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moonbaby26 · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Escape

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Notes: Actual pairing interaction starts in the second section after the Reader character gets out of the elevator, feel free to skip down to that if you like. Reader thinks about Peter in the first section, but it is more setting up how they got so separated from the others, plus a Wolvie cameo. I wanted Peter x Reader to be able to have more interaction away from the group.

Summary: Continuation of previous chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse. You and the others have been taken to Stryker’s base and must survive to find your way out together.

Warnings: Wolverine cameo advisory with a 100% chance of stabby stab. Mild language.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

——————————

“The day of reckoning is here.”

Your eyes opened at once, that unmistakeable voice now reverberating through your mind as fluorescent lights passed one after another above you.

“Professor?” You breathed aloud, immediately trying to sit up on the moving gurney.

But the restraints were drawn too tightly as your head only rebounded backward just as quickly when your torso didn’t rise in tandem.

“Shit!” the guard to your left cursed, his hand drawing back from the gurney rail at your sudden movement.

You turned your head towards him, confused, even as the professor’s words continued in your mind.

Yet Xavier’s voice sounded strange, forced. And you didn’t understand the context. Was it a warning? A threat to someone?

It didn’t really seem to fit the current circumstances to say it was directed at you or your captors. But he only kept speaking.

“The dawn of a new era will emerge. For there is nothing you can do...to stop what is coming.”

The two guards were looking around too then, reacting in sync with the telepathic message leaving you no doubt that they could hear it as well.

But why would Xavier be in their heads too? Did he already know where you were?

One guard chided the other, as if the two of them didn’t both have the same frightened expression. “Damn stun pulse is wearing off it is all, just hurry up and finish this transport. Colonel Stryker wants it taken to the lower testing bay,”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing that voice?” The other guard retorted, “What the hell is that?”

Did they just call you an ‘it’? What was this place? Not a hospital surely. But you could barely dwell on the implications of the guard’s words ‘lower testing bay’, and the impending threat that represented as your last memories finally began to bubble up.

The X-Mansion in rubble, the helicopters swooping in over the trees, the students and staff unconscious in the grass, that soldier cracking your ribs, and-

Peter.

He was a stranger to you still, but he’d been right there against you. Surely you had drawn more attention to him just because your powers had let you resist a few moments longer than the others. Because you’d been so stubborn, not going down until you’d been forced to.

If these men had hurt any of your friends, you would be furious. But if Peter, who had also saved so many of your friends was now in more severe danger because of your actions, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.

“Where did you take the others!?” You arched against the restraints abruptly, your palms opening to face upward, trying to summon any bit of your energy at all. A wisp, an orb, anything that could have helped you right now. You had to find your friends.

But nothing came. Not even a glow or flicker of what you truly were as you now had both guards’ full attention.

“Freak! Just shut up!” One of them shoved the gurney in retaliation to your outburst, the caster wheels rattling across the concrete floor before the bed rail hit against one of the walls, jarring you painfully.

“Those with the greatest power. Protect those without. That's my message to the world.”

Xavier concluded his words then. And somehow, that sounded more like himself than any of the rest of it. The real meaning still eluded you, but hearing him in that tone at least meant he was okay. He was somewhere urging the rest of you on. At least this part you knew was true as you took a calming breath, realizing panic and anger would serve you nothing right now.

Something was blocking your powers. That much was obvious. It would be unrealistic to think that the effects of any stun weapon would be this long lasting though.

On the other hand, you knew chemicals existed that could also temporarily block mutations. Hank used one almost medicinally whenever he didn’t wish to be in his true “Beast” form. But it had to be injected direct into the veins to have any real effect.

You could feel that they hadn’t removed any of your clothing, nor had they rolled up the long sleeves you were wearing. You doubted they would risk a chemical like that wearing off at an inopportune time and likely would have started an IV if they possessed anything of that nature.

There were no tubes or lines attached to you that you could tell, only the restraints now holding you to this bed. Leather straps across your body, metal cuffs on your ankles and wrists-

But wait, you were able to move your head as you’d already discovered. You shifted it again, trying to get a better feel of what was around your neck. Metal as well, but loose as you could still lift your head up enough to see it just a bit. It and its dull, red status light.

Inhibitor collar, you realized with an all new dread sinking in. You had heard of these of course, but it was the kind of thing that students sheltered at Xavier’s school would never have to dream of really. Something you never thought you’d have to experience personally.

How naive.

But you still couldn’t give up. Your mind was racing as you tried to come up with any strategies now. Your options were so limited, but they couldn’t keep you tied down forever. Surely they’d have to move you to a more permanent containment at some point, untie you if even for a moment.

Yet, there were guns as well. You hadn’t missed that detail, but you considered it more fully now as you glanced to the long barrells swaying behind each guard’s back as they pushed you along.

They were slowing now though. You raised your head enough again to see elevator doors nearing. The lower testing bay, you remembered them saying.

But just as one guard had started to reach for the keypad beside the doors, an alarm blared, all three of you startling at the sound.

Orange lights lit up along the walls, spinning in time with the sirens.

“Weapon X is loose. I repeat, Weapon X is loose!” A man’s unnerved voice sounded over speakers you couldn’t see, echoing down the corridors.

You could only watch as both guards spun around on their heels at that, guns immediately drawn. The one thing you could be absolutely sure of then, was that you were now the very least of their concerns.

Before you could consider how to use this surprise in your favor though, screams and the echo of gunfire erupted seemingly on top of you all.

The guards were terrified. This could be your only chance.

“Take this collar off of me, please! I can help you!” You weren’t begging as much as you were truly trying to reason with them. “Look, this is serious right!?”

More men were screaming just around the corner. Only feet away now. Clearly their time to consider had run out.

You saw one of the guards glance down at you, weighing your offer if just for that moment. The other was still staring straight ahead, gun braced, body rigid.

“FIRE!” The one not looking at you screamed, and that was it. It was too late.

You flinched as the gunfire rang deafening in your ears, the muzzle flashes just above you while empty bullet shells rained onto the floor.

You didn’t know how many bullets their gun magazines could hold, but the barrage seemed to just go on and on until an inhuman snarl rose even above the pounding gunshots.

Like a blur he was upon them. One guard was immediately thrown against a nearby wall, as if he were made of paper. His gun didn’t even faze the attacker.

You were frozen as you had to watch him die in front of you. Metal blades impaled the guard, blood splatter running down the wall as his body fell. You wished the other guard would have just turned and ran, but that probably would have been fruitless now too if you were being honest.

The attacker had turned immediately back around, one slash knocking the gun away from the remaining guard, and the second taking out his throat.

You were too in shock to do anything but close your eyes in the moment you felt some of the blood hit you. It was warm was all you could really process, before you opened your eyes again to now see the killer standing over you.

His breath was fast, eyes black, no emotion evident but rage. He had no clothing on him above the waist, just muscular and bloodied with metal cords coming out of his body and attaching to some sort of helmet.

You heard the random sound of more bits of metal hitting the ground, and thought you saw a few bullets working out in reverse from his flesh.

He was one of you then, a mutant.

But you were afraid to speak. Anything could set him off again.

He was looking down at you, through you really. You thought you saw his eyes go to your throat. The collar? Or maybe you just imagined it. Everything was happening in just seconds.

His arm swung suddenly, those blades were part of him you realized, attached to his fists as they came for you. At least it would be a quick death.

You felt a burning, heard ripping and even the metal of the bed breaking as he struck more than once.

“He’s here!” Someone else screamed from back down the hallway and the gunfire started all over again.

You moved at the sound, why you didn’t know, it should have been all over regardless. But in your amazement, you realized you could move. His claws had broken through the restraints, broken the bolts that held you to the bed. You were bleeding, but only from cuts as he’d grazed you.

He’d freed you.

The gurney tumbled over with a clatter as you jumped from it. But bullets were hitting all around you as the guards continued to fire at him. You still had the inhibitor collar on, so you couldn’t defend from that. You weren’t bulletproof like him.

And he was already charging them again, but there were so many this time. A bullet grazed your arm, and you knew you had to get out of there now.

You turned, hitting the elevator keypad. You had no choice as you wouldn’t make it out of this hallway otherwise. You ducked inside as soon as the doors opened, trying to stay against the sides even as bullets were now hitting the back of the elevator. The only way was down, and you took it.

As the doors closed, and the elevator finally sank below the firing line, you allowed yourself some real breaths.

To think, just hours ago your main concern had only been whether or not you were ready for Hank’s organic chemistry final. You’d laugh if you weren’t still trembling a little, clothes torn and blood all over, most of it not even your own.

Now it was time to find the others and a way out.

—————————

“(Y/N)?” You heard in your mind, pausing in the abandoned hallway you were now wandering down. You’d left the elevator behind some time ago, but hadn’t yet found any other way back off this level.

“Jean?” You answered aloud, both surprised and relieved. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. We are now. I saw them take you too, but where are you?”

Talking to a telepath was always a bit strange. You could feel her own stress and anxiety as she began to fill your mind. She wanted to see what you were seeing.

You looked around you to oblige her, but from what you could tell every corridor only looked like more of the same in this labyrinth.

“I got into an elevator when all the shooting started, when that man-“

“Logan. We met him too. He’s escaped now, he-” She paused, your recent memories now visible to her. “He helped you.”

“He did.” You felt she both was and wasn’t surprised at this.

“Anyway,” She continued as if something was distracting her, like she was physically talking to someone else, while mentally talking to you. “The Professor needs us. We’re sending Peter to find you. He’ll bring you to us and then we’re leaving together.”

“Okay,” Was all you could answer, as you felt Jean leave your mind abruptly at that. You remembered Xavier’s odd speech earlier, something you really hadn’t had time to deconstruct any further with everything else that had happened immediately after. You supposed they would fill you in when you were all reunited.

But you did feel a significant weight leave your shoulders at the mention of Peter’s name, even though it sounded like this horrific day was still far from over. He was okay too then at least. You hadn’t screwed up enough to get him hurt in a way you couldn’t take back.

Yet how long would it take for him to find you? Should you just stay in place, or go back to the elevator now? You hadn’t found any stairwells or other-

“(Y/N)?”

You’d be lying to say you didn’t almost fall over in surprise as a tiny gust of air was the only other thing that announced him as Peter was suddenly standing beside you.

“You’re as bad as Kurt!” You gasped, before you could stop yourself. You clenched one fist at your side, at least having the self control not to punch him right in the arm as you might have done with some of the boys at school if they had given you that kind of scare.

“That’s the blue kid with the tail right? Not to be confused with the big blue hairy guy, he’s the one that told me your name by the way, or the blue famous chick from TV?” He shook his head, but his eyes were amused. “You guys have some kind of quota on the color blue or what?”

You stared at him. He did like to talk didn’t he?

When you didn’t respond right away, you saw his eyes wander down, then back up. “Red said you’d be a bit of a mess, but you sure you’re okay?”

Your shirt was torn from well, now you knew him as Logan...that man’s claws. Those cuts were still bleeding a bit, but the guard’s blood was on you as well. The metal shackles were also still on your wrists and ankles, though their chains had been broken, and the inhibitor collar was around your neck. Yes, you must look quite a sight.

“You mean Jean,” you corrected. She must have given him some warning at least before sending him. “Yeah, I’m fine. So you found another way out of here, we should-”

But he didn’t seem to be listening, either that or you weren’t very convincing on the being okay sentiment.

He looked quite serious all of the sudden. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you when Colonel douchebag was trying to work you over.”

You blinked. What was he talking about?

“Stryker I guess they said his name was, the guy that kicked you back at the house.” He just continued. “That piece of shit bailed already.”

“How did you know about that?” You asked honestly. Peter had been unconscious as far as you’d known.

“I mean I was in and out,” He answered, seemingly understanding your confusion now. “But uh...” He hesitated, kind of an awkward smirk building then. “I definitely remember you laying on me. The impact wasn’t that great, but afterward was pretty nice.”

Your felt a heat rising to your face immediately. The absurdity of being physically embarrassed at his implication and tone, as you stood here literally bleeding in the belly of some mutant torturing black ops lab was not lost on you.

“Look, I...” You didn’t even know what to say, but you knew if you didn’t start talking now you were never going to recover control here. “I’m really glad they didn’t hurt you, and I’m sorry too if I got you involved deeper in all of this. And I want to thank you for pulling everyone out of the mansion this morning. We owe you so much. I just-” Oh man, where were you even going with this? You looked to him still feeling like you were just digging yourself deeper, “You can stop me anytime now you know?”

He was now outright grinning. “You’re welcome, babe.”

Not helping. AT ALL.

You were staring at him again. “They’re going to be waiting on us, you know,” You felt you were going to be pleading with him in a moment.

“I know, places to be, worlds to save...” He just moved closer and you tensed a little bit. He noticed, but stood his ground. “I have to brace you or you’re just going to be hurt even more when I run you back to them.”

“So is that how you do it, then? You’re just that fast?” You asked honestly. His actual mutation wasn’t something there’d been any chance to discuss. You could infer only so many ways he would have been able to evacuate those in the mansion almost instantaneously. But you knew teleporters too, even people who could move through reality on other planes. There was always more than one way to do something.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” He chuckled, smirking enough for you to know he was still just picking with you as one of his hands went behind your head and the other to your ribs to brace you. He really did know where you’d been hit then.

His hands were warm, and you could smell that damn cologne again now as you tried to ready yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You didn’t know what you had expected. You knew how it felt to take off in a jet, or slam the gas pedal down in one of the Professor’s expensive cars, or ride on a really intense roller coaster. But this wasn’t that. There wasn’t even any time for your brain to register the acceleration. It felt like just a single heartbeat before you were standing back in front of those elevator doors with him.

It was the deceleration that hit you. By the time your body knew it was moving, it had already stopped again, your organs lurching and your equilibrium completely thrown off as vertigo took over. You leaned forward immediately, trying not to dry heave as puking seemed almost imminent.

He took one of your hands, his other hand moving down from your ribs to your waist as he helped support you still.

“It’ll pass. It happens to everyone the first time,” He spoke, probably the softest tone you’d heard from him to this point.

“You’re telling me there are people who have been-” You swallowed, fighting that nausea back down. “have been with you multiple times?” You meant to say multiple times like that. People who needed to be rescued this way multiple times. You stood up, still queasy as you tried to face him and correct this blunder immediately. Why did this guy have you so flustered!?

“I’m not normally like this,” you stammered, waiting for some great retort from him as you’d just left yourself wide open with that slip.

It was only then that you realized he still had one hand on your waist, and you were now facing him, just inches apart. And the silence was worse. It was much worse while he was just looking back at you.

“No,” He finally said, “I uh...I don’t have anyone that’s stayed around long enough for that.”

He wasn’t joking at all now and you knew it.

“I didn’t mean...” You started, but stopped again when you didn’t know how to finish.

But the vulnerability was gone just as soon as it’d come. His smirk returned as he let go of you, moving forward to hit the keypad for the elevator. “I did look for stairwells by the way, if you were wondering. It only took me as long as it did to find you down here because this damn elevator is slow as hell.”

You actually were a little relieved to finally be focusing back to the task at hand. But you still felt an unspoken conversation lingering that would need to be continued later. You wanted him to know who you really were.

And honestly...you now wanted to know who he really was.

The harsh buzz from the keypad brought you back to attention as Peter hit it again.

A tiny screen blinked “CODE ERROR” in red as he groaned. “It didn’t need a damn code to come down, that makes no sense!”

You responded in a few moments, realizing the likely truth fairly quickly. “But it would make sense if you were more concerned about things getting out of the lab than you were of things getting in.” The same would be true for the lack of entry and exit points. They surely weren’t concerned with fire safety or anything else but keeping their specimens captive when they built this place.

“Ugh, that’s dark,” He answered, glancing at you and then back to the keypad. “You’re almost making me not feel so bad for all the guys that looked like swiss cheese on the way down here. But lucky for you, you’ve got me, and these five hombres.” He waved his fingers at you before immediately beginning to punch in multiple codes in faster succession than of course would have been possible for anyone else.

“Peter, I don’t think-” You started, already having a good suspicion of how this might play out, before the keypad abruptly quit accepting inputs, the tiny screen then blinking LOCKOUT. The only thing that did surprise you was a new even thicker door suddenly closing over the original elevator doors.

And you couldn’t help it then. You laughed. A real laugh. It was just the dumbest icing on the cake. “Okay, Han Solo. I think that will do.” You didn’t care if he would understand the reference or not. You needed that laugh right now.

But he didn’t let you down. Not even for a moment. “Okay then Leia, then you show me how we’re getting past here to save the ugly little ewoks.”

You were still snickering a little, but you shook your head. “I can’t,” You motioned to the inhibitor collar still around your neck. “Not with this on. It’s blocking my powers.” You had hoped once you were all back topside that Hank would be able to disarm the thing. It was probably radio controlled or something like that. “We’ll have to wait on Jean and the others to realize we’re taking too long, they’ll come for us.”

“I don’t wait,” Peter retorted. “Besides, like I said, I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.” He tilted his head, eyeing you. “Really, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Sure you have,” You were skeptical, but it was actually hard to read him right now. Was he actually that curious about you? “And I’ve already tried to take it off, it doesn’t budge.”

“Again, babe. You didn’t have me before.” The smug tone was back, as he evidently had some plan you didn’t know if you were going to like or not.

“You realize, this thing is nearly against my jugular veins, right? What are you going to do?” You had every right to be hesitant you thought. Especially after the keypad failure.

“Just be still. I’m going to vibrate it apart.” He answered confidently.

Okay, now you really didn’t like this. “Again, head, throat, things I need to stay in one piece. What if it has some self destruct thing and explodes?”

“I can pull you away from that before it even burns you. How do you think your friends lived when your house blew up this morning?”

You could have mentioned Alex’s fate then, but that would have been needlessly cruel. Alex must have already been gone before Peter even entered the building. He did save everyone else you thought.

“Trust me,” Peter looked you in the eyes and you could feel yourself relenting.

You really did believe him it seemed. Hopefully that faith was not misplaced. “Please be careful,” You closed your eyes, going stock still.

“For you? Of course.”

You heard his jacket move, which told you he was raising his arms. Internally you tensed-

And then all you heard were pieces of metal and circuitry skittering across the floor in every direction. You were still standing exactly as you had been as you opened your eyes to a too pleased with himself Peter.

“Some shrapnel did try to go into your face, but I moved the pieces. No kaboom though.” His expression changed then to happily expectant, “So come on, I’ve helped three times now, the stage is now yours,” He made an exagerrated motion to the big metal door now blocking the elevator. “What’s your poison?”

Poison? An interesting way to put it, but you knew what he meant. All mutant abilities were both a gift and a curse. Yet even after all these years of meeting people of your own kind, it was still very personal to show someone your real self for the very first time.

Especially when you evidently cared what he thought of you as you realized your nerves were suddenly about much more than just being able to get open a door or not. How would he react?

You took a breath, still extremely aware of his eyes on you as you turned your palms upward. It was always easiest to start with your hands. But you’d need to bring the energy all the way through you to get the kind of power it was going to take to pull this door out.

There was a slight relief in you as your hands began to glow white after a moment. At least you knew you were no longer defenseless, that these people hadn’t taken your abilities permanently.

In your peripheral vision you could see Peter shift, but you didn’t look to him, trying to concentrate as the energy spread up your arms and you closed your eyes. It always felt so warm, like being in the sun on a clear day. It spread to your chest, legs, up your shoulders and over your face. Even through your hair as you willed the energy to lift you up, now completely enveloped until you were a silhouette of a person. Glowing in soft white light and levitating about a foot off the floor.

You opened your eyes again, feeling you had things in control enough now to speak to him. The tone of your voice changed slightly in this form though. There was a hum to it, the energy moving across your vocal chords like every other part of you.

“I’m going to try and pull the door out of the way and into the hall. Please be ready to move as I won’t have a lot of control over it once it gives. My effort is going to all be on breaking it.”

You looked to him after a moment though when he didn’t respond. You knew he was fast enough to keep himself safe obviously, but you had to be sure he was ready. Was he really just staring at you? “Peter?”

He blinked. “Yeah, uh. That’s...” He stepped back from the door, but never took his eyes off you, this weird expression on his face. “That’s cool.”

“Please mind the door,” You reiterated gently, not quite sure what to make of his reaction to your powers.

“Sure, sure thing.” He sounded more like himself then. “Do your deal.”

Your deal as he put it, involved willing this same energy now in a field around the door as you rose your hand up to control it. Once you were sure you had it solidly, you began pulling your hand back, trying to pull the door out of its railing.

It gradually started to creak, but like you’d thought, this was going to take some real doing. You pulled harder and harder, the metal just groaning louder. “Come on,” You spoke, not really sure if you were talking more to yourself or the door.

Your arm was starting to really ache with the effort. But just when you thought you might have to try something else after all, you finally felt the door give. And when it gave, it did so spectacularly. This massive chunk of metal collapsed, exploding out of its rail as it rocketed down the hallway. You just moved to the side to avoid it, the smaller pieces hitting you harmlessly in this form.

To your eyes it only looked like Peter disappeared and then reappeared as he also easily missed all the debris.

Once that obstacle was out of the way, you glided down, back to the normal elevator doors. They were slightly damaged from the removal of the larger door. But now it only took minimum effort to force them open.

You entered the elevator, the inner keypad was also blinking that same “LOCKOUT” error from earlier. So the elevator itself was going nowhere. But this was now no longer an issue for you.

“I can carry us up,” You looked to Peter, though unsure how comfortable he would be with this new idea.

He was standing at the entrance of the elevator already, watching you still. You could see the wheels in his head turning. And then he finally asked. “So, you’re glowing...and flying. Is this like radioactive glow, or I just need some sunscreen kind of glow?”

“It’s just light energy in the visible spectrum.” You answered reflexively. “But not even UV, the wavelength itself doesn’t cause any damage. It’s only when I make it solid or make it unstable that I can do anything harmful with it.”

You could see he may have skipped the lessons on long and short wave energy and radiation in science class as he just kept staring.

“You’re fine, it’s safe” You smiled. Certainly not the first time you had heard such questions. “The Professor and Hank had me tested from the very beginning, I never would have been allowed so close to other students without more precautions if I was that dangerous.”

“So you’re...close to some other students?” He asked almost tauntingly, one eyebrow raised, and it took you a moment before you realized he may be getting back at you for your comments from before.

It was probably just the fact that you were in your energy form now, but you felt confident enough to respond just as quickly, “It’s more like the Brady Bunch than what you’re thinking. Like having a whole house of little brothers and sisters.”

You had already opened up the ceiling of the elevator while the two of you talked, looking up now to the empty shaft and elevator cables. It’d be much easier to move the two of you rather than to try and lift the whole elevator. You reached a hand out to Peter. “I can lift us up the shaft to the floor that the others are on and open the doors, then you can take us to them. Deal?”

You had trusted him to bring you here, as well as to remove that collar from you. Would he now trust you to bring him up several floors without dropping him?

He was looking at your hand. “I probably could just run up the walls you know.”

You paused, realizing you hadn’t considered that. You didn’t really know what all he was capable of truly. But just as you started to lower your hand, he surprised you by grabbing and holding it.

“Yet how many guys can say they flew with you, huh?”

“Practically none,” You admitted. “I don’t make a habit of picking up my friends.”

“You aren’t quite building confidence here.”

“I’m sure that door weighed more than you.”

“And look how it ended up. Again, not comforting.”

This guy was truly something else. “Come here, we take much longer and they really are going to be sending a search party for us.”

You extended the energy from your hand across his body gently. He was obviously much lighter than the door, and the closer you kept him, the easier it would be to move the both of you.

You tried not to make eye contact with him again as you levitated the two of you through the top of the elevator and up through the shaft. Even though you knew you were fully capable of doing this, you still didn’t want to lose focus.

But his voice didn’t sound frightened at all as he spoke up to let you know how high to go. “They’re on the top floor, we’re stealing a jet to get out of here.”

“Wow, but okay. Got it,” You sped up a little at that, no longer worried about passing your landing point as you went straight to the top.

When you reached the highest doors, you were able to force them open with a turn of your free hand, bringing you and Peter safely through and back onto solid ground.

You powered down immediately as your feet met the floor, the light fading back into your body until you were just standing there in your torn, bloody clothes once more. “Okay, I’m ready to get nauseous again, let’s go.”

He actually squeezed your hand before he let go of it in order to brace your head and ribs again. “For the record that felt pretty good. You’re really warm. Zero g’s was cool too. Thanks.”

“Um...you’re welcome?” You answered, a little flustered all over again to your own dismay, and really not knowing what else to say before he whisked you away in an instant.

It really was going to be the longest day ever.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

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tiens-letters · 4 years ago

Text

upon autumns day, where you and I met. upon autumns day where I remember all of what we were before youve passed. and upon autumns day would I have ever so slowly let go of that pain of the past

zhongli (angst)

@albeidoof its somewhere here hehehe

Time was a luxury. A treasure each and everything holds.

Yet time is a curse as well. It covets, devours and leaves. which humanity neglects to cherish until the heart ceases its steady rythmn, only then do they regret of the wasted minutes, hours and seconds.

Beneath the flow of the rushing waves of things that have come and gone. Only on this particular day would he sit beneath a certain tree. The rough bark brushing up against his back as leaves fell effortlessly to the ground, as if it were ready to let go of from the branches that gave birth to it, only to return once again to the waiting soil.

It was a sunny afternoon, clear of any clouds and only clear unblemished blue, a good time to enjoy a warm cup of tea yet there was no energy in his bones to even move from where he was.

He felt exhausted. Desultory even.

Gone were the halcyon days of the past, and now the present time of the vivid reality he had to face.

Morax, rex lapis, the geo archon. Names that weighted more than one could carry, memories that shackled his soul that lived for a thousand years on end, all but a stain that could never be washed away.

The breeze slowly danced in, playing with his hair softly, kissing his skin and welcoming him. It carried a hint of aromatic essence only he would know belongs to.

You.

He tried to desperately recount the days after youve left the face of the earth and yet he could not remember or did his mind not allow him to as if he did, it would bring him terrible and heavy consequences for an answer, one sane mind would never want to know.

Sighing, he sat back and recalled back the memories of you instead. When you were alive, warm and breathing in his arms. He remembers the way your eyes would shine brightly whenever he would be around, or the small sound of delight you would make when you have finished another one of the many interesting blends of tea youve done over the course of a week of mixing different flowers and tea leaves. Youve made up quite the fortune with this as your little hobby bloomed into a fully run business known across teyvat.

"Zhongli." he froze, youve never called him by his name ever since youve started getting close, it made him feal uneasy as he turned to look at you who stood by the doorway, a neutral look on your face.

"y-yes?" nervousness clawed at him as he racked his brain to what he couldve done for you to call his name like that, he couldnt think of any.

"I came back from the market and I heard youve made quite the generous payment. Why is that, I wonder?" he's done it again, that spending habit of his

"The price was reasonable for such a fine ceramic tea set, I dont seem to find why it shouldnt reflect its quality?" you sighed as you pointed towards the glass cupboard behind him

"You bought the same exact set a week ago, Zhongli. Thats why." having to realize his mistake after looking over the two identical set that on the shelf, he turned to apologize but only to see you missing from the doorway. Footsteps can be heard from the floorboards above him. You were upset.

After minutes of pacing in the living room, he finally mustered the courage to climb the stairs and enter your shared bedroom. A figure already under the sheets as the warm glow of the lamp illuminated your delicate features. The mattress sunk as he sat beside you, fingers brushing away the stray hair that fell on your face.

"Im still mad at you Zhongli." his hand flinched slightly at the way you called him

"I apologize. I seem to not have learned my lesson again. I would gladly return the set tomorrow."

"Its no use, they dont accept refunds." you replied without sparing a glance at him

"What can I do for you to forgive me then?"

"Just go to sleep, Zhongli." groaning you reached for the switch to shut the lamp off but a gentle grip stopped you, forcing you to look at his gloomy expression. Perhaps you went too far this time.

"Please stop calling me in that way. I dont like it." he whispers, drawing your palm to his lips, leaving small kisses upon it. He sure does know his way around your heart, no wonder why you could not stay mad at him.

"Just be mindful next time." you cursed yourself for being weak to his charms.

"I will." yet something was missing "Then can you call me as you did before?"

"Zhongli?" you could see the slight grimace in his face as you teased him

"Stop it." he kissed you without warning "Call me as you did before."

However, his lips didnt stop as they began to travel. From your cheeks to you forehead and then to your neck. Oh dear, he wasnt having any of your teasing.

"A-li." you giggled beneath him as he finally stopped and met your gaze

"Thats better."

He still remembers the faint smile that graced your lips whenever he would wake up next to you tangled in the same sheets. The softness of your skin on his calloused touch. Your lips melting his and your voice lulling his raging mind to peace.

Then everything changed when you drew blood that spilled from those lips he's kissed for a thousand times, painting a morbid image on the sheets. Anger and despair boiled inside of him once he learned of the secret youve kept. Zhongli was a calm and collected man all of the time except when he was with you.

Having to witness him at such a point felt as if his own spear was being driven right through his very chest. He held you in an arms width away, the panic and pain in his eyes increasing over the minute as he begged for you to explain why youve decided to lie about the flowers that bloomed in your lungs, the sickness youve inherited from your deceased mother, whose fate you soon would follow. You didnt want him to find out, not in this way.

He couldve done anything if he knew from the start but alas, you wanted to be cruel, thinking it was for the best. Until your symptoms persisted, a heavy reminder of the remaining distance of the string you have to walk on to reach the end. The heavy feeling in your chest started to worsen as cherry sweet liquid poured from your mouth.

Soon the once pristine sheets were stained in haunting crimson shades as you heaved and he watched in agony. If only he had the ability of what he once had back then, if only he could plant the seeds of the flowers from yours to his then he would, if only he hadnt met you one autumn evening

" please dont look at me like that. " you told him, cold hands caressing his cheeks, catching the streams of salty warm beads that fell freely from your darling's amber eyes.

"Im sorry. Im so sorry..." the last thing you wanted to see was this man to cry. The last thing you wanted to see was to see him relive the past tragic memories you promised to bring him out of

" my disease has nothing to do with you. In the end it was mine alone to handle. oh, you are far from that so please dont you ever blame yourself."

"How can I not? If I havent fallen so deep then you would experienced so much more in life, you couldve been happier if you met someone else. Yet you chose me and I couldnt give you anything, I--. " the words knotted up as he began to shake, hands holding yours as knuckles turned to white

You slapped him.

With all the strength youve gathered in that fading body of yours. The sound cutting the grieving sounds that spilled from him, soul and flesh alike.

"A-li, look at me. Do I look like someone whose unsatisfied with what youve given me? Did my smile ever fade when Im with you? Did your affections ever lack? Answer me." his watery gaze met yours, a torrent of emotions swimming in them

"No. Never." a soft smile was carved unto your lips

"My dear, youve given me all Ive ever wanted in this life and I regret nothing of it."

To him, you were the flower that bloomed at the highest peak of the mountain he's never reached and yet its petals voluntarily detached and fell down, making him the happiest as one thing he's admired was untouchable and now, lay softly in the palm of his hands. To cherish and to protect.

But of course, all things are evanescent.

The familiar feeling of soreness that wasnt supposed to be there rose, ebbed and flowed through his throat. He knew it all too well, it was after he woke from his week long slumber did he feel it along with what his ancient beating heart felt.

"You collapsed." the worried words of the qixing echoed in his head. He frantically got up but as soon as his feet touched the floor did his legs give out underneath him, what use was he in this sorry state. He was helped up and sat back on the edge of the bed.

He wanted to ask many things yet was unable to.

Ningguang spoke as if you were still breathing and was visiting her minutes ago with another one of your tea blends. "Dont worry and rest first, go to jueyun karst after. They will be waiting."

To where the adepti resides, who as well, favored you, that one soul among thousands of others. One to which they shared a few good memories with was allowed to slumber there in peace.

Zhongli found himself waking up to the sun setting in the horizon. Just like how youve gone and resurfaced back into his memories. It was time.

He stood up from where he sat, gloved hands brushing any dirt that clung to him as he made his way to where you slept.

The red bean that was planted by himself still remained, a token of his love for you. Picking one bead and placing it inside the hollow dice he brought along, completing another one of the similar handicraft he's made every visit.

The sun finally died and the moon began its reign. The small wisps of light gathered around before him, forming a blurry image.

It was then he felt at ease, he saw you smiling at him with all there is in the world. Your light seemed to dim a little, hinting the blessing the adepti gave was slowly diminishing. Soon your visits would cease and you were sure that by the end of the power spent, he wouldve let go of the torment that plagued him.

"A-li. Have you been well?" he knew what you meant

"Im letting go slowly my dear. Perhaps in time, I would learn breathe easily once again."

Longest yet lol. Hope yall liked it ehehe

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhonglixreader #genshin impact drabbles #zhongli angst #morax

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chocoholicannanymous · 3 years ago

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If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Part XV

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI, pt VII, part VIII, part IX, part X, part XI, part XII, part XIII and part XIV.

Being Sebastian's boyfriend really isn't that much different from being his friend. They do a lot of the same things, and talk about the same stuff, only now there's hand-holding and kissing and cuddling with it. Apart from the touching though? Nothing really changes much.

Which kind of makes it sound like how it was with Blaine.

It's not though.

Sebastian will hold his hand in the hallway without worrying about being seen. And yes, Dalton is different from McKinley – so, so much different, and safer – but Blaine even hesitated to hold Kurt's hand in the choir room, surrounded by friends.

Sebastian kisses him in a way that never leaves Kurt doubting there's attraction, and has to stop his hands from wandering too far on a regular basis – yet never making Kurt worry he won't stop.

Sebastian makes Kurt have to stop himself, both from allowing it and from doing his own wandering. They're still too new to go there, no matter how much Kurt's hormones sit up and beg every time Sebastian touches him. (They'll get there, Kurt's sure, just... Step by step, and not yet.)

Sebastian reaches out for Kurt without looking – sometimes seemingly without thinking – to pull him close, and always makes a space for him.

And when Sebastian sings, it's with Kurt, or for him, not at him.

It's a far cry from scheduled make-outs and avoiding even PG13 levels of PDA and being made to feel like his boyfriend is more interested in his own hand than in Kurt.

It's amazing.

There's a rainbow rose hanging on Kurt's door on Valentine's day. He and Sebastian have been dating for two days – a day and a half, if he was to be picky – and Kurt knows from last year's insanity that there's not a flower shop within two hours of Vesterville that carries rainbow roses. They have to be ordered special, and with a lot more warning than two days.

Kurt's not the least bit ashamed about how he squeals, or how he turns on his heel and kisses his boyfriend (!) for long enough to be a little dizzy afterwards.

This isn't to say that Sebastian is a perfect boyfriend. He's not. Then again, neither is Kurt. He's working from romantic movies and the examples from the New directions, and of course from his time with Blaine. Neither is a good road map. Romantic movies have so many flaws Kurt don't really want to examine, and a lot of his favorites are set too far back in time to be useful as guidelines. The loves lives of his old glee mates are...well. They're flawed too, when seen without rose-colored glasses and envy.

As for his relationship with Blaine... Even if he's not counting how it ended that relationship was so very less than perfect, and honestly it was both their faults. Kurt's not without blame, he knows that and can admit it without somehow pretending what Blaine did wrong never happened.

So he's trying to learn from his mistakes, and other people's mistakes, and he does his best to communicate with Sebastian – who does the same in return.

Also, no one can say that they don't argue. They definitely do. They have from the beginning, and they're both opinionated passionate people, so why should they stop now? Their relationship has changed – they themselves haven't.

It's just that they manage to argue in a way that works. That doesn't makes Kurt pull out his claws to eviscerate Sebastian, that doesn't scare Kurt, or make him give in to “preserve the peace”. That, right there, was one of the things that had sent his relationship with Blaine down the wrong turn. When he'd first told his dad that he'd begun dating Blaine Burt Hummel had told him never to go to bed angry with his partner. He'd meant to sort out arguments and disagreements, but Kurt had interpreted it as needing to back down and push down his anger or hurt. With Sebastian he doesn't.

They argue, because that's who – and how – they are, but they do it in as mature and healthy way as they are able to, being teenagers. And they apologize if they step over the line. Not Kurt apologizes, regardless, with Sebastian pouting until he does, but both of them.

If Kurt had to, he'd call it damned near perfect. Instead he'll just say it's good, and he's happy.

That's never something to look down on.

The week of Regionals is weird. Kurt's never felt as prepared or as calm with a competition approaching, which is rather telling. The rest of the Warblers are a different story though. Kurt has made it clear that his primary goal is to beat the Troubletones, and his friends are feeling the pressure. They even ask if Kurt and Sebastian won't reconsider singing 'Human Nature'.

“Look, guys, I'm honored, really, that you would trust me, us like that. But I want to win more than I want that solo. And even if we ignore the fact that Ohio doesn't seem ready for a gay duet, I really do think the setlist we have is stronger as is. The Troubletones have a great presence, and both Mercedes and Santana are awesomely talented. However, everything about the Troubletones are built around them. The rest of the girls are background and dancing. If we go on with a number that's the same they are going to win, for no other reason than that most people find girls prettier and nicer to look at.

“But if we go on as an actual choir, for a show choir competition? We'll win. I'm sure of it. We've worked so hard with our songs, and I wouldn't change a thing about our setlist.”

And it's true. They have an amazing setlist, and everything flows in a way that makes Kurt feel practically professional, and he's not giving that – and its chance to win – up to stare longingly at Sebastian while singing a song that exposes them to the core.

No. Kurt's going to have quite a lot more time in the spotlight than he'd expected when turning down a proper solo. He's going to sing with his friends, and his boyfriend, and he's going to show McKinley what it means to be a team onstage.

The Troubletones are just as amazing onstage as Kurt thought. They've done a good job picking their songs, and Mercedes still has the best voice he's ever heard live. Santana's not quite as talented, but give her the right song – which these are – and she'll blow your mind. Their choreography showcases the girls poached from the Cheerios without making Mercedes look too far behind, and their clothes look good.

Kurt would vote for them any day, even with Rachel being given a place in the background, except this one. This is going to be his day. He meets Sebastians eyes as they line up and nods.

Showtime.

'I want You Back' does exactly what it's meant to, namely getting the audience in a party mood. As the last notes flows into the first from 'Man in the Mirror' the mood shifts and Kurt feels his own shift with it. His solo feels a little raw, because in no way can he sing those lines without being reminded of all the crap he's gone through over the past 6 months.

“...a willow deeply scared, somebody's broken heart and a washed out dream...”

Well. His heart might have been broken, and his dreams about Blaine did wash out. But he's got new dreams, and his hearts healed, and no matter the scars he's whole where it matters. And even if he wasn't? He's looking in the mirror, and he's changing.

They bring the party back with their last song, giving their all transforming the sounds of 'Beat It' to sounds that can be reproduced by the human throat. The dancing is the most demanding Kurt's ever done onstage, and he knows he will definitely be beat after. But they look and sound awesome, and that's all that matters.

Or maybe not, he ruefully thinks as he sees Finn on his feet, jumping up and down and whooping as the Warblers are proclaimed the winners and Rachel looks like she's been pelted with eggs again.

“You stole our songs!”

Of course. All Kurt wants to do is get on the bus, go back to Dalton and celebrate. Okay, shower, then celebrate. So naturally Rachel is waiting to ambush him. Well, that's not going to go the way she's probably thinking.

“Really? Really Rachel, you're going there? You know very well that we didn't steal anything. Oh, I know that there was a suggestion that the New Directions do Michael for Sectionals, but I also know that you were the one who refused to accept it.

“You really blew it there. Michael is a great choice for Sectionals or Regionals, what with the Ohio mindset, and I'm pretty sure you would have won with the setlist the guys suggested. I'm not surprised you put a stop to it though.”

Rachel draws back, looking first shocked, then insulted, then finally like an angry goose, complete with hissing sound. He's not letting it touch him though, lets it run over him, one might say, like water over a goose.

“There are no songs in Michael Jacksons discography that's a given for you, no certainty that you'll be featured. And in the end, that's what mattered, wasn't it? Not that the New Directions won, but that you won. You wanted to beat the Troubletones, didn't you? Wanted to show that you were better than Mercedes, wanted to prove that her beating you when auditioning for Maria was just a fluke. Wanted to prove what everyone knows, that's she's every bit as good as you, and sometimes better, is wrong.

“Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted in terms of the setlist and the spotlight, but you fucked up everything else. And not just for you, but for everyone.”

An expression of pain flies across Rachel's face, and he pushes the knife in a little bit further.

“We weren't as blind though. The minute Finn told me about the Michael setlist I knew it was a winner. As did the other Warblers. I asked Finn first, and Sam and Puck. They didn't think we needed their permission, as you didn't use the songs, but they gave it any way.”

Kurt looks at Rachel, looks at the way she's still fuming, still refusing to see any other side than her own. It won't matter what he says – she'll keep ignoring any and all arguments against her. Once he might have tried harder to make her understand, but as things are he just wants to leave. His boyfriend's waiting and that makes Kurt out of time to spend on his former friend.

“Your loss, our gain.”

He starts to leave, but thinks better of it. He's got one more jab in him.

“Oh, and Rachel? Don't worry. Going to Nationals is a privilege, and we won't waste it. We've already gotten started on a setlist.”

It's petty, but. So's she.

That evening the Warblers celebrate as thoroughly as a bunch of uniformed boys in a well-staffed boarding school can. This means that it's late when Kurt drags Sebastian to his room (unlike him Sebastian's in a single), but neither of them is under the influence of anything but happiness.

That's important to Kurt as they tumble into Sebastian's bed while kissing, because he doesn't want there to be any doubt in Sebastian's mind that when Kurt pulls off his shirt and then goes for his fly it's because he wants to.

Having Sebastian stop him is frustrating, to say the very least.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

It's only the fact that it's Sebastian, and that he's shown himself trustworthy in so many ways over the past months that stops Kurt from storming out.

“I thought we... You know?”

It's so hard to say, to open himself up like this, years of being told he's a predator, or ugly, or plain wrong getting just as much in his way as the fact that he's never done this, and the only time he's been even close wasn't even about him.

Apparently he's going to have to use his words regardless, because Sebastian's not taking the opening.

“I thought we could have sex.” There. Words. Consent. Door wide open.

And yet Sebastian's still not taking the opening.

“What's the hurry?”

Kurt pulls back a little, hurt blooming.

“No, no, don't. Talk to me, okay? I'm a bit surprised I guess. We haven't even been dating for two months yet, and I know this is new for you.”

“So? It's not like I'm waiting for marriage.”

Kurt knows he sounds a bit snippy, and he has sort of been waiting – not for marriage, but for something, some feeling of more. He's got that feeling with Sebastian, so what's the point of waiting any longer? Everyone else his age (or so it feels) is having sex so why can't he?

Some of it must bleed through because Sebastian gets that “aha” look, and nods a bit.

“Look, regardless of what I might have said or implied when chasing Blaine, I'm actually not the whore of Babylon. I have, however, rounded a few bases and enjoyed them. I think you'd enjoy them too, and I would love to find out first hand. But that doesn't have to mean we go straight to fucking.” Kurt blushes, because he might be ready to do it, but those words...

“So. I'm not going to push, and I'm not going to rush. I am more than interested though, I'm just happy to take it a bit slow. To build up to every step. As far as I'm concerned you've earned that.”

Sebastian's looking so earnest it kills Kurt annoyance, and then lightning-quick it's replaced by a vicked look than makes him shiver all over.

“I wouldn't mind showing you the first of many, many bases now though. How about it, babe?”

Kurt doesn't mind either, neither then nor the next day.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #a wild sebastian appears #kurtbastian

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt 4

* Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part III (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. The two of you have made it to safety and now it’s time for the healing to begin.

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, medical related content, I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone. I expect to have at most, two more parts, 5 and concluding in 6.

Word count: 2293

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Lying flat on his back, Syverson stared morosely at the ceiling and listened to the gentle thwapping sounds of the bedside machine that was currently and eagerly siphoning fluids out of his intestines. He let his mind tick over what the machine was actually doing to him and blearily considered why he wasn’t in constant pain from the electronic manipulation of his own vulnerable flesh.

Surely those plastic tubes driven into his guts should hurt, right?

Sure, you’re right, his mind chattered, a little giddy to be imparting an unknown bit of information, but consider this: morphine – a wounded man’s best friend.

My best friend, he thought and then as if the devil knew it was being called, another machine beeped and a flood of soft luscious haziness rushed into his bloodstream and he immediately relaxed. This tired mind drifted and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into sleep.

Hours later, Syverson startled out of a clinging and sticky dream with a desperate gasp. He felt hot all over, stiff and aching and the very thought of trying to move elicited a terrible pain response. Hot, oily bile crept up in his throat and his mouth watered in that awful familiar process of preparing him to violently empty his stomach.

I have to sit up, his brain screamed. I have to sit up. I don’t want to puke still lying on my back!

A broad cool hand pressed down on his chest and another closed about his shoulder. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t make out the words through the heavy veiling fog that enveloped him. He tried to speak to the person, and tried to tell them that he was going to be sick.

‘It’s ok, Henry,’ a voice was telling him. ‘You’re ok. I’ll help you roll onto your side if you need to vomit.’

Swallowing jerkily, throat working hard to force the urge back down, Syverson clamped his teeth and shook his head.

‘All right. How about we move you a bit. Are you ok with that?’

Move? God no. I can’t bear that. Moving meant pain.

He shook his head again, but the warm voice came back to him, sounding much more insistent this time.

‘I can help you, Henry, or I’ll put the positioner in bed with you and it will make you move. We want to prevent pressure sores, remember?’

Syverson took in a breath and after a moment nodded to show that he understood. When the man leaned in close, Syverson could smell his cologne. It was a pleasant and fresh woodsy scent that reminded him of his cabin back home. A sudden homesick ache tightened his chest and tears wet his dry eyes. He didn’t like feeling that way, but everything seemed to be out of his control now. He hated it.

Nevertheless, he put his arms around the man’s shoulders and gritted his teeth when his body was repositioned and stretched out again on the stiff mattress.

He gasped and couldn’t believe how out of breath such a small exertion had left him. But, he noted, he did feel better and the nausea had subsided.

The urge to eat suddenly struck him and he blinked up at the nurse.

‘What time is it?’ he rasped, voice rusty from disuse.

‘You hungry?’ asked the nurse with a grin.

‘Yeah, I could eat,’ he answered, wriggling a little to get more comfortable in the pillows under his head.

‘I can get you something, but it’s after breakfast and not quite lunch.’

Syverson nodded. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

‘Fries and a coke, then,’ he said closing his eyes and grinning a little.

The nurse laughed and gently patted his shoulder condescendingly. With the state of Syverson’s gut, there was no way he was going to survive ingesting any amount of carbonation. That little fact didn’t stop the cravings though.

‘I’ll see if there’s some soup still left. I think it’s chicken.’

When he was alone again, the memories came back. After the jeep explosion, he was sure that he was going to die out in that sandy wasteland. Had it not been for you, he was sure that he would have died. Had it not been for the beautiful, plucky reporter, some stony faced military man would be paying his parents a visit to inform them of their youngest son’s passing and that his body would be flown home for burial.

Instead, he had been saved. And when he found that you’d been housed in the civilian wing of the hospital, he wanted to see you. He wanted to thank you for saving his life. When visiting you was denied, considering the fragile state of the both of you, Syverson had instructed that the well stocked gift shop be bought out and carted to your room, all with his heartfelt thanks.

He owed you his life. A few flowers and a couple of teddy bears was the least he could do.

The plastic and faux wood table rattled next to him and snapped Syverson out of his muse. He opened his eyes and watched as the nurse positioned the table over his bed and put down a ceramic bowl of steaming soup. He groaned and strained a little to help himself up into a sitting position.

The nurse was distracted and looking down into his other hand.

‘I ran into your girlfriend’s nurse in the hallway and she gave me this to give to you.’

God, he sounded so smug and Syverson wanted to punch him square in the face.

Girlfriend?

His brain searched for a face to put to the name but came up empty. He’d broken up with his ex more than five years ago, right before his latest deployment. And then it clicked.

The reporter. You.

The nurse handed the card to Syverson and upon seeing it, his heart sank. It was the same envelope that he’d sent along with the gifts. Had you refused his outpouring of affection? He slowly opened the envelope and breathed out with relief when he saw the new message that had been written for him.

He didn’t want to smile at the note in front of the gossipy nurse, as he didn’t want to encourage any nonsense rumours, so he kept his elated reaction to himself. But inside his heart soared and the soup tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten before.

The day that you both championed and dreaded finally arrived. The day you could get out of bed on your own and walk down to the men’s wing to pay your captain a visit. He had come a long way, you’d heard from the nurse, but would still have trouble doing any taxing travelling. However you were well enough to make the trip.

‘That is, if you still want to,’ said your nurse with a glint in her eye.

Oh, she thinks she’s funny, does she?

You sighed luxuriously and stretched back on your pillows. You’d managed to wrangle an extra set so that you could prop yourself up like a royal lady taking in visitors for the afternoon. You ran the edge of your thumbnail across the thick scar skirting the side of your left palm, scratching it lightly but thoroughly. You had recently had your bandages removed and the sight of your hands was shocking. The backs of your hands had taken the brunt of the burns and they were wrinkled with scar tissue which butted up against new skin growth. A daily cream was a must to keep the tissue from tightening up and preventing normal usage of your hand. You scooped up a handful of the waxy smelling stuff and massaged it into your hands as your nurse watched you expectantly.

Her expression fell a bit when you didn’t answer right away.

Serves her right, you thought, casually kneading fingertips into the palm of your opposite hand.

‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.’

She picked at a bright yellow rose bud that had fallen off of one of the new crops of flower bouquets. Henry had made sure to keep you flush with fresh beautiful flowers. You had to draw the line at the character balloons, and had to tell him that he should stop sending them because the hollow sounds of them knocking together at night was creepy and it kept you awake.

‘I haven’t changed my mind, Barb,’ you said and gave her a smile.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to see him again.

‘Well, good. He’s been asking after you… like… constantly now.’

You said nothing, but a tiny grin stretched your lips.

Constantly?

‘We can whip out the chair and wheel you over there after lunch.’

Your heart leaped with sudden and visceral terror.

It’s soon. So soon. Too soon! Today?

You swallowed hard and felt your face heat with uncertain embarrassment.

‘S-sure.’

‘Ok, I’ll reserve one and be back in a few hours.’

Barb turned around and left the room. You could hear her chuckling as if this matchmaking was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

You sat up in bed, greasy hands limp in your lap and you made a face when you sniffed at yourself under your hospital gown. No way were you going to present yourself to Henry, or anyone else who would be in the day room, looking like you’d been in an accident.

Heaven forfend.

So, you washed carefully and put on the pale peach coloured long-sleeved pyjama set you’d received from the Ladies’ Supply. The Ladies’ Supply was an organisation of volunteer women who ensured the dignity and comfort of women at the military hospital through social visits, clothing donations and other feminine needs.

You did your hair the best you could and whiled away the hours until you heard the squeaky wheelchair being rolled into your room. With heart crashing excitedly against your ribs, you perched delicately on it and Barb rolled you away.

The day room was spacious and welcoming and abuzz with activity. Some of the men were still hooked to IVs and sitting by the wide windows and others who were more capable were dispersed amongst the tables either reading or playing cards or just talking with each other. There were also some women in there, so you didn’t feel like you were entering the lion’s den. You spotted Henry by one of the card tables and you wanted to put your feet down on the floor to stop Barb from rolling you right up to his side. Unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time and when you squeaked to an unceremonious halt at the edge of the table, he glanced up from his cards.

The look on his face when he recognised you was one that you would store in your memory for an eternity. He put the cards face down on the table and made to stand up. You immediately put up your hands to stop him.

‘No, no, don’t get up, you don’t–‘

But, he had already struggled to push himself up and out of the chair and you didn’t want to take that victory from him. You stood up as well, ready to give a firm friendly handshake, or a paltry pat on the shoulder but he had other intentions. He dragged you into his arms, and crushed you to his meaty chest, before you could manage to say, hello.

When he finally let you go, you both went back to your respective seats, feeling overwhelmed by the perfect greeting.

Grinning at him, you made a gesture to your own head.

‘Your hair… it’s all curly!’

The last time you’d seen him, his hair was shorn right to the head, and there was really no hint as to the texture or really even the true colour. So it surprised you to see a neatly clipped mop of glossy brown curls. Henry put a self conscious hand into his hair and ruffled his fingers through it.

‘I like it,’ you assured him, hoping to put him at ease. ‘I like it a lot.’

Grabby hair, your brain chittered. Perfect length for grabbing.

With that the two men who had been playing cards with him at the table, picked up and left, taking the not so subtle hint that they should leave the two of you alone.

‘I’m glad to see you. Finally,’ he said, wincing a little when he shifted in the chair.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, reaching out to put your hands over his on the table.

‘I’m getting over it,’ he said, dodging the question effortlessly.

He turned his hands up to hold onto yours and you felt as shy as a virgin on a first date. So, what could you do but make a joke the break the tension.

‘I mean… if I had to get blown up to get a date with you in a hospital day room, don’t know if I would do it again. Ehh, I probably would.’

Your eyes swept up to his and he stared at you a moment, puzzled and when you gave him a little hesitant smile, Henry started to laugh. The sound it lit you up with happiness and then the awkwardness was broken.

You spent about an hour chatting and if you were honest, most of it was spent flirting, until you started to feel tired.

You didn’t want to overstay your welcome and he seemed disappointed (much to your juvenile delight) when you said that you were leaving.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he asked, big blue eyes bright and eager, his hands unwilling to let you go again.

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

-End part 4

#henry cavill #captain syversion #syverson x you #henry cavill x you #captain syverson x you #syverson the protector #reader insert

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shysneeze · 4 years ago

Text

persausion (part one)

George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader

*part one*

Description: two years after she’s broken George’s heart at the hand of her parents’ persuasion, she bumps into George at the leaky and everything comes flooding back .

Warnings: alcohol, angst and I want to say swearing but I genuinely don’t think there is. It’s very AU. Fred is alive because he deserves to be (let me know if there is any ive missed please)

(Author note: not what i wanted it to be hence long ass delay in posting cause i got angry but hey ho. Also can you tell I’ve literally given myself a big fat crush on Fleur??”)

series masterlist

A giggle bubbles in (Y/N)’s throat as she sways slightly, arm hooked through Fleur’s as they struggle their way across the cobblestone of Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron in their heels. The winter air is crisp, and it bites at their bare skin. The plan was devised at the last minute and mostly fuelled by the buzz left from the bottle of wine they’d shared in (Y/N)’s apartment.

“It’s freezing!” Fleur shivers. “Why didn’t we bring jackets?”

“Excitement?” (Y/N) laughs with a slight shrug of her shoulder. “Probably the wine.”

“Definitely the wine.”

The woman burst into another fit of giggles, followed swiftly by a hiss of relief when they enter the warmth of the pub. They pause in the doorway together, long enough to fix each other’s hair and pull their dresses down. It’s not until they step further into the pub that (Y/N)’s smile begins to fade as the voices grow louder, and suddenly, she remembers why they usually stick to drinking in her apartment.

She can see it happening every time she steps in a crowded shop or in this case, pub, the exact moment that she goes from being a stranger in the corner of someone’s eye to (Y/N) Malfoy, first daughter of a notorious ex-deatheater. It’s no different this evening and her eyes sink to the floor when the whispering begins, already uncomfortable and longing to return to her apartment. Her change in demeanour doesn’t slip by unnoticed by Fleur who has already begun to fend off the dirty looks with a well-practiced glare of her own.

“Why is it so busy in here tonight?” Fleur sighs dramatically, standing slightly on her toes to see over the mass of people that are lingering around the bar without seats. “We’ll never get a booth!”

“How tragic.” (Y/N) makes an attempt to tease. “We’ll have to go back and drain the bottle of gin you got me for my birthday now.”

“No!” Fleur whines. “I have only just gotten you out of that apartment and I will not let you back out now. You’ll become a recluse!”

“Ouch.” (Y/N) pouts. “That’s harsh.”

Her own hurt at the comment is unconvincing to even (Y/N) herself as her pout soon turns into another bout of giggles. Fleur laughs with before returning to look out, searching every corner for somewhere to sit. She’s about to give up and reluctantly agree with her friend when she spots them.

“The twins!” She exclaims. “They’ll let us sit with them.”

Before she can even process what Fleur has said, they’re on the move again, Fleur’s dainty hand wrapped around (Y/N)’s wrist. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but as soon as they have (Y/N) comes to a halt instantly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She doesn’t even try to explain herself when Fleur turns to frown at her, she’s already staring across the room where her eyes find George Weasley’s.

His eyes are just as wide, hand paused in mid-air with his pint halfway to his mouth, and for a second, all they can do is stare at one another. Then, his brows drop into a scowl and the look that falls onto his face is a jab straight to the heart for (Y/N). The disgust written all over his face forces the air out of her lungs and her hands to tremble nervously. She remembers back at Hogwarts, hidden away together in the astronomy tower or, after graduating, tucked away in his bed above the shop, how his eyes chocolate brown eyes were the only ones in the world that made her feel safe, the only ones that looked under her surname. Now, they make her feel nauseous with guilt as they bore into her own and she can’t even blame him.

“(Y/N), are you coming?”

Fleur’s question makes (Y/N) jump, turning back to her friend, mouth stuttering wordlessly as she tries to gather the sentences that she needs to tell her friend that she absolutely cannot sit with George Weasley.

“It’s only the two of them.” Fleur continues, hand slipping into (Y/N)’s. “They won’t mind.”

(Y/N) gives up on her protests and allows herself to be pulled towards the booth at the back because what is she supposed to tell her? How is she to explain that she can’t sit with her friend’s brother-in-law because three years ago, she broke his heart? No, she can only follow in silence with her eye firmly stuck to the floor. She already beginning to feel whatever confidence boost the wine had given her wearing off.

“Fleur?” She hears Fred exclaim, a drunken joyfulness in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to find a seat.” Fleur exhales a sigh as they come to a stop. “It’s so busy tonight.”

“Well, we’re not waiting on anyone else.” Fred states. “You and your friend can sit with us. We don’t mind, ay, George?”

There appears to be no response from George, though (Y/N) can’t bring herself to look up yet. Fleur’s hand slips out of (Y/N)’s as she goes to hug her in-laws and a sudden vulnerability hits (Y/N) at the lack of contact.

“I told you, (Y/N).” Fleur nudges her. “They’re fine with it.”

At the soft jab to her side, (Y/N)’s eyes filter upwards despite her own resolve to stare at the ground until it swallows her whole. She watches the recognition flicker across Fred’s face, smile forming a sort of ‘o’ shape. (Y/N) can only give him an apologetic look as she’s tugged into a seat across the booth beside Fleur.

“Hi.” She squeaks.

“Malfoy.” Fred manages, eyes drifting for a moment to his brother. “It’s been a while.”

“I forgot.” Fleur exclaims. “You were all in the same year back at Hogwarts, no?”

“Yes, we were.” (Y/N) manages quietly, sobering up faster by the minute.

“Yeah it’s been a while.” Fred agrees with an awkward grin. “How are you?”

The question is so clearly forced and (Y/N) can’t believe she ever believed that her and George had kept it all a secret from him years ago because now, two years later, it’s clear he knows everything and he’s just as annoyed as George is.

“I’m good.” She nods. “How are you two?”

“We’re great, right George?” Fred chuckles awkwardly.

Once again, George doesn’t reply and only raises his brows before downing the remaining contents of his pint. His glass is forced onto the table with slight thud and he gets to his feet without a word. Everyone at the booth watches as he silently makes his way towards the bar and all (Y/N) can do is purse her lips at the whole thing.

“Anyway…” Fred clears his throat. “I never realised you two were friends. How did that happen?”

(Y/N) can only hope her face portrays the gratitude she feels for him at this moment for that distraction. Rather than questioning George’s abrupt departure, Fleur jumps into explaining how she and (Y/N) met at (Y/N)’s shop and quickly became close friends, and Fred listens attentively, even in his intoxicated state, humming and a nodding at all the correct places.

“I never knew you owned a shop.” Fred blurts, leaning in slightly out of curiosity. “On Diagon Alley?”

“It’s tucked out the way somewhat.” She admits. “It’s just down the street from, um, your shop actually.”

She doesn’t quite know why she’d hesitated, as if bringing it up is incriminating in some way. It’s not of course, their joke shop is famous and not exactly subtle either, no one else would expect her not to know of Weasley Wizard Wheezes and no one seems phased by her mentioning it at all. Yet, a sudden anxiety hits her, as if acknowledging the shop is only a step away from revealing the secrets the apartment above it used to hold.

“Wow, I didn’t know that.” Fred exclaims. “What do you sell?”

“She does the best perfumes I’ve found here in Britain.” Fleur gushes.

“I guess it’s more of a boutique in a way…” (Y/N) confesses nervously. “I sell magically enchanted gift items of sorts.”

“Huh, I never imagined you doing that.” Fred admits. “Always assumed you’d be in the ministry.”

“Oh no, I’d hate to be stuck in an office all day.” (Y/N) shakes her head. “I like meeting people and making things with my magic that might make people smile.”

“That’s a bit like George and I.” Fred grins.

“Well, my roses tend not to bite.” (Y/N) jokes.

“Biting roses…” Fred begins to ponder. “That brilliant!”

“What’s brilliant?”

George has returned, face still devoid of a smile but no longer holding the same animosity it did earlier. It might have been years, but (Y/N) can tell he’s given himself some sort of pep talk at the bar. He slides carefully into his seat again, the contents of the glasses huddled in his arms sloshing dangerously up the sides. (Y/N)’s automatic response is once again to drop her eyes, afraid to meet his in case it takes her too far into the past again.

“(Y/N) just gave us a great idea for the shop.” Fred explains. “Roses that bite.”

“Hmm.” George hums uncommittedly.

He pushes a glass of wine towards Fleur once he’s sat, then, taking (Y/N) completely off guard again, he places a glass of wine in front of her, drawing her eyes up to meet his in surprise. His brows are peaked almost questioningly at her expression.

“T-thank you.”

With a shrug he turns away again, facing his brother as he bursts into a pitch for biting bouquets for Valentine’s day while Fleur giggles at his enthusiasm. (Y/N) fiddles nervously with the stem of her glass, watching the side of George’s face as he listens, eyes fixed on the smile that begins to tug at his lips over his brother’s antics.

It hurts.

It hurts to see him, a reminder of what she could have had if she hadn’t allowed herself to be persuaded to destroy it. She hasn’t got the right to miss him as much as she does, not after how she left him, with a poorly written letter full of excuses that she herself didn’t even believe. No, she deserves this cold shoulder, deserves much worse in fact. She almost wishes he’d just shout at her, to tell her exactly how evil she is.

“Thanks for the idea, (Y/N).” Fred announces, pulling (Y/N) out of her memories with a start.

“Oh.” She recovers. “I can’t really take credit. It’s all yours.”

“Me and George will have to come visit your shop sometime.” He continues. “It’s just across from us, George.”

George lets out another bored hum that makes his brother’s smile twist into an awkward grimace, brows tightened and frozen for a second as he considers how to recover from this.

“Don’t feel the need to go out your way.” (Y/N) mumbles. “It’s not all that exciting.”

“That’s not true!” Fleur bursts. “You’re being modest. Your products are fantastique.”

An embarrassed sort of smile creeps onto (Y/N)’s lips at this and Fred laughs a little at her shy expression at Fleur’s declaration. Fleur seems to be completely unaware of the fact that she’s made the entire evening that little bit more bearable for her. Fleur’s always doing these little things that make everything more bearable and (Y/N) has never been more grateful for their friendship.

“Thanks, Fleur.” (Y/N) smiles softly.

Fred picks up another conversation, one far less likely to lead to any awkward silences. It holds better than any of the previous conversations have this evening and (Y/N) considers that this is because it is mostly dominated by Fred and Fleur, not that she’s complaining. (Y/N) is quite content for the awkwardness to settle solely between George and herself, where it truthfully belongs, and not to interfere with Fleur’s evening, especially after she’d been so excited to get (Y/N) out of her flat.

She considers that, if nothing else, this evening will relieve her of her life sentence to become recluse as Fleur had suggested.

An hour or so later they find themselves walking together back along Diagon Alley, shivering in the cold and hobbling with blistered feet. With the end of the night within her grasp, (Y/N) can hold herself a little lighter, and she finds herself laughing honestly as she watches Fleur and Fred babbling drunkenly together. To her side, George hides a smile stubbornly under her gaze and now that they are far enough from earshot from the others, she takes a risk.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks, brows piqued quizzically.

“For not saying anything.” She expands. “I didn’t deserve that.”

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a scoff before turning his head away from her, as if trying to hide his expression.

“I didn’t do it for you.” He states after a moment.

She knows this, it’s not a surprise. She’s suspected all evening that his lack of outburst and direct insult has been for the sake of his pride, for Fleur and for his brother, but certainly not for her, and so the knowledge doesn’t insult her. She’s glad in a way.

“I know.” She whispers. “But thank you nonetheless.”

She knows him well enough still not to push it any further and she quickens her pace to catch up with the others. They’re slowing to a stop in front of the twin’s shop and Fred flings his arms around both the Fleur and (Y/N)’s shoulder and pulls them into a hug.

“We need to do this again.” He announces.

(Y/N) can’t fault him in being as drunk as he is, not after he’s held the entire evening together so well. Instead, she laughs and nods as she pulls from his grasp. George is rolling his eyes at his brother, lips twitching into a sort of smile.

“Yes well, we need to invite Bill next time.” Fleur agrees. “He’ll be jealous to have missed it.”

“He does know you’re staying at mine, right?” (Y/N) asks, panic stricken for a second. “Neither of us are in fit state to apparate.”

“Of course.” Fleur assures dismissively. “You’ve sobered back to your worried self again.”

“Yes, but I’m no longer a recluse.” She retorts. “So, the evening hasn’t been all in vain.”

“I’ll take that achievement.” Fleur nods matter-of-factly. “Now, let’s go before we freeze.”

“Okay, okay.” (Y/N) chuckles. “Thank you for letting us share your booth.”

“Any time.” Fred curtsey’s mockingly. “Goodbye, Ladies.”

With a final eyeroll, (Y/N) loops an arm around Fleur’s waist and turns to make her way towards her own apartment.

As cliché as it may be, (Y/N) can’t resist the temptation to sneak a look behind her as they walk away, a last glimpse of the man she lost two years back. Expecting to see his back as he retreats into his apartment, she is startled to find him facing her, eyes capturing hers again. They’re not full of surprise or disgust as they had been at the beginning of the evening though. They’re the soft, brown eyes she remembers, the eyes that once held her hostage in the potions classroom, that shared secrets with only a glance across the great hall and that saw her as herself for the first time in her entire life.

Upon the realisation that his private moment has been witnessed, he turns away and follows his brother into the shop. A wave of tears stings her eyes before she realises what’s happening and they blur his retreating figure as they trickle down her cheeks.

“(Y/N)?” Fleur asks gently, coming to stop. “Are you crying?”

“Oh!” She jumps, turning back and forcing a painful grin. “It’s the sodding blisters. I hate heels.”

Fleur looks unconvinced, holding her friend’s eyes longer to try and decipher what’s caused this sudden bout of tears to spring loose. Frowning and with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she lifts her hand and gently uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears from beneath (Y/N)’s eyes.

“You’ll ruin your mascara.”

Relief escapes (Y/N) in the form of a choked laugh. She’s amazed again at how perfect a friend Fleur is for not pushing her. She knows Fleur enough to know that she’s not let it go, but she’s willing to let (Y/N) come to her in her own time.

“Thank you.” (Y/N) sniffles. “I’m sorry for trapping you in my apartment all the time.”

“Nonsense.” Fleur dismisses.

“No.” She continues. “No, I’ve been selfish and scared. I’ll make an effort to be more adaptable in the future.”

Curiosity flood’s Fleur’s expression but a smile grows on her lips regardless and she lets out a soft, bell-like laugh. She hooks an arm through (Y/N)’s and guides the pair forward along the street again, huddled tightly to fight to bitter cold.

“You’re so formal at times.” She shakes her head. “Let’s get home and get your shoes off before you become a puddle.”

“Oh thank Merlin!”

#persuasion #george weasley x reader #george x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george #george imagine #fred weasley #fred and george #harry potter #weasley twins #weasley #malfoy #draco malfoy #fleur delacour #fanfiction #reader insert #malfoy reader

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forlornmelody · 4 years ago

Text

The Fantabulous Vacation of One Harley Quinn and Her Girlfriend Poison Ivy

Rating: T (suggestive themes, cartoon violence)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Harley's been burning the wick at both ends and Ivy knows just the thing to help. But it takes more than just a change of scenery to get Harley to let go.

Note: Commission for @rookie009

~*~*~*

“You’re probably wondering Mr---Watchman--”

“Tockman.” Mr. Watchman spits. “William Tockman.”

“Why I’ve brought you here today.”

Mr. Watchman rolls his eyes. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

“Ah! Good. You’ve stopped struggling. Progress, Mister!” Harley boops him on the nose. Maybe she made the binding too tight? “I’m not cutting off your circulation, am I?” She leans in close. “Are you comfortable? I need you comfortable.”

“I’m tied up in ropes, wench!”

“Ah, see! This is what I’m talking about!” Harley sits across from him and his fainting couch, pulling her pen from her bun and making a heading on her notepad. “You have a whore madonna complex.” Chewing her pen, she murmurs, “perhaps from the trauma of your wife’s death? Cystic Fibrosis, was it?”

Her new patient says nothing. “Mister?” Harley glances up. “Willy?”

“Help!” William Tockman dangles from his left ankle, suspended in air by a beefy vine. “She’s gonna kill me!”

“Oh please. You’re hardly worth the trouble.” Ivy steps around him and the vine, brushing the dust off her hands. “Hi Harls!” How she got the vines up this far on this abandoned apartment building, Harley has no idea. But it sure has a lot of brick to climb.

“Ivy!” Harley doesn’t so much as hug her as ram her at full speed.

Her target, used to such behavior by now, braces for impact and manages to hug back. Harley takes a big whiff. “Mm. Jasmine?”

“Lilacs.” Ivy peers over at Clock King. “You...uh, busy?”

“Mm yeah. A little tied up at the moment. Or he is, at least.”

“So I see.” Ivy chews her lip, staring out the window as if she had left a reminder there. She makes a face as the draft stirs some of the painting tarp discarded on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of town for a bit.”

“HELP.”

“Are you asking for help, Billy? Or do you prefer Willy?”

“HELP ME! THESE WOMEN ARE CRAZY.”

“Great!” Harley says brightly. “Admitting you need help is the first step towards healing!”

“Harls? Are you even listening?”

“You need help dismantling another CEO along with his company?”

“No.”

“Fundraiser for conservation efforts?”

“Harley--”

“Pride pre-game with Kitty?”

“Harleen.” That stops Harley short. Ivy never calls her that. Mostly cause she hates getting called Pamela with an undying passion. Probably childhood trauma. But Harley digresses.

Ivy sighs. “Sorry. Look. I need a vacation. We need a vacation.”

“I need help!”

“SHUT UP ALREADY.” Ivy and Harley say it together, and Ivy waves a hand, muffling Harley’s captive, er, patient with a particularly broad leaf.

“Mm... I’m a little busy--”

Ivy glances at Tockman, finally. “I can see that.”

“Lemme look at my calendar. Mmm.. maybe...next year? Definitely the one after that.”

“Harls.”

“I know, I know. But there’s my derby team, missions with Task Force X, the Birds of Prey, my day job--”

“I know.” Ivy takes her hands, gently, and squeezes them. It’s the softness that stops Harley in her tracks. “It’s why you need some time off.”

“But--”

“Shh. I already have plane tickets and a hotel booked. You don’t have to plan a thing.”

Harley can’t help the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Aww, shucks, Ives. When are we leaving?”

“Now. The plane’s departing in--shit. We gotta go.”

“MMRPH.”

“Oh, right.” Ivy releases Clock King with a patented thud as she shoves Harley out the door. “Bye!”

-----

“So, we’re we goin’?” Harley pushes the arm rest out of the way and rests her chin on Ivy’s shoulder. She glances at Ivy’s phone as if it’ll give her some clues. She spots a sudoku puzzle. “Japan?”

“No.”

“The Amazon?”

“Nope.”

“Themyscyra?”

Ivy gives her a look. “Really?”

“Er….my mom’s? Please say it’s not my mom’s.”

“It’s not your mom’s.”

“Thank God.”

“Also, why would we fly to your mom’s house when we could easily drive? Or take a commuter bus?”

“Good point. Mm.”

Ivy smooths Harley’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s a surprise.” She snatches a quick kiss before the flight attendant rolls by. “You’ll love it.”

In this moment, Harley’s pretty sure she’d love anywhere as long Ivy’s there with her. She’s lit up by the light of the tiny window behind her, and her crimson locks glow like an angel’s. But Harley knows well enough that neither of them are anywhere close to innocent. “Say, how’d you get us past security?”

Ivy winks at her.

“No casualties?”

Her lover mockingly brushes her own chest like a scandalized church mouse. “I would never!” she snorts. “They’ll be fine. Just a little dazed and confused.”

Harley leans her head on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know the feelin’.” And really! Harley’s proud of her. Ivy’s never been one to follow rules or care for humans. But she tries for Harley. Why she bothers when Mistah J never seemed to care, Harley has no idea. But it means the world to her.

-----

The taxi drops them off in front of a large revolving door. But it’s not the gold handles that capture Harley’s attention.

It’s the lush plants growing from every nook and cranny on the place. Harley bets Ivy could spend an hour naming all of them (scientific names and personal names.) Butterflies and hummingbirds in every color of the rainbow--and the faint buzzing of bees. A solitary stream crosses their path, and a wooden bridge stretches over it. Garden terrace after garden terrace rise up from the ground to an open-air cafe at the top.

And behind the walls and the hotel proper? A waterpark.

Harley’s eyes go as big as saucers. “Ivy! You shouldn’t have!” She squeezes her into a hug.

“Thanks, sweet pea, but I can’t breathe.” Ivy manages to get out.

“Oof, sorry. Here ya go.” Harley releases her, and Ivy pecks her on the cheek.

“Best part is, they’ve a zero-carbon footprint and they’re waste free.” Harley rarely sees her grin so wide.”

“Whoa.”

“They call it The Greenhouse.”

-----

Their first day at the resort passes in a blur. Harley shows Ivy a good time in and out of their bedroom. They go snorkeling in the ocean, ride the rides so many times Harley ends up upchucking their picnic at the beach, then make love at sunset in their honeymoon suite. Harley wonders if the management thinks they’re--well, they’re as good as, aren’t they? They don’t need rings or a wedding or a place of their own or--

“Harley?”

She blinks. Ivy only calls her that when she’s worried. Harley realizes she’s been staring at the chocolates on their pillows for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Of course!” she says automatically, pulling Ivy into another kiss.

Ivy kisses back, then runs a finger down her cheek. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” The setting sun makes her hair even redder, which Harley didn’t think possible, and Harley finds herself toying with her curls.

“Hey, I’ve been wonderin’.”

If Ivy notices the change in subject, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t seen any other guests? And how come we haven’t been arrested?”

“Oh! That.” Ivy waves a hand dismissively. “I rented out the whole resort.”

“With what money??”

Ivy shoots her a wicked look that sends shivers down Harley’s spine. “Ace Chemical’s investment fund.”

“Ooooh, you’re naughty.”

Harley dives in for another kiss but Ivy puts a finger to her lips. And doesn’t let her suck on it. Rude. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Since we’ve got all this extra cash, wanna make a run at the casino? I hear they donate the proceeds to rainforest restoration.”

“Alright.” Ivy sighs and reaches for her dress. Harley has a sinking feeling that she’s going to bring this up later. Maybe if Harley’s lucky she’ll forget about it? Yeah. Ivy forgets things all the time.

“Last one there buys the first round!”

-----

Ivy and Harley sit across from each other, an immaculate brunch setting between them and two mimosas. Her lover’s plate sits almost empty, and while Harley’s lies largely untouched. She keeps playing with her veggie egg white omelet, but the next bite never seems to make it to her mouth. “And then we can go for a walk on the beach later! Have you seen those beds? Right there on the water? Mm. Do you think anyone would hear us if we--”

“Harley, wait.”

“Like, the sound of the waves would cover it up, right? Mm. Maybe not. I’m loud. Not as loud as--”

“Harley, no. Stop. Stop.” Ivy presses her hands on either side of Harley’s face, drawing her to a standstill and inches away from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to!”

Ivy gives her a sad smile, shaking her head gently. “You don’t have to impress me, Harls. I love you.”

Harley, in typical Harley fashion, vibrates with energy. “But…I want this to be special. As special as y--”

“This vacation already is special. Cause you’re here with me.”

“But--” I’m not that special, Harley wants to say. But she knows Ivy won’t let her get away with saying that out loud. She wants to crawl underneath the tablecloth and hide until Ivy leaves. They always leave in the end. Once they get what they want. Mistah J--

“I love you, Harley Quinn.” Ivy takes her hand, gently, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And maybe. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t know what to do if Ivy stays. It’s easier to love someone who doesn’t love her back. It’s safe. Ahem. Emotionally safe, Dr. Quinzel says inside her head. For once, Harley has nothing to say. She’s too busy trying to keep the tears from falling.

“You don’t have to do anything. I already love you.” Ivy bites her lip--the way she always does when she’s thinking hard. Like how best to resurrect a drooping petunia or a rose bush that has a pest. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “And if it’s not too much--too early--to say this: I always will.”

“You proposin’ or somethin’?” The words tumble out of Harley’s mouth before she can stop them. Her cheeks feel like they’re blushing as bright as Ivy’s hair.

“I…” Ivy’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t have a ring on me.”

Shit. Fuck. ShitshitshitFuuuuuuuuuck. “I’msorryIdidn’tmeanit.” “It’s way too soon.” Harley puts on her best brave face--the same one she always put on when Bats showed up and Mistah J magically was nowhere to be found. “Marriage is so outda--”

“Harley.” Ivy puts her entire hand over her face. “Quinn.” “I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”

“Mmphwr?”

“Who wouldn’t want to marry Harley Quinn? You’re amazing.” She traces her eyebrows. “You’re the smartest person I know.” Boops her nose. “You’re impossible to kill. Holy fuck.” Runs her fingertip across her bottom lip. “You…” Ivy presses her lips together, looking down at the table. “You helped me love again when I hated everyone.”

“Pam.” Fuck, she’s getting misty eyed.

“I mean it. I was ready to wipe humanity off the map and start over.” She laughs a little, her voice rough as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “But then you came along and nominated yourself my new shrink.”

“Don’t give me all the credit.” Wow, okay. Maybe she’s more than just misty-eyed. “You saved me too. From Mistah Jay. From Bats. From what woulda been a really boring life.”

Ivy’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you Harls?”

Harley squeezes her hand. “Nah. You’re stuck with me.” Her words come out a little thick. “For richer or poorer.”

Her lover leans in close, capturing her lips in a warm kiss. “That’s usually pretty literal for you.”

“HEY.”

“It’s true! Guess I’ll have to see if Ace or maybe Lexcorp has any funds they won’t miss. I need to get that ring soon. Garnet? Spinel maybe?”

“Aww, shucks. How am I gonna be surprised now?”

Ivy scoffs. “If it’s a real surprise, it’s not a good time for a proposal.”

“But what if I want to be like those girls in those Tik Toks? Like where you propose to me but like I got my own box in my pocket?”

“Harley. A ring box wouldn’t fit in your tiny ass pockets, and you know it.”

“You know what would fit in my shorts?”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel.” Her laughter dissolves in a kiss and Harley pulls her back to their suite. They got a lot of planning to do. Though Harley has a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna get a whole lot of planning done today. But Harley’s okay with that. Pam’s always been the top of her to-do list anyway.

#harlivy #DC comics #poisonquinn #harley quinn #poison ivy #clock king #fluff isn't my usual so PLEASE tell me what you think #so sugary sweet you're gonna need to brush your teeth #melody writes #fluff

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Night Part XV

(A/N at end)

Parts I-XIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

(Author’s Notes: Hi guys! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for the kind words on the last part. I missed writing/reading with you guys and I’m so thankful that you all came back to The Last Night. I have a new obsession, I’ve finally read Sarah J Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses. Have you all read this? Am I super behind? It’s amazing! I love that story so much, so if my blog is suddenly splashed with ACoTaR, then ya’ll know why now. It’s just SO good! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please hit that reblog and spread it around, give it some love, leave me a comment about what you thought, and follow along for updates. Okay, love you guys, bye! Next update Sunday 9/13)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #The Last Night #jordelia fanfiction #jordelia #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra clare #Matthew Fairchild #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #tessa gray #alastair carstairs

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

tapestry 👑 IV

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The king sends a message.

Note: It’s part 4 and it might be a little longer before 5 because I work all night and have teaching work to catch up on tomorrow but hoping that Wednesday will be our next update. But I’m still loving this and hope you are too.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

The women tittered as they gathered in the feast hall in pairs and trios. You stood with Marion, her round face was carefree and eager for the day’s activities. The harvest celebration approached and so the Queen intended to arrange her annual spectacle.

The more plentiful the harvest the more extravagant the entertainment. This year had been generous; peasant and noble alike splendoured in the reaping. A selection of lords and ladies would perform a dance for the court, all the while dressed in costume.

You’d never been chosen before to partake in the display. You were clumsy and forgettable. You were content to sit and watch. This year was different; the queen herself requested your part. You loathed the prospect but accepted out of courtesy. After all, you’d rather the court laugh at your graceless feet than whisper of your alleged misconduct.

Rose preened as she always did. She was the best dancer of the bunch, no doubt she'd have a big role, even with her standing as the queen's rival. She was with Joan, Mary, and Beatrice; chattering behind their hands as if their topic were covert. They never strayed far from their gossip of the king. The gifts he sent to Rose and the ways he liked her to wear her hair.

Though it seemed she was not so giddy about him as before. At least, she showed off her pin quite passively. You recognized it. It wasn't new but it was still rather enviable. A ruby rose.

"Of course, the king has been distracted," Her voice rose above the rest. "The queen is jealous and she tries to draw him from me. She has pets of her own, you know?"

"Nothing compared to you," Beatrice trilled. "The king will catch onto that plain little tart. He will hear the queen's voice in hers."

You glanced over at the four ladies as they giggled. Rose's blue eyes met yours sharply. She grinned and raised her chin.

"Surely he will. He will realize soon enough and have me back in his arms. He thinks this trick will make me love him more but he does not know I love him more than anything already." She stared at you as she spoke. "I suspect he loves me too. It scares him so he shies away."

You turned your back to her. You didn't want to think of the king. Or recall the box and how it felt in your hands. The temptation to open it. The glimmer in his eye as you returned it to him. As you stood in the shadows, in his shadow, as he loomed over you.

"I know well enough of her type. And did you ever wonder why she's never even a proposal?" Rose raised her voice. "Simple enough to assume her hideousness, but a man can marry any woman so long as she promises him an heir." She spoke softly though her voice carried. "Gentleman don't marry whores, especially those without title or coin to offer."

"Lady Rose," The queen stood at the front of the hall. None had noticed her enter and so they acted as if they had not heard the gossiping mistress. All froze and turned to look at their leader. "My court is not a den of such ribaldry."

"Your highness," Rose squeaked as she bowed her head. "I did not--"

"Pray I never hear you speak thus again or you shall be sent back to your father's castle and I will make certain you will not see the light of this court again." The queen bristled as she neared the ladies. "Not even the convent will take you."

The ladies were silent. You gaped at the queen and she glanced at you among the group. She nodded subtly as she took a deep breath and stood staunch before her ladies-in-waiting.

"Now let us remember our manners as we are soon to welcome the king and his men. I will not have them think I lead a pack of vicious cats."

"I apologize most--” Rose began.

"I expect you to gird your tongue." Eleanor interjected. "Don't think I do not notice your insolence. Do not think yourself above my authority." The queen spun and motioned to Diana. "Show the dance master in. The king should arrive with his men shortly."

The room went silent and you looked to Marion. She was pale as she stared back at you. You slowly retreated to the wall and she followed. You were careful to stay far from Rose. You kept your head down and wished this all would be over soon. Perhaps Eleanor would see your footwork and dismiss you from the performance. It would be better for all.

“Do you think the queen knows of the gift?” Marion whispered.

“I hope not. And if she should, I would hope she would take into account my refusal.” You spoke with your face turned away from the room. “That she realizes I have no want of turmoil. No desire to wrong her.”

“Even so, the king has turned his eye on you. Any wife would be concerned.” Marion prodded.

“But I do not look back at him. I do not seek his attentions nor his company.” You played with the hem of your sleeve. “Let him run back to Rose and leave me as I was.”

“Do you think he will?”

“I dare not think if he should not.” You muttered. “I pray he does not.”

Marion could not pry further as the doors opened again. The dance master followed Diana through and a rise of voices sounded not far behind. Bawdy and bold. The king entered alongside Lord Barnes, the dozen other men trailed in a similar attitude. Boisterous as if it were the night of the banquet.

“Husband,” Eleanor greeted above the rabble. “At last.”

“My wife. We tarried at our game but we do hope you forgive us.” He peered around the room with a broad smile. You shied away before his eye could find yours. “Regardless of our delay, we are most excited to begin.”

“And I am certain Master Ellard is most impatient to begin,” Eleanor alluded to the dance master. “So shall we proceed?”

The king took her remonstrance with a nod. “As you will.” His voice betrayed an ounce of displeasure but he hid it with a gracious smile.

“We must first pair off,” The queen announced as she clapped her hands. “You shall be my partner, as custom should have it, the king and queen of the harvest.” Eleanor hooked her arm through the kings and led him to the front of the hall where Ellard waited with a pointed look.

“Lady Diana with Lord Callum, Lady Mabel with Lord Samuel…” She listed off the names one after the other and the pairs found each other. Your name rang in your ears and drew you from your place against the wall. “...Lord Barnes.”

The king’s brow rose as he watched his most favoured lord approach you. You avoided his gaze as it fell on you and Lord Barnes bowed to you. You curtsied and stood a foot apart from him. The queen beamed at you before she continued.

“Lady Rose with Lord Alan…”

Rose scowled as she swept across the room. The elder lord was a perpetual bachelor and an overt flirt, but he held high title and great lands. If he were to ever marry, his wife would want for little.

When all were assigned, Eleanor led Steven to the front row of the audience as Ellard took his place with his assistant. The queen was the first to mimic his stance as she took the king’s hand. The rest did the same but you didn’t move until you felt a tickle along the back of your hand.

“Pardon, my lady,” Barnes whispered. “But I think we’re supposed to follow along.”

You looked to him and nodded. You let him raise your hand and did your best to copy the first step, then the next. The master repeated each several times before moving on then counted as he strung together eight in a row. You chewed your lip as you struggled to avoid your partner’s feet and your own.

Your humiliation went on, several toes beneath your sole, before you remembered it well enough to look up. You peeked over at Lord Barnes but he seemed entirely unbothered by your assault. In fact he caught your eye and smiled.

“Your majesty,” Master Allard paused. “I think your lords and ladies might benefit from a brief respite.” He looked around the room. “And we may take it from the top after.”

“I am certain they would,” Eleanor said. “Let us resume shortly.”

She clapped her hands again and the audience let out a communal breath of relief. You rescinded your hand and pressed your sweaty palm to your skirt. Barnes remained at your side even as others began to shuffle around to meet each other.

“My lady,” He turned to you amid the shuffle, “I don’t know if you recall but we did share another dance. Once. Long ago.”

“I remember it, but not fondly,” You cringed. “I would’ve hoped you’d forget.”

“It was not so bad.”

“You swore each time I trod on your toes,” You remarked. “Though you seem to have learned to censor yourself.”

“You’ve improved...marginally.” He grinned. “The best partner’s are memorable, not perfect.”

You smiled as graciously as you could. You looked away shyly and found another watching. Steven stood with Eleanor though he barely seemed to notice her as she spoke to him. He stared openly across the hall and you tore your eyes away. You shifted and tried to hide behind Lord Barnes.

“You flatter me, Lord Barnes.”

“James,” He offered. “Many call me Bucky.”

“Lord Barnes.” You repeated.

He smiled at you and you glanced away again. His gaze was too much. You found Rose not far from you, another glare sent across the room. She watched the king with venom as he gawked at you. You pinched your finger nervously and tried to focus on the lord before you.

“I am sure you long for a more skilled partner,” You said. “I haven’t an inkling how I’ve come to be included in this.”

“Do you not?” He wondered. His brow twitched knowingly.

“I do not trouble to untangle the webs of court,” You mulled. “They are much too knotted to unwind.”

He nodded thoughtfully but before he could speak again, another clap sounded. The queen raised her hand to signal silence and called the room back to order. You inhaled as the king’s gaze lingered on you a moment before he turned his back.

Ellard took his spot before the rows of nobles and again your hand was seized. This time and unusual texture against your palm. You looked down as Lord Barnes let you go and you turned over the parchment. You gulped and quickly tucked the paper up your sleeve as he reached for you again.

You raised your eyes to his and he bowed his head.

“I have faith in you, lady,” He leaned in as he spoke. “With enough practice, any dance is done well enough to keep one’s toes from being trampled.”

👑

‘A woman unlike any I’ve ever known…’

You re-read the letter again. The same slanted hand as the first. You were tempted to hold it to the candle flame and leave it to ash. However you feared what should happen if you didn't even acknowledge the king's message. You couldn't ignore him.

You thought to show the queen. She had offered her help but you doubted she'd be amiable upon seeing a love letter from her husband to another woman. That's what it was; a love letter. The thought made you even more want to crumple it up.

What had you done to deserve his attention? What terrible sin had you committed that you were cursed to find yourself in one catastrophe after another? Your self pity threatened to drown you as you folded up the letter and shoved it in your journal and under your mattress. You longed to be the forgotten and unworthy.

You looked at the other ladies. Marion mended a stocking, Joan read some book or another, and Sybil laid on her back staring at the ceiling. You'd woken early for mass as you did every day and now you waited for the queen to send for you.

When a knock came, it was not the queen's lady servant. It was your father footman, Rulf. The older man was balding and crooked. He bowed slowly and coughed into his hand before he found his voice.

"My lady," He began. "Your father requests your presence."

"My father?" You frowned. "Has he stated his purpose?"

Rulf shook his head and grumbled. He turned back down the hall without awaiting your acquiescence. You sighed and followed him, pulling shut the door behind you. It was easy to catch up to him as he ambled stiffly along the corridor.

When he stopped before you father's chamber, you were antsy and impatient. Had your father heard of your disobedience? What other reason could there be for his summons? Yet, even with the prospect of his wrath before you, you did not regret it.

Rulf knocked softly before he entered. You stopped dead in the doorway as he waved you inward. Your father sat behind his desk but a visitor already occupied the seat across from him.

The king rose as you entered and your father mirrored him. You bowed and the king lowered his head. He beamed as he lifted his eyes and your father wore a self-satisfied smirk. Your lips parted then closed. You were entirely flustered.

"Forgive me, my lady, but since you requested a formal audience I have arranged this meeting." The king's irises thinned as he stared. "Your father has given his blessing."

"You...your highness," You stuttered and your father tilted his head in warning.

"Sit, daughter," Your father said sternly.

You hesitantly stepped inside. Rulf closed the door behind you. You went to the bench that sat not far from the king and sat. Both men watched you, each with their own expectations. Neither you longed to please.

"I do not mean to surprise you, I was only impatient," The king sat as your father remained on his feet. "I trust this setting should suffice and you've no reason to object."

You gulped and nodded. "Y-your highness," You stuttered. "I...do not."

"Forgive me but I have a pressing matter to attend to with Lord Hale. I shall leave Rulf to oversee this meeting if it suits you, your highness."

"It suits me well," The king didn't bother to look at your father.

It wasn't difficult to guess that this farce was staged. Rulf was growing deaf and barely aware. He came when called and did as he was bid. Nothing more or less.

Your father bowed and backed out from behind his desk. As he neared the door he glanced back at you. You sent him a pleading look, he returned a cold sneer. A silent warning before he slipped out into the hall.

"Your father is a busy man." Steven began. "A generous one, too."

"Your highness." You couldn't lie to the king so you didn't offer comment at all.

He shifted in his chair. "Did you read my letter?"

"I did." You answered tersely.

"And you…" He searched your face. "... didn't like it?"

"Your highness, you must understand that such a letter is untoward. You are married."

"To a woman who despises me. Who I can only visit on the duty of such a union, yet she bears me no heirs. She offers me no reciprocity." He leaned forward. "And so you see, I stray out of loneliness. Out of dejection."

"It does not change that you are married and I am unwed. I must reserve myself for my future husband." You said. "Or I haven't much of a future at all."

"Is it so wrong of me to desire your company? It need not be anything more than innocent? I long for a companion. For a respite from my loneliness."

"Perhaps that is your intent but it would not be the interpretation of the court." You insisted. "And what effect do you think it would have upon my reputation? You are a king, untouched by menial courtly intrigue but a lady, a mere daughter of an earl, could be ruined."

"You are repulsed by me." He sat back heavily, a pitiable expression lined his face. "You needn't lie, my lady. I may be a king but I can take it."

"You know that is not the reason for my reticence." You countered.

"Then what is it?" He asked as he slapped his hand on his thigh. "Is it truly my wife? Is it Lady Rose? Perhaps it is both." He huffed and hung his head dramatically. "You must know, they matter little to me. My queen is cold and hateful and the lady is selfish and ungiving. They bring me great pain. They torture me."

You shook your head. "And how should I measure your words as you speak of them thus? How am I to think that if I even thought to yield to you that you would not one day feel the same of me?" You stood. "I cannot."

He rose and came towards you. He reached out to you and his hand grazed your sleeve as you backed away. "I could never. You cannot possibly understand what you've done to me. I think of nothing else but you. I cannot rid myself of you no matter how I try. I think of my queen, of my obligation to her and my kingdom but you will not leave me."

"You do not know me. You cannot feel so." Your legs were pressed against the bench as you were trapped between him and it. "I will not betray myself nor my queen. I have never longed to be a mistress but a wife only."

He took your hand and you resisted the urge to draw away from him. His thumb brushed over your fingers as he admired them. You trembled though you tried not to. His grip tightened suddenly.

"Perhaps you've never dared to long for it," His voice was as steely as his grip. His eyes flicked up to yours. "But you will be mine. As your king, I will it."

You tugged until he released you. Rulf cleared his throat, whether it was coincidence or discomfort, you didn't care. The noise had the king retreating.

"I swear to you, my lady, that nothing, no one, can keep me from you." He puffed his chest out. "And you need not fear whatever enemies arise for I will strike them down."

"Your highness, that is not…"

"I can be patient, for you my lady, I can wait," He vowed. "I will wait so long as you should need me to."

Your mouth fell open. You couldn't guess if he was mad or maniacal. Surely his words were anything but genuine. You could barely speak.

"Your highness, you cannot."

"I shall, I shall," He insisted. "My queen be damned. Lady Rose too." He declared as he turned to march to the door. He turned back and placed his hand on his chest. "None but you, my lady."

He pulled the door open. You were dumbfounded. All you could do was bow as he departed. His boots sounded down the corridor and Rulf coughed. You looked to the aged servant as his eyes drooped. Was he asleep on his feet?

"My lady," He said quietly. "I daresay he meant it."

You lowered your head and sighed. Your father's mole had heard it all. No doubt he'd relay it back to his master. You righted yourself and stilled your shaking hands.

"Tell my father I regret that I could not await his return but the queen should wonder at my absence." You neared the door, your feet tentative as they traced the king's. "Thank you, Rulf."

"My lady," He nodded as his eyes once more turned to slits. "I will let him know."

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #medieval au #au #series #fic #tapestry #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #mcu #marvel #dark!fic #captain america #dark fic #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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lumiereswig · 4 years ago

Note

What if plumette left the castle shortly before the curse, and then returned after everyone was cursed? (Yeah I saw you wanted to write that)

i did want to write it, ive wanted to write it for years, i’ve never had the balls to write it because it was such a fabulous concept to play with. but here what the hell, why not here it is:

it’s pre-curse times and plumette gets a message from her sister, peregrine, that she NEEDS to be the godmother of her baby and thus has to haul ass to the christening. this is awesome but also fuckkkkkk because her sister lives in Sweden like FUCK thats SO far away in eighteenth century times

so she hops on a plane—an eighteenth century style plane—so that’s a rowboat—and waves goodbye to lumiere and douche canoe prince and mrs. p and all the rest, and she bippity-bops her way up to scandinavia to snack on some lutefisk and hold her first little itty-bitty niece. This being Sweden everything takes ages, like first the baby has to be born and then they have to plan the baby shower and then they have to do all this other stuff, so it’s months and months, all of which Plumette spends sending letters to Lumiere and eagerly waiting to hear back from him.

“mon cherie today the prince spent the entire day taking portraits off the wall and throwing them across the room because the painting style was apparently too ‘swishy’! And now Cogsworth has banned me from every serving him sangria at three in the morning ever again. Please be back soon mon ange, my heart cannot beat without you. Lumiere”

“mon chou today there was a fuss in the village, the prince has raised taxes again, I know, quelle horror!, Mrs. Potts says a person can’t even afford jam anymore if you haven’t got a steady job! but i really doubt that, I mean how much does a jar of jam even cost, ten dollars? please hurry back mon amour, my breath fades so I can’t hear it, waiting for you to come into the light. Lumiere”

“mon coeur we are holding such a ball tonight! every eligible princess and countess will be there—as well as Chapeau’s little sister, we’re slipping her in with a borrowed old dress of the Queen’s—the lights will glitter and every taper will shine, but none as bright as you. Are you coming home yet? I cannot stand the waiting—I shall go quite still without you to dance with. I wait, eternally yours. Lumiere”

And then silence. Silence for a long, long time.

She writes letters, first funny— “what has happened? has Cogsworth run away with you at last?”—then alarmed, then jealous, then furious. “Why so silent, mon amour? have your hands fallen off entirely, do I count so little to your heart?” But she doesn’t get a response, even though she waits, she waits in the same place for weeks just so the letter will not miss her. but a month passes, and no note. Not even Chapeau responds, nor Cogsworth. she throws her hands in the air and stays on longer, just to show him; if he can’t bother to write, what’s a year? What’s two years?

She doesn’t make it quite two years; her heart throbs with missing him, despite her anger, despite her hurt. she gets on the boat, waves goodbye to little Plume nestled safe in Peregrine’s arms, and arrives back in France so, so long after she left.

The ride to Villeneuve is long. She breathes in the heady air, enjoying France’s roses; she forgot how much she missed this sort of spring! she cannot wait to be home, and hug them all close again. she can make peace with lumiere at last. perhaps some other accident prevented him sending her letters.

villeneuve looks disused, when she hops off the carriage; the taxes must have gone up again, she thinks, but doesn’t worry all too much. She doesn’t like riding, so she walks through the woods, ordering for her luggage to be left at the tavern to be called for later. She’s surprised how overgrown the ordinary road to the palace is. She’s surprised how the people in Villeneuve looked at her.

She’s extremely surprised when she starts walking through snow.

Her little satin slippers are drenched by the time she gets to the palace, and her hair is slipping out of her little summer straw hat, and she’s clutching her arms to keep from freezing in the gray, deep snow. Her teeth chatter as she climbs up the steps. Her little hand can barely push open the door.

She sinks in, with relief, and leaps up again when she realizes the marble is covered in a thin, deadly mirror of ice. The tapers are not lit. Not a sound comes out of the silent hall, but faraway up the stairs she thinks she hears a low, long grumble, like someone pushing a heavy chair across a stone-paved floor.

“Hello?” she calls. “Hello?”

Have they all left? Is it the plague again? she wonders. She tip-toes in, calling, and picks up a candle on the table to light her way. Into the drawing room, into the music room. A new harpsichord in the corner. The dining room sits empty, cobwebs on the chairs.

“Is anyone here left for me?”

“Mon amour,” whispers a voice, too too close, and the candelabra burns scathing in her hand.

she leaps back, clutching her hand, the candle on the floor righting itself and dusting itself off and murmuring soothing nothings, like she stepped on its foot at a ball or accidentally stole a sip from its wine glass instead of hers. It is talking, quite ordinarily, and calling in other furniture, and a hulking harpsicord is coming in and a squeaking tea tray and a hatstand with hammers for hands, and they gather round Plumette to gape and stare and cut off her escape, they don’t stop from crowding toward her until she screams “Lumiere, help!” and then it’s very, very silent in the dining room.

“Mon ange? You do not recognize me?” says the candle from the floor, and she comes close to fainting and then she is, the last thing she sees before falling into the swoon being Lumiere’s face, too little and too close, blazing gold, with hard yellow eyes creased in concern.

she wakes to cold, her hands draped in water, somebody kind laying a cool, wet handkerchief across her face. she relaxes, for a moment, then remembers the nightmare. the yellow eyes, where blue should be. the voice in the last place she expected it.

“look at me slow, now, dearie,” says Mrs. Potts, just beyond where she can see her. Another cold compress is laid on her hands. “I turned away from mirrors plenty of times before I got used to it. Slow, now, and breathe in—in through the mouth and out through the nose, that’s the way I used to tell Chip to do it.”

She looks, slowly, and then realizes turning slowly only adds to the horror of it, and she looks quick and bites back the scream before Mrs. Potts can quite pretend she hasn’t heard it. They both recover, fast, and look away. Mrs. Potts busies herself pouring hot water into a dish, and nudging the dish to Plumette’s fingertips until she can smell the lavender wafting gently up.

“Soothing,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, but Plumette notices she doesn’t look at her again.

It takes a long time to explain it. They all do it, in stages—Mrs. Potts, and then Cogsworth, so funny with his little clock face staring up at her, Cuisinier with a rattle and bang and Chapeau with tidy words, sparse but clean, painting a picture of the hag’s hand stretching toward them, the spell hovering on her fingertips. But Lumiere does not come to explain. He does not want to frighten her. He does not want to cause the pain.

Only when she can look at them evenly does she let him come in. He comes slowly, shyly, and her heart breaks—her Lumiere, shy! Her Lumiere, heavy and slow, his golden feet dragging him along, his candles barely flickering. He’s hot and ashamed and brave, looking her up in the face, love pouring out of him as he whispers, “you have not changed a day.”

they are frightened to show her the Beast, but they have to; he knows she’s there, his was the deep and wounded growl she heard from the first, echoing down the halls from his hiding place behind the stairs. She thinks she will be terrified, but then she sees him and oh!

the prince is terrified of her—of seeing his face reflected in the eyes of someone who knew him in his pride. terrified of seeing that someone shriek and run away in fear.

She reaches out and strokes the matted fur. “Do you know,” she says to him, “you have blonde hairs here, right in the pattern of the sun blaze I used to paint on you for special occasions.”

“I tried to do it myself that night,” he rumbles, the sound coming from deep in his chest through what sounds like miles of hair and thorn and tusks and teeth. “I didn’t do as good a job as you do, though.”

She brushes the fur with her hand and smiles at him, the curls descending down her cheeks, her battered straw hat still trickling snow.

She stays with them for days before they mention anything about her choice. She busies herself with tidying, in attempting to bring order to the darkness—“If only one of you could fly, we could get that dust out of the topmost chandelier,” she complains—and spends time with Lumiere, tentatively finding him out again, catching herself laughing at his bizarre jokes. She almost thinks he’s really there when he comes into a room behind her, and she looks up to the wall and sees that human-sized shadow drawing up....and then the disappointment when she turns, and he’s only there in soul, so tiny behind her she has to crouch to catch his face.

But the days cannot wear on forever, and soon she notes the looks the servants give her, and one night as she climbs up to bed she hears the stark sounds of an argument ringing up from the kitchen below. The next day, they corner her—much as they did her first day, but now she knows the names to match the faces, even the new ones she never knew before, like kind Madame de Garderobe and finicky Mr. Cadenza.

“Why so serious?” she teases Cogsworth. His hands tic-tic gloomily across his face, and his eyes search the room, and her eyes follow. Lumiere isn’t here. Cadenza paces near the door.

“It’s just...well, we don’t know how long it’s been on the outside,” says Mrs. Potts. “But here inside the palace, we’ve kept careful track of the days, and it’s been like to ten years. Not quite, you understand, but it’s been ten years almost to the dot. And we’re not figuring she’s ever going to come.”

“Who?”

“In the curse, when she laid the curse, the witch mentioned true love for the Prince,” says Cogsworth. “Reckoning, I suppose, that a parade of eligible young ladies would come lining up to the palace every morning looking to play croquet with the unfortunate Master. Well, there hasn’t been a one. Not even enough to invite in for a glass of water and a game of piquet. And if it goes on much longer like this I don’t fancy we shan’t become antiques.”

“What do you mean, antiques?”

“Never mind about that now, dear.” Mrs. Potts nudges Cogsworth aside and went on. “What he’s trying to get at, I think, is that we’re worried there won’t be anyone for the Prince. No young ladies have really stopped by once it snowed.”

“And if it goes on like this,” moans Cadenza, “I will never see my wife again. The spell will be complete. I’ll go kaput, coda, to resting beat; the symphony ends, no one applauds. The rose sits in silence. The diva, likewise.”

“This is—what will happen to all of you?”

“We’ll fade,” says Chapeau. “We don’t know what that’s like, exactly; it’s not quite death, but it isn’t living.”

“And why are you telling me this? So I can go get help?”

“There isn’t time,” says Mrs. Potts, gently. “There’s only a few petals left on the rose. We need...we need you to do something else.”

And then Plumette realizes why Lumiere isn’t allowed in the room.

She lies in her bed that night, cradled in the spot in the mattress where he used to sleep—his slippers still sit right next to the bed, covered in cobwebs, the gold brocade barely blinking out from the dust. She stuck her foot in one of them when she first arrived, but took it out in a hurry; the webs felt cold on her toes.

I have to fall in love with the Beast. She could hear them telling it to her, over and over, and she’d retold herself the same story so many times she could hear it in each of their voices, whether or not they had truly said so. “If you don’t fall in love with him, dear, Chip will remain a cup forever. My dear, that is my son.” “You’re the only eligible young lady we’ve had, Plumette, though I doubt the Prince will care much for your rank; but we can scrape up a baronetcy for you, it shouldn’t be too difficult, and then add some ranks and qualifications once you’ve married—” “Plumette, I know it’s hard. But help isn’t coming anytime soon. You’re the only hope we have.”

Fall in love with the Beast. Fall in love with the Prince. Fall in love not to love him, but to save every friend that had ever counted for her, every person who had ever treated her as family. Fall in love, and not with Lumiere.

Fall in love, to save Lumiere.

#i will write the rest later i promise #but i gotta cruise now #hope u like the angst!!! mm that hot hot sweet angst #batb fanfic #beauty and the beast #plumette #lumiere #batb #batb 2017 #batb au

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randomsevans · 5 years ago

Text

a long , long time

Weekly challenge

@donutloverxo

@captain-rogers-beard

hasn't been read through so please ignore the mistakes please

this is sorta a continued of ROSE , but can be read by its self

How ?

How can you do this ? How are you going to keep going ? Why did he do this ? Why leave you ? Why leave his daughter ? why her , why is it always her ?

you dont know how your going to do this ,you dont know how your gonna cop being a single parent , you dont know how you are going to do it alone ,. More importantly how are you going to get over him ?

How are you ever going to get over Steve Rogers ?

one thing is for sure , you have to for the sake of your daughter . Even though you will never love another , because Steve no matter what will always be your first and only love and that why it hurts so much .But you need to at least be strong for your daughter , she just lost her father.

Time , time is all you need .

===================================

it was a random Sunday , at a random park where Steve sat , He knows that he has just when back to ever one , but he hasn't showed his face yet. He looked around the park as the tree rustle against the wind as the odd person or two passes by . At this moment he feels peace .He had lived a beautiful life , with the women he truly loves and he wouldn't change .A life with Peggy , a life in his time was everything Steve wanted and got .

But for him the last 8 years or so haven't been easy , with old age playing effect on him ,the snap and the death of his love he was mostly been by himself . leaving him more time to think about them , her , you , his daughter . wonder what it would be like if he stay , how you are , did you meet some one else ? the thought sickens steve your his wife ... wait was his wife and what about his daughter he doesn't want another man raiser her .But what thats what it like now he made his choice and no matter what life he picked , it would always be filled with what ifs / and questions , theory on how he life would of went .

He buried the memory of you and his daughter for so long , Peggy never knew he had a daughter or a wife . His other children never know that there have a sister who is the same age as their grandchildren . He never thought about you , not untill it came to the years where he knew some place in the world right now , you and his younger self where together , meeting , working , dating , married , a child all together . And now your by your self .

on the days like when he asked you to marry him , got married he thought about you all day , was so so temper to go and see you and him self , but it was to risky . he remember everything , every detail to your hair , dress , your shocked face when he got on his knee . the small tear that rolled down your cheek where saying your “i dos “ . He would sit there on those days buying a single rose and drawing you.

even on the day you were born you never left his mind , he find it quiet funny and sad on that day , thinking this is the day his wife was born , but also all the pain that was to come your way , that he couldnt do anyhing about

But htere were days like the 7th of January 2020 were he couldn't just sit there by himself with his thoughts . He made his way to a random hospital in Brooklyn . He sat outside on a bench for hours , people would pass by ask if was okay an odd nurse or too would come up and ask if he was a patience . unknowingly to them his daughter , his eldest , yet youngest chronologically was being born . He sat there for hours thinking and remembering , the first time he holded her , her first steps , the annoyed look on your face when her first word was “pa “ , he remember how happy he was , he swears he never smiled so wide so happy , spinning his daughter around promising her the world because she said dad first . He chucked at the memory . He left sortly after not getting a glance at you or his daughter since he could risk seeing his self .

that was roughly three years ago and on that day every year he would celebrate in one why . he would also send her a gift which he knows he should but he couldn't stop him self .

Now he sits here on this bench, knowing soon he will have to see everyone well at least Bruce and Bucky to tell them not his okay an nothing went wrong . He was so lost in his thoughts he didnt notice the little girl run passed and trip over a rock right in frount of him

the girl had pushed her hands ifrount of her to try and save her self and let out a little cry . Steve got up the fastest her could , he reach of her hand and helped her up , while looking around to see if there was anyone running after her , not yet anyway .

the little girl was now up on her feet , with small sniffles . Her hair was long and blonde covering her face in all different direction . Her little hands trying to push her hair out of her face . Steve kneeled down to help her .

“ are you ok....”

he stop , his old heart began to beat face , his eyes wide

“ Sarah ?”

the sight of his daughter broke him , he didnt realise how much he missed her , his first child , the one he promise to always be around .

“ hmm “ was the onlt thing that came out of her . she glanced up to meet steves eyes . Blue meet blue , the same blue

Hers widen , in shook , she looked like she was about to cry .

“ h ... how do yo. you know ..my ..n..name “ she coked on every word , taking her time .

Steve was silent he didn't know what to say , the fact that his daughter that he left behind was right infrount of him.

her mouth only widen as she brought her tiny hand up towards steve face and pointed at his teary eyes .

“ y.. you ... you stole my daddy's eyes “ her little face scrunched up angerly

he slighlt chuckled shaking his head “ n..no i didnt blue “

her hand quickly wet to her side at the name

“wh... onli daddy cowlds me t..hat “

“ i.. i know “ his tears now fully streaming downs his eyes .

“how?” she asked quickly

“be..because ..” he truly didnt know what to say

“ your my daddy ?”

he forget how smart she was , she may only be three but even Tony said shell grew up to be a genius and has the smartest around about an 8 year old the least time there checked

he nodded his head in relief , the little girl only seem to grow anger as she place her hand on his cheek .

“liar .. my daddy is young .... my daddy will hurt you .... my daddy is c.cap .. amwerica he .. does good ..and doesn't liek liars “ but then she paused for a moment her eyes grew red and her lip trembled “b...but his a li..liar ... he l...my daddy ..left me “

and with that she fell to the ground with aloud sob , and Steve went with her , both crying on the floor

“ h..”

“mm im sorry blue ...but i am your .. daddy ?” he knows he shouldn't but he couldn't help it his little girl right there crying over him , his heart is breaking and dying

“how could i ever leave her ? “but he did

“ho.. how ?” you looked up

he stay silent how do you tell you daughter you left her and her mother to grow old with some one else.

“ how do i know your .. not lying ?”he glared at him . the same expression she shares with you , he let out a small chuckled , his daughter asking all the right question , she she so much like you .

“ i call .. you blue be..because we both .. have blue eyes “ a small smile placed on his lips , at the memory of finding the perfect nickname of his daughter .

she just nodded in agreement staring him down . he smile shiftig on his bony knees .

“ yo.. your first word was pa ... your birthday is 7th of January , you cant go to sleep with out piggy .. yo..you favoit food is cookie .. double double chocolate chips that antie nat makes .... you love that silly little show that .. “

“the song “ she cut him off

“what ?” he titled his head

“ if you are really my daddy .. you know the song “ her eyes soften almost coming to terms that he is her father

he paused for a mintes , cold tears falling from his eyes , every memory , everytime he song her to sleep with the song , the song that was your and his first dance together as husband and wife

“it ... its” he could trust his own words , his voice he was so emotional he was sure hes old fragil body would give away .

“ its .. its been a . long .. long time “ he closer his eyes in a temper to clear his vision as he sung the melody

“never thought that you would be standing here so close to me ,

theres so much i feel that i should say

but words can wait untill some other day

kiss me once the kiss me twist

then kiss me one again

its been a long long time

haven't felt like this my dear

since cant remember when

you'll never know how many dreams

iv dreamed about you

or just how empty there seem with out you

so kiss me once then kiss me twist

then kiss me once again “

he paushed on ever word , every line , a thousand memory and emotions , him meaning every word as he looked into the yes of his daughter , that he had missed so much , the same blue eys he shared . The ones that have grown to accept that he is her father , her papa , her daddy .

with both teary eyes ,cold stinging cheeks against the hash wind on he ground of a random park , on a random Sunday , there finish the song together meaning very word , as father and daughter

“its been a long , long time “

#captain america #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x daughter #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader

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scribbleseas · 5 years ago

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The Indignant Pawn, Chapter IV: The Sinners’ Subconscious

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You’re an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: implied rape/sexual assault, mentioned rape, cold water torture, sane asylum, non-consensual drugging by injection, a detailed panic attack, and a single mention of alcohol.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! I’m sorry this chapter came out a little behind schedule,I hope you enjoy it! You may want to find somewhere comfy and grab a snack because this one has whooping word count of 10k!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

JANUARY 23RD, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Thank you,” you hugged yourself, wrapping your arms to keep the thick fleece robe secure around your bare figure as Mey-Rin hauled a heavy tin basin of steaming water with two hands. You sat on the edge of your bed, simply watching the maid struggle to carry the basin for the final few feet to the interior of the attached lavatory. She had apologized time and time again for the lack of running water since it was only installed in Lord Phantomhive’s personal quarters and the kitchen, rather than the assorted rooms of the main house. Apparently, they were planning to finish renovations when the Earl made his yearly move to his townhouse in the interior of London, but in lieu of your arrival, both happenings were canceled. However, whether the water was pushed by some innovative pipes, or dragged up the main stairs made no difference to you. After all, you were well adjusted to going through the tedious bathing process without a willing servant at your disposal.

“Ah- of course- Your- Highness-!” Mey-Rin managed through labored breaths, finally putting the basin next to the opulent clawfoot tub.

Nonchalantly, you stood up from your bed, your hand running over the top quilt to smooth the wrinkles that surfaced from your moving. You followed Mey-Rin into the lavatory and loitered beside the open door as you watched her work.

The tub’s feet were constructed with pure silver, holding up the white porcelain body of the appliance. “Are you sure I can’t be of more help to ya?” she asked before quickly pushing up her falling glasses with two fingers. Tucked in her apron was a dry washcloth that she put over the rim of the tub, paired with a bar of ivory soap and a crystal bowl of lavender essential oil. She poured small spoonfuls of the essential oil into the water, the scent of lavender momentarily calming the hyperactivity of your nerves.

“I am quite certain, yes,” you recalled how you had requested a change in scents when she originally offered a combination of rose and honey. The scent of roses never failed to bring you back to the lavatory of the woman you drowned. She decorated her entire estate with red and pink roses, down to bathing in the scent with perfumes and oils. That woman- Agatha Tolton- was the reason you could only bathe in tubs with a little more than an inch full of water inside and meticulously dip your washcloth in the remaining basin water to dab on your body.

“Right, Your Highness. I’ll be back with your tea,” Mey-Rin squealed, pulling a matching beige towel out of the linen closet by the bathroom’s door. She put it on the lid of the toilet (which surprisingly, had plumbing) and showed herself out, closing the door behind her.

Finally left to your lonesome, you picked up the tin basin with a grunt and slowly poured a good quarter of the water into the porcelain tub. You wondered how Mey-Rin was able to haul it up the main staircase and down the winding corridor every other night when all you needed to do was pick it up for a few seconds. Steam now rose from both the tub and the basin, which was hot to touch, leaving your palms red from merely moments of direct contact. After setting it down again, your arms too weak for your preference, you shouldered off your robe and quickly stepped into the tub, the hot water encompassing your feet and drawing goosebumps all over your scarred skin.

Sitting down, the water only came to your kneecaps which was too shallow for drowning. Agatha always liked her water up to her chin and not an inch less. She needed a team of three maids on her bathing service, one to wash her hair and two to lather her body as it submerged in rose water. You had waited two weeks exactly for her servant rotation to put you on the bathing team, and two days to put you in charge of her hair. The maiden charged with Lady Tolton’s hair always entered first and you were efficient- out the window and halfway out of Essex when the two other maids entered, meeting the corpse of their employer.

You squeezed out the washcloth after dipping it in the basin, methodically running it over your body and re-dipping it into the water when it began to lose its heat. The steam from the hot water caused your hair to curl, although you had yet to wash it out yet. You undid the precarious bun Mey-Rin twisted it in that morning, letting it fall on your shoulders in brushed out waves. The least enjoyable part of bathing was submerging, or nearly submerging your head and face. It was left at the very end of your bath for that reason.

The smooth surface of the soap was a sensation that you always focused on while bathing. You found that it kept most intrusive thoughts at bay while you lathered your skin that was long marred by unsoftened water, combat, and self-sufficiency.

With a sigh, you rubbed the bar of soap over each clavicle and back to the middle of your chest- your sternum. The lather left lines of white on your skin, the gentle scent combining well with the lavender oil in the water. Everything from your privacy, the warmth of the water, the dim lamps should have been enough to completely wash the tension out of both your body and your mind, but it made your looming stress even more intense. It was different from the stress that came from sitting through a play at the Globe Theater and proceeding to enter a dark carriage as the late Felix Keating had. Instead, this stress manifested itself as something that was going to happen because of the serenity of the scene you were in. This was everything that could happen, simply because there was a moment of peace.

Quickly, you finished washing and you poured the remaining water from the basin into the tub, dipping your hair by sitting back and keeping your face out of the water. You carded your fingers through your hair and sat up, squeezing all of the water out and standing, since the water level had raised considerably and frankly, flashbacks took too much emotional- and seldom physical- strain. If you could help to avoid the circumstances that led to them, you did everything in your power to. Unfortunately, bathing was, for the most part, unavoidable.

Water ran down your body as you stepped out of the tub, the cold hair causing a fresh wave of goosebumps to multiply across your skin. You wrapped the towel around yourself, trying to catch each water droplet that ran down your thighs and to your legs before it could reach the tile flooring. You then squeezed out your hair with the towel, letting the soft fabric absorb all of the water before dropping it to the floor carelessly. Mey-Rin would take care of it after bathing Lady Midford, delivering your tea, and finishing off the rest of your night routine.

Your robe was warm from the steamy air, which allowed you some comfort before opening the door of the lavatory where Mey-Rin was waiting, her smile toothy. Her eyes were hidden under the glare of her obnoxiously round glasses. Water stained her white apron, likely from having to wait on the blonde noble more than she had a princess. The irony of it was amusing to you, but in Lady Midford’s exhaustion, she would have fallen asleep in her own tub, which would have resulted in the Earl having to wed a prune. “Oh, you’re out so soon!” Mey-Rin commented, fumbling over her words in her haste to stand at attention.

“The brush?” You requested, extending your hand to her as you sat in front of the vanity mirror, the padded stool supporting your bottom.

“Right ‘ere!” she chirped, her tone too excitable for the late hour. Too happy for the solemn moon that hung in the sky. You could see it out the large windows beside your bed. Mey-Rin handed you your brush by the handle and you preferred to only let her touch your hair in the morning when it needed to be braided and twisted about. You watched yourself move in the mirror, your reflection showing your face and copying your every move, but you couldn’t help but feel detached from it. Disconnected from the flawless skin on your face; grime free and blemish-free, the lack of prominence in your collarbones from the food you had Mey-Rin bring you after cutting every major meal short. The female that stared back at you wasn’t the woman the conman had raised- but a product of status and society.

She was Princess Marie-Louise, not you- Y/n Y/l/n.

“Something wrong, Your Highness?” Mey-Rin asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t realized that you stopped brushing your hair and instead, regarded your own reflection.

“No,” you lied, handing the brush back to her so she could tuck it away in one of the dresser drawers. You dipped a cotton ball into the elderflower water that sat in a small bowl before you, which was prepared nightly by the maid. It ran down your face when it was supposed to only go under your eyes on behalf of Andrea’s instruction.

“Well you had quite a long day, yes you did,” Mey-Rin said, unfolding a light yellow nightgown from a drawer and holding it open for you to look. Long day. Please. “How about this one?” she asked, showing you the long ruffled sleeves of it, the satin rippling from her movement. The shade of yellow reminded you of the primrose petals that bloomed in Alfriston.

“Sure,” you stood once again, abandoning the cotton ball on the surface of the vanity. You exchanged your robe for the nightgown in Mey-Rin’s hands, allowing her to sink to her knees and pull the silk that rode upwards. “I suppose you’re right. Salome was a taxing piece,” you added as a truthful afterthought. Salome’s main topic was sexuality and the toxicity of addiction, a sin that you held close to your heart- behind each emotional barrier you erected around the proverbially vulnerable organ.

“Why, yes, Lady Elizabeth recounted all of it for me,” Mey-Rin agreed, efficiently undressing the bed by taking off each decorative pillow and pulling down the bulky quilt for you. Without hesitation, you took your place on the right side of the bed, sitting forward as she put another pillow behind you. “She told me all about the maiden...the gentlemen who loved her. And that ending! Nothing short of a tragedy- I’d have bawled if I was with you lot.” The side-table with your nightly cup Earl Grey tea sat waiting.

“Right,” you answered halfheartedly, like any investment you had in the conversation from moments ago swiftly disassembled to nothing. The citrus notes of your favorite tea were rejuvenating as per usual, which always helped you to put off sleep. Sleep was the most vulnerable point of everyone’s existence, a death-like state and you couldn’t count the number of lives you’ve taken by using this fact. There wasn’t a dagger under your pillow for the angst of it.

Mey-Rin hummed, “if you don’t mind, I will just finish up ‘round ‘ere and be out of your way!” she chirped, nearly tripping over the stool that you failed to push back under your vanity as she started towards the bathroom to clean up after you.

“Alright, thank you, Mey-Rin,” using someone’s name amid a conversation was a sign of attention, making them more prone to like you. The conman always reminded you to use names as often as you naturally could, since it further expressed respect and divided the subject’s attention. Convincing someone that they were more important than they truly were put them off guard and you were open to taking any advantage you could in this environment.

“M-My pleasure!” Mey-Rin exclaimed, scurrying into the bathroom after looking at you. The use of her name always caused her to startle, as if a sudden lightning bolt struck.

Your restless night had begun the moment Mey-Rin left your quarters. As you instructed her, she left every lamp and drape open, which kept the room properly alight, sufficiently keeping the darkness of night at bay. You were left nursing the Earl Grey tea she brought, the remaining contents of the teapot lukewarm as you poured the rest of it into the teacup.

On your lap, the book was open to the Emperor’s New Clothes chapter of the book. You skimmed halfheartedly over the tale, only for the dullness of the task to distract you from your reality and allow you to drift off into a light, dreamless sleep. You hadn’t known the phrase ‘sweet dreams’ since the conman died and you vouched for a violent change in career.

After finishing off the remaining mouthful of tea, you sat back, leaning against the two downy pillows that were upright against the bed’s headboard. The covers of the bed were pulled over your chest and folded at the top, shielding you from the draft from the window. Your own warmth was trapped under the sheets and the sensation along with a sated appetite and fatigued mindset, you succumbed to reluctant slumber.

. . .

????

Bethlem Royal Hospital; established in 1247- admitting and torturing the mentally unstable since 1407. It was financed and run by the same family for centuries after Bishop Goffredo de Prefetti. Now it ran under a descendant of his great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, Alessandro de Prefetti, who was particular in ignoring the terms of the 1853 Lunatic Asylums Act as it exemplified the rights of the mentally ill. Under his control, the Bethlem Royal Hospital was a prison for the poor and incurable- a way to dump them off-radar.

The system, at its Greek origin, worked purposely against women which inevitably led to a woman asking you to get her sister back after her husband had dumped her into admission for ‘imaginary female trouble’. Already, you received a hefty sum for organizing a lethal accident involving her sister’s husband, and next, you were off to finish Alessandro de Prefetti and as you promised, clear the falsely imprisoned.

It was raining, the sky a deep grey as the clouds wept. The wind whistled in your ears, blowing the loose strands of hair in your face as you climbed the side of the brick building, the tips of your boots fitting between the worn gaps of the cement. After studying the layout of the entire facility, you knew that entering through the window of the man’s study was your best option, as senteries and doctors roamed through the corridors unpredictably.

You shivered from both the exertion and the freezing wind and when you finally reached the window, your fingers were raw from climbing and you weren't sure you could properly feel them. As you predicted, the window was locked, which made it all the more gratifying to pull your screwdriver out of the soaking wet pocket bag between your petticoats. Your trembling fingers quickly wrapped around the handle as you balanced precariously on the side of the wall, your knees bent. The glass window cracked under the blunt tip of the screwdriver as you drove it into the glass repeatedly, as a miner would drive his pickaxe into the ore of a gem. The crack grew with each hit, splintering off before the entire pane shattered, some of the glass shards falling and hitting you. One particular piece fell into you, slicing a thin cut into your cheek, causing you to spit out a curse as you pulled yourself through the busted window, “Huhrensohn!” (Son of a whore!). You could hear the fabric of your gown tearing as it was caught on the few parts of glass that were still intact.

“Who’re you?” A gruff voice asked, giving you no time to catch your bearings. A man stood before you, years older and dressed finely. He was pointing a gun at you, which made sense, considering you had just pried open the window of Alessandro de Prefetti’s study. However, you weren’t about to risk a bullet in your head, driving you to act swiftly.

“Hmm,” You hummed, dropping your screwdriver back into your pocket bag as you slowly inched closer to the man holding the gun. The lamps illuminated his face, casting shadows over the features that likened him to the praising photographs in the paper. “Are you Alessandro de Prefetti?” you inquired, purposely emphasizing the questioning lilt in your voice. The muzzle of the gun was within range, a few inches from your forehead.

“I asked you a question, girl,” his eyes were fixated on the hilt of the dagger that stuck out of your pocket until both of your hands worked in tandem to disarm him. You turned away, hooking your right arm over the antecubital space of his right arm. Instinctively, he jolted forward, pushing the gun closer which allowed you to turn your body back in towards his, pinning his forearm against your chest with your right arm, your palm flat over your heart. Without hesitation, your left hand forced the gun out of his imprisoned hand, and for good measure, you pushed his face away with the palm of your right hand.

The conman had shown you multiple ways to trap a gun.

Prefetti stumbled back with a yell, bending over and cradling the red side of his face. The metal gun felt cold in your hands and while you considered chucking the firearm out the window and hacking the businessman to bits with your dagger, this mission called more efficiency- especially if you were to liberate as many as possible. You pulled the trigger of the handgun, staggering back from the force of the gun and immediately, the man before you crumpled to the ground, the bullet finding sanctuary in the midline of his stomach area...before he laughed.

“Enchanting,” Prefetti climbed to his feet, his eyes never leaving your figure. His thumb and index finger entered the entry wound, digging around until he found the bullet and dropped it to the floor. Your next panicked shot missed, flying past his head and running into the door behind him.

“H-How?” you stuttered, shooting again as Alessandro smiled at you, a sadistic glint lighting up his onyx hues. This bullet landed in his shoulder while he walked towards you, continuing to advance after picking out the bullet in the same manner.

“Come on, darling. We can help you,” he purred, “it’s unladylike to shoot at your savior.” Blood poured out of both his wounds, but he appeared completely unfazed as it ran down his clothing, staining the carpet under his boots. “We’ll take care of you.”

. . .

You were bound to a wooden chair, rope binding both of your arms and legs. The fibers of it poked at your skin, leaving red imprints from the tightly pulled loops. You were shivering once again, your head down as another bucket of ice-cold water was poured on you. Completely exposed, your entire body was peppered with goosebumps, your fingers fidgeting, your palms facing in front of you. There was a pounding in your head and you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Another bucket of water was poured over you, each breath you took was laborious and shallow and your whole body tensed.

“I reckon that’ll teach her to not shoot at Master Prefetti,” a familiar voice chuckled, causing you to reluctantly open your eyes. Your vision was obstructed by wet hair that fell in your face, but vaguely you could see the outline of another man, paired with another set of laughter behind you. “That’s right, princess. I hope you didn’t intend to kill us with that shootin’ back there.” His hand pushed your hair out of your face before giving the strands a forceful tug. The pain caused you to yelp and immediately, another bucket of freezing water was violently spilled, causing you to choke on it. “Ha, good one there, James.”

Pete.

“Tell me, how is this one still beautiful after we’ve played with her?” James asked, a bucket in one hand as the other forced you to look at him, the back of your head hitting the top of the wooden chair. “Still so breathtakin’, ain’t she?”

“Quite,” Pete chuckled, accepting the bucket from James to pour right in your face. You squeezed your eyes closed before the water could sting.

“Did our little princess not enjoy that?” Pete cooed, the false sympathy in his voice palpable. “Brat needs her medicine to properly calm down,” he left the room after calling over his shoulder, “I’ll tell Prefetti!” The door was slammed behind him, the sudden noise causing you to flinch.

“Hear that? We’re going to calm you right down,” You were met with James’ smile once you opened your eyes again, blinking as much as you could to keep water out. “And while you’re out, we’ll relax ya even more,” he kneeled at your level, his cold eyes prying, his large hands on your thighs. His fingertips tickled your skin, which was frankly, a more comfortable substitute for biting ice water. “That sound good?”

“Don’t think you’re useless to us when you’re off in that dreamland of yours,” he added as Pete returned, immediately going to your side. Amusement danced in James’ eyes, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was meeting Pete’s gaze and in the same moment, there was a dull sting in your arm. The smell of rubbing alcohol vaguely permeated the air.

Your vision went dark as the hands on your thighs languidly traveled up your torso.

. . .

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

You couldn’t breathe.

The opulent bedroom around you seemed to be a mirage, as your hands pulled at the covers over you. Sweat gathered in your hairline, falling down your forehead and to the bridge of your nose. You sat upright, your heart beating uncontrollably as you panted.

Alessandro de Prefetti had died about two years ago, 1890. The spring rain had made scaling the side of the building challenging and there was a faint scar across your cheekbone from the broken glass of the window. Every element of that dream was accurate until you shot him. His handgun was instead, thrown out the broken window and you had wrestled the skinny man to the floor, pulling the blade of your dagger across his throat to sever his carotid artery. Everything else that you could vaguely recall from that nightmare- the cold water therapy, the rise of the first two men you had ever killed, never happened.

After killing Prefetti, you found the woman that you were set to free in the first place and she was treated that way. She was chained to her chair and the men that poured the freezing water over her head were torturing her for bearing an illegitimate child out of rape. Her husband had dumped her into the institution on the assumption that it was her fault. You should have killed him afterward since he took no time to replace her with another doe-eyed lady. Her belly was swollen with presumably, his child.

You pushed the covers off of your body, the heat that they provided was no longer any kind of comfort to you. A quick shake of the cold teapot told you that you finished the last of your evening fix of tea when you needed more or at least a glass of warm milk. The bell that sat on the wall beside your door was tempting, as it would wake the maid and bring her to your room, but you didn’t have the heart to wreck her night of sleep simply because your mind conjured horrid dream sequences.

The wooden planks felt cold under your bare feet as you sulked to the door of your room, opening it and immediately meeting the dark abyss of the corridor. Before crossing the threshold, you grabbed a lantern to take with you as it illuminated bits of the walls, floor, and ceiling around you. The light chased away the foreboding darkness with each reluctant step you took.

Frankly, you had no clue as to where the kitchen was located- if it was near the dining hall, by the servant quarters, or even at a completely different wing. Your only interest was a certain beverage to calm your racing heart, to still your trembling hands. The lump in your throat was hard to swallow down as pitiful tears threatened to fall.

Every door that you passed was closed and there was no sign of light anywhere, except the bit that the lantern emitted. The ruffled sleeve of your nightgown had to be stained with how frequently you wiped your forehead clear of anxiety-fueled perspiration. All you needed was a glass of warm milk and you’d go back to your bedroom, on the assumption you could find it after somehow reaching the kitchen.

The opening door to your side caused you to jump and the yelp that passed your lips was narrowly stifled, causing it to be a diminutive squeak. Your tense back was against the wall, the lantern in your hand brandished as if it was an effective weapon. In a way, you supposed it could be. The iron was heavy enough to cause some amount of damage if your hands hadn’t been shaking as much as they were.

“...Your Highness? Is that you?” Lord Phantomhive’s hoarse voice was octaves lower from sleep. The light of the fire dancing in your lantern showed his face, his black hair disheveled. Notably, there was no black eyepatch over his right eye and instead, his eye was only closed, his long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks. “Did you need something?” His hand fell to his side, his fingers wrapped around the grip of a gun. The sight of it caused the lump in your throat to return with vengeance and while crying in front of your target was lamentable of you, the dam that kept your emotions at bay was only so sturdy.

“I-...” You started, staring at the equal confusion and surprise on his face as tears welled in your eyes, falling down your cheeks as you sniffled. Crying in front of others was an ultimate sign of vulnerability and the conman had you do it on command to play with the heartstrings of your victims when needed while this was different. This was the type of weeping that you couldn’t force down and as a result, you were gasping like a fish out of water before the Earl’s perplexed gaze. Your throat seized with words you couldn’t dare admit. “I-... need warm milk,” your damp sleeve did a poor job of absorbing your tears.

“We can send for Sebastian. Wait just a moment,” he quickly returned to his room, having exchanged his weapon for a white handkerchief, and his eyepatch fastened back around his head. “Silk is never good for anything more than a first-glance appeal,” he commented, handing the cotton to you. He was right; the material was much more absorbent than your sleeve.

Upon rubbing your nose with the handkerchief, the prominent scent vaguely reminded you of the Earl’s- bay leaf with a touch of lavender and ivory soap.

“Wait with me in my room,” you ordered as a ploy to cover your own passing fear of being alone. Walking back down the winding hall in the darkness was a poor idea and even if your temporary companion was the condescending Lord Phantomhive, he was better than no one. Having to actively speak to someone helped you remain present- far away from the pain that you associated with darkness.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” he said, walking with you, but a few short paces behind. You could hear each step he made, otherwise, the impenetrable silence that loitered between the two of you returned. It was a void that neither of you bothered to fill unless there was a need to. But as he escorted you back to your quarters, two hours after midnight, there was no need. He knew his place, and it was far from inquiring as to what had agitated you enough to send you out of bed, wailing silently. Although, the unfazed expression on his face; a neutral frown and unfurrowed brow, you suspected he knew. If Lord Phantomhive killed as much as Doña had claimed, then surely, the theater of his subconscious treated him just as poorly as yours did.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, nodding once to validate his attempt at chivalrously opening the door for you. It was already ajar, and you had been able to see the light pouring from it into the hall from ages away, but he didn’t dare leave you then. The cotton handkerchief was rolled into a crumpled ball in your fist, damp with your tears. Your tears had finally ceased as you grappled for control over your own train of thought.

“No,” Lord Phantomhive responded and you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. His poker face rivaled yours as it was impassive as a brick wall unless you were deliberately poking fun at him. His grandiloquence needed to be rivaled and by passively vexing him, you took pleasure in offering a semblance of modesty to his countenance. “Unfortunately, the thresholds of sleep aren’t so welcoming to me either.”

“I reckon you could use a glass of warm milk as well.”

You could have killed him right there in your room. There were at least seven completely lethal places on the human body to stab with a blade; the spinal cord, the carotid artery, the axillary artery, heart and lungs, the liver, the femoral artery, and the popliteal artery. Your dagger was tucked right under the pillow you slept on and Lord Phantomhive was merely standing at the side of your bed while you sat down on the edge of it. He was off his guard, making it easy for you to pounce, stab, and make your escape through the window.

However, the mere thought of holding a weapon and covering this nightgown in more bodily fluids was mildly distressing. You knew yourself well enough to be sure that stabbing the Earl would only cause you to freeze up and stare at his corpse, rather than act swiftly and leave. Besides, your eyes were heavy and it felt as if loads of bricks were piled onto your shoulders. Killing him could wait until you returned to top form. Giving Doña such a short time frame was foolish of you, and there was no doubt that she would gloat when you returned after a few days more than a week. There were too many unprecedented factors; such as the able butler and lack of opportunity. The most time you spent with the Earl in a day couldn’t surpass more than an hour, or even less. From accompanying him and his betrothed to the theater to having to wait silently for a glass of milk together, this was the most time you spent with him since your arrival.

“It would be my second of the evening,” he responded, hesitating long enough for you to look at him, rather than the wall across from you. This was the first time you noticed that he was only clad in a long nightshirt, the neckline a deep v-shape with ruffles that matched those on your sleeves. The shirt hugged his thin shoulders, the rest of the garment completely loose around his frame. His arms were slender, the muscles there likely less developed than yours. Against you, any fight he attempted to put up would be pathetic.

The conman made sure of it, although he’d never be happy with this life you picked for yourself. After all, the violence he armed you with was supposed to be ‘last resort’. He would have wanted you to attempt to take his lessons and make yourself into someone legitimate. Naturally, the irony was that he was the most honest man you knew.

“To unwind, milk surely surpasses a two-row malt,” you said under your breath, which the Earl either ignored or didn’t hear. Clearing your throat, you spoke louder to articulate more of an appropriate response, “as many as it takes, Lord Phantomhive.” Alcohol wasn’t proper to discuss for a woman, much less a princess.

“Es ist ziemlich früh zum Aufstehen, Eure Hoheit,” (It’s quite early to rise, Your Highness). When Sebastian entered, he showed no sign of fatigue, unlike yourself or even his master. Out of the three of you, he was the only one clad in more than oversized nightwear. The butler tended to wear some form of a black ensemble, matching with the raven hair that fell in his eyes and cascaded down his neck. Within your time at the estate, you had never seen his bare hands, since they were always covered with pristine white gloves. Sebastian couldn’t have been much older than the Earl, his face was clear of any hints of aging.

“Ich würde den nächtlichen Terror nicht als 'früh aufstehen' bezeichnen,” (I would not call night terror ‘rising early’) your eyebrows knit at the cheeky statement as you took on of the two glasses of milk off of his serving tray. “Mein Bedarf an Ihrer Unterstützung sollte nicht zur Diskussion stehen,” (My need for your assistance should not be up for discussion), you continued, quite sternly. If you hadn’t noticed the Earl’s blank expression, then you would have forgotten that he couldn’t understand German as you scolded his butler. When he was agitated, Lord Phantomhive’s ability to filter his facial expressions was significantly reduced, which resulted in what you christened, the look.

Sebastian chuckled as if he was more amused by your sentiment than taken aback. He closed his eyes, briefly lowering his head as he stood before you. “Sie haben Recht. Ich bitte aufrichtig um Entschuldigung; wenn Sie noch etwas benötigen, zögern Sie bitte nicht, danach zu fragen,” (You're right. My sincerest apologies; if you need anything more, please do ask) he said, practically cooing with the smooth intonations of his voice. That patronizing articulation reminded you of the three men in your nightmare and the sickening reminder caused your blood to boil.

“Wenn ich sehe, dass Sie Ihren Zweck erfüllt haben, würde ich sagen, dass Sie sich rar machen dürfen,” (Seeing that you've served your purpose, I would say you're cleared to make yourself scarce). You took a sip of your milk, the warmth of it providing a new sensation to anchor your presence onto. The glass between your palms was also warm to touch.

“Natürlich. Gute Nacht, Eure Hoheit,” (Of course. Goodnight, Your Highness), Sebastian responded, tucking the serving tray under his arm. “A goodnight to you as well, my Lord. I presume you can show yourself to your bedroom when Her Highness requires privacy once again.”

The Earl was slow to respond, likely having allowed his mind to drift some with the foreign conversation that excluded him. “Evidently,” each syllable of the word was pronounced with malice from the haughtiness in Sebastian’s condescending countenance and the conversation that was completely lost to him. Once Sebastian closed the door behind him, he turned to you, his upper lip saturated in milk before he pursed his lips to get it off. “Of all the skills he’s mastered, Sebastian still hasn’t learned the art of holding his tongue. My apologies.”

“He answered for himself,” you stood with your glass in hand, and looking back at your disheveled bed, you had half the mind to ask the Earl to stay until you fell asleep. The conman would do that for you when your nightmares were far tamer; consisting of missing an important event, or simply falling from an unknown height. However, scratching a subconscious itch wasn’t worth shredding the carefully crafted exterior you had put on for this charade any more than you already had that night. “You should retire now. It’s late.”

“So long as you attempt to as well,” Lord Phantomhive said, giving you a long look, devoid of pity. Instead, there was a tentative awareness, an insight that was dangerously convincing. “Sleep well,” his parting timbre seemed octaves lower, causing you to pause and look at him.

“Sleep well,” you reiterated, quickly putting your glass on the side table with your empty teacup, sliding back under your warm covers. He shut the door, twisting the knob slow enough to leave a soft click, rather than the louder bang that sounded when the door was shut normally.

The next bout of uncertain sleep you fell into was light and fortunately, dreamless.

. . .

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“It was an honor to meet you, Your Highness!” Lady Midforf dawned a new dress for the fresh day. It was another baby pink shade that strategically brought out her big emerald optics. You had left breakfast early that morning, but as kindness towards her, provided her and the Earl your permission to continue to dine. You had retreated to your room with the hope of catching some final moments of rest, despite being completely dressed in a deep blue gown, your hair pulled into another intricate bun.

At your request, Mey-Rin brought a tray of Earl Gray tea and two little squares of butterkuchen, or butter cake, paired with assorted berries. You were in the process of nursing your tea and slowly picking at each cut of cake with your dainty dessert fork. They were easiest to maneuver in your small hands.

The moment the door opened, you stood and quickly brushed crumbs off of your lap with your hands. In order to eat your breakfast, you were sitting at the desk in front of the large window. Merely watching snow fall lazily was enough entertainment for you, since it gave your mind the proper space to wander.

“The same to you, Lady Midford,” you said. Her title came out awkwardly as you tensed in surprise when the tall blonde caught you in a tight embrace. She was a handsy girl, judging by the way she clung to her betrothed, but you had assumed that being royalty, she’d grant you mercy. However, her (surprisingly strong) arms squeezed your middle with the same insistence that your corset had that morning. You couldn’t imagine having to endure uncomfortable contact multiple times.

Reluctantly, you patted Lady Midford’s back twice, which she took as a gesture for her to release you. She didn’t know her own strength and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from exactly. “I very much hope to see you again,” Lady Midford continued, her smile beaming at you. It reached her eyes and you had no doubt that it was genuine; your only question is- how is one so happy?

Although you sincerely doubted the likelihood of you crossing paths with the noble, you pretended to have a desire to. After all, if you did see her again, it would mean that Lord Phantomhive was still alive and you were still shouldering this heavy charade. You hoped to be out of the estate days ago and at this incredibly slow rate of progression, you were sure that you’d be stuck there for at least a few more days.

“Safe travels,” you said, watching as she stepped back towards the open door. She proceeded to retreat, until she stopped at the door, her face suddenly quite serious.

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice lower. “Ciel is very dedicated to Her Majesty. As long as you’re here, he won’t let a single thing happen to you,” she continued, her stare prying into your soul, it seemed. “He’s...a bit distant, but you can trust him if my word means anything to you.”

Your face softened and for a passing moment, you felt sad for the girl. You were going to kill her betrothed- her cousin that she seemed to care dearly for. She was merely collateral damage- considering Lord Phantomhive was responsible for the deaths of many innocents.

Your hand rested on the top of the chair that you were previously sitting in. “Thank you, Lady Midford. That is very reassuring to hear,” you lied, moving your hand over heart for a shallow curtsey. “My grandmother has done nothing but sung his praises. I trust him with my life,” you continued, properly standing to your feet. Lady Midford’s eyes were glassy as if she was about to cry from the sentiment. Hopefully, she’d get on with leaving before you had to deal with that.

Lady Midford nodded, her high pigtails moving as she returned the curtsy. Hers was deeper and much slower than yours had been. “The pleasure is completely mine. I must go now- before Paula comes up to fetch me herself,” Lady Midford made an effort to joke, her laugh was a little wanner than it normally was. She sniffled and quickly left your room, leaving the door open after.

. . .

“Your Highness...might I ask why are you are so invested in these...children’s tales?” Lord Phantomhive’s voice sounded behind you, causing you to nearly lose your footing and fall off the short stool that you were using to look for more Brothers Grimm pieces. The sound you made wasn’t as strong as you would have preferred it to be, your hands quickly flying to the shelf for stability. If you had been holding a book, it would have certainly fallen to the floor. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you.”

Normally, you would have heard his footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing, but you were too invested in finding the story that Hanna used to tell you from memory. Hanna was a maid that worked in the Glücksburg Castle for your family. She took you in the kitchen from time to time and you’d help her bake as well as a little girl could; until Governess Lydia fired her for teaching a princess a skill of a middle-class woman. Hanna had every tale from the Brothers Grimm memorized and she’d recite each story to you, particularly one that featured a mother, a murder, and a bird. You couldn’t remember the title for the life of you, but out of a lack of agenda (besides plotting an impending murder), you set out to locate it within the expansive collection of books.

You took a large inhale, closing your eyes for a moment. From having them open for an extended period of searching, you had forgotten to blink. You released the air in your lungs after it grew stale and stepped down from the short stool to properly face the Earl. The height difference between the two of you wasn’t severe with your heels, but it was enough to force you to look up at him.

It took you a moment to realize that the bulk of his words were completely lost on you. “I beg your pardon?” you asked, dutifully ignoring his reliable deadpan.

“You’re going to read...yet again,” Lord Phantomhive pointed out rather astutely. You were positive that his statement was much longer than that simple comment, but you didn’t push the matter.

“Unfortunately, the options in the estate are rather limited for me,” you responded truthfully. You meant this by way of interesting things to do as well as the opportunity to complete your assignment. Sebastian was always hovering around the Earl and in the rooms where he is alone, there are no clear routes to leave through. You weren’t in possession of any thallium which was last resort in the first place. “I can do almost anything at home, but here,” you mused, playing into your role, “...here, I’m essentially under a house arrest. It’s quite boring.”

Lord Phantomhive’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. The action always caused the bit of skin between them to wrinkle and paired with his parted lips, he resembled a gaping fish. This was the look of exasperation and disbelief you met multiple times per day- enough for you to start calling it the look.

“I’m looking for a particular story by the Brothers Grimm. Are you familiar with their work?”

“I was-” you cut off his budding sarcasm with a glare of your own.

“A stepmother kills her stepson and bakes him into a pudding,” you explained as you turned back to the shelf to skim over the titles on the spines of the books.

“The Juniper Tree,” the Earl named almost instantaneously. At your questioning stare he cleared his throat, “my late aunt would read that one to myself and Lizzie all the time...there’s no copy here.”

You frowned and turned to look at Lord Phantomhive again. How could he be so sure? There had to be a few hundred books in the library to keep track of altogether...how could he be sure of one particular tale? The tautness in his shoulders told you not to pry. “Very well. Did you need to speak to me?” you asked since the Earl only approached you outside of meals when he needed to inform you of something particular.

“Yes. I have a dinner meeting with the head of a trans-Atlantic shipping company this evening. For your safety, I’d like to request you remain on this level of the building while it proceeds,” Lord Phantomhive’s poker face was quite nonchalant as he more or less ordered you to keep hidden from the other businessman. You understood that given his own instructions from the Queen, he had a certain degree of authority over where you went, or who you saw. Besides, you could use the time on the second floor to your advantage.

“And what of my dinner?” You were quite open to the prospect of eating alone because it meant that you could eat more than a few measly forkfuls.

“My staff is fully prepared to serve you in the foyer- or wherever you’d like on this level,” the Earl said, shifting his weight to his other side in preparation to leave you alone once again. “If there’s anything you need-”

“I won’t hesitate to ask,” you finished, finding the spiel more patronizing by each second it carried on. “Thank you,” you added as a half-hearted afterthought, pairing it with a strained turn of your lips.

A few seconds of silence followed as Lord Phantomhive composed himself. Irritation flashed in his exposed eye and his hand clenched at his side since he wasn’t carrying anything with him. The subtle movement caught your gaze and when he noticed that you were looking, the same hand opened. The blue gem on one of his rings shined in the light, just as yours did. Was it a family ring as well? The band was silver instead of rose gold, but there was no doubt it had a hefty fortune behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

. . .

While Lord Phantomhive focused on his meeting, you took the opportunity to get into his study. A nagging voice in the back of your mind demanded concrete evidence that the boy was truly a criminal, considering you failed to pry into Doña’s motivations. She was a shrewd woman and went as far as to unapologetically provide you with an alias. Doña translated to lady or madame, a tidbit that you learned through finding a Spanish to English dictionary tucked in a shelf of the Phantomhive library. You didn’t actually know her name, and for all you knew, her deceased family resided within a crime ring that your grandmother could have asked her guard dog to eradicate. Although the likelihood of finding evidence, either way, was slim, there was cause to try.

Your hand twisted the knob of the door, but before you could apply any pressure, Sebastian intervened. He stood behind you after his stealthy approach, silent, almost waiting for you to speak first. Sebastian’s steps were too quiet- the conman taught you how to make yours as indiscriminate as possible, but the old wooden floor always whined beneath your heels. You let go of the knob after trying to give it a twist. However, it didn’t budge.

“Kann ich Ihnen helfen, Sebastian?” (May I help you, Sebastian?) You turned around to face him properly, his face predictably smug, no matter how he tried to maintain his respectful smile. Although his poker face was far superior to his master’s, no facade was perfect; not even yours. Marie was much more genteel than you; following the customary guidelines to pretend to be nice, or pretend to enjoy having her whole middle shoved into a restricting torso. She shoved her feelings so far off, you doubted she had the complexity to frown- or think- by the second time you ran away. In that way, you were failing to personify her- the perfect princess she was.

Sebastian ignored the question, “Mein Meister ist derzeit in einer geschäftlichen Besprechung. Wenn Sie ihn gesucht haben, erlauben Sie mir bitte, eine Nachricht entgegenzunehmen,” (My master is currently in a business meeting. If you were looking for him, please allow me to take a message) you figured it would be best to pretend as if your conversation with Lord Phantomhive had simply slipped your mind (or didn’t take place at all), since Sebastian was notably absent.

“Ach ja, richtig. Dann werde ich mein Abendessen jetzt im Foyer einnehmen, vielen Dank,” (Oh, right. Then I will take my supper in the foyer, now, thank you). You hastily left Sebastian standing alone in the hall to show yourself to the exact foyer in the west wing of the estate. The fireplace reminded you of the exact brick pattern that the fireplace in your own home had, which was a vague comfort to you. Furthermore, eating alone was a relief because it allowed you to fully let down your usual restrictions and eat until you were completely satiated- to take bite after bite until your corset felt even tighter than it had that morning. Your empty stomach rumbled at the thought.

. . .

Finny brought firewood inside the foyer and started a warm blaze in the fireplace at your off-hand request. Once again, his strength took you aback when he effortlessly hauled in multiple thick logs, the dirt on them staining his yellow shirt.

Since Sebastian was too occupied in serving the Earl and his other guest, the other servants on the estate were left to tend to you. The table that you were sitting at was pulled in from the library, the white cloth that ran over it was pristine and pressed to size. Your utensils shined, likely polished recently. The atmosphere was much more comfortable, as opposed to the cold silence that you and Lord Phantomhive tended to sit in. Moreover, the other servants- Mey-Rin, Finny, and Baldroy were simply less...presumptuous and sly.

You particularly appreciated Baldroy- not for his work or lack thereof, but his scattered presence. The vague scent of cigars that followed him reminded you of the conman, just as his laid-back drawl and leadership tendency did. There was hardly any commonality between the respective appearances of the two men, but the way Baldory carried himself oddly...helped you to remember the conman’s voice. His phlegmy laugh and snide grin.

“We’d be doin’ a fine disservice to you in tryna pronounce the names of these dishes,” Baldroy said, emerging through the open doors of the foyer with several small plates of distinctively different German plates. They were small enough to be considered canapés, but the summation of five plates made up for their portion. You assumed it was a bid on Sebastian’s part to waste less food in attempting to please you.

At Baldory’s side was Mey-Rin as she held a small basket of bread rolls, with one little glass bowl tucked within them. It was one type of jam- likely the quince that you had been favoring over your last few meals. Even as a girl, it was one of your favorites, being almost exclusive to Germany.

Your smile turned one corner of your lips upwards- barely there, but completely genuine. “That’s fine. I do find Sebastian’s introductions quite tedious to sit through,” your shoulders jumped when you laughed shortly, unable to help your reaction to their surprised faces. Baldroy wasn’t accustomed to your dry humor and Mey-Rin’s shortcomings were rarely validated with a semblance of amusement.

“Oh- well, alright, then-” Baldroy started, placing the tray that carried all the dishes before you. It was clear that he wasn’t experienced with table service, (Mey-Rin none the wiser), but in a way, you found the informality strangely comforting.

“-This is spätzel,” you interrupted, gesturing to the first plate with egg noodles nearly twirled. It was usually quite heavy for your preference since the noodles could sometimes be considered ‘dumplings’. “Käse, cheese,” you couldn’t name the exact type of cheese that was cut on the next plate. Each slice was paired with a different cracked and knowing Sebastian, you felt safe in assuming that this was on purpose. “Katenspek...teewurst” you continued, mostly naming the food in front of you for your own memory’s sake. After spending the most recent nine years of your life in various cities in England, you were more accustomed to bangers and mash and heavy cottage pies.

Quickly looking up at the two servants, you cleared your throat. “Is this all?” you asked impassively. It seemed to be more than enough already.

“Yes!” Mey-Rin responded, “this is all. I’ll be right back with your tea, ‘scuse me,” she rushed out. Her basket of bread was still in her hands and with her short attention span, there was no way she’d realize it until she reached the kitchen. However, the scent of freshly warmed rolls continued to linger around your table, just as Baldroy’s scent of smoke did.

The combination reminded you of the desperate day you met the conman- after you swindled an upper-middle-class couple out of a great sum of their money. With that man’s wages...Baxter purchased a loaf of bread, under the logic of conserving what the two of you rightfully earned. He laughed in that alleyway, praising your acting skills until his face was shades darker than the cold air made it. No one in Germany praised you- not once and within a single week of relocating across the sea, you had garnered someone’s appreciation. As a girl, nothing (besides a full stomach) was quite as satisfying. That was when he offered to take you in, and evidently, the rest was history.

You hadn’t noticed Baldroy leave, but after looking up from the plates of food before you, space across from you was empty. Once again, you were left alone, the only prominent noise in the foyer was the soft crackling of the fireplace and the chime of your fork and knife against the bowl that the spätzel was piled in. There was a sprinkling of parsley on top, but you brushed it out and onto the plate under the small bowl. Amongst many moving parts, the food that was involved in this particular operation was both a vice and a virtue- sitting in front of delectable meals multiple times a day, but due to social codes, only being able to eat a few bites while with company. Your circumstances reminded you of the Greek myth of Tantalus, though you were much better off than the deceased king of Sipylus.

After reaching the bottom of the bowl, you moved on to demolishing the tasting of pre-cut Katenspek, which was smoked pork belly. It would have been salty for your liking, had there not been some kind of cranberry sauce pooled at the bottom of the stack of thin strips. You were about halfway through finishing them off when Baldroy returned. By the surprise in his eyes, it was safe to assume that he expected you to have returned to your quarters instead.

Baldory didn’t wait too long to speak as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Huh, I was beginning to doubt me cookin’,” he mused, sharing your bashful half-smile. You dabbed your lips with the edge of the folded napkin on your lap. The action stained the white cloth with the red cranberry sauce that loitered on your lips.

You sat back in your chair, finding the corset you wore much tighter than it felt before you sat down to properly eat. Relief bloomed in your stomach as you regarded the chef in front of you, the euphoria of finally having a full stomach causing you to smile again. “It was delightful, thank you,” the idea of someone of importance witnessing you so content sent shivers down your spine.

. . .

There was a knock at your door, the sound too strident to be Mey-Rin’s and unnecessary for it to be Sebastian’s. Mey-Rin had finished her nightly duties, this night’s routine much more simplified, since you had only just bathed last night, and rather than Sebastian, she brought up your Earl Grey tea with a hefty slice of Black Forest cake- the best dessert to grace the earth. The recipe was native to Germany, chocolate layers of cake with a cherry and cream filling. The cherries in the filling were soaked in cherry schnapps that originated in the Black Forest, a mountain range in Germany. There was still more than half of it on the plate as you pried small bites from it every couple of minutes.

“Hereinspaziert,” (Come in), you mumbled, hardly looking up from the page of the new book you picked up before retiring to sleep. This was a compilation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems, each in native German, and translated on the next page over. Along with theater, poetry tended to enervate you enough to allow you to rest some for a night. This particular poem was called “Night Thoughts”. The title was ironic enough to catch your eye in the glossary at the beginning of the book.

‘Ihr, von denen der Seewurf die Matrosen angezündet hat…’ (Ye by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted…)

The door opened to reveal the Earl at the threshold. He was still dressed in his posh number, his jacket, and trousers a matching forest green while his shirt was its predictable white. You pulled your covers up further, holding them up to your chest under your open book. The neckline of your nightgown was much lower than you were comfortable with exposing and keeping the bits of dignity you had was more than preferable.

“Yes?” you urged Lord Phantomhive to state his case for interrupting your reading- not that the poem made much sense to you anyhow. The male’s face was terse as if the meeting hadn’t played out the way he had wanted it to. Considering he had only shown himself in your, it was hard to believe that you coaxed out the look with a single syllable.

“You called this estate boring,” he stated nonchalantly, loitering in front of the open door. Behind him, the hallway was alight with the dim glow of lanterns, a gesture that you duly appreciated.

“I did,” you replied, matching his level of care in his articulation. Lord Phantomhive was nothing of a utilitarian in a sense of parlance. He used too many posh words most of the time and appeared to believe that studying Latin was a productive use of time. Yet, he seemed too peeved to care.

Furthermore, fun wasn’t something you were well acquainted with, but you could confidently say that sitting through a tragic play with your intended victim and his betrothed did not qualify. Vaguely, fun was supposed to be stimulating or engaging in some way. Lord Phantomhive was close to your age, but he acted several years older with a lack of interest in anything that resided off of some variant of paper.

“Let’s go horseback riding, then. I know a private trail,” he suggested. Learning how to ride a horse was about the only interesting lesson you had as a girl, although you were constantly scolded for refusing to sit side-saddle. It was considered a way to preserve a woman’s modesty. For a lady to spread her legs outside a marriage bed was a complete sacrilege and you made the most out of standing in the stirrups of your horse when you could.

You couldn’t remember the last time you held a pair of reins in your own hands since you had only learned in the instance of an emergency. In any other case, you had to sit behind a man while he directed the horse for you. Besides, the January cold had to be too much for the horses to bear for a winding trail in the countryside.

“Well?” Lord Phantomhive asked arching an eyebrow at you. If the trail was private, it made a good setting for killing him, hiding the body, and leaving with the horse. Especially if Sebastian was going to be the only accompaniment on the trip. Judging by his slender physique, you doubted that he’d be able to put up much of a fight against you if there was no way to be furtive.

“Fine,” you cut a slice out of your cake with the side of your fork, momentarily breaking eye contact with the noble as you let the hunk of chocolate cake and tart cherry marry on your tongue before meticulously chewing and swallowing. “You know, you are ambitious in your pursuits, my Lord.” You added offhandedly, considering this proposal came from a vague challenge from you.

Lord Phantomhive shrugged, the corner of his lips twitching to form his elusive smirk. “Hm,” he paused, the thought clearly facetious when it was supposed to be a simple observation from you. “We’re human beings, Your Highness. Always after our own self-interest.”

“Then it’s within your self-interest to both protect and entertain me?” The conversation was quickly evolving into a clever, existential turn of phrase, rather than an invasion of your time alone. You closed your book after putting a little piece of paper inside to save your page.

“Of course. The Phantomhive name is known for the standard of care we give our guests- particularly-”

“Particularly grandchildren of Her Majesty,” you finished smugly, although he would have used a less blunt way to state your title. The coy smirk on his regrettably prepossessing face dropped, quickly replaced by the look, once again. If the Earl couldn’t admonish you verbally, he was sure to show you his irritation with his face, whether he meant to or not. At least he was to be reasonably humbled before you ended him.

The Earl cleared his throat, “Tuesday is my only free day this week. I’ll have Sebastian make preparations for then.”

“And what am I to do in the meantime?” You questioned, playing up your impertinence to bother him further. Marie would do the exact same and more likely, she would have demanded more from the Earl. You were much more acquiescent and you merely kept to yourself, save for your attempt to get into his study to pry. Gaining access was crucial to your morality and since you intended on striking at the end of that trail, you’d need to enter before Tuesday morning.

“I trust that you are capable of entertaining yourself, for the time being, Your Highness.”

You took a long sip of your tea, the floral notes of the Earl Grey mingled nicely with the remnants of cherry on your tongue. The heat of the beverage caused you to cringe as it ran down your throat. The teacup remained in your hands as you regarded the noble, who had inched his way to the foot of your bed for ease of conversation. Naturally, he loitered at the respectful distance, keeping his gaze proper and away from the covers that fell from your chest. You didn’t have the hands to readjust them, or the peace of mind to notice.

“...Fine. Sleep well, Lord Phantomhive,” you dismissed, putting the teacup back on the nightstand with the remnants of your cake. You had a feeling that he wasn’t done with the conversation, but you weren’t shy in expressing that you were. The night was a complex time and while the presence of another in your room was somewhat soothing, it reminded you of the episode you had that morning. The bruise to your pride was somewhat fresh, making it uncomfortable to think about or dwell on. At least in that way, you understood Lord Phantomhive. His pride made for a sturdy defense around the vulnerable- terrified- subconscious as yours did. You each protected your weaknesses fiercely and that's what made this particular assignment so complicated.

“Sleep well, Your Highness. I’ll sort out the rest of the details and keep you up to date,” the sound of the door shutting behind him caused you to jump. You put your book on the nightstand, using it to push the tray of refreshments further away. This night would do well to be kinder to you.

. . .

Tags:

#ciel phantomhive #ciel x reader #black butler #black butler fanfic #strangers to lovers #anime fanfiction #sebastian michaelis #murder #angst #historical fiction #victorian era #the indignant pawn #a sinner's subconscious #ciel phantomhive x reader

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onenerdtwonagas · 4 years ago

Text

Cultural Exchange

It had been nearly a month since the demigod moved in to Uriah’s apartment, and yet it didn’t feel nearly as odd as the young man had expected. Lessons on human etiquette were going surprisingly well, and it only took a week for Orpheus to stop growling or flinching every time an appliance beeped, or a car horn sounded from the streets below. Learning to use said appliances, however, would still take time, but Uriah was at least confident that Orpheus knew not to try operating any of them on his own just yet. He wasn’t stupid, by any means, just very new to the advances of human technology. It was like teaching a toddler to read or spell for the first time.

That being said, feeding and caring for a naga demigod was not always so simple. Uriah could and absolutely did his best to make sure Orpheus got enough to eat, though it was making a bit of a dent in his grocery bill. Finding clothes for him for the first time was a trial, too; he couldn’t very well take Orpheus with him, so finding clothes meant buying various styles and brands and having to traverse the stores multiple times to return whatever wasn’t going to work. And it certainly tried his poor nerves having to watch Orpheus in so many snug shirts and pants. A man can only take so much.

All the extra food and shopping expenses meant more work was needed, and until Orpheus was versed enough in human culture to have a job of any sort, that meant overtime for Uriah. He felt terrible, not being able to spend more time with Orpheus, but bills didn’t stop coming just because he wished they would. When he came home, Orpheus was always waiting for him, smiling and boasting whatever he’d managed to accomplish on his ‘homework’ assigned by Uriah. The first day he’d managed to memorize the alphabet, he’d been practically giddy.

Uriah recalled that evening as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, smiling to himself. The eagerness in Orpheus’ eyes when he’d asked to be shown how to spell Uriah’s name... The last ‘assignment’ he’d been working on was handwriting. Uriah could only imagine how excited Orpheus would be to show off his improvements.

“Babe, I’m home!”

He re-locked the door and shrugged off his jacket, cracking his neck to the left, then the right. The lights in the kitchen were on low, but it was quiet. His brow perked.

“Orpheus?”

Silence answered him. Odd. Normally he’d be halfway smothered in coils at that point, doing his best to fend off an almost-too-affectionate naga. Uriah set his small work bag on the counter and smoothed out his t-shirt, glancing into the living room space as he rounded the corner to the hallway. The only other light on came from the partially-open bedroom door, which Uriah cautiously eased in to.

“...Orpheus?”

The naga didn’t respond. He was reclined on the bed, tail sprawled partially on the mattress before spilling out on to the floor, and surrounding him were about half a dozen sheets of paper and a discarded pen. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, sound asleep, practically dead to the waking world.

Uriah snuck past the lazily wound tail on the floor and peeked over at the papers. Glancing up to make sure he hadn’t disturbed his lover, he leaned over and pulled the pages one by one, and turned them over. They were absolutely littered with Orpheus’ rough, but mildly improved handwriting, with hundreds of attempts at spelling Uriah’s name. Uriah muffled a sheepish groan with the pages pressed to his face as he caught sight of several flocks of hearts scribbled around what he assumed were Orpheus’ favorite attempts.

Good God, he’s so...

Uriah slid the papers down and peeked at Orpheus, still dozing. Usually, Orpheus made it a point to be the last to fall asleep, either by convenient hypnosis or Uriah’s own exhaustion. He liked to, as he put it, watch how peaceful he looked. It was a sweet sentiment, if not terribly embarrassing. But for the first time, Uriah got a good look at his sweetheart in the vulnerable state of sleep, all of his features softened and at ease. He’d never taken in Orpheus’ features like that before. The gentle, natural curve of his mouth, the length of his eyelashes, the way his silver hair fell across his face...

Uriah carefully eased up on to the bed, setting the papers aside and sitting close to Orpheus. It struck him how absolutely, completely, infinitely fortunate he was, that a demigod would love him so much. That someone, anyone, mortal or otherwise, would leave their home to be with him, to take the time to learn his culture, to understand an entirely new society’s way of doing things. Orpheus, heir to an immortal title of Night God, loved him, a mere human, so much that he spent hours practicing how to write his name, and littering the spaces between with fond scribbles of affection.

He smiled, watched Orpheus for a few moments more, and then reached out to brush his hair behind his ear. The naga stirred, his breath catching for a moment before his eyelids lazily fluttered open. It was almost a shame to wake him.

“Hmm...? Uriah?”

“Hi.”

“You’re home,” he said thickly, blinking. “What time...?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Orpheus shifted, looking up at Uriah. Something came to him.

“Oh. Oh, I uh—“ He stifled a yawn, barely hiding his fangs. “—practiced your name today. I wanted to show you.”

“I saw,” Uriah chuckled. He held up the papers briefly. “You must’ve been at it for a while.”

“Guess I was. Fell asleep doing it.”

He cocked his head slightly when he noticed Uriah’s eyes hadn’t left his face.

“What is it?”

“You,” Uriah said simply.

“Me? Do I have ink on me somewhere, or something?”

“No. It’s just... I realized how lucky I am, with you.”

Uriah stroked the line of Orpheus’ cheekbone with his thumb.

“How lucky I am to have met you, and that you love me, and how unbelievable it is that you’re mine. And you’re doing so much to learn how to live with me.”

Orpheus turned his face in to Uriah’s palm and nuzzled affectionately.

“I’d do anything for you, love.”

He shifted to sit up, but Uriah placed his hand on his chest.

“No, stay there. I want to enjoy this,” Uriah whispered, leaning over him. “Having a demigod all to myself...”

Orpheus smirked up at him, resettling into the pillows as Uriah hovered over him. He purred as Uriah closed the space between them, lips meeting for a blissfully long, tender moment. Uriah’s fingers combed through his hair, taking his time drawing sighs out of the naga beneath him.

“Mm...Not that I’m not thoroughly savoring this, but aren’t you tired? You worked all day,” Orpheus murmured. He traced a finger along Uriah’s jaw.

“No. I’ve got time for you. Especially after how hard you studied today. Ive gotta ask, though, but what possessed you to add all those goofy hearts?”

“You call those little things hearts?”

“What did you think they were?”

“Well, I assumed they meant ‘love’, at least, but I didn’t know what they were called, exactly,” Orpheus admitted. His cheeks tinted a mildly purple hue as he blushed. “They...they do mean ‘love’, don’t they?”

Uriah forced himself not to laugh.

“Yes, that’s what they mean.”

He paused, only mildly aware Orpheus was still touching his face.

“Do your kind have a symbol like that?”

“A love symbol? Of course, but it’s nothing like the one you humans use,” Orpheus answered. His hand dropped from Uriah’s cheek to stroke a knuckle along his collarbone. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I...just figure it’s only fair I learn about your culture, if you’re learning about mine.”

Orpheus’ smile grew a little wider.

“Let me see... Naga culture is fairly diverse, mind you, but there are a few universal words and symbols within our language.”

“Nagas have dialects?”

“Oh, dozens, hundreds. A naga from the desert will be infinitely different from one born in the mountains, or a river basin. And some will have accents within that.”

Uriah nodded.

“But the symbol for love tends to be rather similar, with just a little variation for some,” he continued. Orpheus’ hand dropped from Uriah’s collarbone to the center of his chest, a single claw tracing out the simple but twisting shape. He stared into Uriah’s eyes after, his gaze soft.

“That’s ‘love’. The two bound together, and space in the center containing all that is between them.”

Uriah felt warmth tingling across his face, and radiating beneath Orpheus’ finger where it remained on his chest.

“So...like this?”

He gently traced the same winding shape on Orpheus’ chest, looking into his face afterwards. Uriah wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the naga so smitten with him before.

“Just like that,” he praised.

“A-And, um...do you have a name for it, too?”

“We do.”

Orpheus bent up, his cheek brushing seductively against Uriah’s, and whispered into his ear in a language he couldn’t name. It was soft, lilting almost, with a silken hiss. He wouldn’t have been able to replicate it even if he tried, he was certain; no one could make it sound as sweet as it did coming off of Orpheus’ tongue. Uriah closed his eyes and repeated the gesture of the symbol on the naga’s chest.

“Say it again?” he asked shyly. Orpheus obliged and retraced the shape himself before kissing Uriah’s cheek, warm and affectionate.

“I-I wish I could pronounce that,” he confessed, a feather-light laugh escaping him.

“Maybe I can teach you,” Orpheus purred, beckoning Uriah back down with him. His strong arms wrapped around him, hands tracing over the man’s spine, coaxing his head onto his chest.

“It sounds beautiful. I’ve never heard you use that language before.”

“That’s the ancient tongue. It’s simplified quite a bit over the years, and in some areas I know we’ve mingled with human languages. Latin, for one, which sounds divine when you use it, by the way.”

“Oh, stop. I only know it for science jargon.”

“Divine jargon.”

They both shared a laugh, brief but sincere, before Uriah settled more comfortably against Orpheus. He loved laying with him like that, with his head over his heart, listening to his strong and steady pulse. Orpheus’ claws glided effortlessly through his curls, just barely ghosting against his scalp. Uriah loosely twirled a strand of his lover’s hair around his finger and let himself melt.

“I’m going to love learning with you. Every little thing.”

“I’d love nothing more.”

#onenerdtwonagas #not an ask #uriah #freckle muffin #orpheus #starry scales #freckles and stars #lit #lit post

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Return - part 2

Fandom: The Hills Have Eyes Characters: Ruby, Mars, others mentioned Relationship: Mars/reader Request: Can I officially request a continuation of the Mars soulmate au? Maybe the reader took a few years to return for him due to trying to get settled and ready for a life with him and ruby in the outside. Reader fights tooth and nail to have him go with her this time. With some fluff and/or smut please? A/N: little steamy kissing section, but that’s as far as the smut goes… for now

Part 1

Ruby knew you were thinking about it again. About him. You had gone quiet for a few days and she heard you crying at night. In the mornings, you seemed distant and away with the fairies. She settled at the table across from you, flattening the skirt she wore out as she did so. Drawing your attention away from the window, you looked at the young woman. She had truly grown since you first met her. Ruby thrived in the real world, now working a cash-in-hand job at the local shop. She was still a little skittish around strangers who weren’t on the other side of a counter, but she was getting better at hiding it. You couldn’t help but smile at her. To think it had been 2 years since you first found this little house. By pure coincidence, you had been talking with Ruby at a diner, just after you left. The old woman there had seen the dirt on Rubys skin and the way you were both dressed (slightly ripped clothes and messy hair). “Now, cant have two girls wondering around on their own. Don’t worry, loves. I’ll help yah.” Marge had said, telling you both to stay till closing. She bought you to this house, telling you that it was her sisters but due to an unfortunate accident, the house now lay bare. She couldn’t bring herself to sell the land, and offered it in return for labour. You took a job in the front of the diner with ease, but Marge could see Ruby had troubles at would make it difficult. So she started the young girl out in the kitchen, washing dishes with her husband, Old Jack. The place was run by family, with Marge having both her cousin and her aunt Flo working there. Old Jack had rolled his eyes when he set them on the two of you. “Im already out numbered back here.” He’d snapped, nodding to the front where the three woman stood chatting. But the smirk that followed showed no malice. So that was where you stayed. Ruby was asked by Flo if she would want to help in her husbands shop as a shelf stocker which was quieter and not as hectic as a kitchen, and Ruby nodded so hard her head might have fallen off. You took care of money. It was something Ruby had never had to worry about, in the sense of budgeting and bills. You sat down with her, explaining what needed to be paid and how it would portion out but she just started at you blankly. So you gave her an allowance for her own personal things while you pooled the rest of the money for bills. The first thing you did when you got your first paycheque was take her to the local clothes store and treat her. She came home with a new hat, a few tops and jeans as well as some nice skirts and three pairs of shoes. She had been bouncing off the walls with excitement. The house was large. With three floors, it had a small room and three double rooms on the second floor and the third was a large master bedroom. Ruby got first choice, but she still chose the double room. You took the master bedroom on the top floor. And so here you were, two years later with a lovely house, a full fridge, a closet of clothes and a warm bed. Yet you felt empty still. Your eyes drifted back to that tattoo. “I think-“ Ruby hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. “-It would be a good time to try.” Instantly, you knew what she was talking about because you had been thinking the same thing. “Me too. But I think the first time I should go back alone.” You sip your drink and glance to the clock. It was only 8am. You were both off today, but Ruby liked getting up and watching the sun rise. So you and her had spent the morning pottering about and now just sat down for some caffeine while Ruby had a bowl of cereal. Ruby looked up from her cereal. You could see the concern in her eyes as her spoon was forgotten half way to her mouth. “He might not want to come. I really hope he does, but if it feels like he wouldn’t be happy, I cant force him. But if it feels like it is something he wants, and still wont come then we can both look at going back.” You put your cup down and reach across the table to take her free hand. “And I don’t want to put you back in danger.” She opened her mouth to argue, but you knew she had that fear still. So she nodded, squeezing your hand. “When will you go?” She asked. ��Today.” The moment she heard what you said, she chocked a little, making you chuckle. “Why wait? Im off today and tomorrow.” She spent the next hour or so flitting about. She gave you weapons just in case, as well as packing you some food and bottles of water. Poor Ruby couldn’t seem to sit still as you got ready. She put your things out to the car and double checking everything until you were pulling on your jacket. She didn’t question you, and you knew she had went back into herself, afraid to speak up or question you. You hugged her and bid her goodbye. Ruby stayed in your rear view mirror until she was out of sight.

The drive was long. You found yourself unable to concentrate fully on the road, seeming to go into auto pilot as you drove. When you realized you were on the dreaded straight was when you passed the gas station. The very one where you had spent some time. Pulling up, you saw the place was locked up. the door was shut and boarded up. Maybe Fred had gotten away, or maybe he had fallen to Jupiter’s rage. You didn’t know, and in truth, you didn’t want to find out. Looking down the road, you wondered about driving on a little, but you knew there was a valley in the hills just behind the gas station. It was were Mars and Ruby would come out of when they visited you. Drumming your fingers on the wheel, you wondered what you should do next. You couldn’t go running into the hills, since there was a better chance that one of the other family members would find you before Mars would. You didn’t know whether to wait it out and see if someone came out, or whether to try leave a note or something. You really hadn’t thought beyond getting to the gas station. it seemed like such a far away and daunting task that actually being here was like stepping into a memory. Pulling the car into the shade of the gas station so you could just see the entrance to the hills, you were about to plan your next step when you saw movement coming from the shop. From the rear door of the shop, Mars stepped out. He took a drink from a bottle of water and closing the door over behind him. Then he started to walk back to the entrance. The wonder of how he didn’t seem to hear of see the car was lost as you felt your world stop. He was exactly as you remembered him, and you were pretty sure you must have been looking back at him with rose tinted glasses. Getting out the car, you raced to catch up with him, finding your mouth dry as you silently approached him. “Mars?” you spoke his name, knowing better than to run up behind him and wrap your arms around him. The second you spoke, Mars froze. The bottle he had been drinking from dropped to the ground as he turned to look at you He stared at you, his eyes seeming to glaze over as if day dreaming. You opened your mouth to say something but ended up closing it again. What could you say to him? You had focused so much on seeing him again that you had little plan on how to persuade him to come back with you. Maybe you should have bought Ruby, and then if you two could have thrown him in the back of the car and drove away before he could escape. The humorous idea shot some life back into you as you smiled a little. Then a little more as you realized you were back with him for a moment. “Mars.” You whispered his name, and saw a visible shiver run down his spin as he hunched over himself slightly and dropped his gaze. “Why did yah come back?” He asked, his voice broken and horse. Very horse. Frowning, your eyes darted to his neck. It wasn’t easy to see considering the top he wore, the curls from his hair and the dark shadow that was cast of that area. But as you focused, you saw a bruise. Not even a small one. It wrapped around the front of his neck, the purple and black marking his skin. Stepping forward, you closed the distance between you too. You didn’t notice Mars freeze up, staring at you with wide eyes as he seemed to stop breathing. Raising a finger, you gently touched the bruised flesh. “Does it hurt?” You ask, looking up at him. It was only then that you realized how close you had gotten. His face hovered only 4 or 5 inches from your own. So close. “Not now.” He breathed, his eyes falling to your lips. trailing your fingers around to the back of his neck, you allowed your hand to slid into his curls, earning another shiver. You smiled at the reaction. “Ive missed you.” You tell him, smiling despite the fear. His fingers hover over your side, about to touch you when something in him seemed to snap. “You shouldn’t have come back. Go.” He commanded before twisting out of your touch and walking away quickly. You stumbled forward, confused beyond belief before running to catch up with him. “Mars, Please.” You call after him, following him but struggling to keep up with his pace. “Come home with me?” The words slowed Mars down until he stopped. You walked up behind him, slipping your arms around his torso as you pressed your forehead against his back. “I want to share my life with you. We’re soulmates. Right?” You shake your head as you feel your heart hammer. You started to doubt yourself. He kept refusing you. You tried to shake off the idea that your soul mate might just not want you because it seemed impossible, yet here you were, doubting if he was yours. He hadn’t given you a real reason not to come with you. Ruby had been practically bursting to get away from this life, and you found out later that Jupiter was an abusive piece of shit. So you would have thought he would have wanted away from this life. So perhaps he didn’t really want to come with you. But Mars had wanted to kept you hidden so you could stay. Confusion raked through your body as you tried to figure out what to do next. But you couldn’t until you asked a very important question. “Mars?” You closed your eyes as they filled with tears. “Do you want to come with me?” You put slight emphasis on the word ‘you’, hoping he hadn’t picked up on your shaking voice. Mars paused for a moment, and you felt your world stand still for a moment as you waited for his answer. “Yeah.” Mars breathed, barely audible. Your arms drop from around him as you step in front so you could look up at him. He looked so conflicted, unable to look you in the eyes as he frowned in through. “Why cant you?” You asked, placing a hand on his chest in hope that it might sooth him. “My brothers. I cant leave ‘em.” He whispered to you, glancing to an opening in the hills. “Bring them. Theres enough room and I know Ruby missed them.” You encourage him, nodding as he looks back to you. His mind worked quickly as he drew together a plan that you didn’t know. “Go back to the car. Don’t get out. Keep the door locked. And if I aint back just after sundown, you leave.” His spoke with such control and authority, you felt a small tremble of lust shoot through you as you nodded. He was about to walk away, but you grabbed his hand. As he looked back to you in confusion, you darted forward. Going up on your tip toes, you kissed him. The immediate rush of adrenaline and pleasure was almost overwhelming as you let out a small mewl. Mars was so shocked by the kiss that he didn’t respond until he heard you mewl in pleasure, and he was immediately lost in your lips. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest before running up and down your back. As he deepened the kiss, it appeared he had found more courage as his hand moved down past your back to grope your ass and a growl left his throat. Your hands ran up his front to then drape your arms over his shoulders. Your fingers played with his curls, but in truth you couldn’t concentrate fully on anything other than his lips. In an unexpected move, he suddenly lifted you up. You squealed a little but Mars refused to break the kiss as your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso. He pins you to the rock face, pressing his body against yours as his hands explored your sides. A groan escaped his throat as he explored your mouth. You give him full access, allowing him to dominate the kiss. Your fingers gripped his hair as you silently begged him for more. The small tug of his hair only earned more lust filled moans from Mars who began to grind against you. The cloud of lust which had settled over your mind was quickly cleared when you heard a voice. “MARS! Where are yah?!” The voice gave you a fright, but it sounded distant, as if playing on a television or maybe over a phone. Mars took a moment, only appearing to pull back when he noticed you had frozen. Keeping you pressed against the wall with one arm still supporting you, he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his back pocket. “Just comin’ back.” He mumbled over the radio. It was apparently enough to silence the voice as nothing else was said. You both knew that the make-out session was over, and you were suddenly back in the real world. The one where you would probably be running for your life in a few hours. The one where Mars was about to do something which could get him killed. He lowered you to the floor, but didn’t back away. Instead, he hugged you. His head was on top of your own, as if kissing your hair but he didn’t. he just kept you close, as if trying to memorize your scent. “Go to the car, wait for you and your brothers, take you away, be happy.” You listed off the actions as you looked up, causing him to pull away. He smirked, but you could see in his eyes that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

------------------- time skip ---------------

The day had taken ages, and you felt constantly on edge as you waited for darkness. You had to sit in the darkness, the car turned off and no lights on inside either. The car and you had to blend into the night. The silence was almost driving you insane. You couldn’t turn on the radio, so you were left in the dark and silence. You were drumming your fingers on the wheel, not keeping to any tune or song as your leg bounced with anxiety. The lack of communication was the worse. If only you knew they were on their way, or that they were safe at least. Glancing ahead, you felt your heart stop and your mouth go dry. You sat up straight, seeing three figures running to the car. You held your breath, squinting your eyes in the darkness. When you saw the bouncing of Mars’ curls, you turned on the engine, still keeping the lights off for now. They were running from something, or someone, and you were pretty sure they would need a quick getaway. Unlocking the door, they were flung open as the boys jumped into the car. “Go.” Mars demanded as he slammed the passenger door behind him with the other two got in the back. You nodded, turning on the headlights and you screamed. In front of the car was a man. Jupiter. He was angry, screaming insults as he raised an axe, about to bring it down on the hood of the car. You shoved the car in reverse and floor it backwards, causing Jupiter to swing forward and hit nothing. The momentum from the swing caused him to stumble forward. You slammed on the breaks, put the car in first gear and put your foot to the floor. Yanking the steering wheel to the side, you narrowly missed the deranged man as you drove away. “You okay?” You asked, glancing to Mars then back to the road. “Yeah, just keep drivin’” Mars leaned back in his seat, panting. It probably didn’t help that you had given them all a heart attack when you first saw Jupiter and screamed. Glancing in the rear view mirror, you saw the two brothers. While you had never met them, you had seen the tall one with the bald head before and knew him as Pluto. As for Mercury, you had heard him on radios, but never seen him before. He was smaller than his brothers, perhaps even shorter than Ruby. He was hunched over himself, both his legs pulled up to his chest and his feet perched on the seat. “You two okay?” You call back, turning your head a little to see them in your peripheral vision. Two nods calmed your worry as you turned back to the road. The drive was tense, and really awkward. You understood why. Neither Mercury or Pluto knew who you were. Perhaps they knew you had taken Ruby away, but you didn’t know if they considered that a good thing or not. You decided not to push them, allowing them some time with their thoughts for now. Mars kept quiet the whole away, to the point you thought he might have fallen asleep. You reached across and placed your hand on his thigh, making him jump slightly until he saw no threat and relaxed again. Nothing was said until you pulled up outside the house. Instantly, you felt guilty. Ruby must have been worried out her mind. You had barely climbed out the car when the door flung open and the young woman came hurtling out the house. “[y/n]!” She tried out, her arms flying around your neck as her body collided with your own so hard you stumbled back a little. “Im sorry for scaring you.” You held her tight, feeling how she was shaking. “Ruby?” Mercury’s voice called out her name she pulled back. The others had gotten silently out the car. “Merc…” She trailed off, blinking as if suspecting it was a trick of the light. Until her face broke in to a massive smile as she called out his name, running to him. With the same enthusiastic hug, she threw herself at her brother, who spun her around. You smiled as she embraced all her brothers the same way and earned different responses. Pluto patted her head with a smile while Mars ended up standing rather awkwardly. You laughed, whole heartedly for the first time in a while. There was so much to say, to explain, to question. But now wasn’t the time. Inviting them into the warm glow of the house felt like they were being invited into a dream. Mercury and Pluto were eager to follow their sister, while Mars paused outside. “Mars? You coming in?” You call out to him, holding the door open. His eyes fell on you as he blinked slowly before stepping inside, leaving his past at the door as he started his future with you and his family.

#mars x reader #mars #the hills have eyes

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