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mindninjax · 4 years ago

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Iron and Wine (4)

Chapter 4- Two Blue Eyes

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Erwin Smith x fem!reader (Royalty AU)

Warnings: They/them pronouns used for Hange, Miche literally almost charming the panties off of you, some minor character death, I'm not gonna ruin the surprise just know some of you will be disgusted with me and others will be thrilled lololol

WC: 5.1K

a/n: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I changed so much shit around in this chapter because this is where it gets REAL. I think I've finally got what I want to happen from this point on locked and loaded though. Writing it may be a different story because this month is gonna get a lil busy for me. s/o to @lazyezstudy and @charlotteplsdosth for being sweet little darlings. 💖I'll dedicate this chapter to you.😘

Erwin’s eyes scan the horizon once more as the fluttering wings of the raven in the rookery rustles his hair. It’s been two weeks and there’s been no word from Abel or Keiji. They’ve never gone this long without sending word back which can only mean trouble. Erwin chews his lip nervously, creasing his brow as he racks his brain. What should he do? Send more men to find the two he lost? That would be a wise decision, if he had men to send. A raven flutters down next to him and he pets the head with one finger, gently.

What could have hindered Abel and Keiji from checking in? A tingle in his gut hints at the answer, but he doesn’t dare give voice to it. It’s a bad omen and he’d rather spend energy preparing than worrying. He continues scribbling the messages onto the slip of parchment and ties it to the raven sitting next to him before releasing it toward the North. He lifts a finger to beckon two more birds down to him, attaches the other messages, and lets one free toward the South and the other toward the West.

There’s still the issue of the agreement or lack thereof with you. Perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed you last night. Though he will admit it was entertaining.

The sound of shuffling feet breaks him from his concentrated stupor and he turns to see Miche and Hange approaching. Miche’s large broad shoulders block the doorway to the stairwell as he fills the entryway and blocks Hange from sight. He bows respectfully before reporting.

“Sire, the war council has gathered in the war room. They are awaiting your presence.” Erwin watches the flapping wings of the raven he just released silently. He doesn’t turn around when he speaks.

“Miche, you’ve been in the presence of my special guest. How do you like her?” he asks as if asking about the clouds donning the skies. Miche gulps and blinks quickly in confusion.

“You’re asking me if I like her?” he repeats, trying to be sure.

“Yes. It’s no secret she is a beauty. Even Levi seems to have noticed. So tell me, what has your nose told you about her?” Erwin says simply. He turns to look into his comrade’s large honest eyes.

“Erm, well she smells of fresh grass and wood, moss and clear spring water with a hint of some sweet flower I’ve been having trouble identifying. I’ve only smelled it once or twice in my life, but it was so lovely I never forgot it. But…” Miche trails off as he watches Erwin raise an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?”

“It’s fading… that scent is fading from her the longer she’s here,” Miche finishes quickly. He sets his face in a confident smooth expression and looks into the king’s eyes.

Erwin matches his serious and confident expression, “Are you suggesting I let her go?” he asks slowly, enunciating each word.

“No, your majesty,” he drops his eyes, regretful. Erwin sighs and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t. Forgive me, I am just at a loss of what to do. It’s obvious the lioness doesn’t trust me and no matter what I give her she won’t change her mind. There is still no word from Abel and Keiji. I've sent ravens to Pixis in the North and Shadis in the South. War will be on our shores in months and I don’t have the support of my people, and decreasing numbers of soldiers thanks to famine and this petty war with the forest savages my father started,” he cards his fingers through his hair and runs a hand over his face. Miche can tell the stress of the situation is getting to him. A

“Erwin, perhaps you’re going about this agreement with the woman in the wrong way,” Hange speaks up then, pushing past Miche and clapping Erwin on the shoulder.

“Well you’re part of my damn counsel, so counsel me,” Erwin replies, giving a tired chuckle.

“You plucked a wild woman who’s people you just referred to as ‘forest savages’—it’s probably wise not to say that in front of her— from her home in the forest and put her in a castle expecting her to be enthralled with all the riches,” Hange explains holding out their hands in an animated expression as if the rest of the point is clear before them. When Erwin stares blankly at them and they sigh as if he’s hopeless and continues.

“It’s clear she’s not impressed by it, so why not show her something she will be impressed with? Something she’ll actually enjoy but can’t find in her forest village. If you can show her that you’re actually paying attention, she may be more inclined to join us. Moblit mentioned she was quite pleasant to him and she seems to have taken to Historia quickly.”

Erwin ponders their words for a moment and Hange knocks a fist against their own head as they try to think of something here in the castle that might impress you. Miche’s green eyes look between the two of them before he sighs deeply and grunts in a deep voice, “The private gardens.”

“Great idea big guy!” Hange says, clapping their hands together.

Erwin smiles at both of them, then takes a deep breath. He turns to look out at the horizon again, hoping to catch a glance of a raven. When he doesn't, he turns back to Miche and says, “OK then, I’m entrusting the lioness to you, Miche. Show her the gardens, make sure she actually enjoys it. Hange, you’ll join me in the war room. It seems we’ll have some things to discuss.”

“I’ve been sent to escort you to the king’s private gardens, my lady.”

A large blonde man whom Historia whispers and informs you is named Miche Zachariaus, bows before you as you swing open the door. You recognize him instantly. He’s the strong one who carried you away after your first talk with Erwin. You take a moment to scrutinize him before responding. Everything about him is large. His chest is broad, his shoulders wide and strong, he could probably fit 10 bundles of wood on his back and carry them with ease. He is handsome as well, no doubt part of Erwin’s plan. As if you’d be swayed by a man’s looks, though you do quietly and begrudgingly thank him for the nice view. He’s not wearing his armor which you find alarming. He either doesn’t see you as a threat or his skills are far beyond any you’ve known or witnessed and that also puts you on edge. You decide to be polite.

“I humbly decline,” you say in a small voice. As you’re about to close the door, his large hand stops it and pushes it back open. He looks almost desperate and you furrow your brows in confusion as you look back up to him.

“Please, my lady. I implore you to reconsider. I’m aware most of the luxuries have not been to your liking but this I'm sure you will enjoy,” Miche says, holding out a hand for you to grab. Your eyes shift back and forth from his outstretched hand and up to his gentle green eyes. He looks hopeful, like he really hopes you’ll take his hand. You hear Historia’s soft footsteps behind you.

“I’ve never seen the king’s personal garden. You should go, it’ll be beautiful. Ser Miche won’t hurt you. He’s very gentle and kind,” she whispers to you.

You give her a teasing smirk as you whisper over your shoulder back to her, “You’ve said that about everyone here.”

“Well I haven’t been wrong, have I?” she huffs and pokes out her lip in a cute pout.

“Only once,” you say, remembering the night Erwin came to your room. Miche clears his throat to remind you of his presence and you smile back up at him. “Would she be permitted to come with me?” you ask, nodding your head in Historia’s direction.

“You can invite anyone you’d like, my lady,” Miche responds and Historia’s eyes light up in excitement. You try to hide the smile tickling the edges of your lips and swallow the excitement at the thought of seeing the gardens.

“Very well then,” you say, grasping his hand.

The garden is breathtakingly beautiful. It’s as if it’s located in another world. It smells wonderful, not at all like the moldy castle corridors or the stench of burning fire and metal that drifts in your window from the castle town below. The sun rays kiss the green leaves of each plant and the array of colors each flower offers is more beautiful than any you've ever witnessed in your village.

When Miche opens the heavy iron gates, you’re at a loss for words. There’s a cobblestone path that leads to a grand white marble fountain in the middle of the garden. Multiple paths break off in different directions showcasing different plants. Vines climb up the walls and cover the stone, butterflies and bees frequent the flowers, and it surprises you how much this one little place reminds you of home.

There’s no stopping the bright smile that bursts onto your face and stays there while you gaze around in fascination. Historia is next to you, matching your bewildered expression and when the two of you meet each other's eyes you both laugh in amusement and happiness. Your laughter echoes through the garden and mixes with the babbling water of the fountain, a glorious little melody. Miche is watching you with a warm-hearted smile and you catch him ogling you from the entrance. You try to pull yourself together as you watch HIstoria wander off and Miche closes the gate behind him and comes to stand next to you.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Would you like a tour?” he suggests and you look at him in shock.

“There’s more?” you breathe and he chuckles a deep rumbling noise before holding out his arm. You hesitate again looking at his outstretched hand with suspicion. He doesn’t take it personally, a man as large and strong as him doesn’t have much to worry about, but he does give you a reassuring smile.

“Yes, my lady there is more. I thought you’d like to see all the gardens have to offer,” he replies, gesturing to the entirety of the courtyard. You blink in astonishment.

“This was your idea? How did you know I’d-”

“Your scent is strong. You smell like the trees and a sweet flower. I've been trying to figure out the name since you’ve arrived,” he says matter of factly. He turns to you then and reaches out slowly to grab the braid sitting on your shoulder. You surprise yourself when you don’t move away from him, but the fact that this was his idea, that he mentioned your scent, makes you feel more at ease around him.

“May I?” he says, green eyes drifting to yours. His long lashes brush against his cheeks and his deep voice rumbles through his body when he speaks.

“You wish to...smell my hair?”

“Yes, if you would permit me to do so,” he says politely. Again you look at him with suspicion, but nod to let him know it is ok to move closer to you.

Your eyes stay glued to him as he crouches and brings the long braid up to his nose and inhales deeply. He drags it up and down your hair, inhaling and exhaling with a deep pleasurable sigh after each breath. His eyes are closed as he focuses on the scent, mumbling words to himself.

“Pine...a hint of lemongrass...cedar wood...ugh the perfume overpowers the natural scent… and there that flower again...what is it?” He switches back and forth from sniffing your hair and sniffing the sweet air of the gardens. He’s quite amusing to watch and you smile to yourself as his shaggy hair falls over his eyes when he bends down to sniff you again.

Suddenly his eyes shoot open and he turns to face a path leading away from the fountain. He grabs your hand slowly, his large fingers wrapping around yours and swallowing it completely and strolls down the path looking back and forth between the colorful petals. He momentarily stops to sniff the air again before taking turns in the maze of plants until he comes across a hedge of thick green bushes and vines.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” You ask him, gesturing to the huge hedge in front of you sarcastically. He doesn’t respond, only bends down on one knee and reaches into the hedge. You try to pull him back, the hedge houses many thorns definitely as a means to keep people out of that area.

“No, don't! You’ll hurt your–“

He pulls his hand from the wall of thorns, bloody and pin pricked but holding the loveliest flower you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s pure white and unphased by the thorns or by Miche pulling it from its hiding place. You’re stunned by its beauty and it’s perfect white petals. He hands it to you and smiles a big joyous grin.

“How did you–“

“I’ve always had a good nose. I knew I’d smelled this plant before. Once near the edges of the forest. And then again when you were brought before Erwin. There were hints of it here, but it doesn’t seem to belong here. I figure it’s only natural to give it to you considering…” He doesn’t finish this sentence, not wanting to rub dirt in the wound of you being forced from your home. The flower make tears well in your eyes and you quickly swipe them away before he can see them.

You take the flower from him and bring it to your nose, the scent immediately reminding you of home and the huge field that has many of these swaying in the breeze. “It’s a moon blossom. They bloom at night or in dark places under the moon. It’s a symbol of growth in dark times,” you explain to him.

He nods in understanding. “I’d like to think…” he starts grabbing the flower from you again and moving to place it gently into your hair, “that it represents you, thriving and standing beautifully despite being so far from home.” His finger skims across your cheek as he fixes your hair. He’s definitely a charmer and he flashes you a cute boyish grin that you can’t help but return. His charm is genuine and you snicker as he steps back to look you over.

“Are you attempting to woo me?” you ask playfully.

“No. If I were, my lady, I’d tell you that there’s not a flower in this garden that compares to the beauty you possess. And that the dullest of days would shine brighter, for the sun would be envious of your presence and beauty.”

He finishes his sentence with a bow and a soft but pointed kiss on the palm of your hand. You can feel the prickle of his moustache in your hand and paired with his soft lips and warm breath, it sends a shiver up your spine.

The moment his lips leave your palm, your heart is thumping. You can still feel the warmth of the kiss on your skin and it radiates all over your body, culminating at the apples of your cheeks. You watch as his smile turns smug much to your chagrin, you turn away to hide the smile creeping at the edges of your lips.

“Alright then, I see now why the king sent you to escort me,” you say, clearing your throat. He chuckles in a deep baritone and holds his arm out to continue escorting you through the gardens.

“He’s very interested in you,” Miche replies, looking down at you as the two of you stroll.

You roll your eyes, “I bet he is,” you say remembering the way Erwin pinned you to the wall, his lips on your neck and jaw.

“Truly my lady, In all the years of knowing him, I’ve never seen him so entranced before,” he replies, watching as you let go of his arm to sniff a large drooping pink flower. Entranced, a pretty way of saying “kidnapping”, but something else he says catches your attention.

“How long have you known him?” you ask, curiosity painting your features.

“Since we were boys. I was a stablehand in the town right outside the castle walls. Erwin wasn’t king then but he snuck out of the castle to spend time with me. He taught me to read, taught me how to use a sword, and helped me become a knight under his father’s rule. He took care of my family when the food supply started running out, gave them jobs in the castle when he became King.”

He looks ahead as if he’s picturing all the events unfolding in front of him. You shrug your shoulders. Of course his best man would speak great things about him. Erwin is the King, it’s treason to speak ill about him. Though you will admit, this isn’t the first time you’ve heard of him helping out one of the people in the castle. You remember Historia telling you he found her in her village.

“What about Historia? She mentioned he found her in her village. Did he steal her too? She is a beauty,” you challenge, raising your eyebrow.

“Ahh the little lady, very sad story. The King happened upon her village after it had been raided by barbarians. There didn’t seem to be any survivors, the houses were burnt down, blood and carnage all over. He was returning from battle and stopped the entire army to search for survivors. She was the only one. Erwin brought her back to the castle, dressed her wounds and let her stay,” he explains.

You’re shocked but try to keep it hidden. You don’t think Miche is lying to you, it would be foolish. You could just ask Historia and if the story matched you’d know it was true. But there’s something about the way Miche speaks with admiration, loyalty, and genuine respect for Erwin when he tells the story that cements the truth.

It confuses you, the wolf king’s actions. The battles between your people and his to keep him out of the forest and away from the precious metals you know he’s after, the way he neglected his people despite them dying in the streets from famine while he sits in his castle and gorges himself on delicacies, it makes no sense. If he were as compassionate as Miche is suggesting he would never do these things. But there must be some truth to it, the Mother protects him. What does she see?

You're left to the many questions in your head as another guard approaches you and Miche and whispers something quickly in his ear. He nods once then turns to you and bows.

“My apologies my lady, but I’m needed elsewhere. Gelgar will escort you and Historia back to your chambers,” he says, grasping your hand and giving it a final kiss before departing.

You thank him and watch him turn a corner out of the garden maze as Gelgar gestures to have you walk in front of him and inform you that Historia is waiting back at the fountain. You nod and walk past him.

You suppose it’s time to stop being stubborn and finally read the documents Erwin left for you. If it means you’ll get out of here sooner, you’ll oblige. Perhaps more answers about the type of man Erwin truly is will be shown to you after you’ve read them.

The ravens reach Shadis and Pyxis in a matter of days and when they return it is not with good news. The number of men is less than what he expected to hear and more continue to drop from starvation as they speak. It has become increasingly more difficult to keep control over the North and South as the people grow weary and delirious with starvation. Pyxis and Shadis both report the same instances, talk of the lioness coming to bring them food and prosperity and good fortune as she did in Castle Town.

Lord Pyxis, ever the wise and kind old man and one of Erwin’s father's old friends, writes of the hope it instills in the people. He hopes that someone will come soon to help with this famine and the people are greatly appreciative of his faith. Shadis on the other hand is cold and views the whispers in the streets as a betrayal, a rise of another rebellion. He forbids any talk of you or the “nonsense” you would inflict upon his people.

Erwin scans the words on the notes from the two lords as Hange sits next to him, hands intertwined underneath their chin.

“Well it’s nice to know the people are of one mind. But Erwin, if we can’t get the lioness to agree we have no hope in helping anyone,” they say in a slurry of words. Erwin can tell their mind is working, filtering through the different possibilities.

“I have faith in Miche. She wants to help the people in this kingdom and she wants to keep her home safe and from invaders,” Erwin says, shuffling through many pieces of parchment on the table. He picks up a stained crumpled piece and glares at it. “And this will surely be a driving factor in her decis--”

The door to the war room bursts open as you stomp into the room, parchment gripped tightly in your hand. The lavender dress flows dramatically behind you as you drift into the room, drawing the attention of everyone present. Miche is behind you, desperately trying to keep up with your quickened pace as he flashes an apologetic frown and slight bow of the head to Erwin. You’re shaking with rage, head held high as you walk into the room with purpose. Your eyes are fixed on Erwin at the head of the table and you can hear the commanders whisper to themselves about your disrespect.

Erwin does not look bothered, rather amused as you come to stand before him and slam the parchment down on the big table in front of him. The goblets and war figurines tremble and topple over.

“What is the meaning of this?” You scream.

“Ahh my lady, I see you’ve read the document sent to the Beast across the sea.”

“This spews lies and deceit, we are not one kingdom, we do not fight as one. And I am not going to negotiate to share any of the fruits of my labor with you or this beast from the west!”

Erwin stands wordlessly and the others in the room immediately stand with him. He walks slowly around the table to grab pieces of parchment that sit in front of Hange. His face is no longer pleasant, but serious with a dark glint behind his glare. The pieces of parchment are wrinkled and stained with what you assume is blood. He holds them in his fist and hands them to you, nodding his head to encourage you to take them from him.

You do so, snatching them in a huff and uncrinkling them to read the neat scrawled handwriting. Your eyes scan through the first few words before Erwin’s voice rings out into the war room and demands “Read it aloud.”

You glare again at him before clearing your throat and reading the message aloud:

Greetings King Erwin, Wolf of the East. I am sure you and your war counsel have heard of me as they are tasked with keeping tabs on your enemies. I am not sure how much information your comrades Abel and Keiji gave you before I captured them but I can only assume they’ve completed their tasks remarkably. I can only imagine how thorough and intelligent you are King Erwin, as I've done my research on you as well.

I’ve received your letter, your partner sounds lovely but I have no interest in arrangements or agreements. I will simply take what I want: your lands, your resources, your people as that is what a conqueror would do. As I’m sure you already know, it is well within my power to do so. We will meet you in battle and crush you. I hope you will not take offense as you must be familiar with the rules of war. How many kingdoms have you crushed under your golden boot?

You drop the parchment, thinking it silly to continue with the self assured words of this foreign enemy. “You’re afraid of a cocky self assured bastard from across the sea? And I thought you to be a King.”

“Keep reading.”

“Why? It’s just nonse-”

“I said, keep reading.” Erwin’s voice is dangerous now, anger swelling inside him and you'd never admit aloud but it kind of frightens you.

You are probably wondering what has become of your loyal men, why they haven’t reported back in weeks? You're probably wondering what to tell their families, their wives and children if they have them. Well you’ll be happy to know I am a gracious war chief. I’d want to know what happened to my men as well. So I will tell you every detail of how your men suffered, until they took their last breath so you may explain to their wives and children as they wail in sorrow. And you may have what’s left of them, to bury or burn or whatever it is you do with your unfortunate dead. Their heads will stay here with me though, as my trophies. The details of their deaths are included in the lovely gifts I’ve sent you.

Best regards your majesty, and I look forward to seeing you when I land upon your shores.”

The note is signed with one name, “Zeke” in neat penmanship. Below that is what looks like a recipe, numbered steps and as you scan through them quietly you realize it is a step-by-step process of how the two men were killed. It is gruesome, horrific, unnecessarily cruel and you don’t have the stomach to finish reading it to yourself let alone aloud. You slam the parchment down on the table and look away. The other pages scatter and Erwin glowers at them.

“Did you see the diagrams, my lady? The diagrams of how he butchered my men? Or was the step by step process too much for you?”

“I don’t underst-”

“This letter came back attached to a bloody sack that held the maniac slaughtered remains of my men. This was a message my lady, a show of power. This… was Zeke’s way of telling me he will slaughter all who are in his path and he will not lose sleep over it,” his voice grows in volume and anger and soon it’s booming and echoing through the entire room.

“So you see, my lady I am no longer interested in the petty qualms of the past between our people. I no longer care about the hate your parents held for my father or the hate you have for me. What I care about is making sure this beast pays for what he’s done. And that he will never get his hands on any of the precious resources this land has to offer. So correct me if I'm wrong in assuming that we have the same goal.”

There is silence as Erwin stands before you now, scowling at you. He’s so close that your heaving breasts hit his chiseled abs as you stand there challenging him with your shoulders squared and your chin held high.

The silence stretches out into an awkward staring competition that you refuse to lose. The tension in the room could be sliced with a knife but your eyes never leave his crystal glare. For the first time, you can see past his brave mask. He’s confused, hurt, frustrated, and vulnerable and your hard icy stare warms the longer you look at him. You almost forget who he is and reach out to caress and comfort him but you lock your jaw and keep your hands clasped in a fist at your side.

“It’s different when it’s your men being slaughtered by a foreign enemy, isn't it?”

That catches him off guard and the anger slowly releases from him as you look around the room, looking at each of the advisors standing slack jawed at the exchange between the two of you. You look back to Erwin, determination on your face now.

“Seems we have a lot to discuss. When will the beast be here?”

Erwin sighs in relief, loud enough for everyone to hear and Levi scoffs under his breath and rolls his eyes at the show of weakness. “Nanaba estimates three months.”

“Perfect, that will be plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time for what? I need your decision, we need to start preparing,” Erwin says watching you look at the little figurines on the war table. You scan the map past the forest to the west where the blue coloring indicates the sea.

“This isn’t a decision for me to make alone.”

“What are you talking about? You’re their leader, are you not?” Erwin looks confused and slightly annoyed but no one in the room dares to speak up while the two of you converse.

You turn to look at him now, head held high. Your voice is strong and serious, like you’re stating the law of the land for all to hear. “Everyone has a voice and it should be heard. If you wish to have a decision, we will take this before my people and they will decide. Before you do, you will partake in living with us, learn our ways, drink with us, eat with us, celebrate and worship with us. And should they decide to accept your request, we shall solidify the deal underneath the full moon. It is in three days.”

You chuckle to yourself and though Erwin is still frustrated he can feel it slowly leaving him with every soft sound escaping you.

“What is it?” he asks, moving closer and looking into your eyes again.

“I suppose now you’ll be my house guest and I promise to be a better host than you.”

Tagging: @forlancasterrr @starstruckkittensweets @lazyezstudy @neptvnia @laceylaceyy @unadulteratedtreecrusade @gixxie @jeanbeaux @throughthethorns @casspea @charlotteplsdosth @melyannathemaia @saturnalya @ixwrites @mythical-goth

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #erwin smith #erwin x you #iron and wine #marquie writes

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ayanna-wild · 4 years ago

Text

Devil Don't Go

Word Count: 1679

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, violence, sad fluff, fluff, mentions of drowning, near death experiences

A/N: Request from Wattpad

Summary: This case should have been open and shut, it wasn’t supposed to go this way.

..................................................................................

Your world was spinning, well more accurately you were spinning, in a chair at the LAPD. To be even more accurate Lucifer was spinning you. The case you had agreed to help Chloe with had hit a snag, and every lead you thought you had was coming up a dead end. Which is why you were sitting in a chair, letting your devilish companion lazily twirl you around.

"I still say the manager of the victim's store seemed rather suspicious, are you sure we can't question him again?"

You hung your head back staring at the ceiling, thankful he wasn't spinning you fast enough to make you dizzy.

"He lawyered up, besides he had an alibi."

Lucifer huffed, clearly bored with how slow this case was moving.

"Oh yes, he was with his lover, was it? People lie darling."

You shrugged, placing your feet on the ground to stop yourself from spinning as you turned to look at him. Lucifer smiled when your eyes landed on him, and the corners of your mouth twitched up.

You and Lucifer had grown close since your transfer to the LAPD, and you found yourself helping Chloe on cases she could have solved easily herself. If she noticed she hadn't said a thing, you suspected it was Lucifer who convinced her to ask for your assistance.

This case however, they really did need help on.

"Why do you think they're lying?"

"He barely remembered their name, and his so called significant other, took far to long to recall him." Lucifer reasoned.

You frowned a little, unable to refute his logic, you leaned back in the chair.

"Well...you're right..."

"Of course I am, now put your feet back up, unfortunately this is the most interesting thing I've done today."

Before the two of you could continue your pointless entertainment, Chloe rushed over to her desk, grabbing her car keys. Both you and Lucifer perked up.

"What's got you in such a rush Detective?"

"Ella found us a lead, it might not pan out, but we should still check into it."

You jumped to your feet, grabbing your own keys from Lucifer's hand, who'd been carelessly tossing them back and forth with you earlier.

"I'll follow you."

"Allow me to accompany you." Lucifer beamed.

You raised an eyebrow as you headed for the exit.

"I don't let him press the buttons." Chloe explained.

After the fourth or fifth time of him turning on the siren to frighten unsuspecting civilians you forbade him touching anything as well. He muttered under his breath the rest of the drive.

You'd never understood the appeal decrepit buildings had in the criminal world of LA, but here you were.

"Couldn't they ever choose a nice little café, or someplace not run by rats?" You mumbled to yourself, stepping over what you hoped was an oil stain.

Leaky pipes and moldy smells filled the air as you careful walked along the walls, gun ready and senses on high alert. Your suspect, who had in fact turned out to be the manager, had opened fire as soon as the three of you walked through the door. It forced you away from Chloe and Lucifer, who you were now trying to find.

The platform you were walking on creaked behind you, and you whirled around, gun raised. Chloe froze, raising her hands, and you let out a sigh.

"Find anything?"

She shook her head, and you placed your gun back in its holster.

"Where's Lucifer?"

Her question chilled you to the core, and you stared at her in confusion. Your voice caught as you spoke.

"I thought he was with you..."

You refused to leave your desk, or even take any breaks as you searched through file after file. Called anyone even remotely related to your suspect. Lucifer had been with Chloe, he'd been vulnerable, he could be hurt, or worse.

You shook your head, that line of thinking wasn't going to do anything but make you panic.

A heavy, frustrated sigh left your lips, and you leaned forward, resting your head in your hands on the desk in front of you. Your eyes strained from hours of reading.

"I found something!"

You whipped your head around so fast it almost hurt your neck. Ella ran in, waving a paper around wildly. You and Chloe quickly crowded her and Ella explained everything.

"Okay, so I called around, you know places he frequents, old jobs things like that. There's an old swim center he used to run, a few workers there say he still comes by after hours to do laps."

"What does this have to do with finding Lucifer?" Chloe asked.

"Well I just off the phone with an employee who works there. Mr. Manager man is there now."

You couldn't drive fast enough, flying through red lights and recklessly taking turns. Chloe held onto the dash, shouting out warnings now and then, but she never told you to slow down. She was just as eager as you to find the king of hell.

"Y/N! We need a plan!"

You almost forgot to put the car into park before you got out. Chloe followed after you, calling for you to slow down, but you ignored her. The doors to the pool slammed open when you kicked them, smacking the wall just in time to see the murderous manager shove Lucifer, who was unconscious and tied to a chair, into the pool.

You screamed his name, dropping your gun as you dived into the pool without a second thought. You spotted Chloe running after the suspect just seconds before you hit the water.

The pool was so deep, and the chlorine burned your eyes as you swam towards Lucifer. You didn't know how you were holding your breath this long, but you weren’t really focusing on that. You struggled to untie the ropes around him, but your lungs were beginning to burn.

He's been down there for too long already, you were down there too long, your head growing light.

With no other choice but to surface, you took a large breath before diving under the water again. It wasn't enough time to really catch your breath and your chest tightened, but you finally loosened the ropes. You thanked the adrenaline rushing through your veins that you were able to pull him to the surface and out of the pool.

Violent coughs shook your body as you struggled to breathe again. You were light-headed, but you needed to focus, you had to check on him. Turning your attention to Lucifer you rolled him onto his back checking the injury to his bloody temple, it was sallow nothing to serious, and then you checked his pulse.

Only... there was no pulse.

"No no no...."

You got to your knees, placing your hands in the center of his chest as you began to push fast. You went back and forth between pressing on his chest to blowing breath into his lungs. You weren’t sure how long you kept this up, but you really didn't care to keep track of time right now.

"Come on...Lucifer, please..."

Tears clouded your vision and your arms gave out, you collapsed against his chest, checking his pulse once more, but there was nothing.

"Damn it wake up!" You slammed your fists down on his chest. Your tears ran down your face mixing with the pool water still clinging to your skin, but he didn’t move.

"You promised we'd go out for lunch tomorrow, and you always keep your promises, right?"

You brushed his wet hair from his face as your hands shook.

"So you have to wake up." Your voice broke, and you pressed your forehead against his, crying freely.

"Please don't go."

You almost slammed your head against his when his body suddenly jerked, and he sat up. You jumped back staring at him with wide eyes as he coughed out water from his lungs. He wheezed a moment clutching his chest, before looking around until his eyes landed on you. He gave you a tired smile and a weak chuckle.

"Well that was a wonderfully terrible visit to Hell."

With that joke your worry evaporated, and you fell back against the wall behind you. You ran a hair through your damp hair, and you laughed through your tears.

"You're alive..."

Lucifer looked at you curiously, and he moved closer to you.

"Darling are you alright? Why are you crying?"

He let out a surprised grunt when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You were dead you idiot, of course I'm crying."

"But I'm not dead now..."

You huffed, shaking your head as you tightened your hold around him.

"You're missing the point." You spoke lightly.

Lucifer carefully held you, frowning a little when he felt your body trembling.

"You're shaking." He pointed out softly.

"Just cold from the water." You lied.

You smiled, nestling closer to him, you needed to feel his heartbeat his breath on your skin. You pulled back to hold his face in your hands, eyeing the cut on his temple.

"You're bleeding a little still..." You muttered.

He grabbed your hand as your fingers ghosted over the wound. He smiled squeezing your hand a little.

"I imagine my situation would be much worse if not for you."

He smiled, and you slowly realized you were sitting in his lap. You cleared your throat, shifting to move off him, and he sent you a wink.

"Anyway, I'm really happy you're okay."

Lucifer's expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Well I couldn't very well stay dead now could I? A promise is a promise."

You looked at him surprised.

"You heard that?"

He chuckled, moving a wet strand of hair away from your eyes.

"It was hard not to, you were practically praying to me."

You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn't help the smile that stretched across your face.

"Just promise you won't go dying on me again."

"I'll try my very best darling." He chuckled.

..................................................................................

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar imagines #lucifer morningstar one shot #luciferonnetflix #luciferonfox #Lucifer #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifernetflix

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Futures Past pt 20 / on AO3

(posting early this week because I might not have time tomorrow)(also, because of the upcoming xisang week, I’m not sure yet if I’ll update this fic next week)

With some help from Su She, Nie Huaisang gets his wangxian ship sailing.

Nie Huaisang guiltily twisted his hands as they left the classroom, already half crying as Wei Wuxian finished retelling his first day of punishment with Lan Wangji.

"I really am so sorry, Wei-xiong!" he lamented. "I really wish I could help you. Maybe if I could find a way to copy part of the rules for you and pass them to you…"

"Lan er-gongzi would surely notice," Meng Yao softly objected. "And then you'd both be punished again."

"Aren't you busy enough with your own punishment anyway?" Jiang Cheng huffed. "You'll be lucky if you can even attend your music lessons with all that extra homework you were given, right?"

With a miserable sigh, Nie Huaisang nodded. Cheating was more work than he'd thought, and he'd have to find a better way to do it if he were to pass that year. Though really, it had been Lan Wangji’s fault for joining the lectures, which he hadn't done the previous year, and also Wei Wuxian's for taunting Lan Wangji by looking at him. Of course Lan Wangji had gotten curious, and he'd noticed the cheating, and…

For some reason, Lan Qiren had decided that Wei Wuxian was the instigator in this business, so he'd been punished the hardest. But Nie Huaisang had been given a lot of essays to write, and he didn't dare to ask Lan Xichen to help, fearing to be scolded for his dishonesty. Meng Yao and Jiang Cheng, who hadn't cheated at all, offered little sympathy and even less help, the first because he was still catching up, the second because he didn't feel like it. Hopefully Su She might give a hand, if Nie Huaisang cried a little.

"It's really not so bad," Wei Wuxian said carelessly. "I won't say that first afternoon in the library with Lan Zhan was fun, he's even more boring than his uncle, but I think I can entertain myself. I bet before the month is over, I can get him to break his self control. Now that'd be fun!"

Nie Huaisang stopped on his tracks and grabbed him by the arm, not a trace of tears in his eyes.

"Wei-xiong, why do you have to antagonise him so much?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'd like to be his friend, but he's too stuck up. Pissing him off is the next best thing."

Baffled by that logic, Nie Huaisang looked at their two friends. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, while Meng Yao was trying his best not to smile.

"Wei gongzi is like that, don't question it too much. He likes to tease people, and thinks everyone understands it's meant in a friendly manner."

Judging by the tone of his voice, Meng Yao himself had been a victim of that friendly teasing, and that perhap it hadn't gone so smoothly between them. That would explain why Meng Yao seemed to prefer Jiang Cheng's company, who was less fun to have around, but also a little quieter when he wasn’t shouting at Wei Wuxian.

Personally, Nie Huaisang preferred Wei Wuxian out of the three, but was getting a little annoyed at him right at that moment.

While Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao went their way to enjoy their freedom for the rest of the day (they would waste it studying, they seemed the type), Nie Huaisang decided to accompany Wei Wuxian all the way to the library, so they could chat a little. He still had a plan to put in motion, orders from his future self to obey, and his own natural desire for fun to satisfy.

“I don’t understand why you’re like that with Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang said as they took the longest path possible toward the library, trying to keep his tone casual. "If you want to be his friend, there are better ways. Why don't you talk to him nicely?"

Wei Wuxian did not even hesitate. "I've tried, and he ignores me."

That was sadly true, as Nie Huaisang had seen a few times. It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian naturally sounded like he was trying to tease people, even when he was sincere. He was so fun to have around that most people didn’t mind it, but for someone like Lan Wangji...

"Well maybe if you apologised to him?" Nie Huaisang suggested.

"I've tried that too, but he thinks I'm insincere.”

"Because you are!" Nie Huaisang pointed out, fighting a smile.

Wei Wuxian just laughed, but that was an answer in itself.

"Please, at least don't make him any angrier," Nie Huaisang pleaded. "He'll never be your friend otherwise!"

Hearing him get so distressed about that, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks, his expression more serious than Nie Huaisang had ever seen so far. He was a little scary like that, something about his height and the shape of his eyes making him look cold and distant when he wasn’t grinning and laughing.

"Listen, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said in a voice that had lost some of its warmth. “I want to be his friend, sure. I think there's something interesting about him, definitely. I’d really like it if I could be close to Lan Zhan, and given the chance I’ll do it for sure. But if he only becomes friends with me because I start acting like someone I'm not, then we're not really friends, and it's not worth the effort."

“Wei-xiong, I didn’t expect you to be wise like that,” Nie Huaisang whispered, a little awed.

“Only you would find that wise,” Wei Wuxian mocked, and Nie Huaisang found that he could breathe a little more easily now that the other boy was laughing again. “If Jiang Cheng heard me, he’d say that my personality is too awful for anyone to like me! And Meng Yao would say something about compromises. I’m pretty sure they’re the wise ones, but I just don’t feel like acting so seriously.”

Nie Huaisang grinned, a little envious of such a bold way of living. He was not always likeable, according to a lot of people (himself included, when it came to the man he was supposed to become), and so he would never have expected people to fully like him as he was. Nobody except his brother, who had little choice in the matter, and maybe Su She who probably felt like he couldn’t be too picky when it came to friends, and… well, Lan Xichen seemed to like him as he was, too, but that was just because he was so nice.

It was so bold of Wei Wuxian to expect to be fully accepted as he was. But then again, Lan Wangji also wasn’t the sort to make efforts to get others to like him, so at least they had that in common.

As they arrived near the library, the topic had to be dropped. Wei Wuxian, with a grimace of fake agony, went inside to sit with Lan Wangji, while Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of finding Su She about to leave the library, and free to spend some time with him. Lan Wangji had asked for his help to put some order in a section of the building while waiting for Wei Wuxian to arrive, and Su She couldn’t decide if he was flattered or annoyed that the request had been made to him rather than another disciple.

Su She ranted about that for a little bit as they walked away from the library, before complaining about his classes, and then about a letter from his mother who wanted him to send home some talismans because she was still convinced their house was haunted even thought he’d visited during winter and hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Nie Huaisang listened, and even reacted here and there, but couldn’t quite focus on his friend’s problem that day. Su She noticed of course, and asked what hung so heavy on his mind that he couldn’t even laugh at his description of a clearly fake haunting.

“I might have a silly question to ask you,” Nie Huaisang replied. “But please, don’t make fun of me for it. It’s kind of important, and I think you could really help me.”

“That sounds very worrying, but fine, ask me.”

"How would one seduce a Lan?"

Su She gave him such a long, serious look, that Nie Huaisang started feeling he’d rather have been laughed at after all.

"So you're finally doing something about Lan gongzi?” Su She asked. “About time, it was getting annoying how clueless you are. And, well, if you want my opinion…"

"Oh, no, this is about Lan Wangji, not Xichen-gege!"

Su She stopped walking and fell silent for a moment, his expression turning complicated. He looked as if he’d eaten a very sour lemon that also happened to be moldy, all while there was a cut in his mouth.

"Lan er-gongzi? Really?"

"Yes. See, I think Wei-xiong and him could be good friends,” Nie Huaisang quickly explained, startled by that strong reaction, “so of course I want to help. But they're the two most difficult people in the world, you know? Xichen-gege is helping, but a second opinion never hurts."

"Ah, it's just that," Su She said, instantly relaxing.

He resumed walking away from the library, and Nie Huaisang followed.

"Well, yeah. Why did you think I needed help about Xichen-gege?"

Su She hesitated, and even opened his mouth a few times to say something. Eventually he frowned and shrugged.

"If you're too stupid, it's not my problem,” he said. “Let's talk about those other two instead, since you’re so preoccupied. Aside from being equally good at fighting, what do they have in common?"

Nie Huaisang crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head.

"Nothing at all."

Su She nodded.

"Then I guess they need to fight again. Maybe in public."

"You think that'd help if they had an audience?" Nie Huaisang wondered.

"No idea,” Su She said with a wicked grin, “but I'd like to see Lan er-gongzi in a fight that makes him break a sweat."

Nie Huaisang poked him in the ribs.

"Mean. But… Wei-xiong can be pretty full of himself,” he admitted. “I guess I'd also like to see if he's as good as he thinks. How to get them to fight though?"

They’d reached a more isolated part of the Cloud Recesses, a small garden that rarely saw much use, just at the border to the wilderness. They found a bench, and after removing some dead leaves they sat there to continue chatting in peace.

"In two days, you get a day off from lectures, right?” Su She asked. “Get your Wei-xiong to the training grounds after lunch. Lan er-gongzi is always there at that time on a free day, and I'll do my best to be as well. It'll be pretty easy to get them to spar."

"Su-xiong you're just the best!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, hugging his friend who barely even grumbled against such effusions. “What would I do without you?"

"You'd be less efficient for sure. Now can we talk about something less boring than Lan er-gongzi?”

“Yes, yes! Tell me more about your parents’ haunting, I’ll really listen now! If it’s not a ghost, then what is it?”

Pleased to return to a more fun subject, Su She started discussing his theory about some wild cats and a few squirrels that he suspected to have found their way into the currently disused ‘haunted’ room, and talked about it with such indignation that Nie Huaisang was soon in tears from how hard he laughed.

Although nobody had been warned of the duel to come, a small crowd had quickly assembled around the training grounds once it became understood that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were having a friendly fight. They were both reputed to be insanely skilled after all, and rumours about their first duel under the moonlight had spread fast.

So far, Nie Huaisang had to admit that both boy's reputation was deserved. If anything, they were both more talented than he would have expected. They exchanged blows and parried them as if it were easier than breathing, making for a beautiful show. Su She, who stood on Nie Huaisang's right at the very edge of the training grounds, appeared consumed with admiration and envy. He'd fallen silent a while ago, and perhaps regretted this fight he'd helped organise.

On Nie Huaisang's left, Jin Zixuan was almost as upset, just a little better at concealing it.

"I can't believe such talent has been wasted and given to the world's most obnoxious person," he complained as Wei Wuxian dodged a blow.

"Apparently, that's also Lan Wangji’s opinion," Nie Huaisang cheerfully replied. "But I think he's warming up to Wei-xiong now."

Lan Wangji, after a moment of surprise at the way Wei Wuxian had avoided his attack, lunged at him again with renewed vigour.

"Yes, I can see they're on their way to becoming best friends," Jin Zixuan sneered. "Well, that's getting boring. I was hoping to see Wei Wuxian put in his place, but now he's just going to be more insufferable. I'll see you later, Nie gongzi."

He left, but the spot next to Nie Huaisang didn't remain empty for very long. Lan Xichen quickly made his way there. Nie Huaisang immediately smiled at him, but unlike the rest of them, Lan Xichen didn't appear to pleased by the show.

"Huaisang what's going on here?" he asked. "What are they fighting about? Did something happen?"

"Oh they're just fighting for the sake of it!" Nie Huaisang cheerfully explained, only for Lan Xichen to look even more distressed.

"Wangji got into a fight without reason? How?"

Alerted by his tone, Su She tore his eyes from the fight and gave Lan Xichen a quick bow.

"Lan gongzi needs not worry. They're not actually fighting, this is only a friendly spar."

"Yes, we thought it'd be good for them, so we made it happen," Nie Huaisang confirmed. “I think it’s going great! Wei-xiong looks like he’s having the time of his life!”

Reassured that no rules were broken and no serious harm was intended by either party, Lan Xichen finally properly looked at the ongoing duel. He observed the two fighters for a moment before eventually nodding.

“Wangji too is enjoying this,” he said after some consideration. “I’m glad for him. It is so rare for him to get an opponent of his level. Other juniors are rarely a match, and adults won’t spar with him because they don’t want to lose to someone so young. You had a good idea, Huaisang.”

“Oh, that wasn’t even my idea,” Nie Huaisang replied, beaming. “It was Su-xiong who suggested it, and who asked to see them spar.”

Lan Xichen turned his attention to Su She, who appeared a little uncomfortable. Nie Huaisang realised, a little late, that scheming to make people fight, even in a friendly manner, was probably against some of Gusu Lan rules.

“I am glad you have such a good friend helping you set your plan in motion,” Lan Xichen said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still, don’t drag him into too much mischief. I would be very disappointed in you, Huaisang, if you caused Su-shidi to get in trouble. He’s worked so hard to prove himself to our teachers, let’s not ruin his efforts just because you like to have a little too much fun.”

“Of course not!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “Su-xiong, you wouldn’t let me cause you real problems, right?”

“I only agree with Nie gongzi’s ideas if they don’t contradict the rules,” Su She confirmed, bowing again toward Lan Xichen. “And I wouldn’t let Nie gongzi do anything dangerous or ill-advised. Lan gongzi can be at peace, I won’t let anything happen to his friend.”

Lan Xichen smiled stiffly.

"I know I can trust Su-shidi to take good care of Nie gongzi. I am… quite happy to leave him in your hands, where I know he'll be safe."

It was a rather odd way to say that, and there was something a little too cold in Lan Xichen’s tone which did not quite please Nie Huaisang. But Su She himself seemed unbothered, so this might just have been Nie Huaisang imagining things. It was probably just that Lan Xichen still remained doubtful regarding Lan Wangji’s potential friendship with Wei Wuxian, which had to affect his mood.

But things really were going quite well. In fact, they were going much better than Nie Huaisang had hoped. After fighting a little more, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian eventually stopped when a Lan teacher approached them to explain that he needed the training grounds for his own class. There didn’t appear to be a clear winner between them, as far as Nie Huaisang could say. Later, when he asked Su She, his friend gave his more expert opinion that although they had completely different fighting styles, they were equals in strength and capacity. It would be interesting, he said, to see them fight side by side instead of against each other.

For now though, they politely bowed to each other, and Wei Wuxian, grinning more brightly than Nie Huaisang had ever seen him yet, asked if they might train together again in the future.

It was quite funny to see Lan Wangji’s conflicted expression. On one hand, Wei Wuxian was nearly a criminal in his eyes, who had disrespected his uncle, broken many rules, and cheated during an exam, all of which was unforgivable and marked Wei Wuxian as beneath his consideration. But at the same time, this looked to have been a very fun sparring session, Lan Wangji had been forced to use all his skill to keep up with his opponent, and that was something too precious to be easily dismissed.

At a loss, Lan Wangji turned to look at his brother, hoping for guidance. Lan Xichen, in turn, only briefly glanced at Nie Huaisang before nodding at his brother with an encouraging smile.

“Behave in class,” Lan Wangji ordered with a slight frown, before turning away.

Wei Wuxian looked disappointed by what he must have mistaken for rejection, but Nie Huaisang saw that answer for what it was and ran to his friend to explain that Lan Wangji had, in fact, very warmly agreed to fight him again.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #double time travel #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Cold Pool

Part v of the Without You series: Colson and Y/N try to return to normal, but they still don’t know what normal actually is.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (as per usual), substance use, people not following social distancing guidelines.

A/N: Seriously guys, wear your masks, social distance, etc. I really wanna go to a concert sometime in the next 2 years.

Word Count: 2743

| i | ii | iii | iv | vi |

masterlist

It had been 4 weeks since you and Colson had made the agreement to just be friends. Obviously, there were some hiccups in this plan. Most notably that hanging around Colson reminded you of all the reasons you loved him in the first place, and thus all the reasons you shouldn’t hang around him.

You were glad to be back to somewhat normal. You could hang around your friends without feeling too much tension, you could talk to Casie (who wanted to know everything that happened), and you could smoke again.

That last one you probably shouldn’t have been so happy about, but after a month without weed, you needed it.

Of course, not everything was back to normal. You and Colson weren’t technically… speaking. Yet.

You said simple things to each other, “excuse me,” “thank you,” and even the occasional “bless you” after a sneeze. But you had yet to have an actual conversation since that night. When hanging around the guys, you tried to be as normal as possible, interacting with Colson as little as possible. You didn’t want anyone else to think you felt awkward, because then they would feel awkward and it would be a whole awkward mess.

Tonight, you were hoping to ease some tension between you and Colson. Trippie was releasing the deluxe version of his new album and was having a “covid safe” album release party. All that meant was they would party outside rather than inside and only invite half the amount of people that they normally would.

Against your better judgement, Slim and Baze convinced you to go.

“There’s not even gonna be that many people there.”

“And Trippie would be so upset if you didn’t come.”

“If I go, will you two shut up?”

“Yes.” “Yes ma’am”

“Don’t call me ma’am ever again, Slim.”

So, you made a plan to talk to Colson at some point that night about something other than all of your problems with each other. If and only if the opportunity presented itself.

So, there you were in an oversized Misfits T-shirt that looked like a dress on you and shorts that no one could see, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other. You were sitting at the pool edge, your feet dangling in the water, as you talked to Iann Dior about cheese.

You may have been pretty tipsy, but he was worse.

“Cheddar cheese is the worst possible flavor of cheese.” Iann shook his head, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You can put cheddar in dishes, and they taste great. Cheddar makes things taste better. Brie cheese is the worst cheese. It’s literally fucking moldy.” You giggled, taking a swig of your drink.

“You’re both wrong. Feta cheese is the absolute worse and no one will convince me otherwise.” Colson chuckled, sitting next to you.

“There is nothing wrong with feta cheese, you two are just uncultured.” You laughed, the opportunity you needed apparently presenting itself. You took a quick glance at Colson, who was about to dip his feet in the water. “Colson your shoes are still on.”

He looked at you confused, and you realized just how high he was. “So?” he asked and Iann laughed.

“Dude, if you’re gonna put your feet in the water you gotta take your shoes off.”

Colson broke out laughing at Iann’s comment, his whole body shaking with joy. He slipped his shoes off once he finished and dangled his feet of the edge.

“So, you really think cheddar cheese is the best cheese?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Noooo.” You whined, “I just don’t think it’s the worst kind of cheese. But obviously there are better cheeses.” You kicked your feet up, splashing Colson on accident.

He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into the water, splashing water towards you. “Colson!” You squealed, laughing.

You returned the favor by flicking water at his shirt, at which point Iann left. “You get me wet and you die.” He said with a laugh.

Colson then cupped his hands together, bringing water up to your shirt and pouring it all over you, much to your dismay. Luckily, your shirt was black, but the water was still freezing. “Bro.” You pouted, looking over at Colson. He was smiling, but soon mimicked your pout.

“Aww, I’m sorry. Did the little princess get wet?” Your eyes went wide, and you slapped his chest. He grabbed your hand, pulling it up so you couldn’t hit him and accidentally pulling you closer to him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, his hand intertwining with yours as he brought it back down.

“Colson…” You trailed off, warning him. He pouted, a sigh leaving his lips as he unlocked your fingers.

“Sorry, forgot I’m not supposed to do that.” You smiled a little, glad that things were slowly becoming normal. “I wanna go for a swim.” He changed the topic, standing up and pulling his shirt off.

“Colson it’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” You looked at him with wide eyes but a giggle falling from your mouth.

“Guess someone has to come in to keep me warm.” He shrugged, tugging his shorts down his legs so he was just in his boxers.

It was only at this point that you realized he was very drunk. A few moments later you felt the cold water splash your face as Colson jumped into the pool near you, coming up and running his hand through his hair.

He made his way back over to you, reaching for the beer that he left on the side of the pool. He half-stood in front of you, a needy smile on his face. “Get in the water with me Y/N.” He dragged out the last syllable of your name, causing you to roll your eyes.

“There is no way in hell I am getting in that water.” You chuckled, taking a hit of the joint in your hand.

Colson pouted, taking the blunt from you and smoking it himself. “I guess I could always just pull you in.” He grabbed your thighs and you moved backwards, fighting him.

“Colson, I don’t have a change of clothes, I’ll be cold.” You tried to squirm out of his grip, giggling.

“You can just wear my shirt or something. Someone will have something.” He shrugged, pulling you into the water.

“Colson!” You squealed before your entire body was encased in the cold liquid.

“Too late.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face. His arms wrapped around you as you turned to face the edge, ready to get out. “Noooo, you’re already in here.” He whined, dragging you towards his chest.

“Colson, it’s freezing. We need to get out.” You said, turning your head to face him.

“I don’t want to. This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I just wanna enjoy this for a moment.” His head rested on top of your head, and you let yourself fall back into his chest.

You had to admit, you did miss his playfulness and his touch, and you really hadn’t been this close to him in a while. But you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t both drunk and stoned out of his mind.

You sighed, knowing you needed to end the moment, if not for your own sanity. “C’mon Col, we can’t do this. Let’s get out.”

He groaned. “We did this when we were friends before, how is this any different from that?”

You made your way to the edge of the pool. “It just is Colson.” You sighed, trying to mask the anger in your voice. You tried to pull yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, but you couldn’t quite make it the first time. Colson, of course, took it upon himself to help you, grabbing your hips lightly to lift you up. He got out and sat next to you, both of you soaking wet.

He reached over and grabbed the shirt he was wearing earlier, passing it to you. “Here, so you don’t get sick.” He seemed to be sobering up, probably due to the cold water.

“Thanks.” Your voice was hushed, your cheeks burning with a blush that you couldn’t explain. It’s just a shirt, you told yourself. You stood up, preparing yourself to find somewhere private to change.

“Where are you going?” Colson asked, looking up at you.

“To change.” You said bluntly. “I can’t exactly strip in front of 40 people.”

Colson nodded, standing up next to you, pulling his shorts on. “Where are you going?” You asked him, a small smile on your face.

“Wherever you are.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I guess I can use you to clear my path inside.” You chuckled, starting to walk towards the crowd of people near the doors of the house. As you moved through the crowd you found yourself instinctively reaching back for Colson’s hand, not wanting to lose him as you moved through the crowd. He happily took the hint and moved closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip to help guide you to the doors, though you didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You made your way through the open glass door, suddenly very self-conscious about the clothes you were wearing and the fact that you were soaking wet. “Bathroom is this way.” Colson mumbled into your ear as the loud music blasted around you. The hand on your hip led you down a small hallway until you found the open bathroom.

You went in, turning to close the door when you saw Colson had followed you in. “I gotta change, Kells. You can’t be in here.”

“Woah woah woah.” He started, clearly offended, “You never call me Kells. That’s not allowed.” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “And I’ll just… look away.” He covered his eyes with his hands, moving his fingers to form a gap.

“Colson, seriously,” You laughed, “turn around.” He thankfully did as told, and you quickly removed the Misfits shirt you were previously wearing and replaced it with his long sleeve pink shirt. It wasn’t quite as long as the other one you were wearing, but it still went down to your upper thigh and the sleeves went far enough past your wrist for permanent sweater paws. Unfortunately, this meant you would have to keep your wet shorts on.

Upon realizing this, you let out a sigh of disappointment. “What?” Colson questioned, still facing the wall.

“You can look now.” He turned around. “It’s not as long as mine.” You pouted, stretching your arms out for him to see before flopping them back down to your sides.

Colson chuckled, “I really don’t see the problem, Y/N.”

You glared playfully, “I have to wear my wet fuckin shorts.” You whined, a pout on your lips.

“I meannn, you don’t have to.” Colson said, playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But I don’t know what to do to help you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, looking off into the distance. “I’m not giving you my pants, Y/N.” Another dramatic sigh. “Okay fine we’ll just go to his laundry room and through them in the dryer, okay?”

“See, you do know what to do to help me.” You smiled, grabbing your wet shirt and pushing Colson out of the bathroom.

The laundry room in Trippie’s house was surprisingly small, given his house was a small mansion. You were able, however, to close the door and pull off your wet clothes. Colson threw your shirt in the dryer as well.

You hopped up onto the washer, your legs dangling off. “You don’t have to stay, Colson.” You told him, knowing he probably wanted to rejoin the party.

“I’m good. This is much more fun than whatever’s going on out there.”

You laughed, “waiting for my clothes to dry? Whatever, loser.”

He moved towards you, his stomach touching your knees. “I’ve missed this.” He said, softly. You met his eyes with your own. “Just us doing stupid shit. Being friends.”

“We’re still friends, Cols.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

He sighed, “Yeah but we haven’t really been friends since…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. “Not real friends, at least.”

You sighed, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a little bit of space and it never felt like the right time to… talk. Like if we started talking in a group everyone would just think it’s weird.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his hand reached out to touch your waist. “If anything, I should be apologizing. It’s my fault we’re stuck in this weird limbo shit anyways. I was honestly afraid the guys would kill me if I talked to you.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to the guys anymore.” Your voice got soft as you realize how close your faces had gotten. “And we can be normal friends again.” You added.

Colson looked down. “Yeah, normal friends.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but failed miserably.

“Colson, we’re just friends, right?” You asked, trying to convince yourself more than him.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re just friends.” He looked up and met your eyes, and you could see the emotions in his crystal blue eyes. “But I don’t know that I can just be friends.” His voice was soft, making your heart sink deeper.

His head was inches away from yours, his nose almost touching your own. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes traveling your face. His lips were millimeters from yours. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out right now.”

“I…” You couldn’t form a sentence with his lips so close to your own. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” He paused, touching his nose to yours lightly. When he spoke, you could feel his words on your lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

You couldn’t answer him for a few seconds. “I don- I don’t know Colson.” You breathed out, leaning your forehead against his.

Part of you was hoping he would take matters into his own hands and just kiss you, but the other part of you knew you would regret anything that happened right now.

He jerked his head away from you, a frown etched across his face. “When are you gonna make up your goddamn mind? I can never figure out where I’m at with you.” His voice raised slightly, making you jump. “One minute we’re not even talking and the next you’re holding my fucking hand at a party. You say we’re just friends and then don’t say no when I ask if you want me to kiss you. Like what the fuck is this?” He ranted, causing your grip on the edge of the washer to tighten.

“Colson, I told you. I need time to figure all of this out. It doesn’t just happen overnight.” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/N. How long do you need?”

Confusion took over your features, and then anger. “Colson do you even realize what you did? Honestly, you’re fucking lucky I even wanted to be friends. You kind of screwed me up, really bad. So, excuse me for needing time to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” Your eyes fell to the floor, suddenly very self-conscious of all the things Colson had said to you 2 months ago.

Colson scoffed, backing away from you, “Well honestly it would be a lot easier if we weren’t friends.” His words were harsh, and you were reminded that he wouldn’t change, not really. “Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice became soft, but it was already too late.

You hopped off the machine, pushing past him and pulling your damp shirt and shorts out of the dryer. With your back facing him, you pulled your shorts on and then took his shirt off, replacing it with your own.

“Y/N I’m sorry I jus-“

“No, Colson. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that my existence seems to be the bane of yours.” You shove his shirt into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” You walked out of the small room and through the house, determined to call a cab home.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst

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renegadeontherunn · 3 years ago

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hello fiona my love, hope you are doing amazing - i am so excited you are doing prompts!!! AAAAHHHH could you do 29. "you're a really bad liar." with obi & soka?? or really whoever you want!!! ily queen

SAM MY LOVE!!!!! AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY TOO ILY!!!!!! and thank you for being my first EVER prompt fill!!!!!

29. “you’re a really bad liar.” // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

Ahsoka doesn’t look at the Temple.

She can still feel it—that gentle warmth and familiar glow—wherever she goes, but she doesn’t look at it. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need to see it to still feel the gaping hole where the Jedi used to reside and she shoves the Force away at every opportunity.

Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter. The nights have been getting colder and colder and she finds herself missing the Temple (and its inhabitants) more and more.

She looks over her shoulder again on instinct, half expecting to see Anakin or Master Yoda, or even Rex. But there’s just the usual blank, dark faces of the Coruscant nightlife and Ahsoka breathes a sigh of sad relief. If she can just get off Coruscant, get to a new planet, maybe somewhere Mid-Rim, then she can actually relax. Then she’ll be free. Ahsoka shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself.

She shouldn’t have to worry about being free.

The diner she steps in is nicer than most of the ones she’s frequented in the weeks she’s been exiled, and it’s late enough to not be crawling with too many sketchy figures. The Force simmers as the little bell dings to announce her entrance, and so Ahsoka keeps her senses sharp. A quick reaction can be the difference between life and death. She’s learned that enough times.

“Ahsoka.”

There. Ahsoka’s shoulders tense up immediately, her whole body freezing, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Of course. Of course. Ahsoka thought she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see anyone—each check behind herself was bittersweet, would it be better to reconnect or is complete isolation the safest option?—but as soon as the quiet, surprised word drifts into the air, an anvil slams down on Ahsoka’s chest and she wishes she was anywhere else.

She could leave. She could just turn around and walk—run—away, hide back in her seedy apartment with the moldy ceiling and rusty door. But something, be it obligation or pride or just plain shock, forces Ahsoka’s head to her left and she locks eyes with Master Kenobi.

He’s dressed exactly as she remembers: a few thousand layers of robes with no doubt the hundredth brown cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a full cup of what looks like cold caf nestled between his hands. Ahsoka tries not to walk too woodenly over to him, screaming against her own body for betraying her.

Not now, not him, not this.

His face is paler, a bit more sunken than it used to be, or so Ahsoka thinks, but his face is all pleasant surprise and familiar, if a bit hesitant, warmth.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the seat across from him.

Ahsoka’s heart lurches. “I’m good.”

A beat of silence. She sits.

His eyes scan her face. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically. Oh, this is not going to go well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem fazed. He nods. “That’s great.”

More silence. Ahsoka tries not to fidget, fails; tries not to stare, fails at that too. And her flailing attempts to squash the surging anger inside herself—well, you can probably guess.

“What brings you to a place like this at such an hour?”

Ahsoka nearly huffs. He hasn’t changed a bit. She can’t decide if that’s comforting or . . . disappointing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Obi-Wan nods again. “You could.”

She doesn’t.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ahsoka’s mind goes on the defensive immediately, though she knows that’s completely off the mark. Does she not look like she can support herself? She doesn’t want—or need—his help, his charity. Ahsoka is perfectly fine on her own, thanks (for nothing), and has no desire for unsolicited aid.

“No.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but Ahsoka feels like he wants to. Like this conversation is somehow pricking his chest with bitter pain. Well, that makes two of them.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka bites her tongue hard, fangs digging in deep enough to make her head pound.

Obi-Wan’s brow twitches, lips pulling down into a pretty good impression of concern. “Ahsoka?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she huffs in near-incredulous mocking. “Are you?”

His face darkens a touch. “Ahsoka—”

“Stop.” Force, why hadn’t she just walked out? “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”

But Obi-Wan has always loved talking, and Ahsoka should know that. “Ahsoka, please. I understand your feelings toward—”

“No you don’t.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clicks shut.

Ahsoka’s face grows warm. “You can’t possibly imagine what I’m feeling, what I went through, other than your own part in it.”

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s hand is out and Ahsoka can’t remember if it always used to shake like that. “I misspoke. But I do know that you’re hurt and you have every right to be. I am so sorry.”

If this conversation doesn’t end soon, Ahsoka is either going to start throwing punches or sobbing and neither is a great look for her. “Okay.”

“If I could go back—”

“Well you can’t. And neither can I, but I guess that’s life.”

She’s purposely trying to goad him; fighting has always been easier than talking and maybe if they’re both angry, then Ahsoka won’t have to deal with the regret and guilt and fear and homesickness. But Obi-Wan is not so easily led.

“I only wish to explain, though I know it can never fully alleviate the pain of what happened. May I?”

Ahsoka can’t think of anything she wants less than to hear what he has to say. She wants—she wants Obi-Wan to stop talking, wants him to feel her devastation, she wants him to see how she is crumbling beneath the weight of what his Council has done to her.

“You all expelled me. You lost faith in me the second you got the chance to jump ship.” She chokes back tears. “The Jedi were supposed to be there for me—you were supposed to be there for me. Like family, right?”

Obi-Wan looks half on the verge of tears too.

“Ahsoka, I never lost faith in you, you must believe me.” He reaches for her. “I promise you, I tried everything in my power to speak for you in the Council, to try to prove your innocence.”

Ahsoka scoffs, feeling more bitter by the moment. “Fantastic job. Do you want applause?” She’s not sure where all this pent-up rage is coming from; she’s spent enough time meditating, considering the situation, her decision, trying to look at every angle. It’s been months. She thought she was past it. Or, at least, mostly past it.

“I understand your anger at me, I feel it myself. I completely failed you in your trial, Ahsoka, don’t think I’m unaware of that.” Ahsoka’s nails cut crescents in her palms. “I wish I could’ve done more—I should’ve done more.”

“You know what? Yeah, you should’ve. But this isn’t about you, Obi-Wan.” The name is sour on her tongue. “If forcing all this guilt on yourself somehow makes you feel better, be my guest, but you don’t have to burden me with the guilt of not absolving you from it.”

Because Ahsoka does feel guilty. She wants to forgive him and have everything go right back to the way it was, she a Jedi, he her partial Master, the three of them more like family than anything else. Her own stinging words churn in her stomach, half her brain raging against the other half: accept what’s probably your last chance at that old happiness or fuel the retribution you’re convinced you deserve. And she doesn’t know if she actually deserves it. And more importantly, she’s not sure Obi-Wan deserves this.

Haven’t they all been through enough?

But Ahsoka has never been good at thinking before speaking. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to feed the wolf craving vengeance than to scale the high road.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry—”

Tears stinging her eyes, Ahsoka grabs her cloak, nearly knocking her chair over, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “You’re a really bad liar.”

Obi-Wan flinches like he’s been struck.

Ahsoka lets the festering rage in her chest slither up to her tongue, lashing out in the empty air. “You’d think you’ve had enough practice.” Her voice is rough, harsh with stifled tears, words ripping holes where affection and warmth used to rest. All Ahsoka feels now, though, is scraped raw, and frustrated, angry confusion, and . . . and something else she doesn’t have time for. The door handle is cold on her blazing skin.

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan grabs her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is too strong in its desperation. “Please, listen.”

Tears are dotting the greasy floor now and Ahsoka doesn’t know if they’re hers or Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—” She’s still pulling away. The bell on the door is ringing.

“Ahsoka—”

“Just let go!”

The Coruscant air is freezing on Ahsoka’s face and she wrenches her arm away as they burst out of the diner.

They turn to face each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, two strangers with far too many memories.

“Ahsoka.”

And his voice is home and friendship and comfort and Anakin and the past.

“I’m sorry.”

The air is too stuffy, her chest too tight. There’s no room for the past in the scathing pieces of her heart.

She bolts off into the darkness.

“Ahsoka!”

#fiona speaks #AHHHHHHHHHHHH #AM I WRITING/POSTING FIC LITERALLY FIVE MINUTES BEFORE I LEAVE FOR COLLEGE? MA Y B E #anyway!#thank you so much for this ask sam!!!!#oh MAN this prompt was so fun to write #i've been feeling the angst the past few days so this is what you get akljsdkljask #or should i say mwahahahaha #i hope you like it!!!!#AHHHHH #answered #my writing #sam tag!#star wars #obi k & soka #yikes...YIKES #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano

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winter-fox-queen · 4 years ago

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Albatross

Summary: Frankie wants to give you your dream vacation, but he’s not sure if it is worth the price.

Warnings: Female reader. (He calls her his girl, and she wears a skirt in one scene.) Angst. No smut. I thought I would finally write smut, this was going to be a very different story where they were AT the place already, but. No. Angst with a nice ending because I can't leave Frankie to suffer too long.

Thanks to @autumnleaves1991-blog -- you are awesome and this picture is lovely.

1,870 words.

Frankie didn’t lie to you. Not about this, at least.

Well.

Not really. He was working extra, taking extra shifts. Except for right now. Right now, he was in a cabin in the middle of a state forest, one of the very few things he’d bought with the money. A place to hide. To be at peace.

It was not working. The money felt like a weight. Half of each share had gone to Redfly’s family. Half had gone to each man. He’d hoped for freedom. This was anything but.

I shouldn’t have hidden it in the cabin. He once watched a TV show about Escobar, seen that one of the caches of money he’d hidden outside had gotten moldy. So Frankie had gone into the cellar. Dug up a section of the dirt floor. Made a proper hiding place, kneeling in the dirt, mixing up quickcrete and placing stones until the cellar was paved in with stone pavers. Three were loose. Only one had a reinforced box with another box and a bunch of money that could change his life but he can’t even look you in the eye and explain that he has it.

So here he was, sitting on the weathered wood bench in front of the cabin you did not even know he owned, resting his cheek on his fist, looking at the cabin of his damned dreams like it was a haunted death trap from a B horror movie.

He signed, grabbed the magazine he’d dropped on the ground earlier, flipping it to an article you’d been sighing over when you thought he wasn’t looking. The ultimate romantic getaway, with tiled pools and greenery and luxurious accommodations and candlelight dinners.

“That’s pretty,” he’d said over your shoulder as you looked at the main picture of the article, a swimming pool tiled and beautiful – all Middle East and mysterious looking, making you think of romance and beauty.

“I love it,” you admit. “I’d never get to go…but it is beautiful. Have to win the lottery.” She grinned at him.

He looked it up online, curious. Frankie the pilot/mechanic couldn’t afford it. Not even with extra shifts and only one beer on Fridays and watching every penny.

The other Frankie could.

So that was why he found himself in the cellar. If you knew which paver it was to start from, and which direction to go, it was just a knight chess move, probably obvious and stupid, but he did not trust himself to remember any other way. He pried it up carefully so not to scratch the stone and give away the hiding place.

He stared at the hole. The carefully wrapped money. He fumbled for his phone, and by some miracle the call went through.

“Hey Frankie.” Pope’s voice sounded tired, but warm. Not quite there.

“If you really, really love someone, is it OK to lie to them?”

Pope didn’t think before he replied. “Of course not.”

“If you really, really love someone and want to do something to make them happy, is it OK to lie about where you got the money for it?”

That stopped Pope. Pope, instead of being split focused was now, 100%, listening. “Frankie…”

Frankie, waiting, crouching by the hidden safe, phone to one ear, other hand relaxed on his knee. Waiting. Frankie was very good at waiting.

Pope sputtered a little, tried to think of what to say. Finally. “Yeah, Frankie. It’s OK.”

It’s what he wanted to hear but it wasn’t the truth and he knew it. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. I’ve never wanted anything in my life like I want her, want her happiness. But there’s this whole chunk of my life that she doesn’t even know about. I look at this damned cabin and I think, she’d love it up here. Her car broke down and she needed to buy a new one, and I could have bought her a fucking car so she wouldn’t have to worry about payments.”

“I know,” Pope muttered, but Frankie is on a roll.

“And the one damned thing I’ve ever seen her really, really want and it’s this damned vacation and I can give it to her. I can fucking pay for it, but if she finds out how it’ll ruin everything. She won’t be able to enjoy it. The memory will be ruined. I can’t fucking win. What good is it, if I have this, and I can’t even use a little of it to make my girl happy?”

Pope, picking words, both because he’s not sure what to tell Franlie and because he is paranoid about anyone (doubtful) listening in. “Maybe…maybe that is the good. You can’t…make it better, right? But you can…clean it. Make good memories for your girl. Do good things for the people you love.” Pope sighed. “I can’t…I can’t bear it, either, you know? I save it for a rainy day, but…”

“I didn’t think the guilt would last so long,” Frankie said.

“No.”

“Maybe I should tell her.”

A pause. “I can’t think of any way to tell that story without things going to shit.”

“I don’t like lying to her.”

“No.” Another pause. “Please don’t tell her unless you know you can trust her.”

“She won’t blab.” Frankie glared at the phone.

“Don’t get insulted on her behalf. Everyone you love could get hurt…including her.”

Guilt seized his heart so hard he wondered if he was going to have a heart attack, right there.

“You OK, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He said through numb feeling lips. “I’m ok.”

He slipped his phone in his pocket, reached in, and took what he thought he could use, and carefully hid everything again.

Then he got very devious.

You can put up to 15,000 on a prepaid Visa gift card. He went to a place where people were smart enough not to ask questions, or even care. One of those places where you want to wash your clothes after you leave.

Then he called the resort. “Look, I have these friends…” he said, “I want to treat them, but they can’t know who I am…” The prepaid card was as good as a credit card.

And then he went home, and waited for you to check your email. Sweating.

And, obscurely, jealous of himself. Super fucking jealous of himself, the more he thought about it. Like, he hated the mysterious benefactor who was about to make the love of his life so happy.

He wanted to be the one. Wanted your eyes to light up and know it was because he’d been able to provide for you, he’d been able to make this happen. He closed his eyes and swallowed it. It was stupid and selfish…what did it matter, who got the credit as long as you got this? As long as it made you happy? Frankie would be there, seeing your smile when you stood next to that glorious tiled pool, watch you dabble your toes shyly in the water, as if to ask, can I really have this?

And it did.

“Frankie!” You came in, sat on his lap. Your arms were warm around him, you made a soft and perfect armful as he wrapped himself around you, let your lips peck happy kisses all over his face.

“What is it, baby?”

You pull back. “You know. The trip.”

Frankie raises his eyebrows, all innocence, starts to protest, but you silence him with another kiss.

“I know, baby, who loves me enough to put so much effort into planning things like this. The surprise is nice, but you know I’m not dumb.” You toss aside his cap and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, and Frankie sighs softly, his eyes shutting a little. He opens them again when your hands cup his cheeks.

You look very serious. And a little sad. Which hits his Oh Shit button, hard.

“You didn’t have to go to all this effort, baby. You really didn’t.”

“Well, I…” he tried to think of something to say, but settled for, “I love you. I love you so much, you don’t even…”

This earns him a kiss on the forehead. Then you say, “I know how you got the money.” And his blood runs cold. Before he could marshal some sort of reply, you continue, “Come on, Cat. Long hours. Extra shifts? I know that the people down at the field are not the most upstanding of people. But…baby, it’s so dangerous.”

It doesn’t take him much to put the pieces together. “You think I’m running drugs?” It comes out as an incredulous squeak.

You nod. “It makes sense. This dream – literally a dream vacation – is not cheap. And I never expected it. You know that? I enjoyed day dreaming about going with you because I love you and I want to take you all over the world…” You sigh. “I just want to see the beautiful things of this world through your eyes.”

This time, Frankie does the silencing, with a gently thumb over your lips. “Sweetheart, I didn’t…”

You kiss the pad of his thumb. “You gonna try and tell me this money came on the up and up? Baby, I know how much you make.”

You look at each other for a long moment. You, work skirt hiked up so you can straddle his thighs, sitting closer to his knees, Frankie, his hands gentle on your hips so you don’t fall.

“I could tell you,” he says, softly. The words running underneath But I don’t want to and you might not like it.

You are sharp. That’s one of the things he likes about you, how much you see. It’s also one of the things that scares him the most. Finally, “Are you in danger?”

Frankie shakes his head, once.

“Is it…is it the reason why sometimes you get so sad?”

One nod. A little smile. He watches you digest this. Make a decision.

The delicate hands come up to frame his face again. You look him right in the eyes. “You are a good man. I don’t know what happened, and maybe, someday, you can tell me. But you are good and kind and I love you.” And you kiss him again, this time so fiercely that his thinks it’s going to bruise, and he’s fine with that.

You lean back again. “Humph. Well. If you’d not already paid for it, I’d probably save the money to pay on the car.”

“No take backs.” He grins despite himself.

“Rats.” You grin back. Slide off his lap. “Now to call Darla and see when I can take off, and then we are buying you a new swim suit.” You bounce on your feet, then turn to go for your phone.

Frankie leans back against the cushions with a groan. “I do not need…”

You peek around the doorframe. “You are not going to a five star resort in purple swim trunks with catfish on them!”

“They were a present!” he calls after your retreating form, and grins at the ceiling.

It’s going to be alright, he thinks, feeling lighter. It’s going to be alright.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #writer wednesday #pedro pascal #my fiction

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noladyme · 4 years ago

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The Wife - Chapter 6

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons. First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness. Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (5131 words)

She didn’t know how much time passed. Robed of her sight, all Rosalind had to depend on, were her other senses; which told her that having sight would probably not make her situation feel better. Moans and screams. The smell of rot, sweat and decay. Trying to only breathe through her nose didn’t work, as she could practically taste the smell in the stale air. Rosalind could not lay down, as the chain attached to the collar was too short; but she could sit. Once in a while, she would feel something running over her feet, and the sound of squeaks let her know that whatever had been tugging at her chemise, was probably a rat.

Rosalind must have blacked out, because one moment, food was the furthest from her mind; but after having shut her eyes for what seemed like only a moment, she was suddenly hungrier than she’d ever been in her life. This was soon aided, as a small hatch at the bottom of the door opened, and a piece of moldy bread was pushed through it. Needing to eat something, she put it in her mouth, and forced herself not to think of the taste.

The cold draft from a crack in the door, and the hushing of the moans outside let her know it was nighttime, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to get some sleep. Her head would drop forwards, jolting her awake from the sudden tug at her neck from the collar. Getting any real rest was impossible, until she found a position – leaning against the wall, and propping her feet up on the door – that let her tilt her head in a way that would not hurt her.

She woke, when the door opened, and Kilroy was staring down at her. “Are we feeling better?”, he asked. She looked up at him with hard eyes. “I want to see my husband”, she rasped. “And I want my wedding ring back". “Apparently not”, Kilroy sighed, and the door was closed again.

Rosalind’s mind was made up. No matter how much he hated her – how little he wanted her – James would not let her stay here, if he knew. She knew his heart better than that, and there was goodness in it; hidden deep down. Just as he would not betray her, if he knew her predicament, she would not betray him. He deserved his freedom; deserved to travel to America. She would not let anyone take that from him, and put him where she was now.

Another cycle of listening to moans and screams, avoiding getting eaten by rats, eating molded bread, and trying to sleep against the wall followed; before the door opened again. This time, it was the large guard; who was holding a bucket. He crouched down in front of her, and ran his finger down her face, and across her dry lips. “Thirsty?”, he asked. She nodded timidly, before he lifted the bucket, and threw the entire content – ice cold, foul smelling water – at her. He closed the door with a laugh. “My husband!”, she screamed at the door.

Screams, rats, bread, sleep. Rosalind was shaking with cold, and her entire body ached. The door opened again, and Kilroy looked down at her. The guard was standing next to him. “Well?”, the doctor said. “James…”, she whispered. Kilroy sighed. “Get her on her feet. Strange wants her”, he muttered.

The guard unfastened the chain from the wall, but left the collar on her neck. He picked her up, and pulled her out of the room. Unable to stand on her own, he dragged her down the hall – making sure to let his fingers wander over her breasts as he did so – and back into the room where she’d first met Strange. He and his associates were waiting there for her, and she was placed in the chair by the table. Strange sat down opposite her again.

“Now… You’ve had a few days to think. Are you any nearer a resolution on how you wish to spend your future?”. She looked at him with drowsy and yet hard eyes. “I want to speak to James. I am not signing anything until I see him”. Strange shook his head, and laughed. “I believe you might actually be mad, Rosalind…”. “It’s Mrs. Delaney… And you will let me see my husband”.

Strange suddenly looked at her with what he clearly thought was an empathetic expression. “He knows you’re here, my dear”, he said. “And he has made no move to come see you”. “You’re lying”, she croaked. “He wouldn’t leave me here… He would try to…”. “He hasn’t. You’re on your own”. He gestured at Wilton, who spread out the document claiming James insane in front of her. “Take your life back. Leave this place, and become a rich woman!”.

Rosalind closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It was a lie, it had to be. “Put me back in that room. I will never sign those papers”. Strange’s eyes flickered with rage, and Rosalind felt a smile form on her lips. “You’re right. I am mad. Insane beyond belief. And you will never get James, or Nootka Sound; but I’ll tell you what you will get… One day, when you’re sitting in your office, enjoying your tea, and signing papers which send young men as slaves across the ocean, you will feel a sharp sting in your back. When you look behind you, you will see James standing there, his knife dripping with your blood… And that will be the last thing you ever see in your miserable life”.

Her chair was knocked over, and a hard kick was delivered to her ribs from the guard. Strange looked down at her with enraged eyes. The guard yanked at the chain, and she was pulled out of the room by her neck. She held on to the collar with all the strength she had, to avoid being strangled.

Once back in the tiny room, the door was closed, and she was once again alone in the darkness.

---

“How long do you say she’s been in there?”. A familiar voice roused her from her state of unconsciousness. “Four days. She’s a tough one”, she heard Strange reply. “You’re not wrong about that. Let me see her”, Cholmondeley said. “And you’re sure you will be able to convince her?”. “She’s been my patient for many years. Ever since her husband left, and she needed medicines to calm her nerves”.

The door opened, and Cholmondeley crouched in front of her. “Rosalind?”, he whispered, and placed a hand on her cheek. “Rosalind, my dear. Wake up”. She strained to adjust her eyes to the light, and looked at the chemist. His eyes were pained. “Cholmondeley…”, she croaked. “Yes, my dear, it’s me”. He turned to look at the men behind him. “Please, will you let me speak with her in private. I’m convinced…”. “No. All conversation will be supervised”, Strange said. The chemist nodded. “Of course, I understand. But at least release her from that collar”. “The collar stays on, until we have what we need… But let us speak in different accommodations”, Strange said.

The guard released the chain from the wall, and she was once again dragged down the hall; though this time, it was Cholmondeley supporting her weight, and his grasp of her was much gentler than the guards had been.

Once back in the room with the table, Cholmondeley sat down across from her, and took her hand. “Dear, sweet Rosalind…”, he said. “James…”, she whispered; her throat dry and hurting. “He is not here… and he is not coming”. Rosalind’s lips parted, and her breath hitched. “But… He was supposed to come and…”, she whimpered. “I told you”, Strange chuckled. Cholmondeley squeezed her hand, and gave her meaningful look. “Listen to me now, my dear”, he said. “Sir Strange has let me know of your situation here. He is right. You must sign the papers, claiming your husband mad”. Rosalind could no longer hold back tears. “He was supposed to come… Why didn’t he come for me?”.

“Rose! Listen! I am here now…”, Cholmondeley said. Rose. He was there now. Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew in a short, croaking breath. “Sign the papers”. “But…”, she whispered. The chemist held up a hand to halt her. “Become the woman you were before James. You can become Rosalind Beauchamp again. Everything will be alright… Do you understand me?” She swallowed thickly, and nodded. “Yes… I’ll sign them”. Cholmondeley squeezed her hand again. “Good… good. I will be outside the gate to fetch you, when you’re released”. He looked up at Wilton, who once again produced the document for her to sign, and a pen and an ink bottle was placed on the table.

With a shaking hand, Rosalind picked up the pen, and dipped it in ink, before lowering it to the parchment, and signing it, Rosalind Beauchamp. Cholmondeley quickly picked up the document, and blew on the signature, before rolling it up, and handing it to Wilton. “Get the lady something to cover her nakedness, and let her out of that collar”. He nodded at Rosalind, and left the room quickly.

The now grouchy looking guard unlocked the collar, and she was released from it. A dirty coat was produced for her, and two guards she had not seen before entered the room. They got her on her feet, and supported her weight between them. “I’m glad we could finally see eye to eye on this matter, Mrs. Delaney”, Strange said smugly. “As soon as your husband is in custody, I will have our attorneys prepare the papers for you to sign over Nootka Sound to us”. Rosalind gave him a putrid glare. “You are a vile man”, she hissed. “A vile and very rich man”, Strange retorted. “Good day”. The three Company men all left the room.

The two guards half carried her down the filthy hallway, and down a flight of stairs. She was lead through a series of doors, and finally through a courtyard, with a large gate at one end. Here she was pushed through a small door, and out on the street. Cholmondeley stood ready to help her into a carriage, and they drove away from Bedlam in haste.

She’d passed out again, and only woke when they stopped at a building she’d never seen before. The chemist helped her out of the carriage, and through a door. There was a flight of stairs which she could not scale herself, but two very strong and strange looking women lifted her between them, and took her upstairs. She heard singing and glasses clinking against each other, and the five o’clock shadow on one of her helpers let her know she was in a Molly house.

“In here”, a molly with a soft voice said, and she was taken to a warm room, which smelled like gin and perfume. Here, she was laid down on the bed. The molly sat down on the edge of the bed, and moved a lock of hair from her face. Cholmondeley stood at the foot of the bed. “Godfrey is trustworthy…”, he said, and nodded towards the molly. “Where is he?”, the molly asked. “On his way”, the chemist replied. He walked over to Rosalind and took her hand. “Now, are we friends?”, he smiled. Rosalind nodded, and tried to smile. “Thank you…”, she whispered. He took her hand and kissed it. “I must go. I’m glad you’re safe”, he said, and quietly left the room.

“Sleep now”, the molly said softly. “Sleep…”. Rosalind closed her eyes, and drifted off.

---

She woke to the sound of what she thought was thunder, but turned out to be the sound of boots, when James slammed the door open, and stomped in to the room. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was seeing a ghost. The molly, who had been seated in a chair by the bed, stood up, and put a hand on his arm. “She’s weak. I don’t think they’ve been…”. “Leave us”, James demanded. The molly went towards the door. James let out a grunt, before turning his head slightly. “Godders… Thank you”. The molly nodded, and smiled a little, before leaving the room and closing the door.

Rosalind tried to sit up, but found herself too weak to do so. James came to sit on the edge of the bed, and looked her over. His fingertips ghosted her wrists, where he could see bruising from where the Company men had held her down. He clenched his fists for a moment, before putting his arms around her, and pulling her up to sit. She whimpered in pain, when his hand brushed against her side. “What did they do to you…?”, James said, and pulled his hand away from the spot. “I’m fine…”, she lied. He raised his brows at her in disbelief, and gently lowered her back onto the pillow. “You are not that good an actress”, he said. “You’ve been starved and seemingly beaten…”. “Please, stop”, Rosalind pleaded.

He took her left hand, and stroked her knuckles, pausing at her left ring finger. “There was a doctor there… Kilroy. He took my ring”, Rosalind said. “I want it back. I’d like to have at least that…”. “You will have it back. I promise”, James said, before lifting her chin slightly, and looking at the bruises on her neck. “A collar…”, she whispered. “Some guard… I don’t know his name. He chained me by the neck, and… put his hands on me”. James tensed up. “I will handle it”, he grunted.

His fingers ghosted the bruises on her wrists. “They had a document… I wouldn’t sign it”. “I know”, he said. Rosalind felt a smile tug at her lips. “I suppose I should always assume you know”, she said. “So, why did you not come for me sooner?”. There was a trace of hurt in her voice. “I don’t know everything”, he admitted. “I thought you left. It wasn’t until Godders came to me yesterday, and told me Geary had taken you, and handed you over to the Company”. “Godders?”. “Godfrey”, he said, and gazed towards the door. “Hmm. He’s a clerk at the Company”. “When he told you, you sent Cholmondeley for me. Now, will they come for him?”. “They won’t find him. He is working on a project which will give me my safe passage; well away from London".

He shook his head at her. “Four days… Why didn’t you sign the document before?”, he asked. “You know why…”, Rosalind replied. James looked down. “Will you be able to leave now? After I did…?”. “Hmm, if you did as Cholmondeley said”, James nodded. “The document isn’t legal. It will never hold up in court”. “Good”.

Rosalind looked down at herself, wanting to speak of anything other than James leaving her again. “I’m filthy”, she said. “And hungry”. James got on his feet, and left the room for a moment, before returning with the molly – Godfrey – who was carrying a wash basin and a pitcher. James handed her an apple, and Rosalind bit into it; relishing in the taste of fresh fruit. Godfrey poured some water into the basin, and was about to wet a sponge, when James took it. “I will do it”, he muttered, and Godfrey walked towards the door. “Godfrey…”, Rosalind croaked. The molly-clerk turned to look at her. His wig was slightly crooked, but he looked strangely like an angel, as he stood there in the glow of the candles in the room. “Thank you…”. “You’re welcome”, he replied quietly, and left the room again.

While James wet the sponge, and rolled up his sleeves, Rosalind finished the apple; having devoured it within moments. He took the carcass, and put it away, before sitting on the bed again, and beginning to wash her gently. Before long, Rosalind was dozing off, lulled by the sounds of raunchy songs from down the hall, and James gently washing away the last four days.

---

Just before dawn, James carried Rosalind out of the Molly house, and in to a carriage; before driving them back to Chamber House. She was clean now – James having washed her thoroughly while she slept – though she had bruises both on her body, and on her soul; but she was alive. Without the energy to contemplate her future, she fell in to a deep sleep again, in her own bed.

Pearl woke her up some hours later, with a plate of food and coffee; which she quickly ate and drank. The maid helped her into a robe. The chemise and stay she’d worn in the asylum had been burnt, she was told; as she let Pearl lead her over to the vanity to sit. The maid did up her hair in a braid, and Rosalind smiled warmly at her once she was finished. “Why do you work for Helga? You’re a very good maid, you could be a housekeeper, or…”. “I like working at the tavern. Most of the men are quite nice, and some are really lonely… I like to make them happy”, Pearl said. “So, you want to stay there?”. “Maybe I’ll be a madam someday”, Pearl said with hope in her voice. “Helga’s been training me”. “If that’s what you want, I hope you’ll get it”, Rosalind smiled.

Once she’d gingerly walked downstairs, Brace rushed over to greet her with tears in his eyes. “I was so worried, ma’am”, he said. “I… Thank you, Brace. You’re a good friend”, Rosalind replied. “Where is James?”. “He said he had to fetch you something”, the butler said. He took her elbow, and led her towards the fireplace. “Come sit down. You’ve had a hell of a few days, I’m told”. “You were told right”, Rosalind smiled. “So, what happens now?”, Brace asked, and handed her a glass of brandy. She sat down on the sofa, and took a sip; putting off answering. The dog appeared from somewhere, and rested its head on her feet. Rosalind sighed deeply. “I don’t know”, she admitted. “James is leaving for America, and I will… Well, I suppose I will go back to Mrs. Owen”. Brace obviously disliked her answer, but held his tongue.

After a few hours, Rosalind was growing worried again. At nightfall James had not returned, and she was afraid the Company had found him, and would bring him to Bedlam. She ate her dinner alone with the dog. When he finally returned – his boots covered in mud, and with a hard look on his face – she let out a sigh of relief. James gave the dog a scratch behind the ear.

Rosalind looked at him timidly. “I thought…”, she began, but stopped herself. “Hmm?”, he muttered, and took off his coat and boots; throwing them in a corner of the hallway, before walking over to shove a potato into his mouth. “Never mind. You’re here… They didn’t take you”. “They will come”, James said, after swallowing. “Oh… Then I hope you get your safe passage, so that that you can leave before they do”. “I will have it soon”, he said matter-of-factly, and ran a hand over his face casually. “I finished negotiations with Musgrove two days ago”. Rosalind’s heart dropped. She’d known nothing had changed, that James would still travel to America; and yet his words hit her like a punch to the gut. “I’m happy for you”, she lied. “I’ll retire. Good night”.

As quickly as she could, she scaled the stairs, and went into her room. She pulled out a trunk from under the bed, and winced in pain from the movement. James came in to the room, and took the trunk from her; setting it down next to the bed. “Do not strain yourself. You’re still injured”, he said. He took her arm, and helped her back into bed. “Rest, now…”. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and fluffed the pillow behind her back. “Thank you”, Rosalind said. “Once I am well enough, I will leave. You won’t have to take responsibility for me anymore. You’ll be free…”. “Hmm”, James responded.

He reached into the pocket of his vest, and held out her ring. Rosalind felt a pang of relief mixed with pain go through her heart. “I got you this”, James said. “The doctor was dreadfully sorry, when I took it back. I almost understood his apology through his tears of pain. And the guard won’t be putting his hands on anyone again. Because he’s dead”. Rosalind reached for the ring, but James held on to it, and looked down at the garnet adorning it. “I do love you, Rose. That never stopped”, he said. “I have no regrets about anything I have done in life, save one. Leaving you”. His voice was matter-of-factly, and there was no uncertainty in his eyes. “I will not do it again”.

There they were; the words she’d longed to hear from him, for so long. To hear them with such confidence and assuredness was overwhelming. A shiver went through her body, and Rosalind found it difficult to respond. “Are you staying in England?”, she said quietly, after a moment. “No, that’s not an option. Too many ghosts here”, he said. “But I would like you to come with me to America…”. James gaze was timid, and his voice more gravelly than usual.

Rosalind’s mind raced, but every word she wanted to convey, the many ways she wanted to say yes, would not come out. “You… claimed you had no use for me”, she whispered. “I said I was a bad man, not a clever one”, James said. Rosalind let out a short gasp, and was just about to give her answer, when there was a loud banging on the door. “James Delaney!”, a voice barked. James got on his feet; his body taut. “Stay here”, he said, left the room, and began walking down the stairs.

A thundering of boots entered the house, and angry voices filled the hallway. “James Delaney, we’ve come to take you in to custody”, a voice said. “You are to be admitted to Bethlem Royal Hospital”. “On what grounds?”, James replied calmly. “Because you are a mad man”, a voice Rosalind recognized said. It was Wilton. She got out of the bed as quickly as she could without hurting herself, and pulled her robe closer around her body. From the sounds of feet moving, she could tell they were moving in to the sitting room. She quietly went out onto the second-floor landing, and began moving down the stairs. “And your evidence?”, James said. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he had seated himself in the chair by the fireplace, looking like having guards from Bedlam in his house was a completely normal occurrence. Brace was standing in the doorway, a worried expression on his face. He rushed over to support her, by taking her arm.

Wilton pulled out the document she’d signed the day before. “I have here an accusation from your wife, stating you have conducted strange rituals, and committed heinous acts against her. The confirmation of said acts to be a sign of insanity has been given by a doctor”. James nodded solemnly. “Hmm. So, my wife signed her name on that document… And her signature is what makes me mad enough to be committed to Bedlam”, he said. “Yes”, Wilton said, with a wry smile.

“I did no such thing”, Rosalind said, pried herself free from Brace’s hold; and gently pushed her way past the guards. She walked over to stand by James, resting a hand on his shoulder. Wilton widened his eyes. “Mrs. Delaney… You are here…”, he said bewilderedly. His eyes travelled down her form; and he seemed flustered at her state of dress and health. Rosalind was well aware that she was not clothed to greet guests of any kind – even the uninvited ones – and she had dark bruises on her wrists and neck, visible over the collar of her robe, and bellow the sleeves. Four days of having been locked up in a small room had made her pale, and the lack of real food had taken a toll on her as well. James gave her a quick, chiding look for not having listened, and stayed upstairs. “And why would my wife not be here; in her home?”, he said. The Company man seemed rattled at the question, but quickly gathered himself. “Well, we were told she would be leaving London with her personal physician”. Raising his brows, and shrugging in a cool manner. “She has no reason to leave, her place is here. With me”. “With a mad man, who abuses her… Mrs. Delaney, really…”.

Rosalind felt her legs begin to give from exhaustion. James quickly got on his feet, and took her arm; letting her sit in his chair. He stroked his fingertips against the back of her neck, and she looked up at him with nothing but love in her eyes. “My husband has never raised his hand to me, and I’ve never put my name on any document which states so”. “But your signature is right here”, Wilton insisted. “You’re mistaken. My name is not on that document”, Rosalind reiterated. James looked out the corner of his eyes at her. Wilton unfolded the parchment, and began reading. “You’ve clearly stated here… Rituals involving bloodletting… bestiality… rape of undersigned…”. “Did I ever rape you, Rose?”, James asked her in a calm tone. “Absolutely not. I’ve only ever had willing intercourse with you, on the many occasions such events have occurred”. She smiled brightly. “Very willing, I might add”. A few of the guards stifled embarrassed grins.

Wilton took a deep breath, and was clearly trying to restrain himself. “You signed it. I was present when you did!”. “You were indeed present when I signed that document”, Rosalind nodded. “In fact, you were one of the men holding me down, as sir Stuart Strange forced the pen into my hand”. James made a sound that was a mix between an angry grunt and a scoff. Rosalind brushed her hand over the bruises on her wrist. “I’m sure we remember the event in very different ways”, Wilton said. “I’m sure we do…”, Rosalind said quietly.

Wilton cleared his throat. “In any case, here it is; in clear lettering. Undersigned hereby declares that what is stated in this document is factual without a doubt. And here is your name; Rosalind… Beauchamp”. Wilton’s face dropped. “This is… You signed this!”. “But not with my name. It’s not legally viable”, Rosalind said. She looked up at her husband. “Did you ever find my ring, my love?”, she asked. James looked at her in wonder. “Hmm…? Yes, it’s here”, he said, and held it out. Rosalind held out her left hand, and James slipped it on her ring finger. His hand lingered there for a moment, before her bent down to brush his lips against her knuckles. Wilton’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard when he saw the ring; knowing where it had come from, and how James had probably retained it.

“Now, gentlemen; if you don’t mind… It is late”, Rosalind said. “And I have had a trying few days. I should like to rest”. A smile ghosted James face, and he looked at the intruding men. “What my wife is trying to say, is get out of our house”. Wilton pointed an angry finger at James and Rosalind. “This will not stand; do you hear me? This is war!”.

He and the guards left the house as quickly as they’d arrived, and Brace locked the door behind them. “I’ll turn in, then”, the butler smiled, and disappeared down towards the kitchen, and his room.

James licked his lips, and nodded. “Hmm”. He turned to face his wife, and studied her face. “Very willingly?” “Well, I… I was trying to…”. Rosalind’s cheeks were burning, and she couldn’t bear looking James in the eyes. He got down on one knee, as he had more than ten years ago, when he asked her to be his wife. “Will you be going with me, then?”. “Yes”, Rosalind smiled. “If you will have me”. “Wife”, James said, and stroked her cheek. “I would be having you right now, if you weren’t recovering and in pain”. Rosalind laughed, but instantly winced from an ache in her ribs. “Perhaps you could take me to bed anyway”, she whimpered. “Without having me…”.

As gently as he could, James scooped his wife into his arms, and carried her upstairs; but just when Rosalind thought he was about to enter her bedroom, he continued up towards the attic. Here, he placed her on the bed, and stripped down to his shirt, before getting under the covers, and swaddling her in his arms. James gently stroked her side, taking care not to put pressure on her ribs. Still, Rosalind gasped at the contact. His expression darkened, and the devil that lived inside him, was beginning to show its face. “You already killed him…”, Rosalind said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Hmm. Should have kept him alive a bit longer”, James muttered. “The Company will suffer as well”.

Tears began forming in her eyes, and Rosalind took a gasping, painful breath. “I want to forget it…”. “No”, James said, and wiped her tears away. “Don’t forget. Be angry, and let your anger make you stronger”. “I am angry, but I don’t feel strong… I just feel… fear”, she whispered. James tutted at her, and let a smile form on his lips. “Fear does not mean you are not strong. It means you are rational”, he said. He shifted his body slightly, letting Rosalind rest against his shoulder. “You were in danger, and you still are. But you have to accept that fear, and act accordingly”. “As in, stay in this house”, she sighed. “Hmm”, James nodded. When I am not here, I will have my men watching the house and you. Brace is armed, and I want you to carry a…”. “No… I can’t use a pistol; I wouldn’t know how to”. “A knife, then”, he said. Rosalind frowned. “No discussions, my love. You must be able to defend yourself, until we leave”.

Rosalind lit up in a smile. “Say that again…”, she breathed. James squinted down at her. “You must be able to…”. “No… Call me…”. “My love”, James said, and lifted her chin; placing a soft kiss on her lips. “My love…”.

Those were the last words Rosalind heard, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

---

#james delaney #james delaney fic #james delaney x oc #james delaney angst #tom hardy

91 notes · View notes

hauntedflamingo · 4 years ago

Text

Hold Up! What Happened?

Credit to whoever owns the picture.

Brian x fem!reader

Warning: kinda controlling boyfriend

A/N: on Imbd it doesn’t have his last name so the hashtags might be messed up. That is also going to be a problem whenever I finish my Ace one from Nancy Drew. Some of this sounds okay. The rest of it, I’m not so sure. Sorry for any mistakes.

“Ready to eat?” You boyfriend calls from across the way when he spots you waiting outside the restaurant. As he walks closer to you, he stops in his tracks, touching his back pocket to check for his wallet. “I left my wallet!”

Here we go again. “What do you do with your money?” You shout, narrowing your eyes at his ‘sudden realization’. “You never pay for anything.”

“I told you I don’t have my wallet.” He reiterates as his voice becomes louder while he starts his trek towards you again. “You should be more worried about my wallet than me not paying!”

“Yeah right.” You mutter to yourself. “I’m tired of this.” Briefly looking up at the sky, you make your decision. “I’m breaking up with you.” This had been a long time coming and you were finally at your breaking point.

“Come on. Let’s go talk about this.” He wraps his hand around your wrist, holding you close. “You are being irrational.”

“No! I’m not!” You yank your arm out of his grasp. “This is the last straw. I’m done!” You shout as you start to walk backwards. Spinning on your heel, you walk face first into a disaster.

“Oh my gosh!” You shriek as leftover food and drinks are poured onto your body. It feels like you were hit by a freight train.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” The busboy apologizes over the sound of shattering glass.

“Can this day get any worse?” You ask yourself through clenched teeth.

Out of nowhere, he grabs his towel, trying to mop up the liquid trailing down your outfit. His effort to save your dress is useless as the liquid continues to spread. Why did you decide to wear a new dress today?

“Just. Stop.” You beg, your eyes shining with tears. You were humiliated enough without any more of his help.

He drops his hand as registers your plea. When he lifts his head, he notes the panic on your face and starts to speak softly. “Look. I have some clothes in my car. You can borrow them.” You slightly nod your head, knowing that if you tried to speak you would be done for. He runs to his car while you stand still, working on controlling your breathing before you burst into tears.

The busboy returns a few minutes later, handing you a shirt, sweatpants and a pair of flip flops. “Thanks.” You whisper, holding them at arm’s length so they don’t get dirty. Another wave of embarrassment hits you as you walk inside. You can feel everyone staring as you pass them so you keep your sights on the bathroom, not wanting to see their cruel smiles.

Your shoes don’t help with the situation. They are filled with someone’s drink so they squish with every step which makes your voyage to the bathroom excruciating slow. And you are pretty sure that is part of the reason everyone else is staring at you. As you enter the bathroom, you set the clothes on the counter and grab a million paper towels. Carefully sliding your purse off your arm, you inspect it closely. “My purse is unharmed.” You mutter as you set your it on the counter next to the clothes. Looking at yourself in the mirror above the sink, you check out the damage. Miraculously, your face and hair were also missed by the barrage of debris. One less thing to worry about.

But your dress is a totally different story. Ketchup and coffee stains are splattered across your chest along with some other things you can’t make out. The rest of your dress, well, it is just as bad and everything is making it stick to your skin.

Turning around, you lean against the counter and slip off your heels. Wiping off your feet with a wet paper towel before sliding on the flip flops. You check your legs for any blood in case the broken glass hit them. “Good thing I painted my toenails last night.” You whisper, picking up your shoes and looking inside of them. How am I supposed to clean these? What if they get moldy and start to stink? I guess these are garbage now. Placing them back on the floor, you move on to the next part of your dilemma.

“Eww.” You cringe as you start to pick off particles of food from your arms and legs with a paper towel. Unbuttoning you dress, you peel it off and look down at your bra. The liquids managed to soak through your dress and into your bra. How many cups were in that bucket?

“My bra too? Great!” You sarcastically talk to yourself as you unhook it and pull it off, throwing it into the sink. You rinse it out and try to wring it out without disfiguring the whole thing. “I can’t even wear it. How am I going to do this?” You mutter to yourself. “How many people are out there?” Thoughts run through your head as you look at yourself in the mirror. I can’t wear a shirt with no bra. Please let this shirt be big enough. You already embarrassed yourself enough, why not continue. At least my underwear is dry enough to still wear.

You use wet soapy paper towels to wipe off the excess that soaked through your clothes onto your body.

Drying yourself off with another paper towel, you quickly pull on the clean shirt and catch a whiff of something. Is this what he smells like? He smells nice. Cool it, Y/N. You barely broke up with your boyfriend.

You lean down and pull on the pants before someone walks into the bathroom. Dropping your dress in the sink, you let the water run on it as you walk over to the soap dispenser. In the middle of slamming the button on the soap dispenser, the bathroom door swings open. Two women share a look before walking past you to the stalls. You think they would be nice enough to give you some sort of advice on how to clean your clothes, but nooooo.

After desperately rubbing the soap filled paper towel on your dress and getting nowhere, you let out a growl. “This isn’t working!” You twist your dress to get out the excess water before folding it up along with your bra. You grab your purse and shoes, letting out a breath before pushing open the door with your shoulder.

As you step outside the bathroom, you are greeted by none other than sabotage boy.

“Can I make it up to you?” His eagerness intrigues you. Is he genuinely being nice or is it only because he is at work? "No. Thanks-." You scan his chest, looking for a name tag. He picks up on your cue. “My name is Brian.”

Brian. You mentally repeat. Looking back up at him, his eyes catch you off guard. What color are they? You were too in shock earlier to notice them. “Um…” You clear your throat. “I was thinking about throwing the dress away. I was trying to clean it in the bathroom but I made it worse.”

“At least let me buy you lunch.” He offers, leaning against the wall. “That’s why you were coming this way, right?”

“You already let me borrow your clothes. I don’t want to put you out any more.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Maybe if I was watching where I was going.”

“Well, it sounded like you were too busy having a fight to pay attention to what you were doing.”

“How do you know that?” You wonder out loud. “Everyone heard you screaming at him.” His explanation as to why he was even listening to your conversation in the first place. “I wasn’t screaming.” You scowl. “He is selfish among other things. So, I broke up with him. He deserves it.”

“Brian!” His boss yells the man’s name to grab his attention. Brian jumps, standing up straight. “Gotta go.” He walks away, heading over to the table he was cleaning before you exited the bathroom.

The stares continue as you walk over to the line to buy your lunch. Doing your best to ignore them, you look for a table inside, keeping far away from the windows. You didn’t want to be reminded of your incident. Setting your clothes on the chair next to you and hooking your purse on the back of the chair, you sit down waiting for your food. After a few minutes, your food is delivered to your table and you can finally start eating.

Every chance he gets, Brian stops by your table to check up on you. One of the times he stops by, he lifts up an empty paper bag, laying it on the table across from you. “This is for your clothes.”

“Thanks.” Picking up your drink, you take a sip. He lingers for a moment, longer than the other twenty times when he stopped by. “You never told me your name.”

“Oh. My name?” I didn’t know we were doing this. You already planned on never returning to the restaurant no matter how much you liked the food. “It’s Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Brian.” He gives you a little wave.

“Hi.” Doing your best to hold in your giggles as you set your drink back on the table.

“That’s a relief.”

“What?”

“I made you laugh. I thought you were going be angry forever.”

Finishing your lunch in record time, you dump your clothes in the bag and grab your purse. The accident already took up enough time and you needed to get to work.

As you exit the restaurant, Brian spots you, walking over to you again.

“You cleaned up the mess?” You state the obvious.

“I have to. It’s my job.” He smiles at your observation.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He insists. “You look nice in my clothes, by the way.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, waving and walking away before he can say anything else.

Grabbing your jacket off your office chair, you slide it on and zip it up before anyone else can look at you. Sitting down at your desk, your coworker spins around in her chair to greet you. “What are you wearing?” She gasps, astonished by your choice of clothes. ”I ran into a busboy when I went to go eat and ruined my dress and shoes.” You state as turn on your computer and stare at it while you wait for it to load.

She scoots her chair over to you. “Was he cute?”

“Yeah. But I broke up with my boyfriend today so...” You spin around in your chair since she wasn’t going to let this conversation go.

“Finally. How did that go?” She changes the subject, more interested in the new boy than your previous flame. “Did you get busboy’s number?”

You point to the clothes you were wearing.

“That bad huh. Well, now you can date the busboy.” She scoots her chair back over to her desk. “How were your classes?”

“They were okay. I have some homework and studying for a quiz that I need to do later.”

Your boss happens to walks by and stops at your desk. “What happened to you, Y/N?” Did everyone have to comment on your appearance today? Your coworker answers for you without missing a beat. “A cute boy dumped food on her.” You shake your head at her comment and answer your boss. “I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

As you turn back to your computer, you mumble to yourself. “I’m going to have to return his clothes sooner or later.”

“Those are his?” Your coworker squeals as she scoots back over to you, lightly smacking you on the arm. “He gave you his clothes after he bumped into you. That is so sweet.”

“I don’t think he had a choice.” As you continue to doubt his sincerity, you log into the computer and start working.

Once you get home, you eat dinner and start on your homework. Before bed, you change out of Brian’s clothes, throwing them into the hamper and change into your pajamas. Lying in bed, your eyes snap open as you remember your conversation from earlier. Oh. No. That means I have to go back over there to return his clothes. Or maybe he won’t miss them.

Tag list: @writingformany, (@lovesanimals I didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged in this so I tagged you anyway sorry)

#brian charmed #brian charmed cw #charmed reboot #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x reader #flip flops

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misterewrites · 4 years ago

Text

A Part of Something Bigger (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are safe and sound and doing good! The new chapter of the Underground is here and I'm excited for this and the next chapter. I am so happy I finally get to reveal something I’ve had in my head since I first started creating the Underground! Man am I cheek E. oh puns, I’m terrible.

I hope you are all have a great week! Stay safe, wash your hands, take care of each other, get the vaccine if you can, push for companies to give it world wide all that jazz. Feel free to comment (I love feedback) tell your friends, reblog I appreciate it all!

If you’re new and curious what the heck I’m talking about, feel free to check out the whole story and have access to my other work right in the link below (cuz I’m 95% Tumblr has shadowbanned me)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967 (first chapter)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/78927370 (latest chapter)

Have a great week, E is out!

Summary: Turns out Oliver is a part of the Choir, a secret organization that operates within the Underground. Something big is happening tonight and It's up to Oliver and his allies to ensure it does not. However, the bard has to figure out what's going on before anything else.

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Oliver had been many things in the 18 years of his begrudging existence: An orphan, a thief, a con-kid, hopelessly in love, a scout, fry cook that one week and an aspiring minstrel. Many masks and different roles to survive each new day.

The one he took a quiet pride in was being a member of the Choir, a secret organization whose goal was to keep the Underground free from malicious and devious intent.

Every society had their dark, treacherous shadows where evil did its business (Oliver assumed. He only really ever lived in the Underground but you know universal constants and such.) The Choir’s purpose was to ensure those plans never came to fruition.

Rather than being an openly known identity, the Choir was more a loose collection of independent agents operating under secrecy. The organization employed any and everyone who was willing to fight for the cause, each in their own way: Merchants passed coded information, tavernkeepers offered safe havens, those with some level of magical proficiency gathered to study abnormal phenomenon. Fighters fought, clerics healed with lords and ladies used their influence for the greater good.

Sometimes, as is the case now, one individual was too limited for what was required of the organization’s purpose. In these rare moments, agents were granted permission to request help, often leaving hidden messages and imagery for other wandering members to respond to.

That’s what brought Oliver here to this dark alley in the middle of the night: When he first arrived to the capital, he caught sight of the coded symbol asking for any Choir member to lend their skill set to a mission tonight. No details added but that was par for the course.

Terri was the first to recover, her slivers eyes wide with wonder “A soprano? No joke?!Flora, he’s like you!”

Terri was tall, taller than anyone else here. She wore a red vest with torn off sleeves, probably because her muscles were too thick to actually allow them to exist in the first place. Her long jet black hair was elegantly tied into braids with her dark blue leggings tucked into thick hiking boots.

Flora pursed her lips thoughtfully, irises of lavender giving Oliver a curious look “A fellow magic user? Interesting. Wizard?”

“Bard” Oliver corrected “You?”

“Druid.” Flora spoke before drifting into an uncomfortable silence. Oliver suspected she wasn’t impressed by his response.

Flora seemed unassuming but Oliver knew better than to be lured in by appearances: Long silvery hair with petals of green and yellow flowers scattered within. She wore a white blouse with splotches of brown dirt and a long green skirt. Her feet were bare and free to be soiled by the floor.

Terri rushed over to the petrified Tyrell, dragging him into a bone crunching hug “Tyrell here is a baritone like me!”

Tyrell, the youngest beside Oliver, shifted his brown eyes away from anyone’s gaze. He wore rather well kept clothes: A tunic of purple tucked under a leather vest, his leggings were dark gray that blended fairly well in the darkness. His footwear seemed a little too fancy to be workman’s shoes.

“Fighters” Oliver nodded in understanding “Always useful. And you mysterious stranger in the darkness?”

The cloaked figure had pulled back deeper into the shadows, red eyes gleaming in the shades of night. They were trying to hard to hide their appearance but Oliver caught sight of a smooth featureless bronze face. Metallic armor of a matching color and sheen covered the rest of their body, an automaton it seems.

“You may call me Sel. I’m a tenor.” the figure responded, their voice tinged with scratchy static.

“You are going very useful. Lockpicking?”

Sel shrugged casually “Among other less savory techniques. As per usual for tenors.”

Oliver nodded “Okay, fill me in.”

Flora took a step forward, pulling a letter out of her pocket as she did so “Are you aware of one Reiner Brambleoak?”

“Oh fucking hell” Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly “Him again? What’s he planning this time: Gonna burn an orphanage? Or maybe sell moldy food to the poor? Wait, I know!” Oliver snapped his finger “He’s going to be a terrible piece of shit.”

“Right on the money!” Terri growled.

Sel let out a mechanical click “He is planning to tear down several homes in West Haven.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I thought it was illegal to tear down homes in that area?”

“Not if the owners signed them over.” Flora explained “Then he would have the authority to do whatever he wished with them.”

“Let me guess, he tricked them?”

Terri flexed her muscles angrily “His representatives would change languages and double talk when they spoke to the poor folks. Most hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on and the orc thugs his people brought didn’t exactly make them feel warm and safe.”

“So.” Oliver stretched his arms “He’s strong armed his way into property, going to evict helpless folks onto the street and probably fill them with his own thugs to get the rest of the neighborhood to fall in line.”

“Unless we stop him.” Sel spoke with righteous fury.

“Tonight.” Oliver chimed in “Throwing another party?”

“You are good.” Tyrell whistled.

Oliver gave a playful wink “Naturally. What’s the plan?”

Flora reached into her pack and handed Oliver a letter: it was written in such a fancy hand he swore he was getting a headache just looking at it.

“One for each of us.” Flora explained, distributing the rest to the others “A fellow Choir member secured these tonight’s mission.”

“Helpful. Alright here’s the plan….”

“Wait” Flora interrupted “Who said you are in charge bard?”

“Me” Oliver countered with a grin “Because I’ve been to these types of festivities. Have any of you?”

Flora opened her mouth then promptly closed it, irritation in her glance. Tyrell gave a sheepish but unhelpful smile, Sel remained silent while Terri gave a thoughtful scratch of her chin.

“Thought so.” Oliver tried to keep the smugness out of his voice “Look we just need to work together for tonight.”

“Agreed.” Flora spoke with a softness that did not match her glare.

Sel inched closer to the group “What is the plan Oliver?”

“Where’s the party? Merchant Ward? I assume he’s using his office to host it.”

“Correct” Sel confirmed “His office has been chosen as the venue. He claims to be throwing the party as some sort of fundraiser for a charity that is no doubt a front for his illegal operations.”

Terri huffed, crossing her arms furiously “Probably making some more deals to trick people out of their hard earn money.”

“Without a doubt” Oliver agreed “But without any hard proof, we’re not taking him down tonight. Our mission is to ensure those contracts he forced people to sign mysteriously disappear.”

“Will that actually stop him?” Tyrell frowned unhappily “What’s stop him from forging new ones? Or just bullying people again?”

“He can’t forge new ones” Oliver explained carefully “They’re a special type of document only found here in Haven’s Nest. You can only get them from city hall and they’re magically enchanted to be untamperable with. He’ll need to get the ones he has to city hall on open court day which I assume is soon.”

“Indeed. Tomorrow in fact.”

Oliver continued on “So since open court day is the only day any major changes are allowed to be introduced to the city, if we grab them he’ll have to wait a month for another chance of snatching up that land. He’ll no doubt try to bully the folks again but now that they know what he’s up to, hopefully they’ll won’t be as easily pressured and if a few rough looking folks who can take punches and give them back start hanging around the neighborhood when his goons come knocking again…”

“They’re gonna be less eager” Terri cracked her knuckles cheerfully, already savoring the feel of bruised skin and broken bones that would bless her hands.

Oliver caught Tyrell’s eyes “One problem at a time. If you look at the mountain, you’re going to get scared.”

Tyrell nodded timidly in agreement.

“So.” Sel’s voice crackled with curiosity “What is the plan bard?”

Oliver closed his eyes, mentally mapping out the Brambleoak bank: three stories of corrupted, immoral finance who preyed on the helpless and lost. He could still see the faded green hue and cracked paint of the building in his mind’s eye. The ground floor would no doubt be where the bulk of the party would be taking place: a large space with an elevated stage normally reserved for long winded speeches could easily repurposed for a band or some sort of entertainment. His guests would range from any and everyone with any amount of influence or wealth. The second floor were the offices of his lecherous employees while his office took up the entirety of the third floor.

“Alright” Oliver spoke after a moment “I have a good idea what to expect. We’re going to break up into two teams.”

Everyone stared him expectedly.

Oliver gestured to Terri and Tyrell “You two are going to hang out at the bar across the street: The Stinkeye. Charming place, ran by a former pirate captain. Sunday is sea shanty night I think."

“Whoa, wait a minute” Terri grumbled unhappily “I am not letting Flora go into that place without me! It’s enemy turf and I don’t feel comfortable with the idea."

Flora took Terri’s hand within her own “Agreed sweetie.”

“Look this isn’t exactly a fist loaded, knives out situation. Any sort of brawling inside will be dealt with swiftly and painfully. Brambleoak doesn’t like anything scaring away the prey and causing a scene inside won’t accomplish anything. Outside, however.”

Terri’s eyes knowingly sparkled, Tyrell just looked dumbfounded.

Oliver gestured with his hand, muttering a phrase under his breath as magic formed around his hand in a golden light. A small image appeared in his palm: A heavily scarred elf with ashy blonde hair, one eye a brilliant forest green the other dull and cloudy. He wore an elegant officer’s uniform, dark green with various medals pinned to his chest with a long flowing red cape that trailed behind.

Oliver opened mouth to speak but Terri’s low snarl beat him to the punch.

“Lea Foot.”

“Acquaintance I guess?””

Flora nodded, gently squeezing Terri’s hand to get her to calm down “Lea has been a constant thorn in our sides. I believe he suspects we are a part of some greater organization. He has never seen us but he sends his underlings to bully us.”

“So I don’t need to explain his whole mercenaries for hire deal. Been exclusive to Brambleoak for a while now.”

“Can I punch him?” Terri murmured darkly.

“Yes, can she?” Flora chimed in, unable to keep the plead out of her voice.

Oliver shook his head “Maybe but we’ll see. He’s gotta show up at some point but I doubt he’ll be there right at the start. Likes to push old people around, probably eat a child or two before ‘working.’ Your job is to keep him distracted at all costs. He’s a sick man that likes to watch a good fight and the longer he’s out there, the better chance we’ll have.”

Sel tilted their head quizzically “Why is it important to keep him outside?”

“Basically” Oliver cracked his fingers “He’s very perceptive and the person most likely to catch our plan in action. His crew is made up of a nobodies with a perchance for cruelty and a thirst for violence but Lea is an old hand. Keeping himself outside is the best chance for success and if you guys accidentally get too close and managed to stray a hit his way…”

Terri chuckled manically the idea. Tyrell just looked sick.

“Meanwhile Flora, Sel and I will be inside. We’ll be looking for a chance to get Sel into the stairway so he can break into Brambleoak’s office. Without any sort of information, there’s no point to flesh out a full plan but we’ll make it up as we go. It’s a giant party of people who think they’re special. Shouldn’t be too hard to cause some drama and distractions.”

Flora said silent for a moment before speaking up “It’s not a lot to work with but admittedly better than anything I would’ve come up with.”

“Agreed.” Sel added “Without proper intel, it would be pointless to attempt to formulate any sort of long term plan. This works best to our strengths. Wait and create an opportunity,”

“That’s on us.” Oliver cut in “Your job is to get in and out. Preferably without being seen but who knows what will happen.”

The group, previously lost and anxious, glowed with renew sense of purpose and determination: 10 minutes ago they had no plan and now they were ready to do what they signed up for.

“Get ready team” Oliver gestured about “We leave in five.”

Everyone broke away to prepare for the mission: Terri cracked every bone in her body, ready for any brawl she would start. Sel slunk back into the shadows and remained still among the darkness. Tyrell held leaned unevenly against the brick building nearby, trying to steady his breathing.

Flora, on the other hand, approached Oliver, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Oliver.”

“Flora.”

“I have a question for you.”

Oliver was confused “I’m not sure what about but go ahead.”

Flora pursed her lips “You were coming from West End, delivering a package to a Choir member out there correct?”

“Yeeeeees.” Oliver unsure where this was going “The old man. Lady Rozalin said it was the upmost importance.”

Flora bit her cheek nervously “Before you left, did you see him?”

His stomach turned cold as he remembered how uneasy he felt the day he left with Archie and Abigail, the chill that ran down his spine “No, why?”

“We haven’t been able to contact him. He is not responding to our wizards long range message spells. We’re…..worried.”

Oliver could feel his skin crawl with anxiety, his pulse raced as a horrible realization dawned on him.

“He’s missing.” Oliver spoke what Flora did not.

She nodded in response “As a high ranking member, he is important to our cause and since you were the last person to see him, the higher ups were wondering if anything suspicious happened the last day you spoke with him.”

Oliver remembered it clearly: The free money, rushing them out the door, his ‘tiredness.’ There was no such thing as free money in his mentor’s eyes and Roland was never known for pushing a guest out of his house or being tired in the middle of the day. He was attempting to get them to leave to prevent something from happening.

“He was acting weird.” Oliver admitted “At the time I found it strange but he gave me little room to argue. Now I’m wishing I had.”

Flora’s face was indifferent but Oliver could hear the sincerity in her voice “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. If you need a moment…”

“No” Oliver cut her off quickly “I’m good. We have a mission to do and we need to focus on that now. Afterwards we can talk about finding out what happened to the old man.”

Flora gave a simple nod before wandering over to Terri’s side, lightly kissing her cheek with affection.

Oliver took a deep calming breath: There was no point to let his mind wander, to worry about things out of his control. Even if he wanted to do something, he was needed here and now. Besides the Choir would investigate Roland’s disappearance and there were agents far more experienced than he about.

He would leave it up to them. For the moment he needed to balance out the universe and root out the evil that laid in the shadows.

#Original Work #original story #my story #welcome to the underground

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lailannajacobs · 4 years ago

Text

You’re too old for Surprises | GIBP VII

Pairing: fey!Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You begin to wonder if this whole charade is going anywhere. You get an unwelcome surprise.

Warnings: lil bit of fluff

Word Count: 10k

A/N: so I guess my uni professors were right to tell me to learn how to be more concise because apparently I’ve written another chapter where I’ve rambled on for almost 11k. I hope you enjoy, despite the length, I kinda like this one <3

Good Intentions and Broken Promises | Chapter Seven

You’d learned three new things about Loki over the past couple weeks, none of which would get you any closer to the Hand. One: Loki hated ladybugs. Why? He’d refused to elaborate. Two: as a child he’d cast a spell on the councilmen that had made them itchy everywhere — and he’d been insistent on the word everywhere — for a week. And three: if ever you needed to kill him, you knew that he was allergic to honey. Was any of that going to help you convince the council that you were madly in love? According to Loki and Wanda it would. You still didn’t believe them.

“You know,” Loki paused, his fingers toying with the end of one of your braids, “it doesn’t seem fair.”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t just ignore him. Not in public at least, “what doesn’t seem fair?”

There were too many witnesses in the small market just outside of the palace not to settle into the act, even if most of them weren’t paying either of you any attention. Just because their opinion didn’t matter like the councilmen’s did, didn’t mean that word might not get to those old moldy rats if you did ignore him.

You nodded your thanks to the jeweller and walked away from possible prying eyes and ears. His fingers fell away, brushing your bare arm on the way down.

“What doesn’t seem fair,” you asked.

“The way you still haven’t told me anything about yourself,” he sighed dramatically, “I must know something about you or people are going to think that Wanda knows you better than I do. And that simply cannot do.”

You slowed down, realizing that you had stomped off without him and looped your arm through his, “I’ve told you lots about myself.”

“I can count everything you’ve told me on one finger. One. Finger,” he repeated, “not hand. Finger.”

You stopped. You’d lied. You’d told him nothing. He shouldn’t have been able to count anything on any finger.

“I suppose two now. That worried look on your face tells me that there’s something important you’re keeping to yourself that you don’t want me to know. So I supposed that’s something else I know about you now,” he said cheerfully.

You scolded at him and didn’t elaborate on what that thing could be, “so what do you know?”

He grinned, “that you hate this place and would rather be anywhere else.”

You almost laughed with relief, “see, you clearly know me so well, why would you even need to know anything else? After all, you know you love me and isn’t that enough?”

“Always,” he chuckled, “especially when you say it with such conviction.”

It was all you could do to keep from glaring at him. He’d never been shy at pointing out how pathetic you were at keeping in character anywhere other than in front of the councilmen. Before you’d gotten caught by Odin, you were a soldier and more importantly, a bodyguard. You weren’t meant for niceties.

But Loki was.

He was good at this. Almost too good. He knew the right things to say, the right time for a smile, and the right time for light touches and prolonged looks. Seven hells, if his act didn’t completely drop to the irritating prick he was whenever you were alone, you’d probably find yourself believing the act too.

“But I supposed it is fair in the end,” Loki continued on with his blissful little speech.

You knew you shouldn’t ask but you found yourself doing it anyways, “and why’s that?”

“Because you need the extra help with all…this. By my count, you’re losing sweetheart.”

You almost jerked back, but you knew that would be proving his point. Especially that you knew he was only goading you to try and learn more about you. Instead, you stopped him with a hand to his chest and pushed him into a secluded corner of the market.

“You do know that there’s no point in putting on a show if no one is around to see you, right?” he smirked, peering over your heard as if he could find a witness. When it appeared that he didn’t see anyone, he whispered, “it only works if people actually think we’re up to something scandalous.”

His cocky tone said it all. It wasn’t only by his count. You really were losing. But that didn’t mean you had to keep on losing.

You smiled sweetly, “if you looked any more eager, Loki, I might think you’ve forgotten that none of this is real.”

“If I’d forgotten that this isn’t real,” he drawled, eyes wickedly bright, “I wouldn’t be the one with my back pressed up against the wall.”

You looked down to where your forearm was pressed against the width of this chest, keeping his back to the wall. And the you realized how close you were standing. There was only the length of your bicep between you, and with your chin tilted upward to look into his eyes, you could feel his breath on your cheek when he chuckled. The whole situation tightened something in your chest, but you ignored it. You couldn’t back off now. Not when you had a plan to put you in the lead.

Keeping your arm where it was, you lifted your other hand and ruffled his hair. He shot you a bemused, but slightly intrigued look. Even though you had him against the wall, he could have left if he really wanted to, but thankfully, he stayed.

You used your most condescending voice when you said, “aw. You actually think that if this were real I wouldn’t be standing exactly where I am now? Cute.”

He moved so fast, the only reason you knew what was happening was because you were expecting it. You’d been sparring more and more often lately, but you’d realized almost immediately that — even if he held back somewhat to keep the fights interesting — you never won any of your matches unless it was truly earned. He liked to lose as much as you did. And you’d basically just him a liar.

Your back was suddenly against the wall, but instead of his arm on your chest, he’d boxed you in with a hand beside your head and the other beside your shoulder. He was even closer than you’d been before, and your head brushed back along the tiles of the wall as you tipped it upward to look at him. The motion almost closed the distance between you so you dipped your chin back down again, feeling your hair get caught in the scratchy stone tiles.

“If this were real,” he whispered, lips practically brushing against your ear, “it wouldn’t matter where I was standing.”

You tilted your head from side to side, “actually…when you think about it, it would make more sense for you to be standing there.”

Loki leaned back slightly, brows furrowed. The sight made you want to smile. So you did.

“I mean, if anyone were to pass by, you’d be shielding me from prying eyes,” you continued, speaking as though you were talking about the weather, “and they would get the benefit of seeing Asgard’s royal ass. Seems to me like it would be something they’d talk about.”

“Clever,” he said dryly but came back with a sly, “so you think my ass is worth talking about?”

You patted him twice on the chest, not failing to notice how hard it was, “if you think so.”

You slipped out under his arm and skipped back out onto the street, unbuttoning a couple random buttons on the loose shirt you were wearing. Loki caught up in a few quick strides, but the moment you stepped out onto the busy street, he noticed that something was off. You were getting too many stares, most of which were pared with slight, knowing smirks.

He waited until you’d turned down a smaller, less populated alley to ask, “what did you do?”

You were seconds away from the palace doors and you couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed.

All you said was, “take a look for yourself.”

He stepped to the side, using a shop window as a mirror. His hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled and pulled out of his pants, a move you’d managed to do while he was too busy changing your positions. With your shirt unbuttoned and you hair messy from the stone wall you’d made sure to rub up against, the people who’d seen you walk out of that dark, secluded corner had only been able to assume one thing.

He closed his eyes, his head shaking slightly to the side as if he couldn’t believe it. Letting out a puff of air that might have been a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. At least he seemed to take defeat well.

You patted him on the chest again, “I believe that makes us even.”

Without waiting to see how he’d react, you spun on your heel and entered the palace.

You were still smiling when you made it back to your room. It felt good to win. Especially when it only increased your chances of getting the Hand. It was also a nice reminder that you could still get the job done even if your short temper had been the reason you never stayed long around the councilmen. Obviously the townspeople weren’t councilmen, but it was practice. And you were getting better. Maybe you’d actually be able to do this.

After a quick change into your riding clothes, you were back in the hallway, ready for a long afternoon of fresh air and freedom before the excruciating council meeting Loki had warned about this morning. You didn’t get far.

A tall, striking fey woman with shoulder length raven hair stood in the middle of the hallway with a hand on her hip as if she’d been waiting for you. Her slick sparring outfit showcased Asgard’s green and black colours, so intricately designed there was only one person who could have designed something that looked like it belonged to a warrior queen.

You stopped, knowing exactly who you’d come face to face with.

Her lips pulled into a terrifying version of Loki’s knowing grin. Even if no one would have mentioned anything about her, the two of them looked so similar, there was no mistaking that this was the women trying to steal the crown. This was Loki’s sister.

She strode down the hallway, gliding over the floor as if she had the power to make it bend to her will. You knew it wasn’t possible, but you’d heard enough councilmen gushing on and on about how powerful and incredible Hela was that a small part of you wondered if it could be.

She stopped too close for comfort, her hand lashing out as if she were about to strike you. Only your years of training kept you from flinching. Instead, she took a loose strand of your hair in her fingers, tugging on it until it fell back into place.

“Pretty,” she hummed, “I can see why he likes you.”

You shrugged, “that’s one of the reasons.”

“And what are the others?” she asked, brow arched in cool disdain.

You didn’t have an answer for her but it didn’t matter. If there was anything Nat had taught you, it was that court was a game of non-answer answers anyways, “ask him yourself. I don’t speak for the king. He’s more than capable of doing that himself.”

You thought for a moment she might correct you, but she wasn’t petty like the councilmen. She wouldn’t be easily taunted.

“Hela, are you trying to terrorize my love and future queen of Asgard?” Loki asked, appearing by your side as if you’d conjured him by name. But you supposed if the walls had ears, maybe you had, “I thought you had hells hounds to tend to. Or perhaps a bat cave to furnish?”

She laughed, but the sound was dry and humourless, “she doesn’t seem terrorized to me.”

“There was a reason I said trying,” he said, a cunning smirk on his lips.

“Always so clever little brother.” Her words should have been a compliment but they sounded more like a bad omen to your ears.

“Always.”

They stared at each other, a million different things passing wordlessly between the siblings that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Loki leaned over to the side so that your shoulders were brushing, but with his hands stuffed into his pockets like usual, it was the extent of your contact.

Finally Hela huffed and shook her head, “I should have known your vicious little pet had warned you. That abomination makes things a lot easier for you, doesn’t it? Seems you can’t beat me in a fair fight.”

“Gamora is her name,” his voice was cold and chilling: the voice of a king, “use it.”

“I know what you’re doing here,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “it won’t work.”

You did your best to keep your face neutral but her words slammed into you like a knife. If she knew what this was and could convince the council of it…you shuddered at the thought.

“Have a nice afternoon, Hela. Enjoy your scheming,” Loki dismissed her with a turn so that he was facing you instead, acting like a wall between the two of you, “if you’re done chatting with my sister, Wanda would like to speak with us.”

He offered you a little grin, but it seemed strained at the edges. You smiled back, knowing it was the appropriate reaction but also because it was a relief to have a way out of this conversation.

“Yes,” you answered and looked around Loki to stare her straight in the eyes, “we’re done here.”

You weren’t going to back down. You’d faced far more horrible things than this woman. You certainly weren’t going to underestimate her, but you weren’t about to let her push you around either.

Her face broke into another terrifying smile that made your hackles rise, but you didn’t look away.

The smile dropped slightly and she scoffed, “I imagine he’s told you what you’re about to walk into. If not, enjoy.”

On that ominous note, you shared one last long look before she strode past, practically barreling into you. You sighed when she turned the corner. She didn’t look like she’d let Loki take the crown easily. Or at all.

“So,” you turned your attention back to him, “that’s your sister.”

“It is,” he remarked, "I’m surprised it took her this long to make an appearance.”

You scratched your lower back, “I’m glad.”

“You handled her well.”

He offered his arm and you took it, walking in step with him down the hall, “would she have eaten me if I hadn’t?”

“We don’t — Oh,” he ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish little smile on his face when he realized you were kidding. You’d rarely seen him so distracted, “you handle this life well, even if you are a terrible actress. It’s almost as if you’re meant for it.”

You stumbled but managed to use his arm to right yourself so that it barely showed, “you’re only saying that because of what happened this morning.”

He gave you a little shrug, apparently not wanting to elaborate.

“This life isn’t something I’d wish on anyone,” you finally said.

“This life on Asgard?” he stopped to look at you as if your answer really mattered, “or this life at the head of the realm?”

You pulled him along, avoiding that intense gaze, “if you keep fishing for answers I’m going to stop talking to you. About anything.”

He grinned, “I believe it’s called getting to know the person you’re about to make queen.”

“I thought we went over this, this morning,” you tucked yourself in closer as gazed up into those emerald eyes, “we’re madly in love. Your questions are redundant and fruitless.”

“Interesting point,” he murmured.

You put more distance between you, “so we can move on then.”

“Not exactly,” he said with a sigh.

This time you were the one to pull him to a stop, “why are you suddenly pushing this?”

He cocked a brow, but something was off. His usually smooth forehead was wrinkled, his jaw set. You hadn’t noticed this morning, but you hadn’t really been looking. Now, you couldn’t ignore it.

“What aren’t you telling me, Loki?” you pushed on, “what changed?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, almost squeezing your arm against his torso as a weird shimmering feeling surrounded you, “there are many things I’m not telling you. A king has many secrets.”

“Prince,” you corrected, “I wouldn’t be here if you were still king.”

“My point exactly,” he shot back, “I need to know you to get my title back. I miss it.”

“You miss the power,” the words came out as a statement, but he wasn’t the only one fishing for answers.

“Of course.”

The answer was almost too quick, but it was hard not to believe him knowing the extent he was going through to get it back.

“And I’m sure you’ve never stopped thinking about your end of the bargain,” he continued, “I’d think you’d want to be better prepared too.”

You hated it. Hated when he was right. But sharing things with him would be walking a fine line between not giving anything away and lying just enough to keep everything straight. But you could do it. For Nat. Always for Nat.

“Fine,” you grunted, shoving past him.

“Fine what?” he called after you.

You turned, crossing your arms over your chest, “you get one random bit of information about me — of my choosing — a day. Nothing more.”

“Seems reasonable,” something that looked almost like relief flashed across his face but it was replaced too quickly with a smirk, “would you like one in return?”

“One what?”

“Bit of information.”

“If you think it’s absolutely necessary,” you huffed.

You stomped down the hallway, itching to go riding.

“YN,” he called.

You stopped.

“I had come to find you for Wanda. She really did want to see you.”

You tilted your head back, looking up at the gilded ceiling, “I thought that was an excuse.”

He caught up to you, “she wanted to see you more specifically. She only asked me to come along because she wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He motioned to your face, “and that was probably the look she was worried about.”

“So what?” you snapped, feeling your temper rise, “she thought you’d be able to calm me down if I didn’t like what she had to say? That because I’m doing this, you control me?”

You could hear the words and knew that you were probably getting worked up over nothing, but you were tired of keeping everything inside. And you could yell at Loki without losing your life. So why wouldn’t you?

He took a step back though you seriously doubted it was because he was afraid, “she asked me to come because Gamora recommended it. If you’d like to know more about her reasons, you’ll have to ask her yourself because she didn’t tell me anything.”

You still wanted to punch him but that didn’t mean you weren’t curious enough to ask, “who’s Gamora?”

His eyes lit up, “a very important but terrifying part of my court. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

You could have ignored him and walked off, but Wanda had been nothing but kind to you. Finding out what she wanted was the least you could do. So despite your better judgement, you motioned for him to lead the way.

You’d assumed you were going to the library, but the hallways were unfamiliar, losing their gaudy decor until they were nothing but grey walls.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Will this count as my one piece of information I owe you today?” asked Loki with a smirk.

“You’re a prick.”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed.”

He nodded for me to go ahead and ask.

“You’re king, or at least you were, but you’re acting as Wanda’s lackey, you apparently take orders from this Gamora person and I saw,” you paused, wondering if you should give yourself away like this, “an angel yelling at you the other day in the hallway as if you were a wayward soldier.”

He raised a brow, shooting you a sidelong glance, “So you were spying on me?”

“Answer the question.”

“That wasn’t a question,” he said.

“But you know what I’m asking.”

He didn’t answer at first and you weren’t sure he would. When you looked up at him, he was staring off into the distance, almost as if he was physically looking for those people.

“My court isn’t exactly…typical,” he shrugged, “I suppose I should tell you a little about them before you meet them but…”

“I’ve already met them,” you finished.

He shook his head firmly, “you’ve met Wanda.”

You thought back to the council meetings you’d gone to, knowing you would have remembered a friendly face, “he’s not on the council.”

You wondered how distracted Loki was to have forgotten that.

“The council isn’t my court,” said Loki, something about his tone telling you that there was an important distinction between the two.

For a moment you weren’t quite sure what he meant, and then it clicked. There had been rumours on the continent of the extremely powerful court that ruled Asgard, but the councilmen had never quite seemed to match their description. But if Loki’s court wasn’t the council then…

“The Court of Mischief,” you murmured.

A fond smile bloomed on his face that caught you off guard. It lit up his face, making his features seem a little less harsh and a lot more boyish. Annoyingly, you felt your remaining anger melt away at the sight of it.

“In my defence,” he said quickly, “we were young and stupid when we came up with the name.”

You grinned, “so the only thing that’s changed is that you’ve gotten old?”

He let out a little laugh, “there’s no cure for stupid.”

You looked, really looked at his face, the smooth planes and sharp angles that barely seemed older than yours despite the hundreds of years you knew he’d lived.

“Seems there’s a cure to getting old though.”

He tilted his head as if he was trying to get a better look at you now, “we get old too. We just age differently. If I were human, I think we’d be about the same age.”

You snorted, “I doubt that. How old are you exactly?”

“One thousand two hundred and seventy six,” he paused, eyes drifting up in thought, “and three moons if you really want to be precise.”

You shook your head at his proud little smirk and did the math, having been taught the biological differences between the races as a child. By the time you figured out how similar you were in age, you realized that the decisions you were blaming him for during the war, couldn’t have been his. He wasn’t old enough to have been king at the time. That would have been his father. The destruction of your realm might have been his family’s fault, but he wasn’t to blame for everything that had happened.

The thought struck you harder than you thought it would and you tried not to stare at him, wondering if you were still breathing. Thankfully you heard yourself mutter, “close enough.”

“Is that a more acceptable age difference to you then?” he asked with a grin as if he hadn’t noticed the way you were suddenly gasping for breath.

You planned on keeping it that way. You forced a smile as said as lightheartedly as you could, “well, I still think you’re old mushrooms but yes, much more acceptable.”

“Good,” he whispered, “because for a moment there you looked like you were about to faint. But I’m sure that’s what happens when you try to do arithmetic using such large numbers.”

So he had noticed. Of course he had. Then you realized he was giving you an out. For all of his prying this morning, he was giving you an out now. You were so thankful that you forgot to smack him for the comment.

“Exactly,” you were to surprised to say anything else.

You stood there, staring at each other until a crash sounded in a nearby room. Loki took a step back and motioned for you to follow. You touched your ears, finding their rounded tips itchy, and sighed. What good was a longer life span when you were still running out of time? You’d give away some of your own years if it meant keeping the pendent on your chest from getting colder and whiter.

Loki pursed his lips, looking like he was about to say something else when an old noble fey bustled down the hall, his fey agility dampened with age.

Loki pursed his lips, looking like he was about to say something else when an old noble fey bustled down the hall, his enhanced agility dampened with age.

“Looking forward to the first trial, Prince Loki!” He said, voice jolly as he gave Loki a clap on he back. Loki bristled at the touch but the fey didn’t notice, which made you wonder how he’d survived this long with such poor survival instincts, “I know it must feel a little archaic to you, who’s never seen one, but I must say, the first trial has always been a favourite of mine. Always great to watch!”

Sterling nodded, never once taking his hands out of his pockets, “we’re excited as well.”

You nodded along, wondering what trials you were supposed to attend. Loki hadn’t mentioned anything, but you figured it probably wasn’t important when all you had to do was sit in a comfy booth and watch.

“I can’t say we’ve ever had a human go through one, let alone all three,” he continued turning toward you, “how are you feeling about it, my dear?”

Like you wanted to stab something.

Loki, though he wasn’t avoiding your eyes, didn’t look the most confident. And with the two fey staring at you, one curious the other embarrassed, you finally realized that Loki hadn’t told you half of what your deal entailed. Suddenly Hela’s departing comment made sense.

So actually, you felt like you wanted to stab multiple somethings. Or simply one particular someone.

“Oh a little nervous,” you said with your best court smile, impressed it hadn’t turned to a snarl, “it seems like these trials came out of the blue. I wish I’d had more time to prepare.”

He took my hand in his and gave it a little pat, “I can imagine it must feel that way, Ms. YN. However, I’m sure the two of you will do just fine.”

With a slight nod in Loki’s direction, he wished you both a nice evening and left down the hall.

“Trials?” you whispered.

He shot out his hands as if he thought yo were about to explode.

“Trials?” you repeated, a little louder this time.

“YN I can—”

“I can’t believe you!” you punched his arm, thinking, when he didn’t even wince, that he should be thankful you hadn’t whipped out your dagger, “you said that all I had to do was convince a council that we were in love by the orange moon. You hells scum! You didn’t say anything about trials!”

He took a step forward then thought the better of it, rocking back on his heels, “I know, but I was hoping you’d get acclimated to Asgard first. I was going to tell you.”

“Were you? Or did you just not want me to disagree and leave you stranded?” I snapped back.

“With the book on the line, I was sure you wouldn’t,” his voice was clipped, the first sign that his anger was rising to meet your own, “I was simply trying to be considerate.”

“Considerate my ass,” you growled, “you’re a coward.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. Good. Let him stew in his poor decisions.

You crossed your arms, knowing that as long as they were tucked under your armpits, you wouldn’t be tempted to reach for your dagger, “so when is this first trial?”

He hesitated as if you might be talking to someone else, but seemed to realize he was the only person around. He sighed, “tomorrow.”

“For Ceridwen’s sake!” you yelled, “you were going to tell me this when? When we were walking into the trail and I’d be seconds away from being taken by surprise?”

You could feel the control on your abilities slipping quickly, an overwhelming itchy feeling blooming at the base of your spine. You began counting windows, desperately trying to rein in your power. The window counting was useless. Only the sound of a distinctly animal snarl kept you in check, washing you with thoughts of Nat.

Loki cocked his head at the sound, looking at you with far more interest than you wanted or needed. You strongly considered punching him to distract him.

“Do you even realize what’s at stake?” you demanded. The sound wasn’t much more human.

His unnerving staring never subsided. You wanted to rip him to shreds.

“I didn’t realize this was so important to you.”

“If I’m going through all this, what do you think?” you spat and turned away.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” he called after you.

You stopped and squeezed your eyes shut. You took in another useless attempt at a calming breath.

“Let me guess,” you said after a few more breaths, “the trials have something to do with what Wanda wanted to speak to me about.”

“Yes. She’s a few doors down.”

You rolled your shoulders back and turned, “I swear on Ceridwen, Gwendion and every other one of the gods that I’m going to stab you someday very, very soon.”

“When this is all over, I’ll give you one free stab,” he said.

“If you’re lucky, I won’t stab you before we meet up with Wanda.”

You stopped at the open door to what looked like a servant’s Kitchen the smell of baked bread wafted out to greet you. The four pairs of eyes inside were already looking up as if they’d heard you approach. Of course they’d heard. Other than Wanda, none were human.

She offered you a small smile from her position on a barstool, pencil drumming absentmindedly on the notepad she had on her lap. You wanted to stay focused on a friendly face, but the woman sitting up on the counter radiated so much power that it was impossible not to.

She appeared rather average in height and other than her green skin that marked her as a descendant of the earth elementals, you would have described her as a regular soldier. That was, if you’d had no sense of awareness. Something lurked behind her eyes that you’d never seen before and you could have bet your life on it not being from any of the 13 realms. There was only one person that Loki had described as terrifying. That Hela had described as an abomination. This had to be Gamora. When she caught you staring, her lips pulled into a razor-sharp grin, but she didn’t say anything.

The Dark Elf you’d seen in the courtyard weeks ago sat in the chair below, booted feet propped up casually on the table in front of him. Up close the prosthetic arm looked even more impressive, a glinting black series of metallic plates. He grinned as if he could tell exactly how you felt about the woman sitting behind him. The smile lit up his already handsome face, but even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the thought that the only way for a Dark Elf to have lost an arm was for it to have been ripped off.

The other woman in the room, the angel, stood in the corner, dark blue wings tucked in tightly behind her. Despite their massive army, the angels were depicted as calm and peaceful protectors of the realms. She was nothing like that. Her features were sharp and brutal, her eyes were harsh. She looked like a woman who picked fights — and won them. She was the angel you’d seen yelling at Loki the other day.

“Everyone, I want you to officially meet YN,” Loki nodded toward you as if they hadn’t been staring at you already, “YN, this is everyone. Wanda Maximoff you already know, the woman on the counter is Gamora, sitting is Bucky Barnes and brooding in the corner is Nebula.”

You stared at Wanda as if seeing her for the first time. There was only one Wanda Maximoff in the 13 realms that was of any importance, and that was the Wanda that was heir to the Zephys throne. She’d defected before you were born, her twin brother leading the realm since he came of age. No one really knew where she’d gone, but it seemed she’d been right in front of you all along. Wanda shot you a tight smile. You weren’t ready to return it. You understood why she hadn’t said anything, but you couldn’t help feel a little betrayed. Especially that she — and apparently the rest of them — knew about your ruse and hadn’t said anything.

“So,” you stared them all down one by one, “you must be the Court of Mischief.”

“Did you really have to tell her?” Groaned the Dark Elf — Bucky.

“Unfortunately she already knew. It wasn’t my doing,” Loki motioned for you to take a seat anywhere, “and speaking of things she knows, she knows,”

There wasn’t a free seat where you could clearly see everyone in the room and the exit so you stayed where you were, leaning against the doorframe.

“About time. Pulling this whole thing off would have been hard even if you’d told her about it the moment she broke in,” something about his voice told you that this wasn’t the first time he said this, “it’s not like it was going to be anywhere near easy…especially with her looking like she’d about to gauge your eyes out.”

“That’s love,” you grunted.

“When the council asks, maybe say it with a little more conviction,” he offered with a smirk.

“I can’t help it if there are several other things I’d rather say with more conviction.”

He tilted his head as if he was listening to something. The the lights flickered as if the word darkened around him for a moment, but it was gone before you could think anything of it.

His smile was firmly in place when he said, “get whatever you have to say out of your system now, YN. Or at least do it while I can watch you cuss out Loki.”

“Where should I start?”

He inspected Loki, his blue eyes lighting up, “why don’t you start with his hair. He looks like he spent the past year living in the woods on his own.”

You looked over at Loki’s mess of wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders. You actually thought it suited him, not that you’d ever say it aloud.

“Like a moss troll,” you agreed instead, “do you think I should cut it?”

He leaned further back in his chair as if he was trying to get a better look at Loki, “can you cut hair?”

“No.”

He grinned, “then absolutely.”

His smile was infectious and you couldn’t help but return it. There was something easygoing and familiar about him that, for some reason you couldn’t put your finger on, reminded you of Nat. It was probably the reason you instantly liked him.

“Sweetheart,” Loki drawled, “if you wanted to run your fingers through my hair so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

He was sitting in a posture that was almost identical to Bucky’s, with his hands behind his head as if he were lounging in a bed. They seemed to take up most of the kitchen with their tall, square bodies and long limbs that they should have been intimidating if it weren’t for the boyish smirks on their faces. You’d never seen Loki this relaxed. Actually, when you thought about it, the whole room was missing the air of tension that seemed to fill the rest of the palace. You wanted to let yourself give into the feeling, but you couldn’t forget what you were doing and who was waiting for you in Niflheim.

“Would you really let me that close to your head with a pair of scissors?” You asked, your earlier promise fresh in your mind though you weren’t feeling quite so stabby anymore.

His green eyes focused on yours, some of that playfulness gone. It was replaced by something you couldn’t quite name, but something you couldn’t look away from either, “Yes. I trust you.”

The rest of the room seemed to fall away until Loki was the only thing in focus. You searched his expression for anything that might tell you whether or not he was lying, but his face gave nothing away. You couldn’t say that you trusted him, but then again, if you were going through with this bargain, then some part of you had to believe him.

“There are scissors in the drawer behind me,” announced Wanda happily, breaking the strange staring contest you were having.

“Do I need to remind you all that the first trial is tomorrow?” the angel — Nebula — barked, grabbing everyone’s attention, “you’re never going to pull this off if we don’t start taking this seriously.”

Everyone still had smiles on their faces and Wanda’s hand was still in the drawer until Gamora whispered, “she’s right.”

The whole room froze faster than if she if she’d screamed the words, killing the conversation as if it had never happened.

“The first trial is harder than the second, barely easier than the final one,” Nebula continued, pushing off the wall. She stopped at the table, palms flat on the worn out surface, looking between you and Loki, “if you fail this, Hela will take the throne.”

Bucky tilted his head, looking up at Gamora, “how set in stone is their failure?”

Gamora’s eyes clouded over, but it was so quick you almost missed it, “it’s still blurry.”

Loki’s court let out an audible sigh. You didn’t understand much of what had just happened, but you figured by their relief that you weren’t completely doomed. You also knew that you would have to ask Loki later if Gamora was a seer. Now wasn’t the time but it was something you should know.

“Anyone have any ideas of what the trial might be?” Loki asked.

“How about we start with telling me what to expect instead?” you interjected, unable to keep the annoyance from your voice.

“We can’t tell you much,” Wanda said with a sad smile, “sometimes it can be something big and life-threatening and other times it can be as boring as two people sitting in a room. Officially, the trials call for a Seer to decide each trial, but there hasn’t been one since,” she stuttered and took in a deep breath, “since Queen Freya.”

It was no secret who she was talking about, so there was only one reason she could have had for pausing. You didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be good. And even though you were still pissed at Loki, for some reason you didn’t want to make things more uncomfortable for him, so you took the opportunity to get more information about the possible Seer in the room.

You nodded toward Gamora, “why can’t she do it?”

Gamora raised her brows, dark eyes zeroing in on you. It almost made you regret having the audacity to ask the question.

“Now, now, Gam,” Bucky grinned up at her, “it was an innocent question. No need to kill her with your stare.”

Your eyes must have widened because Wanda added, “she can’t actually do that.”

“Anymore,” Gamora whispered ominously.

Loki shot them all pointed looks and turned back to you, “Gamora isn’t officially a citizen of Asgard. Even if she wanted to do it, she couldn’t.”

You nodded, glad to have your suspicions confirmed, “and how long are the trials supposed to last?”

“Anywhere between a few minutes and a full day,” Wanda tapped her pen a few times, “though most of my research showed that a few hours was the average. There hasn’t been a series of trials in any of our lifetimes. So we can’t tell you for sure.”

“How many cases have there been?” you asked, “you people live thousands of years.”

“Five,”

“And how dangerous is it?”

“Only one couple died,” she answered grimly.

Her words didn’t ease the knot in your stomach, but they didn’t make it any worse either, “that’s not bad odds.”

“That couple was fey, not human,” Wanda pointed out, “you’re coming in at a disadvantage, YN.”

All Loki had said was that you’d have to convince the council you were in love, but the trials weren’t designed for someone like you — or at least the person you had to be while you were here. You weren’t meant to get through this. You looked down, your eyes catching the small bump where the frigid pendant lay on your chest. But maybe you still had enough of the real you left to make it out of this alive.

“I can’t afford to lose,” you said, “what do I need to do?”

“This might be a silly question,” YN asked once they’d filled her in as much as they could, “but is it safe to be talking about this here? You told me the walls have ears.”

Loki ignored the look Nebula shot his way and explained, “the kitchen is warded with spell magic. Only the people in this kitchen can hear what we’re saying.”

She sighed, blowing loose strings of hair from her face. He wasn’t fooled into thinking she wasn’t still angry with him, even if she smiled along with Bucky and Wanda from time to time. She’d never even moved from her spot by the door. YN was a mixed bag of emotions with a knot so tight that Loki felt like he hadn’t even come close to unraveling it. But she never bothered to hide her anger from him, which meant that he caught every glare sent his way in between the smiles and the questions she shot at his court.

Loki wouldn’t breath easy until the first trial was over, but now that she knew about the trials, he was starting to think that maybe his half baked plan wasn’t completely insane. And she kept impressing him at every turn, so maybe they really could do this. He couldn’t afford to otherwise. He didn’t know what Hela was planning, but Gamora had warned him that it would end in war. Loki owed it to his people — and his brother — to make sure that didn’t happen.

“So that’s it then?” she asked, “there’s nothing more we can do until the trials?”

“That’s it,” said Wanda.

Wanda had taken to wandering around the room as they’d helped YN get ready, and she’d only become more of a whirlwind of movement since. The cool breeze that accompanied her wasn’t unwelcome in the heat of the kitchen, but something else was on her mind, that much was clear. Loki wasn’t sure that it was something they’d get into while YN was around.

Another bread roll floated over to Wanda as if she’d forgotten that she still hadn’t gotten to the one that was in her hand.

YN stared at the floating roll suspiciously, “whose magic is that?”

Wanda snapped out of her thoughts as if she’d been physically poked, “mine. Why?”

“That’s elemental magic, right? Not fey?”

It still annoyed Loki that he knew next to nothing about YN, but one thing he knew for sure was that her awe and confusion regarding magic was real. Wherever she had come from couldn’t have had much. Which was basically every realm. Well that narrowed it down.

“Oh,” Wanda smiled, seeming pleased to start a conversation to which she actually knew the answer. Loki knew there hadn’t been much of that lately, “yes, elemental. Fey magic is complicated and I don’t use much of it. My own abilities work fine for me.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she whispered, “so anyone can harness magic…”

“To an extent,” Loki interrupted before she could get her hopes up, “it depends on how resilient the body. Harnessing magic is draining and certain races can handle magic better than others.”

“So what you’re saying is that I can’t use magic,” she huffed, scratching her ear.

Loki wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her the truth, but they needed to start trusting each other more. At least a little bit. What better way than this?

“No, you can, but only simple spells that won’t take a toll on your body,” at the sight of her furrowed brows, he continued, “when you harness magic that’s beyond your physical abilities to contain, it takes from the body instead. Depending on the difference, it could kill you.”

She nodded but stayed quiet.

“On that lovely note, don’t you two have somewhere to be?” Bucky asked.

“Unfortunately yes. Nebula, before I go, we should talk,” Loki knew the answer to his next question before he asked it, “YN, do you want an escort back to your room?”

“No,” she scoffed then seemed to realize how harsh it sounded and sucked in a long, slow breath. If anything, he could say that she was trying now. He almost preferred it the other way around.

“Actually, I was planning on making soup and I could use a hand while Sterling’s busy,” said Wanda.

YN paused then shrugged.

Wanda offered her arm, dipping her chin slightly so that only Sterling could see as they left the kitchen. His team was looking after her, at least that was one small mercy.

Bucky stood, his control over the Brollochan loosening now that YN was gone. They pooled around his ankles and swirled upward, pleased that their leash was no longer so tight, cooling and sucking the joy from the air around them. But Bucky’s back was straight, shoulders back, his chin lifted as he approached, the weight of his curse only apparent in the leeches that clung to him.

“I’m headed to Nidavellir. I got word from the Dwarves that Hela had a meeting with the Dwarven King and I want to know what she was doing,” he said.

Loki nodded and Bucky vanished before his eyes, leaving an eerie feeling behind.

Nebula crossed her arms, staring daggers at him, unflinching, as always, in the wake of the Brollochan.

“Nebula,” he began.

She didn’t let him try to come up with an excuse, “you’re being reckless. That human isn’t prepared for this and it’s not all her fault.”

Loki knew he probably could have handled the whole situation better, but he just didn’t know how to. He ignore the feeling of helplessness creeping in, telling himself that it was the after effects of the Brollochan.

“I know. But maybe you can help her.”

Nebula’s eyes narrowed, “Help her with what?”

“Defending herself.”

Her wings flared out and she grit her teeth to pull them back in, “I’m commander of your army, Loki. We both know a war is coming. I don’t have time to train her.”

“And you think I do?” he countered.

“I know you do.”

Obviously she hadn’t bought his pathetic excuse of a lie, but if he couldn’t lie to her, maybe he’d be able to convince her with the truth, “if they see me training her, it’ll look suspicious.”

“I thought you said she was a decent fighter,” said Nebula, “and anyways, you training her will look no different than the two of you sparring.”

Loki stayed where he was, but pinned his commander with his stare, “the council is getting more bold. They put poison in her breakfast yesterday.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

“Good,” she said with a slight nod, “and there’s nothing I can do to train against poison.”

“I need to make sure she lives.”

“Then do it yourself.”

“I didn’t realize you were an airy,” you peeled the carrot slowly, keeping your eyes focused on the task, “explains quite a few things though.”

You’d given up trying to listen in on Loki’s conversation with Nebula and decided to focus on the person who hadn’t exactly lied to you, but hadn’t been all that honest either. Though you couldn’t blame her for not telling you she who she was. She was the rightful heir to the Zephys’ throne and she’d run away from it — or so the rumours went. You would have kept quiet in her position as well. Though you hoped she would be in a more talkative mood now. You might have still been furious about the trial tomorrow, but your anger was losing a battle against fear, and that was so much worse than any surprise you’d gotten today.

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” she said, and you you knew she wasn’t talking about her race.

“You could have mentioned it before and it wouldn’t have changed a thing,” you doubted she would ever understand how true your words were, “royalty doesn’t exactly impress me.”

She smiled, “I’ve noticed.”

You began to chop the carrots, the repetitive motion stirring something in your brain, “so that means you technically outrank Loki.”

“Technically,” she muttered, not seeming too enthused by it.

You were surprised by how much you hated seeing the expression on her face, “anyone else have a secret past I don’t know about?”

“They all do,” she said, “but those aren’t my stories to tell.”

You nodded and got back to the chopping, mulling over what you’d learned. Loki’s court was powerful and you still didn’t know the extent of it. You had no clue who or what Gamora was, only that she was slightly — really — terrifying and oozed a scary amount of power. Loki’s master of information should have been queen of the Airies. You didn’t know who Nebula and Bucky were but there was no doubt in your mind that they were just as powerful. And yet, something scared them enough that they’d needed to rope a complete stranger into their plans. You weren’t dumb enough to think that Hela was their only problem either. You had a sinking suspicion that whatever was going on under the surface was somehow connected to Odin wanting the Hand. The two were too important to be a coincidence. You knew you could warn them, but you’d never leave with the Hand if you did.

You stole a glance at Wanda. She looked no different than she had yesterday, her long red hair falling in soft waves around her face as she chopped the onions. But it was as if you were finally seeing her for the first time. With power like hers, she could be the most dangerous person in the room. Yet she was their scholar…why?

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

You straightened, shocked into thinking she’d just read your mind. Then you realized she was asking about her exile. Her shoulders were pushed back and her chin was high, but her movements were more jittery than usual. You didn’t know what the real story was, but you weren’t about to press. It didn’t matter how she’d gotten here or why. The past was safer left where it was. You sure as despair in the seven hells didn’t want your past dug up and you couldn’t imagine she did either.

“No I’m not,” you rolled another onion her way, “but I am going to ask if you’re happy here.”

“Having second thoughts about staying?” she asked with a watery smile.

Nat was too important to even consider leaving.

You shook your head, “just asking. Because if the highest ranked court member isn’t happy, then, as the lowest, how am I supposed to be?”

“You’re not the lowest,” she affirmed in a way that made you want to ask who was, “and even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. You’re going to be queen in a few moons.”

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered.

She chuckled, “you’ll do fine.”

“I’d better,” the thought of failure made you feel sick to your stomach, “but you still didn’t answer my question.”

You weren’t sure why you wanted to know so badly, but it somehow felt important. You stopped your chopping and really looked at her, waiting for an answer.

“I am,” she finally answered, and I didn’t doubt it for a second.

“Good. So I guess there’s still hope for me.”

The gown Valkyrie had sent over while you were in the kitchen this afternoon could have been armour. Black and silver with a bodice made of leather, the only way it qualified as a gown were the floor length skirts that would have gotten you killed in battle. But here, they were perfect. Here, in the council room, they were a different kind of armour that you were extremely thankful for.

“We do need to discuss what happens if she dies,” the eldest councilman stated calmly. Not as if they were talking about life threatening situations or anything.

The plates had just been cleared away after a very awkward dinner, and the moldy old rats were finally getting down to business. And honestly, you were getting more than a little fed up with people casually mentioning your death. You lifted your chin a little higher. It wasn’t enough to make them believe that you and Loki were in love. You needed to make them believe that you were their future queen. You stared them down one by one.

“I don’t think impossibilities need to be dealt with,” Loki said.

Helio smirked, “she’s human. Has love made you so blind that you cannot see that it’s much more likely that she’ll die a horrible death? Seems your reasoning fell away with your title.”

“I believe the loss of it has only made me wiser,” Loki turned to you, “what do you think, sweetheart?”

“I think you’re an idiot either way.”

Was what I wanted to say.

What I actually said was, “I think that if these trials are truly a test of true love, then you could never be more right.”

His eyes lit up with laughter, but he kept it together enough to say, “with you, everything’s been so right, nothing’s ever been wrong.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at the absurdity of his words but a smile grew on your lips, threatening to turn into laughter as well. You were pretty sure the stress of it all was getting to your head and you were afraid that if you let even a giggle out, it might morph into something hysterical.

You put a hand over your heart, “we’re meant for this.”

“Together, how can anything go wrong?” Loki added, not one to be outdone.

You were going to add another cheesy line to the mix but Helio had clearly had enough.

“It’s time to swear in to the trials, Loki,” he stated like one of your old school teachers trying to get control over the babbling bunch of idiots you were.

All humour vanished from Loki’s face, “I don’t want YN doing it.”

“Both of you,” he sneered.

Every instinct you possessed begged you to stay far away from any kind of magical promise. Loki had only sealed your bargain with a human’s handshake. And not only did he also not want you to be a part of this one, but he hadn’t decided that for you. He’d only stated what he wanted. Loki was giving you the chance to choose for yourself. You needed to convince the council you were in love and if this was the only was to do it, then you’d get through it.

“It’s okay, Loki,” the words tasted sour in your mouth, “I’ll do it.”

He sighed and seemed to swallow the words he wanted to say before finding new ones, “I want to remind you, YN, that by swearing in, if I die, you face a death sentence as well.”

You couldn’t believe how barbaric these people were. The gods should have created an eighth layer of hell specifically for them. Only the minute odds of a powerful fey like Loki dying kept the placid look on your face. At least you hoped it was still there when you said, “I can’t let you be the only one to swear in.”

“All I face is exile,” he rushed the words, “Please—”

Helio cut in gleefully, “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“No I don’t,” you agreed, to both of their surprises, “if I had to live, exiled, with the knowledge that you died during these trials then it would be a fate worse than death,” you stared at Loki, hoping he understood how much you needed this chance at the Hand, “we do this together.”

Loki pursed his lips and turned to Helio, “we don’t have to do this part.”

“Oh I truly think we do,” he practically giggled.

Five windows. There were five windows in this room. You’d counted them all three times but it hadn’t made you want to punch Helio in his perfectly symmetrical face any less.

Loki extend his hand across the table. You took it, oddly comforted by the steady weight of his hand in yours. What little comfort you felt was shattered by the fear that he’d just manipulated your emotions, but you pushed the thought away. He could only do so by pulling on memories. None good had surfaced.

He gave your hand a soft squeeze and stood from the table, leading you toward the older councilman who had a small blade in his hand. You felt like you were going to throw up. Blood magic. You didn’t need to be an expert at magic to know how binding this kind of magic was.

Loki lifted your hands but motioned for the councilman to hold off. He turned all of his intense stare on you, his green eyes dark like the jungle at night.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

You didn’t dare trust yourself to speak. The weight of the pendant on your chest reassured you that it was worth it, but the thought of losing your life when you still had Nat’s to protect made you want to crawl out of your skin. You nodded.

He opened his hand so that his palm was facing upward and you copied the motion. The councilman didn’t look for any kind of confirmation before chanting a series of words in the ancient tongue. He proceed to make a small slice on both your palms, but you barely felt it. He pressed your hands together and a chill ran through you. He said a few more words and then released your hands.

When you looked down, there was no sign that your skin had been cut at all. The only difference was a small black band that looked like a ring on both your middle fingers.

You took in a shaky breath and somehow managed to say, “and this is binding until the end of the trial?”

Helio grinned, taking it upon himself to answer, “not this time. This oath is for both of your lifespans.”

You walked — or more like you stomped — down the hallways, back to your rooms in silence, the air hanging heavy between you. Through clenched smiles and by gripping tightly onto Loki’s forearm, you somehow managed to dampen your anger long enough for him to continue with a few more pleasantries before you left the party. You hadn’t spoken another word after that damning question, only nodding politely or smiling. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything that didn’t begin with a slew of profanities.

Loki stopped at your door but you motioned for him to keep moving. When he stopped at his door, he raised a brow. He hadn’t once looked your way or indicated that he felt any kind of remorse about what had just happened. You didn’t know if that made you want to punch him more of less.

You wrenched open the door and practically shoved him through it.

“What kind of tradition is this?” you demanded once the door was shut tightly behind you, “how could you people think this is acceptable? They basically told me these trials would guarantee my death! They’re planning on killing us both!”

“You’re not going to die,” he said calmly.

“It’s barbaric!”

“We’ll find a way around it.”

You stomped up to him, “it’s a blood oath you idiot! How could you people do this?”

He leaned back against a dresser, arms crossed over his chest, “it wasn’t my decision. And yes, it’s barbaric. There’s a reason it hasn’t been done for centuries. Especially that there was never a reason for the council to care until Hela came back and challenged my rule,” he ran a hand through his hair, “actually, it’s a clever move on their part. With your lifespan and Thor gone…they’ve all but guaranteed that Hela will take the throne eventually. It’s the perfect failsafe.”

He didn’t say it, but you could hear it in his voice. It was a move he should have seen coming. But instead of anger, his eyes took on a far off look that looked like…sorrow. You still felt like you had liquid fire in your veins, but the council had done this, not him. He’d offered you a way out. He’d tried to stop it. So instead of asking how he was so calm about this or demanding he do something right away, you let out a long breath and let it all go — for now.

With the fight leaving you, you leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“Who’s Thor?” you asked softly.

He froze, his gaze sliding over to you his only movement, “would you believe me if I told you nobody?”

“Not a chance.”

Not with the way he’d said the name. And judging by the fact that he hadn’t tried to lie to you, he knew that too.

His jaw clenched, “My brother.”

“You have a brother?” You asked, stupidly.

“Had.”

“Oh,” you breathed, “what happened?”

“Murder,” he said, voiced clipped.

His words felt like a punch to the gut and for a moment it felt like he had just told you Nat had been murdered while you were here pretending to play the loving future queen.

He was no longer looking at you, his hands clenched tightly into fists on his lap. You knew you should let it go, but you couldn’t help it.

“Do you know who did it?”

His eyes remained downcast, “No.”

You had a feeling he was lying but you weren’t about to press further. He’d already told you more than he had to.

Now that you were calmer, you realized you were actually in Loki’s room. For the first time. Of course, if you’d asked, he would have let you in, but you never had. It was strange to see all of the things that made him…well, a normal person. The dresser cluttered with pencils and ink and a mass of papers. The clothes folded neatly on the settee. The massive, tightly made bed.

“You’re welcome to stay,” he offered with an infuriating smirk when he noticed where you were looking.

You rolled your eyes, “I’d much rather be in my own room thank you very much.”

“Unless it’s when you want to inspect mine.”

“I wasn’t inspecting,” you defended quickly.

He raised a brow.

“I was observing,” you corrected, “as one does in a new environment.”

“It feels more like inspecting to me,” his grin only grew, “but what do I know?” he spread his arms out, “observe all you want.”

You waved him off, “I’m good.”

You turned to go through the door connecting your rooms but felt like opening it would somehow mean more than opening an actual door so you went to the one that led out into the hallway.

You paused before the door, “you know, if tomorrow doesn’t kill me then I will kill you for keeping this from me.”

“I think it might make more sense for you to kill the people making you do this,” said Loki.

“Don’t worry,” you vowed, “I’ll kill them all.”

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel fic #Marvel AU #fan fiction #fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 140

And here we have the last chapter of the Food Festival! This is one part I was pretty excited to write - The Closing Costume Party. I wouldn’t have been able to get this one squared away without @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog... Both of you caught a few things I didn’t that kept it from making sense from a reader perspective. So thank you both, very much.

I growled softly to myself as I twisted my arms behind my back to pull on my costume. Normally, I was more than flexible enough, but the amount of leverage I needed right now just wasn’t happening unless I was willing to seriously dislocate something. Dropping my hands, I frowned as I jiggled my arms a little to work feeling back into my elbows.

“You really should have fitted this sooner than now,” Conor laughed against the back of my head as he pulled the laces tight on the blood-red corset. Getting one made while laying low and avoiding Hannah had been a nightmare, but it was going to be worth it. I just knew it.

“You just wanted to see me try this entire costume on sooner,” I joked as I felt everything fit snugly - but not too tightly - into place.

Maverick flicked a lock of my hair over my shoulder and positioned it just-so. “It’s not his fault that you couldn’t fit this over your scrubs and have it work for tonight.”

“Who wants to see a corset over scrubs?” I scrunched my nose at the thought while smoothing my sleeves and adjusting my collar. “So far so good?” I asked, slightly louder.

As a credit to their maturity regarding the matter, both men looked me over earnestly before glancing at each other. Conor finally broke the silence. “Aren’t the slits in the skirt a bit… high?” Maverick whispered in his ear, and an expression of utter comprehension glowed on his face. “Oh! That’s… Love, that’s clever.”

I grinned hard enough to cramp my jaw. “Thank you.” Despite how daring the outfit looked, there was exactly zero chance of any wardrobe malfunctions more serious than a hole in my stockings - a near-indestructible nude bodysuit under everything made sure of that.

“Your turn, now,” Maverick insisted, eliciting a groan from Conor, who he had turned toward while brandishing eyeliner.

“Isn’t it bad enough I let the two of you do this?” He gestured at his hair, which was styled within an inch of his life and would sustain an EF4 tornado with minimal loss of glitter.

“Nope,” I popped, still smiling as I sat down to put on my boots. Parvati and Hannah had envisioned tonight to be a sort of return-to-our-roots in a very feral, primitive way, complete with costumes. “We’ve been imagining since before we could cook,” Hannah had pointed out. Between that and the multiple hints that I wasn’t capable of costuming myself, I had gone a bit more over the top than I had originally planned. Hence the corset, the boots, Conor’s hair… although the leather pants the guys were wearing had been decidedly Maverick’s idea and I resisted the need to fall at his feet in gratitude.

Once we were finally costumed, we managed to arrive just-fashionably late to the last hurrah of the Festival. I don’t know who gaped harder - us at the party, or the people who managed to recognize me when they saw me leading the men in. Parvati’s incredible, winding mural was noticeably weathered and patchy, giving the overall atmosphere a post-apocalyptic feel. The only noticeable lighting came from the braziers, and deep, almost subsonic music thumped in my chest, driving my adrenaline just high enough to overwhelm my anxiety.

My nose led us over to the first stall of the night, the smell of charring meat fitting the tone. Per a previous discussion around our costumes, I did not reach for anything but instead Conor took my portion and fed it to me - his idea, this time, though Maverick had readily agreed. It was just enough to set off a few murmurs before I heard a familiar laugh cut through the air.

“Councillor Reid!” Jokul’s voice crowed, turning our heads his direction. Warmly, he clasped my hands when offered, trembling with the laughter he was trying to suppress. “This is an unexpected but pleasant surprise.”

I took a moment to take in his fur trousers and tunic, with rough metal covering vital areas. “The dirt is a nice touch,” I offered, squeezing his hands in greeting. “And Ivan! Well done, sir!”

Ivan rubbed the freshly-buzzed back of his head and grinned. “He actually already had the furs, I just made the armored parts.”

“I meant all of it,” I admonished softly, waving at his work throughout the event.

“Antique, yeah?” Conor asked, gesturing to the furs both of them were wearing.

To his credit, Jokul scoffed. “Absolutely not. Quality synthetic.”

“Don’t let Hannah find out.”

A silver brow arched high enough to impress even Tyche. “Who do you think I commissioned?”

“Clever boy.” I winked at Ivan, eliciting a grin.

In response, Ivan did a runway-twirl, his fur kilt flaring just slightly. “What do you think, Councillor? Can I pull it off?”

With the cheekiest grin my soul could ever manifest, I stared him down. “I think I am the wrong person to ask that.” Even in the dim light, I could see Jokul’s face turn bright red.

“I smell goat,” Maverick interrupted, entirely off topic and completely unabashed.

Ivan’s nose twitched. “Oh, you’re right!” Sniff, sniff. “And it’s on a spit! Let’s find it before it’s gone!”

With that, he snagged Jokul’s wrist and dragged him less like he was an easily two-hundred pound man and more like he was a kite. When I snickered, my former enemy leaned over and murmured “I like the chains, very nice touch.”

I shook the wrist that connected to Conor’s belt and whispered conspiratorially. “Your idea, really. You were so convinced I was leading the entire Ark like this…”

He had the decency to snort. “Seeing it in reality, I was a complete idiot. But it’s quite poetic, and I like it.”

“Poetic?” I asked as I tried to keep pace in the six-inch heels I had elected to wear.

“Are they chaining you down, or are you leading them by their gonads? Or, perhaps, are they saving you from yourself?” He gave a very pointed look at the delicate chains going from the shackles on my wrists to the links attached just above Maverick’s and Conor’s hips.

“Saving me, definitely.” My confession was unashamed and completely sober, the result of the primal music and smells surrounding me.

“Gods agree, someone needs to.”

I didn’t have time to argue before we arrived at the source of the enticing smell - a Jamaican barbecue vendor, who had oxtails, saltfish, and…

“Grilled goat!” Ivan crowed triumphantly. As he started handing out portions from the dancing, grinning vendor, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed that the portion he tried to hand to me was intercepted by Maverick first, and then fed to me rather than feeding myself.

“Not my idea,” I managed around an insanely delicious bite. “Swear.”

“Kink tomato,” he insisted, holding up his hands.

Conor almost choked laughing. “Not our kink either, mate. Just set dressing for the Queen over here.” Taking another bite, he winked at me.

“Ah, Conor’s idea then,” Jokul nodded sagely before erupting in the closest thing to a girlish squeal I could imagine coming from him. “Miss Harper, we’ve been looking for you!”

Shit, I thought to myself. I hadn’t thought of what Charly would say when I discussed this idea with Conor and Maverick, and I was just realizing it was a monumental oversight. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned in the direction Jokul had shouted -

Only to be confronted with what looked like a fox with antlers, a rakish Anansi, the Queen of the Dead, a blind healer, and… a walking shrine? I wasn’t sure what exactly Arthur was dressed as, but I could clearly identify a shabby tweed suit, his sword, a tome that I hoped was faux-moldy, breastplate, shin guards, along with various tchotchkes that looked like they came from high-schoolers and were a bit too beat up to be faked.

“Arthur, what are you?” I asked. Where anyone else would find it rude, I knew my bluntness would be either appreciated or ignored entirely.

“The Ghost of Classes Past.” He swept into a near-Shakespearen bow, gesturing at the bits and bobs that adorned him. “Humans protect, and we mourn those we could not to ensure they live on in memory.” The thump of the music did not change, but his costume gave it a sepulchral tone, like a dying heartbeat.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, the antlered fox bounced familiarly before looking at the Queen of the Dead. “You did a fantastic job on their costumes! They look amazing!” Her antlers were, of course, somehow illuminated from below, but damn me if I could figure out how.

Despite the fact that I knew damned well that Tyche wanted to erupt into laughter at the suggestion, she managed to, quite impressively, tamp it down to a savage smile of silver fangs and blood-red lips. Flapping a hand at myself, Conor, and Maverick, she gave her bell-like fake-laugh, fully in character. “Oh, I had nothing to do with this. Darling Sophia and her merry toys conceived it all on their own. This is the first time I’ve even seen it, darling.” She turned to me, tipping her chin down in respect. “Well done, dearest sister.” Tyche was on peak display, with kohl lining her glowing grey eyes, a black bodysuit covering her from collar to feet, fitted vest and cardigan vest, all partnered with a skirt that could be ten inches thick or ten miles of ribbon - who knew with all the darting and layers? Not me, but I was surely impressed with what looked like ten miles of black feathers flowing from her waist to her hips.

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty.” I swept my leg back in a daring curtsy, forcing Conor and Maverick to smother their laughter at Jokul and Ivan’s faces.

“Ma’am! Ma’am ma’am ma’am!” Charly demanded as she pulled me upright. “You blushed at the concept of kink night, and here I find you leading your men around by their hips!”

I tossed my hair and winked at Jokul. “They aren’t being led, they are saving me from myself.” To Charly’s credit, I did look one deep breath from embarrassment - a black dress with red trim, sliced from floor to ribs and collar to navel, over what appeared to be just fishnet stockings and cavalier boots. The only thing, visibly, retaining any sort of deceny was the corset sealing me in the dress. To go with it, I sported chunky, silver cuffs chained to both Maverick and Conor. Ducking in, I whispered, “I probably will have to be cut out of this bodysuit, no worries on me flashing anyone.”

“Ooooo… well played, madam, well played,” she cheered, twirling me around, forcing both men to pivot with me, laughing, before giving me a very concerned look. “How fucking tall are those?” This was clearly directed at my heels, which she was staring at like a shark presented with a steak.

“Six,” I admitted. “But I did pointe ballet for a little while, so… This isn’t that bad.”

Maverick ducked into the center of the circle we formed. “They’re a full size too big to allow for swelling and she has the toe boxes lined with impact foam.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to wear these things?” I asked with a glare that had him standing ramrod straight and barely restraining a laugh.

Tyche, to her credit, patted my shoulder. “While sitting. Or, if you have to stand, with a platform in the toe.”

“No shit,” I hissed, setting the mummified healer doubling over in laughter. “But I’ve done enough damage to my feet, thank you, so… there may be foot braces involved.” One of which was currently digging in just in front of my heel, which I made a mental note to pass on to the development team.

A thick, French accent set me shaking my head when it came from the very-not-French looking mummy. “Well played, Sophia. The sling and calf brace design I saw recently get approved by medical?”

I groaned as I realized that of course this was Antoine. Life and Death, forever partnered. “Yesssss,” I hissed. “Grey created the design.” I unzipped one boot down far enough to roll it below my knee, exposing braces above and below the kneecap before running further down. “The weight is distributed throughout the leg, before terminating across the front and back of the arch of the foot, to even out the pressure.”

I could almost see numbers whirling beneath the six-foot-plus candy-pink bowler hat. “That… sounds like it might actually be comfortable,” Coffey intoned. I couldn’t help but grin at the tilt of his hat and the feather arching behind him.

“More comfy than actual heels, yes,” I admitted before deflecting attention as far from me as possible. Which, considering how much weight was normally put on the ball of the foot in heels like this, wasn’t a lie…. “But we aren’t here for this! We’re here for food!”

Cheers erupted, and we set off dragging each other to what bits we had discovered. The theme of the night was firmly set around protein, grilled if possible, with wicks of smoke dancing through the flickering light along with the thump of the music. Some were spicy, others unexpectedly sweet. As I laughed, and ate, and sweated, and danced, I could freely admit that there was exactly zero percent chance that I would have imagined this in my wildest dreams. And even better? I could enjoy every second, every smell, every beat of the music. I made a point to wink at each camera I could spot, to the point that, first Tyche, and then everyone else felt the need to comically push down my thumbs-up and cover my face.

Clearly, Parvati and Hannah, who I hadn’t seen all night, were monitoring what they would later discover to be a flying pass on their final exam.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 20

I now present to you a chapter that is filled with more angst than Chris Carter could ever dream of, and for that, I am truly sorry.

Scully and Mulder's foray into domesticity with Emily is interrupted by the past catching up to them. Faced with despair, they cling even tighter to each other.

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

Scully is granted maternity leave, though it’s only for two weeks, which Missy let her know is “a piss-poor bargain.” And she knows this is true, but she also has more incentive to stay at her job than ever, so she’d like not to lose it. The fact that advocating for herself and her child would mean risking her job is a mess in itself, but one lone woman can’t be expected to take down the patriarchy, and besides, she’s already tried and failed.

As for she and Mulder, they hide their flirtation in plain sight. Mulder’s perpetually present in body or spirit, but his behavior never reveals anything more than it did before. Every morning he swings by to say hi, brings Scully coffee and a bagel with full-fat cream cheese, and checks if Emily’s picked up any new words. Personally, he’s working on “alien” and if you ask him, she’ll get it soon. She knows that it refers to her UFO stuffie, so sounding out the letters can’t be far behind, much to her mother’s dismay.

On Wednesday of the first week, he shows up at 6pm with takeout carbonara from a local Italian joint. His presence makes every Scully girl happy, but it makes one in particular the happiest, and Melissa realizes that there are definitely things her sister has failed to mention. She doesn’t question it, but watches with glee as the situation unfolds.

After that first night, Mulder keeps coming back with dinner and refuses to let either sister shoulder the cost. On Friday, he stays for a movie too and gets to participate in Emily’s nightly tucking-in ritual (a tickle on the left foot, a tickle on the right foot, and a big smooch on the forehead).

Saturday afternoon, he joins them for a stroller push through the park, earning some serious side-eye from Scully when he suggests that they stop at the playground because, according to the mama bear, “Em can only take six steps at a time, Mulder.” So instead they buy hotdogs from a vendor and eat them on a bench, Emily sandwiched between her mother, her aunt, and her...Mulder. They couldn’t ask for more.

That night, Mulder hangs around after dinner because what else is he gonna do? Go home and watch old baseball games until he falls asleep? A new leaf has been offered to him, and he’s gotta turn it.

He’s baffled when, upon announcing that it’s Emily’s bathtime, Scully goes to the kitchen and switches on the sink.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What, your mother never washed you in the sink when you were a baby?”

“Not that I know of...I have a hard time envisioning myself ever fitting in a sink.”

Scully scoffs. “I forget. You were a Vineyard boy.”

Before he can come up with a smart response to that (as if there actually is one), Missy pipes up. “Oh, I bet you were the kid that took baths with your mother,” she teases. “Care to confirm or deny?”

“If I did I blocked it out of memory, thank god,” he testifies.

Having spread a towel on the counter, Scully strips Emily down and perches the girl on her hip. She sticks her hand under the faucet.

“That’s not too hot, do you think?” she asks Missy, who tests it as well.

“That should be fine.”

Mulder joins in too, and immediately regrets it. He shrinks away from the water, shaking droplets all over the room. “Jesus, Scully! Are you trying to boil her?”

“Babies lose heat quickly because of their body surface to weight ratio,” she says matter-of-factly. “They’re more susceptible to the cold.”

“I think the cold will be the least of her worries,” Mulder quips.

“If you really think it’s too hot, I’ll turn it down…” There’s a concerned crease beneath her eyes, and it makes Mulder feel bad about his joking.

“No, no, you know what you’re doing,” he assures her. “You’re her mother.”

As she lowers Em into the sink, Scully’s heart twinges. Her. A mother. How many times will she have to hear this before it stops feeling like news to her?

One week and bathtime has already become routine. Missy fills a plastic cup and pours it gently over her niece, the water cascading down Em like she is nature’s own. Scully soaps her palms, then glides over her daughter’s skin with such care that its memory may blight any future affection Em is graced with. And then another waterfall, and the gentle brush of a wash cloth against eyes and nose.

Scully squeezes a penny’s worth of baby shampoo into her hand, looks to Mulder. “Come on, get in here. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?” she says with a smirk.

He smirks back and shakes his head as she lifts his open palm and shrinks her accumulation to a dime. “Although, technically I am getting my hands cleaner…”

She boops him right on the nose with a shampooed finger. He laughs.

Missy smiles. Oh, to see destiny play out right in front of you. “Someone’s cracking dad jokes,” she points out, unable to resist. This observation is much too on-the-nose for the pair (quite literally for Mulder), who simultaneously blush but say nothing.

Mulder wipes the shampoo from his nose and plants it on Emily’s head, joining his partner in making soapy circles over the girl’s tuft of strawberry hair. Scully’s full attention is directed toward her daughter. As soon as the lather is sufficient, she dons the lifted lilt of motherhood. “Okay, time to rinse! Missy, will you do the honors?”

Missy turns the faucet, fills the cup, and lets it flow over Emily. Mulder and Scully wash their hands off in the stream.

And as Scully leans for the towel, a splash of red dirties its fresh white surface. Mulder notices it first. He points at his partner’s porcelain face. “Scully, you’re bleeding.”

Her hand shoots to her nose. Sure enough, it stains her fingers. “Shit.” She turns away, goes for a tissue. “I haven’t had nosebleeds since I was fourteen,” she tells them, as if that invalidates this one. She wipes away a glob of blood, her stomach turning. “Missy--” her voice shakes involuntarily, “--will you dry Em off?”

“Uh-huh.” She nudges Mulder. “Will you grab a new towel from the linen closet?” she whispers, not wanting to further upset her sister.

Mulder goes off without a word, and Missy squeezes out Em’s hair as best she can. “What a pretty girl!” she gushes. “All clean!”

“Yee!” Emily throws her little fists in the air, injecting joy back into the room.

“Time to put your PJs on, and get a tickle, tickle, smooch.”

Mulder scrambles back in with a new towel, skirting around Scully, who remains occupied with her own situation. He slides the soiled towel away and helps Missy swaddle Em. Mulder ruffles the little girl’s hair, and she laughs like a music box.

“Mol-dy.” She spits it out in halves, as if she’s been rehearsing.

Mulder’s eyes water with recognition. “Mulder? Mul-der? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Moldy,” the girl declares again, certain of herself.

Missy adjusts Em on her hip, smiles at Mulder. “Looks like you’re Moldy now.”

Mulder bites his lip to hide his overwhelming delight. “Yeah, I...I never thought I'd be so happy to be called moldy.”

Next thing he knows, Scully is at his shoulder with a tissue stuffed up her nostrils. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Em called me Moldy,” he tells her, full of satisfaction.

“Oh.” It comes out relatively unimpressed, but really, she’s just distracted. “Missy, will you get a diaper on her before there’s an accident? I would but I’m still--” She gestures to her nose.

“Yeah, yeah.” Missy smiles at the baby in her arms. “PJ time, Em!” They go off toward the bedroom, a happy pair.

As soon as Em is out of sight, Mulder spirals toward his partner, panic-stricken. The glee of moments ago has evaporated.

“Are you okay?” He touches her hair, shoulders, and the familiar small of her back, unsure of where he should land.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” Her grip on his elbows--keeping his hands firmly placed on her waistline--suggests otherwise.

“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he pleads. “This could be...”

“This could be what, Mulder?” The steel in her blue eyes is a death grip. She’s never liked being told the obvious.

“Scully…” He sighs, rubs his neck, wills her to say what they both know. When she doesn’t, he takes his hands off her and wrings them together. “The Mufon women...they said it would happen to all of them eventually.” He’s careful not to lump Scully in with their group.

“And what do they know?” she retorts. “One of them was sick. One.”

“Okay, well, don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?” he reasons. “You have Emily to look out for now.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Don’t guilt trip me. It’s a nosebleed. Those happen all the time for completely benign reasons.”

“Yeah, but they don’t happen to you. You just said--you haven’t had one since you were fourteen.”

She clenches her jaw. He’s right, and she’s playing the fool. His position is the one she would take if this were anyone other than herself. She’s gonna have to lose this fight with as much grace as possible.

“Fine. I’ll get it checked out, but they’re gonna think I’m insane for coming in because of one nosebleed.”

“That’s a nice change of pace--you being the insane one for once.”

“Well, you’re the one who wants me to go, so you’re not out of the woods.”

“Good, I’ve finally got some company!”

Scully smiles in spite of herself. “Yes, yes you do.”

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

It happens very quickly, as most calamities of life can be said to. This gives it the unreal quality of a nightmare that might soon be woken up from, if there is any justice in the world.

Scully snags a doctor’s appointment for three days after the initial nosebleed. By the time she walks into the waiting room, one nosebleed has quadrupled into four, and her minor concern has snowballed into abject terror.

Margaret Scully drove into the city to watch Emily so Missy could join her sister. Scully insisted that she would go alone, but Missy wouldn’t accept this. She threatened to tell Mulder the details of the appointment if Dana didn’t let her go, and that was enough to earn her a spot in the passenger seat. Scully can’t take the thought of Mulder witnessing the worst--let alone her reaction to the worst.

And so it goes something like this: they are taken to an exam room, at which point Scully explains her situation to a nurse, including that she has recently learned she is at high risk for cancer. The nurse assures her that such a diagnosis is highly unlikely, but makes a note for the doctor. The doctor comes in with knitted eyebrows and listens to Scully describe the aftermath of her abduction experience with a heavy emphasis on the convoluted but substantial claims of the Mufon women. She asks if Scully has had any other symptoms, to which Scully replies that it’s hard to tell because she has an infant in the house and thus, a marked lack of sleep.

The doctor laughs, but it’s not a haha laugh, more of an I feel your pain. She agrees that the women’s claims are concerning, but tells her patient not to fret. They’ll take all the precautions, run any test that might assuage her worries. There’s a quip about how it’ll be on the government’s dime since it covers Scully’s insurance, and then the doctor leaves to order an MRI.

A full body MRI, which Scully has never had, and which she hoped she would never require. There’s no deeper sickness than one that cannot be pinpointed, and no greater fear than of the unknown turning into the worst case scenario.

The MRI is completed that same day. As she slides into the machine, Scully thinks of Betsy Hagopian and wonders how she’s doing. It has been many months since she stood outside an exam room and watched Betsy enter one of these. Has fate been kind to her?

For a few minutes, her world is limited to the mere inches between her face and this life-saving yet life-ruining contraption. It is noisy and sometimes bright and altogether disorientating. She is glad when it’s over.

The images return almost immediately, and maybe it would all have been okay if Scully weren’t trained in radiology herself, if she wasn’t able to recognize the glaring speck of light in her nasal cavity for what it is. But that one glance is all she needs to know that waiting by the phone isn’t an option.

“It’s a tumor, isn’t it?” she blurts as the radiologist tries to escort her and Melissa from the room. “In the nasal cavity. I have a M.D. I saw.”

“Your doctor will call with the results,” the radiologist insists, standing by the open doorway.

“No, no, you can’t do this to me,” Scully sputters. “I know what I saw, and I don’t have any time to waste.” Her eye twitches in a combination of stress and anger. “I have an infant daughter.”

The radiologist sighs, pity on top of pity. “Perhaps your doctor will talk it through with you now.”

“Yes. Please.”

And it is talked through, though there’s no need to make it complicated: nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Inoperable, and just barely in the realm of treatable. That’s the kicker, the coyote in the pasture, the cloud covering the sun. In the words of Scully’s doctor, it is auspiciously rare. And in Scully’s brain, it is the bottom she’s been expecting to drop out from under since she held her daughter in her arms.

Melissa drives home. The sisters cannot fathom how they will tell their mother. Cannot fathom ruining her blissful time with the granddaughter she’s just met. When they turn onto their street, Scully swallows hard and coughs on her own spit. “Will you do something for me?”

Missy looks over, eager to do anything she can, yet terrified by the possibility of the request.

“Will you take me to Mulder’s?” Scully mumbles. “I would just take the car but...I can’t face mom right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

Missy bites her lip. “And what am I supposed to tell mom when she asks where you are?”

“The truth,” Scully says curtly. “She doesn’t need the backstory.”

Missy drives past their building, though she’s not completely sold on her sister’s reasoning. “Don’t you think she might wonder why you aren’t coming home to your daughter?”

“I know she’ll wonder, Melissa, I know all of this,” Scully snaps because she needs to. “I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Missy’s voice is barely perceptible. I don’t care; she knows how low her sister has to be to say those words.

They complete the drive in silence, Scully biting her nails--a habit which she has never possessed, and perhaps just acquired. The car idles as Missy pulls up to the curb of Mulder’s building.

“I can pick you up when you need it,” she tells her sister as she pulls herself out of the car. “I’ll bring Em.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scully says, closing the passenger door and edging toward the building. Missy hears a thanks float toward the car, then her sister is gone like a teenage girl embarrassed by her mother.

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

They sit on Mulder’s couch, muted. Words cannot fathom the injustice of this situation, nor can they suffice as empathy. Their hands are clasped together, a throughline of strength between them. This is what they need now; the most primitive language of all.

Scully’s watery eyes brush Mulder’s face. His own eyes, more pained than usual, look into hers. Without a word, she drapes an arm around her partner’s shoulders and scoots into his lap. He is surprised but not distressed. What else is left for them, now?

She is tiny, so tiny. And she is his.

Their eyes meet once again, speaking in tongues. Scully nods, and then Mulder does too. This is it. This is it.

Permission granted at last, Scully’s lips travel to her partner’s jawline. The first time her lips have touched his body, and this is where they go. She is a constant box of wonders, a fortune he can never predict. Her lips are much like he has fantasized they would be: wondrously soft and silky, stroking him like they have always meant to be there. Yet he couldn’t have imagined the urgency with which they burrow into his skin. As if she’s making a mental map of his bone structure. He never expected that she would want him this much.

His hands find her hips and grip the cotton of her shirt between his fingers. It is enough to tear her away from his flesh. Mission accomplished. His breath travels past her ear, hitting her neck. It is shallow and warm as he breathes her name. Her real name, the one her family calls her. She breathes his own back to him, like a bird responding to a mating call.

She feels his lips on her neck, wet and aching. It feels like God. This is the most blasphemous thought she has ever had. She throws her head back, exposing the whole of her skin to him. What is holiness, if not this moment?

He showers her in tattoo kisses, and she lets him, she lets him, she lets him. This is not just what she wants, but what she needs. No one will save her now, she knows this. So she has decided not to be saved.

Her shirt ripples as he clutches it. “May I?” He is breathy, awe-struck.

“Only if I can do the same.” Always about equality, his Scully is. He lifts his arms, lets her strip him first. He is fraught with the temptation to feel insecure, inadequate, but this is not about him--this is all for her. There is no time to dwell on this anyway. Scully takes in the sight, then puts her own arms up with a hint of impatience. He pulls her shirt over her head, and goosebumps adorn her as the air hits her bare stomach.

It is unimaginable, the significance of this moment. All Mulder can do is keep going, lest the emotion hit him and he find himself blubbering all over her. His hands travel her body...it is slender and white, but so solid, so strong. Cartilage forming ligaments forming joints connecting bones. And her skin, stretching over her hips and framing it all. The masterpiece that is Dana Katherine Scully.

He fears for the day she will cave in on herself. Already, one of his hands covers her whole rib cage. Right now he can cradle her body comfortably against his own, but the day will come when a single cautious touch will crush her, and his heart along with it. He wants her as she is now forever.

Seeing that he wants to pamper her, Scully lets herself be pampered. He showers the taut length of her collar bone in kisses. The vibration resonates throughout her bone structure, and already she can feel him in places she’s only fantasized about having him. He is going to heal me, she thinks. If anyone could heal her in any way, it would be him doing this.

She shows her gratitude by kneading circles into his soft tissues, so tense from all their days chasing ghosts. The sinew relaxes beneath the pads of her fingers, and she feels like she has solved the most important X-File of all.

Mulder traces his way along her spine. He has never touched her here, nor ever even fantasized about it, and there is an erotic tension--like a needle about to drop on a record--that neither one of them could have seen coming. Inevitably, his hands converge at the hooks of her bra. She arches her back in approval. He slides the hooks away from each other, and both of them feel the release. She shimmies off the garment before he can pull it out of the way. No secrets, not anymore.

Mulder didn’t expect to cry and is aware that most women wouldn’t take that as a positive sign, but seeing her, like this, knowing what they both know, tears feel like the least he could offer up. She is...beautiful is too weak a word to describe it. He needs to invent a new word to capture the essence of his emotions, the reverence with which he views her. He is not a religious man, but he will worship her until the end of time.

He has known this, intuitively, for a while, and now he’s putting it into practice. He wants to do everything he can for her, give her everything she wants. Yet he doesn’t know how to, and this scares him. She has always slipped through his fingers, always turned on a dime just when he thought he figured her out. Tonight is no exception. How was he to know that he’d be on his couch with a half-naked Scully in his lap?

He fears the tears will offend her, so he nuzzles into her heartspace, his nose pressed against the heart that is--by the grace of that God she worships--still beating. His lips meet the plush of her left breast.

Where does he go from here? The dusty routine he’s used with other women--the few who have given themselves to him or let him hand himself over--is not worthy enough for Scully. He could never touch Scully in the ways he’s touched the women before because she is not like the women before. There is no mere giving or taking here, no detached exchange of commodities or pleasure for the sake of pleasure. This is survival. They are symbiotically keeping each other alive.

A drop of water hits Scully’s skin, slides down the curvature of her breast. She shudders. A tear. That’s what it is, she realizes. Mulder is crying. It’s a baptism of unfortunate proportions.

She cups her hand against his chin, tilts it up so his bleary eyes meet hers. She rests her forehead against his. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She kisses each eye closed, his lids fluttering beneath her lips. “It’s okay.”

His breathing steadies. He is quite certain that it is not okay, that it never will be, but he listens to her, lets himself pretend.

Hands still on his chin, she careens their lips together. His mouth on hers; a godsend. They caress each other for a moment, then Scully opens wide, and Mulder does too. They are reflecting.

If Scully could compress herself, pushing every particle of air out of her lungs and into his, she would. As a sort of thank you, for everything. For what he has done, what is doing, what he will do...She will never have to live without him. She knows this now, and it makes this easier. But he will have to live without her, and so she must make sure he gets the memories he needs to carry on. This is how grief works, she’s acquainted with it. These moments, these feelings, these bated breaths and tender touches, will be his survival mechanism for awhile. Until the day when he can throw them off and go on without her ghost. It will happen one day, and she will be glad that he made it.

She feels him pressing against her stomach, which is certainly not where she wants him. “Fox…” Her hands hover above his belt. She unzips his fly first, her hand warm against him. He is dizzy with want as her fingers curl against his belt buckle, loosening it with confidence. In a sweeping gesture, she pushes his jeans off his hips, exposing him. The thrill she feels, seeing him big and bare in front of her, is a new kind of livelihood. She’s overcome with the desire to take him in her mouth--and that has never, never been her first instinct. She ducks down, but he stops her.

“Dana, no. You.”

She doesn’t need to hear it twice. She sucks in a breath, arches her back, and slides onto him. Slowly, gasping as they go.

“Am I hurting you?”

Scully shakes her head, lips parted. It has been nothing like this before...nothing so fulfilling. She crosses her ankles, binding them completely together at last.

Unity triumphs against the self, their union abolishing the world’s insistence on the solitude of the individual. This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Being joined, not only in spirit, but in body? Knowing that whatever horrors are to come, he will feel them as she does. Her dwindling will be his too, her losses an equally empty space within him.

She is teetering on the edge of something she can never come back from. She is not afraid.

She careens her fingernails into his back as the pressure builds. If it doesn’t come to a head, she’ll die right here, she thinks.

She barely registers the cathartic noises coming out of her, though they give Mulder great delight. He thought she would be quiet, and the fact that she’s not trying to hold anything in--after holding everything in for so goddamn long--is the most moving part of the experience.

And they want this to go on forever, but they want the release. Mulder swivels his hips into her, bringing them both closer to climax. Scully curls against him.

“I’m sorry,” she cries into his ear.

“What?” He nearly pulls out of her, fearing that she’s hurt.

“No, no--” She scrambles to stay with him. “This--” she pants “--is so good.” She lowers her lips onto his as confirmation, then speaks into his open mouth. “I’m just sorry to be the one to go.”

He frames her ribcage, thumbs arching toward her belly button. “Fuck, honey...don’t say that, don’t even think that…”

They won’t linger on the choice of pet name, the tenderness with which it settles over her, nor the absolute devastation of her words. There is simply no time.

Scully hides her face in his neck as the wave breaks over both of them. There is no world anymore, only the two of them on this couch. They have forsaken the physical realm, ascending to heaven in time with their heartbeats.

Mulder understands then what his reciprocal means when she says she needs proof to believe. Now that he’s been there and felt it, he knows that heaven exists, and holy shit, what does that mean for the life he has lived and the time he has left? What did it mean for Samantha?...What will it mean for Scully?

They collapse into each other, a melted mass of skin and bone. Two becoming one, becoming two again. Mulder strokes the back of his partner’s head, presses his lips to her temple. Her chest rises against him in jagged breaths.

“You are the only proof I’ll ever need that this life is worth it,” he murmurs. “Just you.”

Scully looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks. He kisses them away and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t know if you got the memo, but I love you, Dana Scully.”

She rests her cheek against his. “I love you too, F--Mulder.”

Mulder chuckles, his amusement shaking both of them. Scully closes her eyes and snuggles into him. He puts his hand over her heart, feels it beating steadily into his palm, and longs for it to stay like that forever.

#i have been working on that last scene since uhhh...october #i apologize for any emotional distress this and the following chapters will cause lmao #probably only two or three chapters left!!!#thank you for reading <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #the x-files #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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the-fiction-witch · 4 years ago

Text

She’s Not Yours P3

REAL LIFE X THE LAST LEGION

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SMUT + DARK

WARNINGS FOR VARIOUS ABUSE AND SEXUAL ABUSE

I sat in a council meeting bored as usual but I had new things to focus on, every morning she has done that to me and I couldn't stop thinking about it, all except this morning we where running very late and we didn't have time. And I could feel it, it was throbbing, it was rock hard in my pants often having to cross my legs under the table to try and restrain it somehow. I'd do anything to get my cock back in her mouth again, I need her so badly, I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she walked around doing drinks and such. Watching that beautiful body move concealed by that little dress,

"That's enough, for one day," I said and they all nodded "come on" I told her heading out the room she followed as always struggling a little as I marched back to my room shutting the door quickly behind me

"Something the matter my king?' she asked turning to me I didn't answer I just grabbed her waist kissing her as intesely as I could, she kissed back confused but egar too I grabbed her ass folding her over that thin dress till she pulled back "I am sorry about this morning Thomas"

"It's fine. It's not your fault. But…. My darling please"

"What is it Thomas?"

"I need you, it hurts, please…"

"I see" she smiled holding my hand tugging us over to the sofa I was confused as to why but she kissed my hand and turned away before she bent over using the higher part of the sofa to rest her stomach

"May I?"

"You may my king"

"Ummmmm thank you my darling' I told her kissing her cheek I was excited we'd never done it before but I wanted to badly. I pushed off my pants and she tugged up her dress exposing herself me "uuhh darling, your beautiful" I told her she clearly blushed but didn't answer I didn't waste time slowly pushing in, it was a thousand times better then her mouth, I grabbed her hips as soon as I was inside, my hips working on there own fast and hard moans falling from my mouth like a waterfall, lost in my own little world like nothing existed but me and her. Knew I was being rough but I couldn't stop it, I couldn't control myself hearing her lusty groans and gasps was driving me wild. "Uuuhhh uuhhh my darling! Y/n! Please…. I'm so close!" I begged she gently began to move her hips meeting them with my own and I was on another fucking planet! Lost in my own world my hips moving so fast and hard I didn't even care about anything but how good she felt!

I heard a knock on my door but I couldn't bare to stop I honestly don't even think of I tried I could

"What!" I yelled

"Your advisor wishes to see you about something my king" I guard said

"Umm… um…. Tell him to come back later! I'm busy!" I yelled back trying hard not to moan but I felt her tighten around me and she screamed louder then ever before which made my hit my own moving my hips like crazy Inside her before collapsing in her "fuck I love you"

"I love you too Thomas" she giggled between her gasps "did I please my king" she asks getting up and wrapping her arms around my neck

"Umm you always do my darling," I smiled picking her up making her wrap her legs around me carrying her to my bed "again!"

"What?"

"You question your king?' I smirked "I said again my darling, I wanna hear you scream for me again!' I growled dropping her on my bed and crawling on top of her kissing all over her wrapping my arms around her as much as I could

But the door knocked again

"I said I'm busy! In fact…. I'm gonna be busy. All night long" I smirked "and if someone disturbs me again. I'll cut off whatever hand they knocked on the door with" I warn

I stood on the balcony watching the sun begin to set across the city having a little wine

"Thomas?" I heard y/n call, I had left her in my bed to sleep, we had visited the flower gardens across the city today and they made her walk all the way there and back so I was letting her sleep a while that Andi had I just had her on her back pushed into my matress the last hour and a half she wondered out only her chain around her neck she came over and wrapped herself up with me

"Hello you, get back inside. You'll get cold" I told her kissing her head

"It's to hot"

"Is it now?" I laughed giving her lips a kiss "go on, I don't want everyone to see you. You know the kinds trouble someone found you here"

"I am your maiden, I take care of you. I'm meant to be here" she giggled going back inside making sure I watched her

"Ummm your not usually naked thought"

"I can be if you'd like my king"

"I bet you can." I smirked "put your dress on"

"No"

"No? You deny your king?'

"Because I know my king wants me naked"

"How do you know what I want?" I smirked going inside shutting the door behind me

"I always know what my king wants" she smiled giving my lips a kiss and stroking my half hard cock thought my pants

"Smart girl. Bed. Now" I ordered

"Yes Thomas" she giggled

I laid in bed unable to sleep, u couldn't turn my head off tonight

"Ummm" I heard her gently moan on my chest I smiled giving her a little kiss, we had to be very careful but I managed to let her stay up here with me some nights even if we had to be quiet.

"Y/n?" I asked her

"Hummm?"

"Sorry, I know your tried but… I have to ask you something"

"Of course ask away my king" she smiled cuddling closer to me

"How long… have you worn this?" I asked tracing my fingers across her chain

"I was give it, when I was born"

"Born?"

"Umm my mother was a slave so, I was give one as soon as I was born, they had new links are you get bigger so it still sort of fits"

"Sort of?" I asked she sat up sitting on my stomach she moved her chain back slightly it pressing hard into the other side of her neck to get some gap on the other side and I saw where the chain rubbed her skin raw all day everyday a scar that would never fully heal from years without it being removed "doesn't it hurt?"

"It does. You learn to ignore it"

"Y/n. What is it like? For a slave?"

"You don't want to know that Thomas"

"Y/n. I'm there king. I need to know, and I need to know the truth and your the only person who can tell me that" I begged "so please, tell me everything"

"Yes my king" she nods "my mother was a maid in the palace, no older then us. One of the council men or so she said tried to use her but she forced him away, so they sent her to the amours to serve there…. They would burn her, and whip her, torcher her, and rape her. When I was born from… one of the men she didn't know who, I was sent to the laundry I would wash clothes and bedding mostly I… I never saw my mother again. They would hit your knees and ankles if you didn't do right the laundry" she explained "when I was to big for the laundry they sent me to the library to assist the book makers" she said "but… the men there, liked little girls."

"What do you mean?"

"They… liked little girls best."

"Y/n, my darling. Why didn't any of them day anything?"

"Of course we did. You think anyone listens to slaves? We where just slapped and ordered to be silent. When I got to old there they sent me to the kitchens, it was hot work and hard they'd boil your skin for speaking, burn your toes for messing up, whip you if you where slow, cut our your tongue if you where caught stealing food even just bits of moldy bread" she explained showing her various scars from all the places she has worked and the things that he been done to her

"Why would people steal moldy bread?"

"Because there starving,"

"Starving? I thought slaves where always homed and fed"

"Homed? You sleep on the floor of whatever you worked. Often chained to work stations having to sleep in puddles of your own and other piss and shit. Fed? Someone might be thrown some rotten meat or old bread once a week if you want to eat it, you have to fight for it like rats. I've seen children's hands cut off for stealing apples because there so hungry they are days from death, seen old men whipped to work faster on broken bones, women forced to work while in labour. And God forbid you speak back or try to escape then… death was a mercy"

"Why have you never told me this before?'

"I didn't think you cared" she shrugged

"Y/n of course I care. I…. I didn't know they treated you all that way. I…. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. If I'd known I would have-"

"It's alright Thomas. You barely even leave the palace. I can't blame you for not knowing" she smiled "what about you?"

"What?"

"I want to know what it's like. To be a king"

"Okay" I smiled "my mother was the only child of the last king, so they got her married off pretty quickly, my father was prince of the outlanders they hoped it would bring union but… it didn't really work. My uncle killed him"

"I'm sorry Thomas"

"It's fine. I never even met him. My mother was already pregnant then and… when I was born it just. It ripped her apart, she died a few days after. I never met either of them all I have is the statue of them in the hall. They kept me safe and made me king the council and the advisor did it all till I could walk and talk I think they mostly still do honestly, it's strange you have… very little freedom as a king. I keep getting told I can do anything I want and yet I'm not allowed to bathe myself or dress myself, but I don't know anything else. I was crowned king at three the first real choice I ever made was… you."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"I couldn't. You where… scared of me. And that's not the sort of king I wanted to be and I… kinda liked you" I smiled "I wanted used you happy, not see you dead, there's alot of things I wish I could change"

"Like what?"

"I'd like it to stop. All of it. I don't want people to suffer for me. I don't want people to starve while I have more food then I'll ever eat, I don't want women to give up there bodies for food or just the safety they won't die tomorrow. And I… I wanna marry you, not just have you as some little slave girl who I have sex with. I want to marry you, make you my queen"

"That sounds very nice Thomas" she smiled nuzzling with my neck

"I will, someday. I promise" I smiled kissing her head.

I sat on my throne bored, nothing was going on so I just had to sit here.

"A drink my king" y/n smiled bringing me some wine

"Thank you darling" I smiled taking it from her "why am I doing this?"

"I don't know my king. The advisor says you must"

"He says I must do alot of things" I sighed "y/n, come sit with me"

"I can't my king it is the throne" she says

"Do you deny your king?"

"Never" she blushed

"The come and sit with me" I smiled she giggled and came sitting beside me but both of us barely fit "hang on." I said moving her hips to sit on my lap "there. That's better isn't it darling" I smiled kissing her cheek

"Much better my king, much cosier" she giggled

"Umm bet your much more used to sitting here"

"Very much so" she giggled

"Now… as were alone. How about we, have a little fun" I whispered and she giggled and nodded "that's my girl" I smirked making her stand a moment as I tugged my pants down she giggled and pulled her dress up, she moved back and gently slipped down my cock every inch pushing Inside her heavenly pussy "ummmm you feel so good. Why would I ever need any other woman in the world" I smirked gently moving her hips to move her back and forth sending ripples of pleasure across us both, I bit on her shoulder a little to stop my moans "ummm quiet darling, we'd be in alot of trouble I'd we got caught" I smirked

"The king fucking a slave girl on the throne of the kingdom" she giggled

"I'm sure knowone would blame me they saw your gorgeous pussy" I smirked starting to bounce her up and down "but there not going to. Only I get to see my beautiful darling" I smirked getting faster and faster trying hard not to moan, I moved a hand up her dress to fondle her breast as she bounced faster and faster I bit down hard giving her shoulder love bites to stop myself from screaming and from someone hearing us I felt her tighten she moved my hand to her mouth to muffle her screams as she came I smirked and kept bouncing her until I hit my own groaning into her ear as I finished as deep in her as I could making she she got every drop. And just as we walked down I heard footsteps, she quickly jumped off my lap and stood by the throne as usual fixing her dress I smirked blowing her a kiss and doing my pants back up and just as I did the door opened with my advisor and the council with some rather unimportant news, I was barely listening just smirking to myself glancing at her beside me seeing how tight her thighs and legs where as she desperately tried not to drip everything down her legs.

I sat in the meeting room undeniably nervous, I kept y/n close to me, I heard them marching down the corridor, I held my breath as the doors flew open showing five men, my uncle in the centre

“Hello Nephew”

“Hello Uncle,”

“You think I can be summoned to your audience like some damn dog!”

“Well you clearly can”

"What do you want"

"I want. This to stop. The attacks on my people the desecration on my lands the -"

"Enough. I understand" he says "you've grown up. Starting to really sound… like your father"

"It's been a while since I saw you last"

"Just because your older. Doesn't make you anymore of a king. I cannot simply call of my men, they have a habit of doing whatever the want" he smirked as the men he brought with him beg wrecking the room "that's something you don't understand is it, when people don't do whatever you ask of them"

"I am the king!'

"And they are not your people they are mine, I am there king. So why would they listen to you"

"Because I'll execute them if they don't"

"Will you now? You know the rules kiddo you hurt one of mine or I hurt one of yours" he smirked "she's beautiful" he smirked looking at y/n

"She is no concern of yours"

"Isn't she? I think she is" he smirked "hello beautiful" he smirked going over to where she stood "you get more beautiful every time I visit" he smirked his hand on her arse

"Do not touch her"

"Why? She's a slave, is what's she's for" he smirked "infact, for dragging us all this way. boys! For a present for you!" He smirked throwing her over to the other men who started grabbing at her

"Leave her alone!" I yelled "by all the gods in this world you will leave her be!"

"Oooh you really do like her don't you, naughty naughty liking a little slave girl, let's see what you like about her then" he laughs "boys, have you turn with her" he ordered

"No! You leave her alone!"

"Ignore him, carry on!"

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