platter, and that “Be careful what you wish for” is a massive theme in the series, but come on. You can’t tell me they had it easy, and that they didn’t fight for it.

Now how and when is a little trickier.

Unfortunately, it won’t happen before a loooong time. Arya has a long way to go before leaving Essos, let alone reach Winterfell. She still needs to: 

Tie the story with the FM (including a “training” with the courtesans/the Black Pearl, and of course leaving them);

Deal with the wildlings women and children that are stranded in Braavos now that the Sealord captured the ship (= slavers) that intended to sell them;

As I’ve mentioned before, I very much see the Iron Bank being involved in her storyline, so there’s that to deal with as well;

Meet Dany (I’ll go back to this later);

Go back to Westeros;

Deal with the Riverlands, the Brotherhoods Without Banners and, most importantly, Lady Stoneheart;

Reconnect with Nymeria.

And all that doesn’t even take into account what GRRM could throw in her way on top of all of this. That’s a lot. And since Arya will definitively not see Jon anywhere outside of the North, it could only happen after she resolved all those things.

Jon too has a lot on his plate. He first needs to be resurrected (duh). He also needs to deal with the traitors who stabbed him and his future in the Night’s Watch. If you omit the whole murder thing (kinda hard to tbh), there is still the fact he broke his vows for Arya. He was already set to leave before he died. And since his last thoughts were about Arya, and we know the dead who get resurrected focus on their last conscious thoughts, his resolve to get her back will not be lessened.

Honestly, I think he’s done with the NW. I think he’s gonna do what he intended to before dying, aka kill Ramsay and get “Arya” back, whether by allying with Stannis or at the head of his own wildling army. I don’t know if he’s gonna become King in the North like in GoT, but he’s definitively going to be considered for the role; and since Bran, the legitimate heir, is still alive and will one day return to Winterfell, this could be the catalyst for the tension between these two George planned in his original draft. Not to mention the tensions it would create with the other northern lords, who would not see with a kind eye a bastard allied with the wildlings (enemies of the North for generations) and Stannis; or those who simply won’t appreciate a king not as malleable as a child (side-eye to the Manderlys).

(Oh, and there is also the matter with fArya and Theon. I’m going on a limb here, but I doubt he’s gonna be happy to learn that what he thought was his precious “sister” is really an impostor (though he might be happy to know the real Arya didn’t get what Jeyne had to endure). Or that she’s bringing along the guy who betrayed the Starks and supposedly killed Bran and Rickon. His first reaction definitively won’t be good, though it will probably soften once he learns what happened to them and how Ramsay is the real culprit. But I’m not anticipating much benevolence from him, especially since he’s in dark mode now).

So yeah. Lots of issues to be resolved before they can be reunited, and that’s without counting on the threat of the Others or what other characters might do. Honestly, I’m anticipating a reunion between the end of TWOW and the beginning of ADOS. On one hand, I think it would be more impactful in TWOW; most specifically, the last act of either Jon or Arya’s chapters. It would be a nice conclusion for the both of them, before the Others mess everything up. But I’m also aware that all the issues I’ve previously mentioned might not be resolved in one book, and that it might spill on the second one.

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

Now Dany.

Honestly, it’s kinda hard to be sure of how they’re gonna meet. They will, that’s a certainty. There is so much hints, since the first book really. Remember this?

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. [Arya, IV, AGOT]

Which is exactly how I’m anticipating their relationship. At first, things are going to be tense, especially on Dany’s side who has been fed lies about the Starks and their role in her exile (and who could blame her). So there’s definitively room for Arya to be frightened. But once she gets Dany to see her side to the story, and her vision of the events become more balanced, they’ll become fast-friends. They have so much in common, it’s impossible for them not to.

But, once again, the details of how they’re gonna meet is blurry. Arya will need to at least be done with the FM. And Dany... Dany has a lot on her plate too. She’s gonna need to deal with the khalasar she hears at the end of ADWD, and a possible confrontation (alliance?) with the Dothraki. She will also need to end the plot in Meereen (aka choose between “fixing” its whole culture or do what she always intended to, return to Westeros and seize back the Iron Throne). Of course, we know she’s gonna choose the latter - but a bunch of things can happen between that, and with them time passing.

At this point, Arya and Dany are very far away, each at one extremity of Essos. For them to have a chance to meet, I anticipate that Dany will end things with Meereen at the same time Arya closes the storyline with the FM (maybe even before, so Dany could already be on the road towards Braavos). Now is the tricky part. I have two theories on how they will meet: through the lost Wildlings and through the Iron Bank.

The lost Wildlings

We know the wildlings women and children in Braavos were “freed” when the Sealord seized the ship carrying them. Unfortunately, others were not so lucky.

“I know why the Sealord seized the Goodheart. She was carrying slaves. Hundreds of slaves, women and children, roped together in her hold.” Braavos had been founded by escaped slaves, and the slave trade was forbidden here. “I know where the slaves came from. They were wildlings from Westeros, from a place called Hardhome. An old ruined place, accursed.” Old Nan had told her tales of Hardhome, back at Winterfell when she had still been Arya Stark. “After the big battle where the King-Beyond-the-Wall was killed, the wildlings ran away, and this woods witch said that if they went to Hardhome, ships would come and carry them away to someplace warm. But no ships came, except these two Lyseni pirates, Goodheart and Elephant, that had been driven north by a storm. They dropped anchor off Hardhome to make repairs, and saw the wildlings, but there were thousands and they didn’t have room for all of them, so they said they’d just take the women and the children. The wildlings had nothing to eat, so the men sent out their wives and daughters, but as soon as the ships were out to sea, the Lyseni drove them below and roped them up. They meant to sell them all in Lys. Only then they ran into another storm and the ships were parted. The Goodheart was so damaged her captain had no choice but to put in here, but the Elephant may have made it back to Lys. The Lyseni at Pynto’s think that she’ll return with more ships. The price of slaves is rising, they said, and there are thousands more women and children at Hardhome.” [The Blind Girl, ADWD]

So the Goodheart was too damaged to go to Lys, but the Elephant wasn’t. It means there are still hundreds of wildlings women and children enslaved there. Honestly, I’m not sure how Arya could be involved in freeing them. Lys is a long way from Braavos, which means she would have to travel down there (with no resources and the other half of the wildlings), free them and get back up to sail across the Narrow Sea, deal with the Riverlands and then go North. It’s a little much for one girl, even one as resourceful as Arya. Sure, she could ask help from the Iron Bank (see my second point), but I doubt they would indulge her (high risk for no rewards).

But. You know who is as strongly against slavery as Arya, whose path might make her travel to Lys and who has the resources to fuck shit up? Yep, Dany.

The way I see it is, after being disheartened by Meereen and her failure to change the slaver(y) culture, Dany could very much decide to go home to Westeros - and set everything ablaze in her path. If she failed to abolish slavery from the inside, she might decide to do it by force, as a last FUCK YOU to the masters. This could be the beginning of her rock bottom, before she rises back again. It’s also coherent with the Dothraki culture of “Submit or be killed”, which could play a part if she allies with them again.

So I could see her attacking the big cities of Essos, destroying the masters and freeing the slaves as she goes along, until she reaches Braavos - who may be protected since 1. she would use its port to journey across the Narrow Sea and 2. they’re famously known for being founded by slaves and anti-slavery as a whole (and they actually enforce that rule, not just preach it and close their eyes when it counts). There, she could meet Arya through the wildlings women reuniting. Like I said, things would be tense at first, but if they might not be friends at first, they might respect each other for having their hearts set on the same goal (protecting their people). Friendship would come later, I’m not worried about that.

The Iron Bank theory

For me, the Iron Bank doesn’t get the recognition it deserves as a threat, and I fully anticipate them having a much larger role in the next book.

I really believe they will have a hand in Arya going back to Westeros. After she leaves the FM, I very much see them stepping in to offer their “help” to Arya. Personally, I believe the Kindly Man informed them of her real identity (though his motivations are yet unclear). I believe he’s aware of her value as a princess, and the (supposedly) last heir of the North. Look how people are rallying for her in the North when they hear “Valiant Ned’s precious little girl” is being brutalized. Do you think the Iron Bank is gonna pass on such a prize? I can see them trying to do to her what the Manderlys are doing with Rickon, or what Illyrio tried to do with Dany - offer their protection and help so she would be/feel indebted. They could get ahold of the North through Arya, and of the other Kingdoms through Stannis/the crown’s debt. Not too shabby.

But wait, there is a problem arising. A problem named Daenerys, who fully intends to take back the Iron Throne - and if she does, she’s not gonna care about reimbursing the debt her predecessors/usurpers left, thus lessening their leverage (and with three dragons, a Dothraki army and the Unsullied, threatening her is not gonna fly well). I can see them trying to step in too, promise the same things to her they did to Arya - except she’s not gonna fall for the same ploy like Viserys did with Illyrio.

(Btw, I’m sure Arya too will see right through them - she had a whole training dedicated to make her see beyond appearances, and she’s always been pretty observant (like when she didn’t fall for trap Cersei laid for her, with Lannister soldiers dressed as Stark men in AGOT). But she also don’t have the same resources Dany has, and if she frees the wildlings, she’ll have hundreds of mouths to feed and transport back to Westeros. I can’t see her do that without external help, so she might be playing along til a better opportunity arise.)

Now, both these theories have their flaws. The biggest one, for me, is time. Meereen is not gonna be resolved in a day (unless Dany just sets everything on fire the moment she arrives and takes off into the sunset, but I doubt that). She still needs enough time to travel to Braavos. Even if George takes his sweet time closing the FM storyline, dealing with the wildlings in Braavos and the Iron Bank, it’s not gonna take a million chapters. Unless he throws something in there to delay her departure, something that wasn’t foreshadowed yet? Because I don’t see them meeting first in Westeros. What would be the point of having them on the same continent if they don’t meet there? As always, there’s a lot left hanging in the air.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Caught In The Storm" *Part 9*

So....did y'all like that cliffhanger?

Because...HAHAHA JK THAT'S NOT THE ENDING.

No, but actually...it was the original ending, but the original ending ended up being REALLY short. So, I wrote an ALTERNATE ending, that actually I really would prefer being the ACTUAL ending, but it had to go a different direction BEFORE the cliffhanger, so....you see my dilemma.

SO---

Here's what we're gonna do:

I'm going to put the ORIGINAL ending first, and then space it out, and put the ALTERNATE [better tbh] ending.

That way, you can have both. And I don't have to backtrack to undo my mistake due to my ADHD brain changing things 24/7.

Kay? Cool.

Also no neither of these are the ACTUAL ending, I refuse to have an odd number of chapters. REFUSE. So chapter 10 will be like an epilogue. Don't look at me like that.

Tag List

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@objection-argumentative

Part 10 (Epilogue is here!)

(This Gif is For the FIRST ending, there's a 2nd GIF that would be SPOILERS.)

Short Simple Ending #1

Raphael sat in his loft drinking scotch, for which he had done most of the day. He wasn't dressed, he hadn’t showered, he was a mess. He didn't know if he could ever come out of this. He sat there wallowing in his regret and sorrow, going over every interaction you two had ever had in your entire lives of knowing each other pinpointing everything he could have done differently. What he should have done differently, and the fact that if he had, you'd be there with him right now instead of getting married to someone you didn't love. He's just in the middle of chastising himself again when he heard a knock at the door.

“Liv, I told you I don't need your help; You can't help me right now!” he yelled to the door

“It's not Liv…”your voice came softly through the door.

His eyes lit up, he raced to the door and threw it open. Revealing you and your wedding dress, sopping wet.

“Well I hope you're happy!” you stomped into his apartment angrily.

“...What would I be happy about? Where is your husband? He asked half jokingly.

“I Don't HAVE a husband,” you spat.

“Really now?” He was enjoying this too much.

“No, I don't. And you just made me humiliate a poor, generous, loving, caring, amazing man. And I just dumped him in front of all of his friends and family, and in front of a million fans on a live stream and now everyone knows and I'm probably laughing stock right now!!!” you screamed angrily, pacing the apartment.

“I did all that?” He smirked.

“Yes, you did!” you crossed your arms as you walked back to him.

“And how did I do that?” He took both of your hands and pulled you closer, still smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“By telling me you love me!!!” you kept your angry face stoic. “How could I marry Nathan when I knew that I was supposed to be with someone else?”

“You couldn't,” He smiled.

“I couldn't…” You whispered as he pulled you even closer and took you in his arms.

“I love you Rafael,” you looked right into his big green eyes. It was the first time you had actually said it to him in those exact words, with all the love and emotion you had always meant it to be.

He stared at you for a moment, running through the words in his mind. He had yelled them so angrily and upset at you last night, not the way you needed. Not the way you deserved.

“I love you too, Y/N,” He smiled, cradling your face before pulling you into another mind blowing kiss; it had only been the second time you had ever kissed in your lives but it felt like you had done it a million times, like it was supposed to be this way. Like it was always supposed to be this way.

You were so glad you stayed through the storm.

-----

Actual" Really Long, Detailed, Funny Ending #2

-----

"But you don't love him,'' Rafael pointed out.

"You don't know that!" You snapped.

"Yes I do!" He shot back.

“How could you possibly know that?”

"Because you have never looked at him the way you look at me!" He exclaimed.

Your face went from upset and sad, to absolute rage after hearing him say that.

"You arrogant, selfish, son of a bitch…" you growled.

"How DARE you say that to me?! How DARE you use my own feelings and how much I loved you against me? Get out," You grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door.

"No look I'm sorry Y/N, but it's true. You don't love him and you're only marrying him to spite me!" He continued to dig himself a hole.

"So what?!” You said without thinking, making you both go wide eyed and silent.

“Are-- Are you serious?” He stammered.

“What if I was?” You now had an idea reeling.

“Wha...why would you…?” His eyes narrowed.

“Let’s say that I don’t believe you right now, which I don’t. And I kick you out of here, and I go through with my wedding in the morning? After ALL of this?” You gestured between the two of you.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Rafael asked as he eyed the two empty bottles of champagne.

"Don't even-- Maybe," You stood in front of the view of the bottles. You waved it off, trying to focus.

“What if I told you that the ONLY way that I will believe that you are completely serious and NOT just drunk, is if you try and stop my wedding?” You smirked.

“You’re not--” Rafael started to laugh, but you kept a serious face on. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know Rafael, I guess we’ll see tomorrow who’s ‘serious’ and who’s not!” You slammed the door in his face, leaving him dumbfounded.

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

The next day you were in the bridal room getting ready; It was pouring rain outside, it seemed appropriate.

Amanda, Kelsey and Olivia were helping you polish your tiara, ironing your dress, fixing your makeup and all that jazz. Hundreds of fans lined outside the church since someone had leaked where you were getting married. Everything came down to this moment. It was supposed to be the biggest day of your life, and you were terrified. But not for the reasons normal brides would be worried about. For one you were hungover, and for two you had made the most idiotic ultimatum to Rafael last night. Why would you DO that?! Why did he bring out the absolute snarkiest, competitive side of you?

“You're shaking,” Amanda noticed.

“It's just nerves, you need some champagne'' Kelsey grabbed a champagne flute and shoved it in your hand; you downed it.

“You're doing the right thing,” Kelsey assured you, as if she knew what you were thinking. You looked at Olivia and Amanda.

“And what do you say?” You genuinely asked them both.

“I think that whatever you want to do is the right thing,'' Olivia replied, squeezing her hand. You smiled thankfully, glancing at the door.

He hadn’t come yet, maybe he was just drunk. Maybe he was lying in his bed hungover, wondering why he went and made an ass out of himself for no reason. Then again, maybe he was waiting for a big crowd for a huge display of affection, God WHY did you do this...

------

When it was time, you walked up to Finn who was waiting at the doors of the chapel. He was dressed in a tuxedo with a baby blue tie.

“You look beautiful, baby girl,” he smiled. “Are you ready to do this?”

“Now or never,” You smiled, still glancing at the exits. You noted the cameras that were set up to livestream this to millions of people; you had totally forgotten about that. Oh god, now if there was a “public display” it wouldn’t just go to the guests, it would be broadcast around the world!

The Wedding March began to play as the chapel doors opened. You proceeded to walk down the aisle and looked at everyone watching you. All of your past and present family from the SVU squad was there. Grandpa Kragen and Grandpa Munch, Uncle Brian, Uncle Tucker, etc.

Then you looked at Nathan's family, a bunch of white rich stuffy but welcoming people. You noticed all of the crowds lining outside the windows of the church cheering you on, some crying, some holding signs. Then you looked at Nathan waiting for you at the end of the aisle smiling proudly. He really did love you.

You reached the end of the aisle and took Nathan's hands.

“Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today…”

The Preacher went on through the normal wedding exchanges until he got to “the” line..

“If anyone here has any reason that these two should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your peace,” The preacher announced as you held your breath.

You anxiously looked around the chapel, looking for any sign of Rafael. Maybe he had snuck in the back, or was hiding behind a lady with a hat. He was going to come, wasn’t he? Maybe you were right, maybe you were right along.

….Nothing. He wasn’t there. He didn’t come…

You felt your heart shatter, you were officially dead inside. And now the husk of you was being married off to this poor man.

“Do you Nathan Lee Price, take YN to be your lovely wedded wife, now and forever, through richer and poorer, sickness and health, before and after you both shall live?

“I do,”

“Y/N, do you take Nathan Lee Price to be your lovely wedded husband, now and forever, through richer and poorer, sickness and health, before and after you both shall live?”

You looked to Nathan, then you looked to your side of the wedding, then you looked to his side, you looked to the fans outside again, you looked to the sky, looked to the ground and then you looked back at Nathan.

"I…"

“NO SHE DOES NOT!!!!”

The chapel doors swung open revealing Rafael dressed in a tuxedo. The entire room gasped in horror, and you tried your best not to run to him right then and there. He ran down the aisle until he reached the altar.

“I’m sorry sir, we’ve already past the--” The preacher started to talk but Rafael put a hand in front of his face.

“I don’t care, padre,” He chortled.

"Cutting it a little close there, counselor," You muttered.

"You're the one who chose to get married during rush hour in New York City, carino," He winked.

“Man, are you serious? Really? You’ve had all this time, and you decide NOW that you want my fiancé?” Nathan asked him in a hushed voice, trying to be discreet.

Rafael however, was NOT trying to be discreet.

“This woman told me last night, if I really loved her, that I would come and stop this wedding,” He was addressing the crowd. “That I would stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life,” He turned to you and Nathan. “Marrying someone she does not love,”

The room gasped again, Nathan’s family looked horrified. Camera phones began filming, fans outside were going NUTS.

“...Is that true, Y/N?” Nathan asked you with the most pitiful look.

“I mean I--” You looked from him to Rafael, who had a huge grin on his face. Well, you DID ask for this.

“I didn’t use those exact words,” You shrugged apologetically. The pastor closed the Bible, the guests were chattering like mad, cameras flashed, the mob outside began to force themselves inside to see the drama.

“I..I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you…” Nathan shook his head in disbelief.

“Nathan I’m really sorry, I just--” You looked at Rafael again; his grin wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. “I had to be sure that he really loved me,”

“So he had to PROVE his love to you, when I have shown it to you EVERY SINGLE DAY?” Nathan started to yell, forgetting about appearances.

“I mean, no-- it’s a whole thing, you wouldn’t understand--” You started to laugh unintentionally, thinking of how you and Rafael had your own twisted sick sense of humor.

“You’re goddamn right I don’t understand!” He continued to yell.

“...She’s a flair for the dramatic Nate, what can I say?” Rafael smirked as he stepped up on the stair you were standing on and wrapped an arm around you. You really hated that you were enjoying this at Nate’s expense but-- Rafael was right. You wanted him to publicly admit it, and he delivered. And you were ecstatic.

“Yeah well, I hope you’re both happy in dramatic HELL,” Nathan spewed before stomping off out of the chapel with his groomsmen quickly tailing him. His side of the wedding began exiting the chapel furiously grumbling and yelling profanities at you.

You glanced at your side of the room, the entire NYPD. They all surprisingly looked very pleased, although some people like Kragen were skeptical about this suave ADA coming in here and sweeping you off your feet. They shook their heads and a few applauded, especially your current family.

“Oh we’re not done folks,” Rafael announced as he grabbed the preacher before he could leave.

“Wha...what now?” You were confused but growing more excited by the second.

“You wanted me to be sure that this is what I wanted,” Rafael took both of your hands. “And I want you to KNOW that this,” He gestured between the two of you. “This is all I will ever want, for the rest of my life. And I want to prove it to you,” He smiled at you and pulled something from his jacket pocket.

“Oh, Rafa you really don’t--” You started to say that stopping this wedding was proof enough for you, but he was already down on his knees.

“Y/N….Will you marry me?” He asked. “....Right now?” He added, gesturing to the preacher. Now it was your side’s turn to gasp loudly again, as you stared at the huge diamond ring Rafael was holding out to you.

Where did he get that? WHEN did he get that? Had he been planning on proposing to you before? A zillion questions ran through your brain but you did your best to quiet them all so you could focus on the ONE question that mattered right now.

“....DUH!” You finally slapped him over the head playfully and grabbed the ring from him. He laughed and slipped it on your finger before pulling you into a beautiful, perfect kiss. Everyone on your side laughed and cheered, happy their baby girl was getting her happy ending.

“Well alright then, I guess let’s start this thing over!” The preacher laughed, opening his Bible once again.

“Rafael Barba, do you take Y/N to be your lovely wedded wife, now and forever, through richer and poorer, sickness and health, before and after you both shall live?” He asked Rafael.

“I do,” Rafael beamed at you.

“Do you--” .

“WAIT,” You put up a hand to stop him, making everyone start to mumble curiously again. Rafael’s face fell.

“...Are you serious? You’re changing your mind?” He muttered anxiously.

“No!” You shook your head. “No I…” You looked at the floor. “God this is so stupid…” You laughed to yourself nervously, not really believing you were actually going to admit this.

“....What?” Rafael raised an eyebrow.

“I um…” You bit your lip. “Oh God…” You turned to the preacher. “Sorry!” He brushed it off.

“Baby what are you--” Rafael was seriously starting to worry.

“Please, please don’t freak out,” You begged him. His eyes remained confused, but soft and understanding.

“Okay…” He gave you a look.

“I um,” You took a deep breath. “I may or may not have learned this...just in case,”

You took another deep breath, and recited the words you had practiced in front of your mirror for MONTHS after you had first met Rafael.

“Yo, Y/N, te tomo a ti, Rafael Barba, como mi esposo,”

Rafael immediately broke into the biggest smile you may have ever seen on him, tears instantly wet his eyes as you spoke.

“Prometo serte fiel en lo próspero y en lo adverso,” You continued, vowing you were NOT going to break down crying.

“en la salud y en la enfermedad, Amarte y respetarte todos los días de mi vida.,” You finished successfully without shedding a tear, unlike Rafael who was a full on hot mess of tears in front of you.

“Baby I…” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that,” He whispered, tears still catching in his throat.

“I told you,” You bit your lip. “I have always been in love with you,”

“And I am so in love with you,” He grinned, pulling your face into his for “the” kiss.

“Well I guess you can kiss the bride!” The preacher laughed sarcastically as everyone broke into cheers.

You glanced up at the cameras as you walked down the aisle with your new husband. God you hoped that hadn’t blown up in your face, but if it did-- you had your Rafa to hold you through the storm.

[witlessficcer]

Climbing Trees

Note: This started out a Drabble Before Bed for which I started a series last night. However, of late, when it comes to Peggy and Nat, I can’t keep it short and I can’t keep their hands off each other. I hope you enjoy and will return for more down the line. 

Summary: Nat teaches Peggy a lesson about climbing trees. 

The sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, and the freshly mowed grasses was greener and smelled sweeter than Natasha had experienced in a long time. She and Peggy lay under a Oak tree on the outskirts of Tony's property in upstate New York. The tree had a lovely canopy providing shade from the sun, but still allowing flecks of light to dance across their bodies.

Nat was casual in faded blue jeans and loose white t-shirt while Peggy wore Khaki cargo shorts and a Navy muscle shirt. As usual, the brunette had her hair in a ponytail, but her normal blocky glasses had been replaced by a pair of tortoise shell Ray-Bans. Nat thought she looked hot, all bulging delts and and sculpted calves.

Nat turned her head to look at the old oak, which caused Peggy to stir. Nat's head lay on her upper thigh as Peggy rested her head and back against one of trees massive roots.

“Have I told you how much I love climbing this tree?” Natasha asked, casually.

“I didn't know you liked climbing trees?” Peggy replied.

“Not trees in general,” Nat said, reaching up and letting her fingers play along the other woman's bicep and into the crook of here elbow. “Just this one.”

“That tickles,” the former SSR agent said, as goosebumps rose on her arm. “What makes this tree so special?”

Natasha sat up against Peggy's rigid thigh. She looked into those deep brown eyes and sighed. Flicking her eyes up, she said. “Strong branches for one. I can't very well climb a tree that can't hold me, right?”

“I suppose not,” Peggy agreed, wondering where Nat's tangent thought process was headed.

“And, the leaves, you know,” Nat continues, looking at the tree and back at her girlfriend. “They provide great protect for surveillance.”

Peggy knitter her brows in confusion. “Who or what are you spying on out here? Acres of green grass?”

Nat let the comment pass as she stood and held her arms out to the oak as if to hug it. “You know what of my favorite things is about climbing this tree? Knots. The curvature of them and the roundness. They protrude from the trunk. The shape of them is truly glorious.”

“They are usually indented aren't they?” Peggy said from he crossing her outstretched legs and appraising her boat shoes. “They stick out but have a hole in them. Not sure I get the glory in that, Babe.”

“It's a hand hold, Cap?” The Black Widow entreated, reaching out and flexing  her hand at the well proportioned woman on the ground. “Don't you get it. For climbing?”  

“Where are you going with this, Nat?” Peggy asked, lost in weirdness of it all. “I'm not following.”

In a lightning quick motion, Nat sprang toward her love and straddled her across her waist, placing her arms on Peggy's shoulders, kneading the hardened tissue below. “Branches,” Nat said, leaning forward and kissing the shoulder carefully. Rising and going to Peggy's left she kissed it as well. The brunette leaned forward to kiss Natasha on the mouth. The blonde evaded the attempt, shaking her head seductively, and drawing her fingers in a soft caress along her lover's jawline.  

Natasha glided her fingers along each of Peggy's temples where her ponytail kept her luxurious, chocolate locks confined. In another swift motion, the hair tie was gone and a flash flood of brown hair fell about her neck. “Leaves,” Nat whispered along her cheek, rising slightly on her knees to pepper Peggy's hair with kisses.

Peggy's calm was breaking. She clamped her hands on to the Widow's hips. She was starting to understand. As Nat kissed her hair, familiar nipples pressed against the thin white cotton of the t-shirt. It was all Peggy could do not to take one into her mouth. The kisses on her hair ceased and Nat rested back on her haunches, her green eyes boring into Peggy's own.

“What do you think is next, Cap?” Natasha teased. “I think you should come climbing with me next time.”

“If I r-recall, next is k-knots,” Peggy pale neck and face were flushed bright pink.

“And what are knots good for when climbing, Peggy?” Nat whispered, leaning into touch her forehead to her lover's.

“Hand h-holds.”

“Hand holds,” Nat repeated, placing each of her hands over the taught nipples protruding from the navy active wear and squeezing gently. “How's my grip?”

Peggy's breath hitched as the dual sensation of her fondled nipples sent signals to her core. Nat had had her fun and Captain Carter was about to turn the tables. “I suggest a firmer grip, Little Girl. The weather is about to change.” With that, Peggy bent her knees and leaned forward, both of Nat's hands latched to her breasts and edged her way up the root of the lower trunk. Planting each of her hands on Natasha's ass, she pulled the smaller woman close to her as swung them both 180 degrees, pressing Nat perhaps a little hard against the tree trunk. Nat's hands had lefts her breasts and were now wrapped tightly around her neck.

“I see, now, what you mean, Nat,” Peggy said, tonguing the inside of her bleeding lip, some of coating her lower and upper lip. Grabbing handful of Nat's colored blonde hair, she pulled gingerly, causing the back of Nat's head to hit the harsh bark.

Natasha kissed Peggy passionately, aroused by being pressed against the tree. The kisses were not gentle as the two tried desperately to overpower each others mouths. Finally, Nat bit Pegg'ys lower lips, drawing blood.

“Trunk,” Natasha grunted.

The Widow gasped loudly at the pull of her hair and minor pain in her skull. Peggy pressed her open mouth over Nat's kissed her hard, sharing the blood, the other had drawn.

“You know what else a tree has, Nat, Hmm?” Peggy demanded.

Nat's eyes narrowed and she sneered. “Rings, I imagine. To show their age!”

Peggy's arousal was peaked. Her hips pressed into Natasha's center which was open given her legs were hanging on her study hips.

“A-hem!” came the clearing of a throat which was purely perfunctory, in order to gain attention. “If the teenagers are done making out behind the bleachers we have work to do.”

A bucket of cold mortification was poured over Peggy and Nat's inflamed passion. Still standing with her back to the intruder, Peggy said: “It's Tony, right?”

Nat, who was looking Tony Stark in the face, whispered: “Yeah. Tony.”

Peggy set Natasha down on the ground and straightened her shorts and shirt. Natasha did the same. Both grown women flushed with excitement and embarrassment, stood ready to take whatever sarcastic sword Stark was going to wield.

He just stood there. Silently looking at them.

“How long have you b-been there?” Peggy stammered.

Stark fidgeted, impatiently,pulling off his sun glasses and absently pointing them at the women. “Long enough to hear your little arborist lesson. Like I said, let's go. Time's a wastin' as my father used to say.”

“You've been here the whole time?” Peggy cried, her British accent intensifying.

Tony looked around nervously. There was no one in sight, but the three of them.  “Not here, here. But I heard. I was...up there?” He raised a hand that was immediately covered by Iron Man's glove and pointed skyward. It dissolved just as quickly.

“Oh my GOD!” Peggy said, covering her face in shame.

“This place isn't that remote,” Tony continued. “And, you weren't really hiding.”

Nat swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek to regain her own control. “You're not helping, Tony.”

“Listen, what you two have going on is your own business. It's not my place to tell you what to do. But next time, get a room. There are plenty of them inside. Look, we'll keep this between the three of us.

Stark's Iron Man suit encapsulated his entire body this time as the lights flew on in his eye slits. “Briefing in 15, Ladies. I expect to see you there.” With that he rose into the sky and disappeared.

Peggy turned to Nat, grief stricken. “I can't bloody believe this.”

Nat said noting but hugged her tightly placing her head against her Captain's ample chest. “Don't worry about him, Peggy. He can be an ass most of the time, but he knows when to keep things to himself.”

“I feel like punching the lights out of those little eyes slits of his,” Peggy said, still furious.

“Peggy,” Nat repeated, softly. “Don't worry about him. He's...Tony. He's not malicious. Most of the time. Let's head back. You okay?”

“Fine.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I like to finish what I start.”

“Yeah,” Peggy said, raising an eyebrow in interest. “I've heard that about you.”

“Especially, when it comes to climbing trees.”