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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

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The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea!

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #the devil all the time #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker fluff #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan imagine #x reader #fluff #smut #nanny!reader #x f!reader #found family

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peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

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whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

#john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years ago

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hey!! Your fic recommendations are always elite–I was wondering if you had any kid fics, thank you <3

Hi anon. I have plenty of kid fics for you. Since you didn't quite specify what kind of kid fic you wanted I decided to divide it into fics where Charles and Erik are kids or get deaged and fics that involve kids. This is kind of a long list so I hope that there are plenty of new fics for you to read.

Cherik Kid Fic

--They are kids or get deaged--

Conspiracy of Kisses - Alaceron

Summary: Seven-year-old Erik needs to keep his telepathic best friend Charles from finding out that he wants to kiss him. But that's okay, because he has a plan - he'll put on a tinfoil hat.

Chasing After You - Alaceron

Summary: Charles isn't very good at tag. Erik helps

We’ll be the sum - afrocurl, ninemoons42

Summary: In between bouts of blanket burrito-ing and vegging out on movies, Charles and Erik figure out how they currently feel about each other.

Of course, they're schoolboys and they're on a sleepover and also Edie dotes on them both excessively, so things work out just fine.

Growing pains - ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Valentine’s day – ikeracity

Summary: Kid fic! Erik waits impatiently all day at school to give Charles a card for Valentine's Day. Maybe Charles has something for him too...?

Now You Know You Know it Now – luninosity

Summary: Erik’s not sure why he keeps glancing at the other boy. Not as if Erik likes other kids, or other people in general, for that matter. But still—he finds himself looking. Again.

This Family Comes with Batteries - Fishwrites, lynneh

Summary: An orphaned Charles Xavier goes to live with his Godfather: Tony Stark. This story is a tale of what would have happened to the events of MCU, if Tony was raising a six year old telepath in Stark Tower. There is also the matter of Charles' robot AI manny/bodyguard/tutor/only-friend, David.

You’re Not Doing This Alone – flightinflame, Lynds

Summary: What's meant to be a simple recruitment mission leads to both Erik and Charles being de-aged back to thirteen years old. Terrified and out of their depth, the boys try to hide their situation and help each other until they can work out what is going on.

Charles Xavier, A Retelling – Extra_fried_noodles

Summary: An attempt to reverse his paralysis goes wrong, and Charles is de-aged into a 2 year old toddler. While Hank scrambles to fix the situation, the whole gang is here to help. Through a mix of selective memory, they watch Charles relive his childhood, revealing some deeply hidden and painful truths.

Protective Instinct – Groovyhornbill

Summary: Charles and Erik were testing Cerebro’s new prototype when things went very wrong.

Divergence – Lynds

Summary: Universes and timelines collide, dropping two younger versions of Charles Xavier into the midst of the hunt for Sebastian Shaw. Now the newly formed X-men have to deal with a strangely quiet and self-reliant six year old, and a sixteen year old covered in bruises.

Erik, in particular, has to accept that the man he loves hasn't had the kind, happy upbringing he wished for him. But these children are here now, and Erik's not going to let anyone hurt them this time.

--Where they have kids--

Sink or Swim – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is a struggling single dad of three kids with a burning hatred for Sebastian Shaw, the man who wronged him years ago. He’s tried to move on with his life, but a run-in with Shaw’s rude, spoiled omega, Charles, drags up old anger. When Charles ends up in the hospital after an accident, Erik goes to confront him only to find that Charles has amnesia. In the confusion, Charles mistakenly assumes that Erik is his mate.

Erik knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, but how can he pass up this perfect chance for a little revenge?

(An Overboard AU)

Rumor Has It - blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

Words and Pictures – pocky_slash

Summary: When Lorna's powers manifest early, Charles Xavier's mutant picture books are the perfect teaching tool. Erik just hadn't expected the author to be so young. Or attractive. Or available.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

Dress Your Family in Plaid and Skinny Jeans – cygnaut

Summary: Erik and Charles meet at the mutant playgroup/parenting support circle and they instantly hit it off. And so do their kids, Lorna and David.

Not What I was Expecting (So Much Better) – lazulisong

Summary: Erik, the single father, hires Charles, the grad student with the slightly shady past, to be his manny.

Heli Cases – Black_Betty

Summary: "Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces.

It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep.

(Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)

Doing Something for Yourself – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik is a hard working engineer and single dad, Charles runs a local Community Center where Wanda and Pietro spend their time after school. Erik accidentally makes Charles' acquaintance one Wednesday evening when he's running late from work. Erik has no idea if he stands a chance with his new acquaintance, but that isn't going to keep him from falling for the guy.

A Good Dad – listerinezero

Summary: Ten years later, Magneto has left the Brotherhood and Raven asks Charles to help her find him. Charles discovers that Erik is the single father of five year old twins Wanda and Pietro, and he is doing everything he can to keep them safe from his former enemies.

Take a Chance (On Me) – Ook

Summary: In which Charles, terrorised by his abusive ex, takes his young son to a small town in America, where they both settle down and make friends with their neighbours. Particularly the town mechanic, Erik, and his foster son, Alex. Requester stated they wanted to "drown in H/C. "

Can’t Buy Me Love – niniblack

Summary: Erik's a single dad struggling to make it work and nab the promotion he's been waiting for. The last thing he needs is to get involved with politician and notorious playboy Charles Xavier.

(The Maid in Manhattan pastiche that no one asked for.)

Ohana – royal_chandler

Summary: Erik's children are absolute hellions. If by hellions, one means children who are incredibly protective of their new family unit and won't let a few household mishaps get in the way of keeping it together.

One Second and a Million Miles – magneto

Summary: Between being a parent to the best baby in the history of man-kind and co-running a Mutant Center in Hell's Kitchen, Erik Lehnsherr has his hands pretty full. Too full, certainly for romance; something that has never really been on his radar to begin with.

All that changes, however, when he meets Dr. Charles Xavier. Handsome, intelligent, capable, kind, an Omega level telepath, and one of the best pediatricians in the state, he's everything Erik didn't know he was looking for. But he's also Lorna's pediatrician which means, of course, he's off-limits. Except how is Erik supposed to try and forget his crush when he and Charles keep running into each other as if fate is trying to tell them something? When, as Charles says, they seem to want the same thing?

Her Only Mutations Were Her Blue Eyes and Her Auburn Hair – Pookaseraph

Summary: While sneaking back out of Russia, Erik and Charles stumble across Anya, Erik's presumed dead daughter, and it changes quite a few little things along the way. Fluffy, self-indulgent, fix-it.

Despicably Yours – Cesare, veryorangecat

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr, AKA Magneto, is a supervillain without equal... except maybe one: Charles Xavier, AKA Professor X, AKA Erik's next door neighbor. When their competition heats up, Erik decides the only way to get ahead is to adopt four mutant orphans to infiltrate Charles's mansion.

Things don't go as planned.

The Wrong Impression – Rosawyn

Summary: Charles is trying to balance the responsibilities of his career with his responsibilities as a single father to a tiny baby. It's not something he ever thought he'd have to do, and it's not as easy as those women on the internet make it look! He does't have much of a social life (unless talking to his sister on the phone and attending a parents' class where he's the only guy count), and he doesn't even have time to think of dating. He's just trying to keep his job - and keep his son fed and healthy.

Marrying a Mob – Ook

Summary: Charles is a teacher at a very exclusive school. When armed men burst in on the trail of two children, of course he stands up to them and gets hurt. The children are Erik Lehnsherr's children (of course); a "prominent businessman" or, less politely, "mobster".

Erik is grateful to Charles for saving his children's lives at the cost of his kneecap. So very grateful.

Naturally he tries to reward Charles for his actions. Equally naturally, Charles will be having none of that.

Azazel finds the whole thing unspeakably hilarious. Naturally.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #kid fic #long post

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Note

Can I place an order for Yandere Geralt de Rivia with the kind and loving reader who sees the best in people?

Yes lemme cook something up for our mans Geralt⚔️

Geralt of Rivia x reader - Full Moon on the Rise

Summary: You’ve never felt actual hate for others, you can’t even bring yourself to hurt a fly, and with Geralt, he’ll make sure you never have to.

Warning: a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective Geralt

Masterlist

“So what do you think? The green cloak or the black one....ohhh or maybe the red one?” You ask excitedly as Geralt stands next to you, looking around for any potential threats more then actually paying any real attention, “I mean, the green matches more with the woods, you know trees n’ such and that’s great for blending in. But the black gives off those scary vibes you have. But the dark red one just looks so good, and comfy too.” You raise a brow as he nods, “You know.”

“Right.”

You smile at his adorably lack luster reply, it’s just how he is and that’s perfectly fine with you, “I’m going with the dark red cloak.” You grin with a curt nod of self approval for your knowledgeable decision making skills.

Turning to the cloak vendor you hold up your prize, “Good evening ma’am, how much for this mysterious beauty?”

The old woman smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she beams, quite excited to have some business with you, “Oh, my dear that’ll be five silver pieces.” You nod, tucking your new cloak under your arm as you nudge Geralt for some coin.

He quickly snaps his head over to you, his golden irises showing concern before he realizes you’re completely fine, “Y/N what is it?”

With a small giggle you make a grabby motion with your hand, “Spare me five silver pieces my good sir.” You muse with a mischievous brow wiggle, earning an amused huff from your Witcher.

He politely grins, “Whatever the lady asks.” Feeling around he pulls out the exact amount of coin you need. Your palm is spread as he tilts his hand into yours, conveniently giving you the coin.

“Thank you my love.” You whisper softy as he simply hands you the flash of a smile before turning his head to scour the market place once again.

The old woman opens up a small sack of coins for you to dump yours in, “Thank ya dear, have a save eve’nin.”

Clink. Sounds the last silver piece as you hold your new dirt-less red cloak closer in your arm, “You too.”

She suddenly leans in a bit closer, her face going serious, “Best keep that Witcher close, never know what kind of beasts be lurking in the woods. Specially with the next full moons a com’in.” Her wrinkly complexion turning back into her original beaming old lady face, “Have a nice stay in Bellepav.”

Stepping away you nervously nod, “Uh, yes....I’ll try?” You reply, not certain if you should be concerned or ignore the weirdness of the locals.

Deciding to ignore the strange behavior of the kind old woman, you flash her a last generous grin before turning on your heel and walking over to Geralt. With the familiar sound of your approaching footsteps he turns an intrigued eye over to you.

His brows furrowing as you gently lay a hand on his arm, “You alright Y/N.” He worries, noticing the slight wariness in your step.

Lightly squeezing his forearm you send him a reassuring smile, “Of course, that old woman was just acting odd. Well not that odd, I’ve definitely seen weirder....she just had a strange look when she told me to keep you close and watch out for the next full moon.”

He moves to take your cloak from you, quietly swinging the thick comfortable dark red fabric around your shoulders, clasping the lock together that keeps the material from falling off your body.

After he’s done, does his beautiful golden eyes find your alluring ones, “Y/N, we’ll be fine. I wouldn’t dare let a soul touch you, you have my word.”

Reaching up to gently cup his scruffy cheek, you smirk, “I know you do.” Releasing your warm touch from his face do you turn towards the bakers cart, the smell of fresh bread wafting into your nostrils.

“Geralt!” You exclaim with an excited twinkle in your eyes, “Fresh bread....” Your skilled eyes land upon the shiny red apples displayed about on the stall, “Apples! Ugh, I haven’t had an actual apple in almost four months, what I would do for one.”

Your eyes stare dreamily at the bakers cart, your mouth watering at the smell and sight of the desired foods. Geralt chuckles at your adorable reaction before tugging at your arm. “Come on Y/N, I’ll get you something.” Speaks your kind Witcher with a tinge of humor in his gravely voice.

Snapping your head towards him, your eyes going wide in excitement, “Aww yes!” You shout before pulling him in the direction of the cart, joy flowing through your heart as you make hasty steps across the market place.

The red apples are even more beautiful then you’d first seen as you stand ogling them from your spot in the muddy lane, “Sir I’d like three apples and a loaf of that bread please.” You ask, your voice sweet as honey.

He nods, “That’ll be two silver pieces and a copper cent.” Inquires the baker with a friendly smile, casually looking you up and down though you’re to focused on the apples to even notice his slight creepiness.

Geralt does and immediately steps forward, his broad leather armored shoulder placing itself in between you and the lonely baker. His golden irises dark and deadly as he stares down the now noticeably frightened man.

The baker takes a step back, sending him a shy half grin, “Uh...I’ll get those apples...and uh...loaf of br-bread.” He stutteres, dropped his eyes to nothing else but his new task at hand.

You watch from behind Geralt’s strong body, your mind on those big beautiful apples as Geralt fishes out the coin, dropping it atop the wooden table as the baker hands him the loaf and a small bag filled with three juicy red apples.

A smile breaks out upon your face as Geralt hands you the food, you gratefully accept as he turns and practically death glares at the stunned baker, who’s notably averted his gaze to his fluffy loaves of bread.

Geralt turns back around to watch as you hug your valuables close, a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips at your obliviously cute demeanor.

Resting a hand on your shoulder he finds your beaming eyes, “Lets go find Roach.”

You gasp, “I bet Roach would love one of these big beautiful bastards.” Earning a chuckle from your silver haired lover as he walks by your side on the way to the front entrance of the small village.

You both wander past some more harmless villagers going about their business until a small dirty little boy races past the two of you, tripping over his own two feet and just like that does he abruptly fall into the dirt. His hands landing with a thwack sound as his stomach and knees reach the hard ground.

He lets out a pained cry once his chin hits the earth, you don’t have time to think before you’ve crouched by his side like a concerned mother. You gently touch his shoulder as he sniffles, his dirt smudged face turning to you.

“That was quite the tumble, are you alright?” His big brown eyes are filled with unshed tears as he moves into a seated position, his hands clutched tight against his chest as he holds in the pain.

“Y-yes.....sorry miss I should have been looking were I was going.” He mutters, his eyes downcast as he avoids Geralt’s hard gaze from right next to you.

Your eyes turn soft before you take one of your red apples from out of your thin ruck sack, “I have just the thing that would cheer you up, ever taste something as colorful as this crimson beauty?” You add with a raise of your brow, the young boy sniffles again. His face lighting up as you wave the shining red apple across his line of sight.

You smile, handing him the scarlet treat, “I think you need this more then me. Maybe it’ll sharped those senses so you won’t fall again, hmm.”

He holds the valuable in his small grubby fingers, his eyes wide in surprised wonder, “Th-thank you miss, I’ll try and not fall again.”

You breath out an amused snort, “Yes, I wouldn’t want to land on these streets again, considering horses are ridden through them daily.” The brown eyed boy gives you the shyest of smiles before you stand to your full height once again.

“Safe travels.” You add with a friendly wink before continuing on your way out of the village, Geralt trailing after you like the ever loyal lover that he is.

His large form keeps comfortably at your side, “That was our apple Y/N.” States Geralt in his titular gruff Witcher voice.

Turning an amused smirk to him, you nudge his arm, “Great observation, but the little beast seemed to need it more...poor thing just about face planted in the street. Did look quite painful.”

Geralt smiles, always bemused by your kind intellect, “Y/N you are too kind.”

Walking past the front gates and down the muddy village trail you let out a small laugh, “What? Can I not give a little, if you haven’t noticed my White Wolf...this world doesn’t like to be very kind to the innocent most times.” He hums in agreement, “So you see, I’ll do whatever I can to help those who need it most. And if that’s a clumsy child with a dirty face, I’ll be glad to make their day better.”

You can’t see it, but Geralt’s heart could just about explode with how much love he has for you in this very moment, the way you speak with such care and kindness for the people of the continent. He’s never met anyone like you, through it all, with all you’ve seen, your heart still goes out for the ones who need it the most and Geralt knows this.

Your whole aurora feels light and warm, excitement courses through your vessel as you think of how happy Roach is going to be once she gets a taste of your delicious apple. And especially how much you’re looking forward to taking a bite out of your own crispy red apple too. It’s the little things.

Boots press into mud as you finally find your way to the small stream where you both left Roach to nibble on some vegetation. You quickly set your loaf of bread onto a mossy log before reaching in your thin ruck sack to pull out one beautifully shiny crimson apple.

“Hello my dear Roach!” You exclaim happily as the mare neighs, “I’ve got a lil somethin’ for ya, it’s a...da da da daaaa....apple!” Geralt chuckles to himself in the background as he fumbles around in his black traveling bag, finding something to sharpen his sword with.

“How bout’ them apples..” you burst with laughter at your admittedly cheesy jest, “Okay, okay...here ya go Roach. A prize for the best lady in all the land.” Her head bobs up and down as you bring the red apple near her face. She quickly devours the fruit in a matter of seconds, the speed and her clear delight enough to earn a giggle from you.

“Roach.” You tut with a shake of your head, “Those manners are something else. Wonder who you learned them from?”

You turn an eye to Geralt who’s stopped sharpening his sword to find your humored gaze, “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” He mutters, doing his best to hide his growing smile.

Turning a flustered face away from him you gently pet Roach’s soft mane, “He thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he?” You whisper to the mare.

After tending to Roach for a bit do you walk down to the stream, washing away the dirt and grime from your hands and face as Geralt starts a fire close by. You can feel his golden irises watching you as the cool water washes away the worries of the day.

Finishing up your nightly routine, you stand once more, turning around to face the loving smile of your dear Witcher. You walk over to his glowing fire, a small smile upon your lips, “Room for one more?”

He scoots himself down the log, patting to the extra spot, “There’s always room for you.”

Sitting yourself next to him, he quickly wraps a protective arm around you, pulling your body close. The both of you do nothing but enjoy one another’s company and the crackling of the campfire for what seems like hours. You couldn’t be bothered to remove yourself from Geralt even if a whole war party was racing past you both louder then a giants scream.

Though you’re just about certain without a doubt in your mind that Geralt feels the exact same way. His breathing his steady and calm, it’s a comforting rhythm that you could listen to for hours. Even his large muscular arm is warm against your body, he’s like a furnace on the coldest night. And all yours.

You’re just about to drift off into dreamland when a sudden loud howl is heard in the near distance causing you to jump. Geralt hugs you closer, “Fear not Y/N, it’s just a damn wolf, nothing to be afraid of.” He assures you with the kindest of smiles, not a note of falseness lacing his words.

Resting your head against his broad shoulder once again, you gently squeeze his hand, “Right, of course. Just a stupid old wolf who apparently feels it the time to howl at the full moon tonight.” You affirm with a curt nod, “I mean, it’s beautiful out and whatnot, guess it just startled me is all.”

“There’s nothing in these woods to be afraid of, except for me.” Grumbles Geralt as he stares into the embers of the fire.

“Oh, my love I could never be afraid of you. Never.” He smiles at your truthfulness, his chest filling with warmth at your kind words.

In reply he places a gentle kiss atop your head, earning a content sigh to leave your lips at the feeling, he is too good to you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not once has he ever made you uncomfortable or in fear for your life because of him, Geralt makes sure of himself to always put you first. He couldn’t bare to ever see you in pain.

The grip on your Witcher’s arm goes tighter at the sound of another piercing howl, this time much too close for your liking. Geralt can sense the fearful uneasiness radiating off of your smaller frame, how your heartbeat has picked up with the rush of your nerves. You’re not one to scare that easily, but this wolf is most definitely getting closer for whatever reason.

“Geralt!” You whisper yell, “That sounded close!”

With one arm wrapped around your torso and the other one clasped around the hilt of his silver sword, he looks around him as they two of you keep seated atop the log, a grand moon cloaking the land in a strangely beautiful whiteness. Revealing enough light upon the ground so that not all of the forest is covered in darkness and shadow.

“Don’t worry Y/N, I will protect you.” He swears to you, giving a light squeeze to your hip in a small act of comfort, “And anyways, if this was anything to be truly concerned about, Roach would show it. We are going to be fine. This wolf is simply just passing through.”

Your eyes glance over to Roach who’s casually nibbling on some grass, “Alright. Perhaps I’m overreacting, it’s just a wolf going on a nightly stroll as you do, nothing weird about that.”

“Precisely, now how about we get ready for bed? I’ve got the bed rolls already layed out for us....so don’t worry Y/N I’ve got you.” Reassures your Witcher as he removes his arm from your side to rest his sword in the grass right next to his makeshift bed.

Feeling much better now you eagerly follow suit, the roughish cloth of your traveling bed roll is a cherished luxury of journeying across the vast lands of the continent. Though a tavern mattress would be more inviting, the arms of Geralt are always enough in your eyes, or perhaps arms in this case.

Even on the coldest of nights out here would you never really feel a shiver or the icy touch of the cool night air upon your skin. For your Witcher’s large frame seems to always be enough to block out the chill with his body heat when pressed closely against your back.

Just like he is doing now, holding you securely to his large chest, his arms wrapped around your torso. Pulling yourself firmly counter to him, a thick blanket holding in the needed heat that nicely covers over the both of you.

With Geralt so near, your wandering and worrying mind has subsided those troublesome thoughts away from you, the howling wolf from earlier now finding it’s way into the back of your head. Giving yourself time to forget and find the call to sleep once again. With the warmth of Geralt holding you close, your eyelids flutter shut in a matter of seconds, the pull into the dark void of unconsciousness taking hold of you quickly.

Soon you’re out like a light, Geralt falling asleep not long after you do, leaving only the dull glowing embers of the campfire to keep watch over the two of you. Sleep is peaceful and full of strange images presenting themselves as dreams in your head, you can hear the soft sweet calling of Geralt as he speaks sweet nothings into the bleary grey void.

Suddenly you’re standing in a large field of the greenest grasses flowing at your feet, large beautiful mountains surrounding you on all sides off in the far distance, you look to your left and find a single small tree with a branch sticking out.

Walking closer, a black raven materializes right before your very eyes, breaking the silence with a gravelly shrill caw as it nods in your direction. Like it’s trying to communicate with you in the birds own way, furrowing your brows, you trek closer to the mysterious bird. You don’t appear to feel afraid or scared, you’re not even sure if you feel anything at all. Guess that’s just how dreams are sometimes.

Taking another step closer the raven lets out a thrilling caw before the dark bird spreads its black wings, you stumble back as the bird jumps from its perch to take flight. It flaps past you before landing on the short green grass where it is immediately clouded in dark smoke of blues, purples, and deep reds until everything clears to reveal the dirt smudged face of the little boy from earlier that day.

You gasp, surprised to see the little guy standing right before you once again, he looks up to you now, the tiniest of smiles crossing over his face. You stand perplexed, ready to ask him why he’s here when suddenly he points to the blue sky.

“Hold your silver close.” He speaks softly, in that unassuming boyish voice of his.

Hugging yourself, you glance back down at him, “Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

He simply points his little stubby finger back up at the sky, you follow, bewildered to find that the sky is now dark and full of stars, though you can still see around you like the sun is still out. How odd.

“Hold your Witcher close.” Warns the small child in the calmest of voices.

Furrowing your brows in confusion you meet his stoic gaze once again. “Uh....I’m kind of lost, sorry.” You mutter, “I’m not certain what you mean.”

The child smiles a beaming grin, letting out the most adorable of giggles before pointing up at the night sky for the third time, you shift your gaze to find nothing but pitch blackness. And a huge milk white glowing full moon, it’s the largest you’ve ever seen and it’s absolutely magnificent.

You don’t even notice the smile that's fallen onto your face when you suddenly hear the flapping of feathers, snapping your sight back over to the young boy, you’re perplexed to be greeted with the beaming wrinkly face of the old woman from the market.

She nods, acknowledging your presence, “Watch for what lurks in the woods dear. The full moon is here.” She whispers, the warmest of smiles gracing over her aged face as she nods to you once again.

Taking a step closer you take a nervous fistful of the red cloak that’s covering your body, how strange you didn’t notice the material before hand. “Oh, uh hello there....it is quite beautiful isn’t it.” You stammer, “There was a little boy just here moments ago. Do you know where he went?”

She tilts her head to the side, walking a couple steps forward so that she can reach out to clasp both your hands with hers, a kind twinkle in her eye, “My dear, he will always love you, through land and sea, from woods to meadow, and far beyond what makes us human.” She gently squeezes your hands in reassurance, “No matter the cost, he will always love you. For you are his moon, and he is your sun.”

Your brows scrunch together at her poetic words of wisdom? Or, well you’re not entirely so sure, “Sorry. I’m not confident on what you’re getting at ma’am, uh...thank you, I guess.” She smiles once again, showing you a nod of approval before letting go of your hands.

She takes a step back, clasping her palms together, “He is here.”

“Who is here?” You wonder.

“You will see.”

Without warning she abruptly bursts into a flurry of cawing ravens that squawk and screech as they press and flap their dark wings against your face, causing you to fall back into the grass from the jolting intrusion. Suddenly you suck in a quick breath of cold air, your eyes shooting wide open, only for you to find the snoozing face of Geralt.

His tangled dirty white hair a mess over his handsome face as he lets in slow and calming breaths, you relax, letting out an audible sigh of relief. What a strange dream that was, you’ve never had anything like it before. And your dreams are far from anything normal most times.

Though Geralt feels rather nice snuggled next to you, your body feels hot and sweaty, like you can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed and cornered at the moment. Wanting to get some air and cool off, you quietly and skillfully slip from your Witcher’s sweet embrace. You slowly cover him back up with the thick blanket, tip-toeing over to Roach who’s itching her furry bottom on a tree.

You take small steps towards her, a half smile pulling at the corner of your lips, “Hey there girl, having fun?” You chuckle to yourself as she does her thing.

“Nice night huh, I hope no one’s come around to bother you.” She leans her big soft nose into your gentle touch as you pet her, “I got a little too warm, guess Geralt’s a lot hotter then I anticipated. Well, I mean...he’s always hot if you catch my meaning...but you probably already new that and uh....you’d probably rather not listen to me ramble on about how attractive your rider is, hmm? So don’t fret, I will stop.”

She snorts, nudging her nose into your opened palm, “Okay girl, I think you’re great too. I’d say you’ve helped us out quite a bit and not to mention when...”

Snap.

Your head leers to the left at the abrupt sound, nothing but milky white darkness and shadow is to be seen as your eyes trail over the wood line. That was certainly very close, what the hell even made that stick break? Was it a deer, or maybe a coyote?

Your nerves prick when Roach suddenly takes a wary step backwards, her leather reigns pulling to their limit as she takes another step away from you. Thinking quick, you rush to her side, pulling out Geralt’s other silver sword just incase some weird shit is about to go down.

Grasping the blade in your tight grip, you take cautious steps towards the heavy pines that seems to be the place where the stick snapped. You swallow nervously, your heart just about beating out of your chest as you travel closer and closer to the green bristles.

Y/N what are you doing? Have you learned nothing from what those weird dreams were telling you?

Blinking hard, you stop, turning an apprehensive glance over to your peacefully sleeping Witcher, why wake him this could be a simple deer? Letting out another shaky breath you turn towards the thick pine trees, squinting your eyes as you try and do your absolute best to locate the intruder. Walking past a small evergreen, your heart feels like it’s about to explode when suddenly you hear a gentle rustle of leaves directly in front of you.

Turn back idiot.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you blink again, attempting to focus enough that maybe you’ll be able to see what’s making that noise. But as you’re leaning in to the pines, does your eyes finally catch the sight of a large black figure standing on the other side of the tree. Without warning the shadow leaps, you don’t even have a chance to scream before the flash of pearly white fangs reveals itself to you in a raging blur.

The beast shoves you back into the clearing, emitting a blood curdling howl of agony as it steps into the moonlight, your eyes widen in fear at the chilling sight of a huge dark-grey werewolf. It’s inhuman eyes that of glowing topaz, it’s fangs bare and mouth dripping with saliva. Your chest rises and falls with heavy terrified breaths as the wolfman stands on two legs, its strong hand going to its stomach where a thick human like paw pulls out your silver blade.

Steaming red hot blood pours to the frost covered earth as the beast drops the shinning silver to the ground, its wound showing in the bright moonlight as it eyes you down like you’re nothing more then a lost sheep. You shiver at the sight, desperately scooting yourself backwards towards the fire as the werewolf growls a low but haunting note, falling onto all fours as it takes a step closer.

A frightful tear falls down the side of your cheek, you see nothing but hunger and pain in this creatures eyes, he’s slowly dying, but you know he will kill you before his last breath is had.

The wolfman growls again, readying a last charge when all of a sudden a shimmering silver sword is thrust deeply into the beasts throat, the source of its demise steps in between you and the wounded bastard.

Your eyes are wide as you watch the werewolf sink to the earth, gargling and choking on it’s own blood as it dies, twitching here and there before finally it goes still as stone. Not a sound emitting from it’s vessel but the heavy breaths of yourself and Geralt, who’s walked over to the beast now. Crouching down to observe it better, he hums, pulling the blood covered sword out of the monsters throat with a gross meaty sound.

You let out a shaky breath, slowly pulling yourself to your feet as Geralt drags his bloody silver over the beasts fur to clean the wet red from the blade. You swallow thickly, eyes watery from the whole frightening ordeal, “So not a deer as I had hoped.” You mutter, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips causing you to gasp in pain at something on your ribs.

Geralt pierces his sword into the soft dirt, his face a mask of frustrated anger as he turns to you, “Y/N what where you thinking? You could have been killed, you didn’t know what was lurking in the dark, why wouldn’t you have just stayed by the fire?” He grumbles as you avoid his troubled gaze.

Another tear slips down your cheek causing his face to immediately soften, “I don’t know?” You whisper sadly, “I...I shouldn’t have thought to walk in the dark alone like that, it was foolish of me Geralt, truly...I’ll think better of it next time I promi- agh ugh...”A sharp jolting pain rips through your body right down the side of your right ribcage, feeling like someone has just burned you with a cast iron.

More whimpers slip from your tongue at the searing violent stinging of your flesh causing you to press your hands against the area, your face contorting into one of agony while Geralt’s expression reveals deep concern. Not understanding in the slightest why you feel such misery all of a sudden, your eyes slip down to the dreaded area where you take notice of how your dark coat appears to be torn in jagged slashes where the pain is coming from.

Your brows furrow as you slowly remove your tied overcoat, Geralt’s big golden irises studying your every move for what the problem may be. Your hands make quick work of the lacing, now your arms move as you remove the jacket, you gasp in fear once it falls to the ground.

“Y/N.” Whispers Geralt in the softest of voices as a lone tear slides down your cheek.

Slowly you raise your weary head to meet is saddened gaze, “I’ve been bitten.” You rasp, lifting your bloody hand up into the silky moonlight, the burning ache of your wound making itself more present then ever.

Suddenly a surging spike of white hot torment angrily tears up into your side once more, though this time it’s too overwhelmingly excruciating that you fall to your knees, desperately grasping your wounded side when Geralt takes quick steps forward. Pulling you into his strong arms before you’re able to even hit the cold earth completely, his eyes never leaving your distressed face.

“Y/N look at me love, I’m right here...” He speaks gently while holding you close, though you can’t look at him, “don’t be afraid I’ve got you.”

More fearful tears fall freely now as you press your face into his shoulder, a numb and dark feeling finding it’s way into your soul while your arms wrap themselves around his waist, “No, not this.” You cry, shaking with fright, “This cannot be, I-I cannot be a wolf beast....I won’t ever harm anyone Geralt I swear to you on my life, I would never! I-I could never, it isn’t in me!”

“Oh Y/N, my dear Y/N..” His voice surprises you with how uncharacteristically tender it sounds, “Look at me love.” He pleads calmly, pulling you from his shoulder so that you may look into his kind-hearted gaze, “Do you think now, that I would dare lay my blade against your precious skin?” Your lip quivers as your watery eyes slip from his to the werewolf laying dead near the two of you.

“I am one of them now Geralt. How can I live as this now, I am not a monster. I can’t hurt innocent people, I can’t.” You exclaim, your voice breaking as you speak, “All the years we have been together have been the happiest of my entire life, know this Geralt. You bring me so much joy and light that I never imagined I could ever feel, you have given me your heart even when you first claimed you could not love. I will never forget that.” His heart breaks in two at your truthful words of honesty paired with how somber and dismal you appear.

Not being able to stand you looking away from him for much longer, he carefully lifts a hand up to turn your face to his, leaving his palm on your cheek in a comforting manner, “Y/N my love, you will never be a monster in my eyes, not once not ever. I may be a Witcher, but you will not meet an untimely end due to this curse that has made it’s way into your vessel.” His eyes are soft and serene, full of absolute love and adoration for you.

Y/N he will not hurt you, but you cannot hurt others.

You sniffle, your voice thick as you speak, “I will not let others suffer a violent death because of me Geralt, it’s not in my blood.”

“You will not, there is always another way..”

“There is no other way!” You interrupt, sure of yourself that this new affliction will be your inevitable demise, “A werewolf cannot be broken of their curse once it is had, there are no known antidotes!”

“Y/N..”

“This bite cannot be undone Geralt.”

Eyes softening, he pulls you in closer to rest his head against your own, “My dear Y/N, your life means more to me then you know. I will find you the cure, I have seen a vial of it myself long ago when visiting an experienced alchemist who taught me many things about potion making. He will surly know how to rid this she-wolf within you, I am sure of it.”

Lifting your face away from his, you finally show him the tiniest of relieved smiles, your heart bursting with joy at this refreshing news, “You never fail to surprise me, even now. I trust you...I love you Geralt of Rivia with my entire being, every part of me from now until death. I guess this world has yet to bring me down.”

Studying your newly determined expression, he grins with eyes full of love, “I do not doubt it my dear one.”

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #my work

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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

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Blackwater Lake - Chapter 3

Summary: There’s a little town high in the mountains where everyone has a secret, and every family has something that makes them unique. In Blackwater Lake those that are outcast by nature come together.

Characters/Pairing: August Walker x OFC Freya (Forest Nymph) Original Female Character is described as white/pale, short and of small build, hazel eyes, long dark hair.

Warnings (for this chapter); Talk of past abusive relationships, on the run, alcohol consumption, Daddy Kink, DD/LG, Pet names, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, hyperspermia, cum play, cum feeding, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy test.

Previous Parts:

Werewolf!Sy: Moonlight on the Sand Castle Under The Stars. Werewolf!Sy, Vampire!Walter: Chapter 1 Vampire Walter: Chapter 2

This will be a series of stand alone stories/2 parters, which will revolve around the residents of the town, with some recurring characters. The ‘reader’ for each story will be a ‘new’ reader, so its not the same woman being with all the male characters.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post something new.

Blackwater Lake - Chapter 3

The blood slowly trickled across the board and off the table, coating the floor before running into the drain. August raised the heavy cleaver, and with one thunderous swipe severed the femur clean in two. The cleaver made a metallic clang that echoed around the stark tile lined room, and wiping his hands on his apron he lifted the product of his work and inspected his efforts closely. A smile spread over his lips as he looked up;

“There we go Mrs Mackenzie, a nice juicy bone for your dog”

The old woman smiled, her purple tinted grey hair in tight curls that barely moved as she nodded;

“Oh yes, that’ll be perfect! My Clarence will love it!”

At that very moment Clarence started yapping outside where he was tied to the specials chalkboard that sat on the sidewalk outside Walkers Meats, 10lbs of teeth, fur and anger wrapped into the body of a small West Highland Terrier;

“I’m sure he will. I’ll wrap it up for you and Freya will finish ringing up your order for you. We’ll get it delivered this afternoon…”

August walked around the counter and set the wrapped bone into the box, nodding to his assistant to finish up the order. She knew that the bone would be free of charge, but that Mrs Mackenzie would insist on tipping and sliding her $10 which August was more than happy for Freya to keep. The slight girl turned and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, before she quietly nodded and continued with her duties.

Returning to the butchery area August glanced up and caught sight of his reflection in the painted mirror, the design obscuring the scarring on the side of his face, giving him that moment of relief from those memories of a past long ago, a life he had left behind when he had sought out quiet solitude in the peaceful mountain town of Blackwater Lake. People minded their own business there and didn’t ask questions. If you had a skill that could help others you were welcomed into the community. How August got into the meat business is a story for another day, but as his gaze travelled across the mirror to where Freya was measuring out the wild herb mixes into small mason jars he smiled and remembered instead how she came into his life.

Pulling the sign in from the sidewalk August was exhausted. Running a business completely on his own had seemed like a good idea when he’d started, he enjoyed his own company and he distrusted anyone else to do the job to a standard he would approve of. What he hadn’t counted on was the residents of this sleepy little town not only accepting him, but joyous that he was there and wanting to talk endlessly every time they visited his store. Although he was always polite and did his best to end conversations quickly, after eight hours of it he had jaw ache and knew he would need to work well into the night on the new sides of beef that had been delivered that morning if he were to have any stock to sell the next day. He glanced longingly at the small sign that sat propped up in the window; ‘Help Needed - Enquire Within’, yet he hadn’t had any takers in the month the sign had been up.

The icy winter wind curled at his neck, sending a shiver down his spine as he let out a sigh, heaving the heavy sign into the building so it didn’t blow away in the night as a icy squall blew in from the mountains. As the door slammed shut behind him it echoed a knock around the store, but when it came again he turned and let out a far from masculine yelp; the face of a pale young woman stared back at him like a ghoul in the darkness. Clearing his throat and smoothing down his blue and white striped apron, he approached the door and opened it;

“May I help you Miss?”

She nodded down to the sign;

“Do you still need someone?”

Her teeth were chattering, and it was hardly surprising as she was barely dressed for the weather, the knitted cardigan doing little to ward off the cold wind. August opened the door to allow her to enter, looking down at the top of her head as she slunk past him.

“Let me get a pot of coffee on, you must be freezing”

As he disappeared into the back office he set the pot of coffee on to heat before grabbing an old jacket that was hanging on the back of the door, returning to where his visitor stood in the store a few moments later, handing her the jacket;

“Its cold in here, we can’t have the heat on because of the meat”

Nodding she took the jacket, her teeth still chattering;

“T-t-thanks… its still warmer than outside”

He handed her a mug of steaming coffee;

“Sorry, i don’t have any creamer or sugar…” She wrapped her delicate fingers around the mug using it more for heat than sustenance as he leant back against the counter on the other side of the store; “So… you’re wanting a job? What experience have you got? You worked in retail?”

She shook her head and muttered a quiet no, keeping her eyes averted from him as she spoke;

“But i will try anything… just looking for a new start”

“Are you running from something?” A gentle nod of her head and the way she clutched the mug tighter told August it was a someone not a something; “Look, if you’re willing to learn, work hard and pay attention, i’ll give you a trial. I’ve gotta level with you, you’re the only person who’s shown any interest in the sign, and i’m getting desperate, so if you want you can start tomorrow”

Her head snapped up and for the first time he saw her eyes, deep hazel peering out from behind long strands of dark brown hair;

“Really?”

“Yes. Really” he stated in a matter of fact way; “I’ll need to get your address and details for the wages…”

“Oh… i’m not… i’ve not got anywhere. I guess i’ll find a cheap motel…”

August paused;

“Kid, there’s no motel in town… at least not this time of year. But i might have a solution for you”

Her eyes widened in fear and August realised whatever she was running from had done more damage than she showed;

“No no, not that” he assured her; “There’s a small apartment above the shop - two in fact, i’ve got one and the other i’ve never rented out, never got round to it… its small but completely self contained, your own entrance and everything, completely secure”

Once a few forms had been filled out August had gotten the girl settled in the small studio apartment. He’d shown her how the fold out bed worked, explained that the hot water fed off the furnace for the whole building so she could use as much as she wanted. A couple of minutes after he’d left her in the apartment he knocked at her door, surprised to hear the locks sliding across at first, but then realising she needed to feel safe. When she peered around the door she almost looked surprised to see him there, as if it would be anyone else;

“Umm yeah?”

August handed her a box of things he’d scavenged from his own kitchen;

“Here’s just a few things to see you through the night… I haven’t been grocery shopping in a while, but the bread was in the freezer and it’ll defrost pretty quickly if you put it in the toaster”

He handed the box to Freya, surprised at how smooth but also small her hands were as she took it from him as they brushed against his own. She nodded and smiled;

“Thank you Mr Walker”

“Night. See you bright and early tomorrow morning”

The next morning August woke to an insistent knocking on his door. Grumbling to himself he pulled on his robe and stalked across his small apartment, pulling the door open with a thunderous look on his face, ready to give whatever maniac that was knocking on his door at 5am a piece of his mind;

“WHAT THE… oh… hi…”

Freya was standing on his doormat, a look of shock on her face;

“Hi… i’m ready to start”

“To… start?”

“Work. You said bright and early”

August ran his palm over his face;

“I… When i said…” he let out a long slow breath; “I meant 8am”

“Oh.”

That was a long day, but by lunchtime Freya had mastered the cash desk and had already started to come out of her shell, the locals more than welcoming for the tiny girl with the woodland eyes, and with her help August was able to catch up on his work.

Over the following month her input had helped August expand his products, suggesting a range of seasonings in reusable jars, where if the customer returned the mason jar they’d get a discount off the next one they purchased. He discovered she had this unfathomable knowledge of herbs and plants, but also had this connection with nature he couldn’t quite understand. He’d sometimes catch her staring out of the window at the trees blowing in the wind, as if listening to their songs that were beyond his own ears.

One thing was for sure, there was a sense of magic to her and August thanked the stars above that she walked into his store on that cold winter night.

Back in the present August was busy cleaning the cutting table as Freya busied herself with her jars - it was her own little enterprise now and one she was absolutely proud of. He could see that she kept glancing outside, gnawing on her lip;

“Freya, everything ok?”

“Yes Mr Walker. I was just thinking, the next batch wild garlic is ready to be picked, if i collect some this afternoon i can have more chimichurri mixed ready for tomorrow, and that’s when the beef delivery is coming in”

August let out a chuckle;

“How many times do I have to say to call me August…” he met her gaze with a smile; “And yes, that sounds like a brilliant idea. The store’s quiet and i’ll be doing deliveries in a while, so sure, go exploring”

“Thank you Mr Walker”

August rolled his eyes and let out a laugh, watching as she hung up her apron and grabbed her foraging basket, skipping out of the door and towards the creek that fed into the lake a couple of miles away.

Three hours later August was driving back along the gravel road that led into town, having made his deliveries. The spring air was damp but warm, rain threatening to spill but the clouds unwilling to release their bounty just yet. Rounding the bend he looked out over the soft marshland, the grass knee high already and he saw a familiar figure stepping through the green undergrowth. With a smile he pulled his SUV to a stop at the side of the road, stepping out of the vehicle he leaned against the door as he watched Freya as she slowly made her way through the field, before she stopped as her attention moved to the treeline. Following her gaze he watched as a bear emerged from the woods and his heart sank. The native wildlife would be coming out of hibernation, and would be grumpy and hungry. He went to shout but a sudden rush of wind silenced his voice, watching as she held her arm out and the grass flattened in front of her as if a wind devil had made its way through. Glancing back to the bear it had stopped in its tracks but was still staring at her, but then started to circle around on the spot before settling down as if for a nap.

August anxiously watched, knowing if Freya ran she could make it to the car as long as the bear was weak, but he didn’t want to risk that it hadn’t had a belly full of salmon yet, so he quickly reached into the vehicle and pulled his unregistered handgun from beneath his seat. Back at the side of the road he raised the firearm at the bear, glancing at Freya who had now spotted him waiting for her. She started to quicken her pace through the grasses, eventually breaking into a run as she neared the embankment of the road. August glanced to where the bear had been and let out a yell as he saw it was starting to approach them;

“Freya, RUN!”

Doing as he instructed she broke into a sprint, her legs carrying her through the grass and up the embankment. Flinging his door open he motioned for her to dive in, her basket being launched into the passenger footwell as she tumbled across the centre console and into the passenger seat, August launching himself into the driver's seat and gunning the engine as he slammed the door shut, the urgent crunch of tyres on loose gravel dulling the sound of the grizzly’s roar as it had caught up, but was now rapidly disappearing into the distance of the rear view mirror.

August only slowed down as he reached the urban centre of Blackwater Lake, Freya’s breathing having finally levelled out as she turned to him;

“So… there’s bears here?”

He slowed the vehicle and pulled to a stop in a parking lot before turning to her;

“Yes. And moose and cougars and mountain lions… hell sometimes I even hear howls in the night so there’s probably something wolfy up in those mountains too… We need to get you better prepared for nature” August paused; “And what was that thing you did with your hand? That made the grass flatten and the bear sit down…”

Freya shrugged;

“I’m not sure… it's just this thing i’ve always been able to do, calm animals down”

“Huh. Didn’t seem to work this time…”

She glanced at him, her eyes wide;

“I think that was because you were there…”

August let out a laugh, before sitting back in his seat;

“Okay, point taken. I need a drink. We’re at Big-G’s, I'll buy you dinner…”

August regretted his decision. He hadn’t factored in how slight Freya was in comparison to her ability to consume alcohol, so three drinks later where all he’d had was lite beer, Freya was completely wasted. The giveaway was when she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder whilst he’d been talking to Geralt - the bar owner - and she’d started to drool on his shirt. Geralt had told him to ‘get his girl home’ with a wry laugh, telling August his meal was on the house. Something had stopped August from correcting the ashen haired man, looking down at the imp of the girl leaning on him.

He’d managed to carry her to his car fairly easily but the journey up the steps at their building had been more of a challenge. He’d managed to get her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but had been surprised when she’d also wrapped her legs around his waist. Although it meant he could use one arm to hold her up, the feel of her warm body clinging to his sent a rush of heat through his stomach straight to his groin, he was just thankful she was so out of it she didn’t notice the tent in his pants.

As he juggled his keys he found the spare for her apartment but then thought better of it, unsure how she was when she’d had alcohol, and instead opened his own apartment. Crossing the almost dark room he reached the couch and slowly lowered her down to the cushions, her whimpers of loss as he started to pull away making him pause;

“Mmmm Daddy, you’re so warm…”

Holding her still a low rumble slowly bubbled through his throat when she nuzzled against his neck;

“Daddy smells so good…” and she pressed a kiss to the stubble on his chin.

August knew she was drunk, probably didn’t even realise it was him, after all who would want someone as broken and scarred as he was, but for that briefest of moment’s he relished her touch and what was going on in her tequila addled mind. He couldn’t help himself and pressed the briefest of kiss to her cheek;

“Time to sleep now little Kitten” he muttered before reluctantly uncoupling himself from her grasp, pulling a blanket over her as she dozed on his couch. Raking his hand down his face he let out a sigh, before grabbing a glass of water and setting it onto the coffee table in front of her. A scribbled note on the back of a flyer explained that she was drunk and he wasn’t sure if she would need his help, and he didn’t want to invade her privacy of her own apartment.

Having poured himself a generous glass of vodka, August withdrew to his own bedroom, silently closing the door before stripping for bed. It was an early night but without the TV to entertain him and no desire to get lost in a book, he settled on top of the covers in just his underwear, sipping at the ice cold liquor as he willed the swelling of his loins to subside. However every time he tried to clear his mind, all he could imagine was Freya. The thought of her small body beneath his, their bodies sweaty and writhing as one. Finally with a curse he gave in to his desires, pulling his underwear down and taking his hard length into his hand, pumping dry to increase the friction as his mind descended further into taboo territory. He imagined it was her hand, calling him Daddy as she asked if she was doing it right, that her perfect lips would duck down and take his bulbous tip into her mouth, her tongue lapping at his slit as her hazel eyes would stare back up at him, wide with innocence. With a strangled cry he came in violent spurts, covering his hand and stomach in ropes of his cum, thoughts of the delicate woman in his lounge lapping at his spent seed prolonging his orgasm until he was aching and empty. With a curse he looked down at the mess he’d made, realising he needed to clean himself up.

The quiet click of his front door woke August the next morning, pushing himself up off the pillow as he heard small footsteps down the outside of the building and the quiet beep of his car being unlocked. Wondering what the hell was happening he leapt out of bed and peered out of the window, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw a dishevelled Freya gathering the wild garlic that had been scattered around his inside of his vehicle the day before.

A few minutes later the thud of his keys falling onto his doormat where she’d posted them through the letterbox sounded through his apartment, and when he went to collect them he found a small note with them;

‘Mr Walker, thank you for your help, I hope I didn't make a fool of myself last night. Your car stinks of garlic now, i’m going to walk up the creek and collect some herbs that will help reduce the odour, Freya x’

An hour later when she hadn’t returned, August set off towards the creek through the pleasant woodland, the sunlight leaving dappled patches of gold on the forest floor. Coming to the wide bend in the creek where the water was shallow, he saw the swing over the water that someone had put there years ago, mismatched ropes and a wooden seat, and how someone had now woven wildflowers into the ropes, and as he glanced upstream he saw Freya knee deep in the water, a butterfly dancing on her hand.

Something overcame him and he pulled off his boots and socks, rolling up his pants as he stepped out into the water and sat on the swing, silently watching as she charmed nature beyond a simple human’s comprehension, having control of the elements like a forest nymph. August had seen a lot of unusual things in the time he’d lived in Blackwater Lake, he knew those that had something a little special about them gravitated towards the sleepy little mountain town, so as he watched Freya make her way upstream towards him he realised there was magic in the air. Small water spouts rose from the water as she took each step, as if chasing after her touch as she stepped from rock to rock submerged under the water.

As she approached the shallow bend in the creek she finally looked up and saw August, a smile spreading over her lips;

“Hi”

“Its so pretty here, isn’t it?” she asked wistfully

“Beautiful from where i’m sitting”

She approached where he sat, stopped at arms reach, a hint of blush warming her cheeks;

“I’m sorry if I was inappropriate last night… thank you for taking care of me, i’m not a big drinker”

“You weren’t inappropriate…” he reassured her; “But it's been a while since a beautiful woman called me Daddy… since before… since before i was broken...”

Her gaze moved to the scar on the side of his face, and without a word she stepped forward and pressed her hand to the spidery scarring. In that moment August felt the magic in her touch, prickling at his skin before she nimbly climbed onto his lap, her legs wrapping around his waist and she lowered her lips to his, softly brushing against his as she spoke;

“You’re not broken, no more than I am…”

The kiss was soft and slow, and as her tongue started to gently tease at the seam of his lips she eased her weight completely onto his lap, her core pressing to his, the heat of their growing lust growing like an ember between them.

Her small tongue licked into his mouth, tasting him as she pressed her body flush to his chest, small whimpers coming from her as his hands splayed over her back and pulled her firmly down onto his growing arousal. When the need for oxygen finally took precedence August’s lips traced a path of kisses down her jaw and neck, her fingers winding through his dark curls as her head fell back to give him better access to the pale expanse of her collarbone;

“Oh Daddy…”

“That’s it my little one, i’m going to treat you so well, my little Kitten…” August’s mustache brushed against her heated skin as he spoke, the gentle sway of the swing letting their bodies move against each other.

Just at that moment an ominous creak sounded above them, drawing their attention up into the tree’s canopy, just in time to see the rope that held the swing up snap, plunging them down into the shallow creekwater below.

With shouts and screams the moment of passion was lost, taken over by the shock of the water hitting their heated skin. August helped Freya up, her dress plastered to her skin in much the same way his shirt was, soaked head to toe he shook the water from his hair;

“Home?”

“Yes Daddy” Freya purred, pulling into his touch as he wrapped an arm around her to help her out of the water.

Pushing in the door to his apartment, clothes were being pulled from each other's bodies even as the door was still ajar. As he pulled his shirt off, Freya’s hands were curling into the hair on his chest, an almost feral growl bubbling from her lips as she ran her hands down to his stomach and rested on the buckle of his belt. Catching her hands in his he held them gently, only speaking when she looked up and met his gaze;

“Kitten, I want to be sure you want this… You’re in total control here, you set the boundaries, you say when you need to stop. But if you do want this, i’ll be your Daddy and take care of you like a Princess”

Freya voice shook as she spoke;

“I want this… my last… he wanted to be my Daddy but didn’t treat me right. He took more than I could give…”

August lifted her small hands to his mouth, kissing each fingertip with such great care and tenderness her heart almost melted before she finally spoke again;

“We should really check for leeches”

“WHAT?!”

Freya had never seen anyone strip their clothing off quite as fast as August just had. For a big man - and a pretty tough one at that - the mere thought of little blood suckers had him stripping completely naked in a matter of seconds, Freya pulling her dress off a little slower until she stood in just her simple underwear. August was still patting himself down, turning to look at his behind;

“Am I ok?”

Freya couldn’t help herself, stepping forwards and taking two handfuls of August’s pert asscheeks, giving them a squeeze before running her palms over the perfectly rounded globes of his buttocks;

“More than ok”

In the following moments August carried her to his small bathroom, turning the shower on before he stepped under the warm jets of water, pulling her with him so he could soap her down. The scent of sandalwood of his soap as he carefully washed every inch of her body was overwhelming, taking care of her to wash any last traces of creek water from her body. He paused as he reached the apex of her thighs, waiting for her agreement which she quickly nodded for him to continue, his large hand sliding between her legs and caressing her lips. His skilled fingers soon sought out her pearl, teasing it gently from its hood before he slid a finger into her waiting heat, a cry falling from her lips which he quickly swallowed with a kiss. His work calloused hands quickly drove her to an orgasm - a first of many - and as she came she called his name, like a prayer on her lips.

Shutting the water off, August carefully lifted her out of the bath, wrapping a large towel around her before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. On the messy covers her hair clung to her skin, before he carefully lifted the long tendrils from her chest and was able to take in the sight of her petite naked body laying fresh and prone on his bed. Her hand reached out for him, pulling him close;

“Daddy, I want to feel you…”

August smiled;

“Will you be a good girl for me Kitten? Do you think you can take me? You’re awfully small, and I'm pretty big…”

She sat up, pressing a hand to his chest;

“Can I try? Can I go on top?”

Nodding August lay on the bed, propped up against the pillows, lifting her petite frame on top of him. He watched with pleasure as she wriggled down the bed, her hands gripping his thighs as she settled between his legs. Wrapping her small hands around his generous length she looked up at him as she started to give small licks to his hot flesh, her fingers struggling to encircle his meaty girth. Opening her mouth she took a good three inches between her lips straight away, a litany of curses falling from August’s lips as he felt the hot wet heat of her mouth engulf him. It was better than he could ever had imagined, and he had to grip at the bedsheets to stop himself from cumming at that very moment. Steadying his breathing he let out a low sigh before he reluctantly pulled her off, a trail of spittle hanging between his dick and her mouth;

“But Daddy, I want to taste your cum…”

“I know Kitten, but it's going to be a lot the first time, and I want to see your cunt dripping with me, knowing your tight little pussy is going to overflow with the amount I'm going to pump into you. Now be a good girl and see what you can do, let's make it fit…”

Straddling his thick thighs she positioned herself over his hard shaft, her hand holding him steady as she swiped him through her folds to douse his gnarled girth with her juices, before settling with the tip at her entrance. August ran his hands up and down her arms, comforting her and hoping to get her to relax. He was a patient man but the feel of her soaked flesh pressing against his crown was becoming a struggle not to grab her hips and pull her down until he was balls deep in one swift thrust.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Freya slowly lowered herself onto August’s shaft, going at a pace she could cope with, but the strain of holding back caused perspiration to bead on August’s forehead;

“Doing so well Kitten… I know its a lot, but you can do it… you’re so fucking tight…. Fuck…”

Taking a deep breath Freya finally let herself fall the rest of the way, feeling him part her silken walls until she was settled on his lap. Tears fell from her eyes, tiny diamonds adorning her cheeks at the overwhelming sense of fullness she was experiencing. Seeing these August kissed them away, his praises made her swell with pride as he admitted to her he was struggling not to cum from just the feeling of her tight walls engulfing him. He pushed a hand between their bodies, resting his palm on her stomach;

“Put your hand here… you’re so tiny I can feel myself deep inside you, your little tummy blown out with my dick…”

His thumb crept down and grazed at her pearl, making her cry out before yearning for more. With his ministrations she was soon relaxed enough to start to ride him, her nimble thighs bouncing on his meaty counterparts, feeling the slick push and pull as he filled her whilst she drove them towards their peak.

Unsurprisingly Freya came first, the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through her body was all too much to hold back, and she came with a silent scream, her body gripping August so tight it set him off, pushing in so deep he was sure his dick had kissed her cervix, before flooding her with endless ropes of his thick seed, soothing her inner core with his milky gift. Wrapping his arms around her he pulled her to his chest, holding her tight as the floods of emotions surged through her, stroking her back tenderly.

Eventually he carefully lifted her onto the bed, peppering her bare skin with bristly kisses, before parting her thighs and leaning back to admire his handiwork, a thick sheen of white covering her swollen petals. With a single finger he carefully swiped through his mess, before holding it to her mouth;

“Taste Kitten… taste our passion…”

Holding onto his wrist she sucked the digit into her mouth, her tongue tasting their combined essence. When his finger finally dropped from her lips his gaze fell down and hers followed, her eyes going wide when she saw he was hard and ready for more. Laying back she hooked her hands behind her knees and spread herself open for him;

“Daddy, will you fill me up again, please?”

Positioning himself at her cum soaked hole August smiled, a dark hint of lust glinting in his eyes;

“It would be my pleasure Kitten”

Three weeks later

Freya chewed nervously on her lip, having circled the isles of the drug store too many times to count now, waiting for a time when there was no-one near what she needed. Finally it was the right moment and she slunk into the isle, grabbing the thin rectangular box before stepping back and bumping into someone, her item tumbling to the floor as a third set of feet appeared;

“Freya! Mrs Syverson! Good Morning!”

It was Sue from the coffee shop, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere just as Mrs Syverson had backed away from the opposite shelf to keep little baby Luna from grabbing the glass bottles of antacid medicine. Mrs Syverson immediately clocked what Freya had been holding;

“Oh Freya, could you just reach those things for me? I can’t reach down with Luna here…”

With shaking hands Freya handed the bag of cotton wool balls and the pregnancy test to the woman only a couple of years her senior, who in turn smiled at Sue as she laughed;

“Sy’s always keeping me on my toes… in more ways than one” She winked before tugging on Freya’s arm; “Sweetie, I need to place an order for a big cookout we have coming up for Sy’s birthday…”

Steering her away from town gossip Sue, Mrs Syverson lowered her voice;

“I’ll meet you outside sweetie, don’t worry about it, i saw you circling the shop”

A few minutes later Mrs Syverson appeared at the door, two drugstore bags in her hand before handing one to Freya;

“My advice, tell August now, do the test together”

“Are you sure? Do you think he’ll be angry?”

“Angry? Hell no, i think it’ll be what he wants, and no matter what the result he’s always had puppy dog eyes for you, we could all tell from the moment you walked into his life”

Peering into the bag Freya saw there was also a bag of Hershey’s kisses;

“You’ll need the sugar, to calm your nerves afterwards”

“Thanks Mrs S… i appreciate it”

“No problem Freya… and i’ll see you tomorrow, i really do need to place that order, but get today over and done with first”

That afternoon Freya and August took the test, then feasted on kisses of every kind.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker smut #august walker x ofc #henry cavill

150 notes · View notes

xwing-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Impulse: Part 1 (Javier Pena x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: My first ever Javi fic, of course I had to make it the angstiest thing I’ve written in a long time!! This is part one of the first part of the story which is also the end of the story... just had to make it confusing for you.

Disclaimer: I do not have any experience with cocaine or addiction, all writing is based on my own research and is not a good representation of how it really is! Don’t do coke kids, it’s never good.

Part 2

---

Four in the morning, the sun was just above the horizon and you were stumbling home from yet another party. Enough tequila swam through your system that you didn’t really think about the wellbeing of your neighbor when you tapped on his door. You wanted to keep going. Javier, you decided, would make the perfect company. And maybe you could continue that kiss you had not stopped thinking about since it happened four months ago! You grinned devilishly at the thought and knocked harder on the door.

“Javi! Javier!” You rapped on the door. “Javier Peña, abra la puerta!” You sang, leaning all your weight on the door as your world span fast around you, “Javi,”

“What?” Javier opened the door suddenly, causing you to fall into him. You laughed as you caught yourself on his arm. You had woken him up, he was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair bushy and wild.

“Hola!” You grinned up at him, not hiding the way you checked him out. You were obviously drunk and high, eyes red and shining brightly even in the dim light of the apartment block hallway. Javi wrinkled his nose as the smell of you hitting him, tequila and cigar smoke clung to you.

“Again?” Javi sighed heavily. This was the third time this week you had woken him up, accidentally or on purpose, coming home drunk. He was starting to worry about you.

“Si,” You grinned from ear to ear, You were in more of a state than last time. For one you were still speaking Spanish, something Javi had rarely ever heard you speak. You must have been with your local friends, he surmised. “No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido!”

“It’s not fun, you’re a mess. Get in here,” He pulled you by the arm into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“Eres enojado?” You asked, still grinning. You walked backwards into his apartment, tripping down the step and landing with a thud on his leather couch. You cackled with laughter.Javier frowned and put his hands on his hips, of course he was annoyed at you! It was four in the morning and you both had work the next morning. You dramatically flopped back on his couch and huffed at his grumpy attitude, “It’s only polite, Javi! They gave it to me!”

“It’s poison!! He exclaimed, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s helping,” You proclaimed.

“It’s not helping anyone, you’re gunna fuck up sooner or later.” Javi warned, as he had done many times before.

“I got that list,” You protested, “That was helpful!”

“And what will you do when they work out that you stole it?”

“No lo sé,” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket and grabbed the last of the coke you had been given. You wanted a little more. You pulled the tin out of your pocket and placed it on the coffee table at your feet.

“You-,” Javi started before he noticed what you were doing, instantly he was on you, “Para!” He exclaimed as he snatched the coke from your hand before you had time to open it.

“Necesito!” You whined, pouting at him. You were lying, you didn’t need it. You wanted it, a lot.

“No,” Javi snapped.

“Lo siento, Javi,” You pleaded with him, eyes locked onto the packet in his hand.

“You’re not though, are you? Fucking look at me!” He yelled. You startled and looked up at him as tears pricked your eyes. “Quit it. Now. You know what this shit does, stop it. Whatever you think you’re doing is not worth it, okay?”

“Pero-“

“No. Me vale!” He cut you off. “You’re better than this, Y/n,”

You sustained eye contact for a moment. The room was deathly quiet, he glared at you with fierce intensity. You had never seen him so angry, if you weren’t so drunk you would have instantly buckled under the pressure. The only thing your drunk brain could think of was how hot he looked, you wondered how rough he would be with you if he was this angry. You couldn’t help the snigger that crept up in your throat at that thought. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the laugh, Javi rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You laughed, “It’s just you can’t look at me like that and not fuck me!”

“Jesus christ,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. What little patience he had for you was running out fast. You continued to laugh.

“Can I stay here?” You asked.

“Take the couch,” Javi waved you off, his back turned heading back to his bedroom.

“I can’t sleep with you?” Your voice was laced with innuendo, he knew what you wanted. A part of him was tempted, your dress left very little to the imagination, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

“You’re drunk and high,” Javier said plainly, “and we’ve spoken about this before. No,” He was firm with you. He hated having to reject you for a second time but he wasn’t a complete monster. He wouldn’t sleep with you in this state.

“Worth a try,” You laughed, thankfully giving up quickly. Javi shook his head and walked away again, “Muchos gracias, Javi,” You called after him. He shut the door.

You woke up as the early morning sunlight pushed through the windows. You groaned and turned over, finding you were not in your bed but on a couch. Startled, you sat up and nearly screamed when you recognised the apartment as Javier’s. Luckily you were still fully dressed with your shoes still on, nothing had happened. Memories of how you got there were blurry, you remembered knocking on his door but had blacked out after that.

The clock on the wall said it was six am. You could go upstairs to your own bed clean up and hope that maybe Javi wouldn’t hear you and confront you about it.

You stood up from the couch, trying not to think about all the things the man had done on it, and grabbed your jacket from the ground. As you stood up the strength of your hangover kicked in, you grumbled. That was when you noticed the discarded coke packet on the counter. You stopped. You knew you shouldn’t pick it up, you didn’t need it. But the taste caught at the back of your throat and you found yourself wanting it. It was undeniably addictive, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t take it this far but the foul substance had made its bed.

“Go home,” Javi’s voice broke you out of the trance. He was only wearing sweatpants, hair mussed up from sleep that you had most definitely disturbed more than once. He pulled the cocaine off the table and threw it into the trash before you could reach it. You gulped, shame rising like hot steam through your lungs. You grabbed your things and left, running straight upstairs to your own apartment.

It was still early but you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep again. Shame was swirling up in your throat. How ironic that a DEA agent was addicted to the thing she was meant to be stopping? But you weren’t addicted, you reasoned with yourself, you were fine. This was no different to when you lived off Redbull for a month during finals, it was a matter of changing some coping mechanisms. It was a reaction to the stress of being so close to Escobar yet so still so far. You could change it, you had control.

You made a coffee, instant and black. It was bitter and disgusting but it would keep you awake. You collapsed onto your tired old couch and flicked on the tv to a telenovela rerun. You barely understood what was going on but the hilarious overplayed drama was light enough to stop you swimming into the depressing pool of thoughts currently threatening to drown you.

Eight o’clock came and you were ready to go to work. You were used to this routine now, hungover and tired, you knew you weren’t at your best but until this morning nobody knew about your slow descent into chaos. You weren’t surprised to find Javi’s truck gone without you. All you could remember from last night as how mad he was, and his face this morning only proved it. You dreaded seeing him.

Luckily, you were spared the hassle of public transport by Steve who trundled down the stairs after you and offered you a ride. The conversation was light and everything seemed normal for a moment. You got to work, Steve ran off after a call from Javier leaving you with a mountain of paperwork to hunt through. For once you didn’t care, paperwork didn’t judge you.

A few hours passed and the boys returned. You did your best to ignore them while they bickered, hoping that you could melt into the background, until someone tapped on your desk.

“Hey, I’m talking to you Rookie,” Javi’s voice made you look up. “Come on, we’re going,”

Before you could say anything he threw your jacket at you and you had no choice but to follow him outside. You tried to rack your brain for why Javi would be taking you anywhere today, especially after this morning. You had expected him to ground you, to be impossibly angry at you, not take you out. You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Javi didn’t say a word. He didn’t look particularly angry, he looked stressed but he had looked like that since the day you got down here. He was silent, letting the radio play between you, when all of a sudden he reached over and turned it off.

You looked over at him, expecting him to start his lecture but he didn’t. He let the silence sit between you for the rest of the journey. Somehow it was worse, you’d rather he got mad at you and shouted. It was just unsettling.

Finally you pulled into the embassy, you flashed your badges at the gate and parked. Fear was starting to grow now. Was he going to get you fired? He wouldn’t bring you down here for that surely? He would have called and said what he wanted, he hated coming down here unless he had to. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask, and followed him inside.

Javi greeted the assistant at the door, as smooth as ever somehow managing to melt her in her chair in five seconds. You smiled and waved to her, she scowled at you as soon as Javi had turned his back.

“He’ll be in a minute,” The girl called after you as you entered the Ambassador’s office. You took one chair, Javier took the other, in front of the large mahogany desk.

Unlike Steve and Javi you didn’t see the ambassador often, often left in the office while they had meetings about things higher than your post. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest you thought it might burst. You rubbed your hands on your jeans and fidgeted in your seat. Why in hell were you here?

Before you could bring up the courage to finally ask Javi the Ambassador walking into the room. You stood up immediately to shake his hand, Javi stayed seated.

“Y/n, nice to see you again,” The ambassador smiled kindly as he shook your hand. “Agent Peña,” He greeted the agent next to you, who nodded casually.

“You too, Sir,” You tried your best to sound confident. The Ambassador sighed heavily as he sat in the leather chair, took a sip of the water at his side and began the meeting.

“So, I got the call from your coordinators this morning, they’re coming down on Monday for the review. I thought we should have this meeting together to discuss things before they come down,”

Your six month review! That was what you had forgotten. Half relieved that your mentor hadn’t brought you down here to completely humiliate you, you smiled and nodded. With everything going on you hadn’t noticed the months fly past so fast, you barely remembered what day it was anymore.

The Ambassador carried on with the meeting, unaware of your panicking. You nodded along, answering his questions in short yes or no answers, he then moved to Javier. As your mentor he was the one in charge of delivering your progress onto your coordinators. You watched him speak, sound not registering anymore. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t throw you under the bus and tell the entire truth, he knew how much this meant to you surely he wouldn’t.

Nervous, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. You almost had a heart attack when you felt something inside. A small metal tin, rounded and rusted. You immediately knew what it was and froze. There was coke in your pocket. Javi gave you a sideways glance, as he noticed you stiffen up suddenly.

You wracked your mind for where the hell the tin had come from, until you remembered. This wasn’t your jacket, Maria had given it to you a few months ago and never asked for it back. You hadn’t worn it before today and had no idea that your friend’s stash lay inside the pockets. You tried to stay rational, tried to listen to the important conversation happening around you but your hand stayed clamped around the drug in your pocket. It would help you concentrate, it could calm you down. You could take it and nobody would notice.

“I- I’m sorry can you excuse me for a moment?” You blurted out, interrupting the ambassador. He frowned at you, surprised by your interruption. You had gone white with panic, obviously clutching at something in your pocket but he didn’t think anything of it. He nodded and you ran out the room before he could verbally release you.

You tried to remain calm as you ran through the halls of the embassy, it seemed like everyone was watching you. They knew exactly what you were doing, they were judging you. You ran into the first women’s bathroom you could find, quickly checked nobody was in any stalls, and locked the door behind you.

Throwing the package on the sink like it was burning through your hand, you stood over it, watching it intensely like it could jump away at any moment. The voice in your head kept tempting you, calling you weak and useless, to do it to get rid of it. Nobody would know if you took it. You’ve given in this far why not do it. It will help you calm down. Take it.

As if you were possessed, you unwillingly opened the tin and poured the powder onto the surface. There wasn’t much there, barely a pinch full, hardly anything at all. You couldn’t just leave it there now, someone would definitely know it was yours. They all knew why even bother hiding it anyway. You should take it. You were too weak to resist it. Take it.

And you did. The chemical shot straight to your brain giving you the brilliant feeling you had been missing. You sighed in a relief as you felt every anxiety fade from your body. It wasn’t that bad, you feel better with it, the voice in your head said. You weren’t wrong. You did feel better. You looked it too, your cheeks had colour again, you smiled and laughed to yourself as it took hold.

You brushed away the excess powder and unlocked the door. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Javi leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, judging you with a cocked eyebrow. He had been waiting for you. You sighed and rolled your eyes immediately walking away from him.

“Don’t stand outside the women's bathroom’s Javi. It's creepy,” You snapped as you passed him.

“You missed a bit,” Javi commented, following closely behind you.

“Fuck off,” You grumbled. Despite yourself you wiped your sleeve over your nose. He was right.

“Shooting up in a bathroom is real low, Rookie, even for you,” He snarled. You continued walking down the hall, ignoring him. You were as angry at your actions as he was but you didn’t have control anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you,” Javi grabbed your arm and sharply pulled you backwards, pressing your back into the wall and trapping your body between his.

“You’re hurting me!” You complained, shoving him off you with as much force as you could give. It didn’t get you far as he pushed you to the wall again with as much force. Your back slammed against the cold stone hard, no doubt bruising it.

“Then listen. What the fuck is the matter with you?” He snarled, “Doing that shit here? Or anywhere in fact! You are completely out of control,” You ground your teeth, seething with anger, “Do you have no respect for yourself?” You struggled against him, trying to get away again to avoid the question, Javi held you in place. “Not going to say anything?” You looked away, purposely turning your cheek to him, “Get a fucking grip or I’m sending you home,” He growled.

You didn’t answer, staring at the patterned tile floor. Finally he gave up. With a grunt he let you go and stalked away down the corridor.

As he disappeared around the corner, a tidal wave of anger and frustration flooded your system. You kicked the line of chairs next to you, crying out curses as you sent them flying across the corridor. The metal clattered against the stone drawing people out of their offices, they all stood from their doorways and watched you, judging you. You heart hammered in your chest, chest heaving for air and you glared back at them all. You let out a deep breath and turned on your heel, leaving the mess behind you, and walked outside.

Despite himself, Javi had waited for you in the parking lot. You jumped into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door hard to get your point across. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating from anger or the drugs coursing through you. Neither of you said a word for the journey. Javi had said he needed to, and you weren’t able to string together a coherent sentence for everything you wanted to scream at him yet.

You were too focussed on the music playing from the stereo to really notice where you were going. The rhythms and lyrics seemed to float around you and soak into your skin. You didn’t see Javi’s furious scowl when you unknowingly started to dance in your seat, something you couldn’t help but do when listening to Columbian radio no matter your mental state. You were having a good time until the car stopped and the music was cut abruptly. Snapping out of your trance you looked around and realised you were at your apartment.

“Get out. You’re done for today,” Javi said, his voice was eerily calm and you knew to be terrified. Quiet Javi was always the angriest.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“Get out!” He leant over you and pushed the door open. You frowned, but slipped out the truck and did as you were told. Javi pulled the door shut behind you and rolled away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk opposite the apartment building completely dumbfounded.

You were stuck to the sidewalk, staring at the building. The sun beat down on you, scorching your skin yet you couldn’t feel it. You were numb to everything.

Your first thought was to find Maria and get more coke to hide further into yourself and avoid the awful shame creeping up your neck. The speed the thought entered your head petrified you. Your control was slipping through your fingers like sand and your body was screaming to move. Everything inside you told you to give up, that this was the tipping point and you might as well jump because what was the point in pretending anymore. If Javi knew what was the point in trying to cover up how much that narcotic had taken over your life. There was no point at all, you might as well enjoy the feeling whilst you could.

You turned to leave, letting go of all self control. Your legs knew where to take you, you didn’t even need to look where you were going. But you did, when three steps from your original position you crashed into a woman carrying a bag of groceries. She yelped, the sudden sound snapping you back to reality.

“What are you doing standing out here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Connie startled you when she touched you, you had barely noticed her approaching. She frowned, concerned, when she took in your glazed appearance, “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes.

“Oh darling, come inside. Come on,” Connie walked across the road, expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You knew if you went inside you would have to tell her what was happening, you didn’t want to make her as mad as Javi was already. “Y/n? Sweetheart you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

“I fucked it all up,” You whimpered as you began to cry.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some water,” Connie bartered, still you didn’t move. Too scared to admit to her what was going on, “Just come inside, please,”

Finally, you nodded and followed Connie into the building. She walked you into the apartment, sat you on the couch and left to get a glass of water. You hadn’t stopped crying, everything in you was telling you to go and get more to calm yourself down again. You knew not to believe the thoughts but they scared you tremendously. You have really gone too far now.

Connie passed you the water, and you drank it gladly. She crouched down in front of you, pressed a hand to your forehead and checked your pulse trying to work out what was wrong with you.

“Did you take something?” She asked. You tried to shake your head and deny it but the way she’s looking at you, sternly but with so much care in her eyes, you couldn’t lie to her. Your no turns into a yes and you instantly recoil from her each touch, hiding in your hands. “What was it?”

“It was only meant to help,” You cried into your hands.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” She pressed.

“Maria gave me some coke, and it was fine and fun and it helped me get that list from them,” You started to babble, all your words tumbling from your mouth before you could get them into any sensible order, “and everyone was so excited and then I went out kept doing it and then yesterday I ended up at Javi’s and I was tired and-,”

“Slow down,”

“It’s my six month review, and I got so worried then I found it in my pocket! I didn’t know it was there and I just did it! Then Javi caught me again and he kicked me out here!”

“Do you know how much you took?”

“Like a tiny bit but I’ll be fine in an hour but-,” Tears slipped from your eyes once again, “What am I going to do?”

Connie didn’t know what to say. She knew you had been going out more with some new friends, Steve had complained because he was always woken up by you when you came back drunk from a party. That's all she thought was going on, you were partying, drinking, like you should at your age. But as she had come to learn, a lot of things in Columbia were not what they seemed. It seemed the darker side of life here had managed to get it’s claws well and truly into you. It broke her heart to see you like this, so broken up.

You stayed with Connie for the rest of the afternoon, sat on the couch riding out the end of you high. TV kept you company and Connie chewed her nails trying to work out what to do. She thought should call Steve, but if Javier was the one to drop you off here, he probably already knew. She wondered how long it had been going on for, she didn’t get to see you as much as her husband and his partner, whenever she’d seen you you seemed fine, if a little hungover at times. When she thought about, all three of you had taken on destructive habits to cope with the hell you saw every day. Steve was becoming more aggressive by the week, while she knew she was safe she didn’t like what she saw when he flipped out. Everyone in the building knew about Javier’s escapades and now you. It was upsetting to watch from the outside, she couldn’t imagine what it was really like to go through.

You woke up half an hour later, muddled and more tired than when you’d fallen asleep.

“Feeling better?” Connie asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Feel like shit,” You muttered. Your head pounded and the heaviness still sat in your chest. That was the kicker, the coke could mask feelings very well but every time you sobered up they were still there waiting. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself to sit up where you’d slumped over, and rubbed your face with your sweaty palms. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but I’ll be here to help you,” Connie said kindly, as she sat on the couch next to you. You felt awful for dragging her into all this, yet another person you had let down, ”I think you should tell your boss? Or you’re coordinators, maybe they’ll help,”

“I’ll be sent home!” You protested, tears filling your eyes once again, “I don’t want to go home, not now!”

“You can’t keep it to yourself, it will only get worse,” She said, you nodded sadly and cried on her shoulder as she pulled you in for a hug. “I suggest a hot bath, watch some cheesy movie- I managed to find that Indiana Jones movie on tape. I know you love Harrison Ford,”

“That sounds nice,” You smiled weakly. Connie let you go and grabbed the movie along with a bottle of wine for you. You gathered yourself together, enough to get yourself from Connie’s couch to your own at least.

“I’m sure Steve won’t notice it’s gone. Go and chill out and watch the movie, have a bit of normality for a change. You’ll feel better I promise,”

“Thank you Connie, you’re a really good friend,”

“It’s no problem sweetie, like I said I’m always here for you,”

Connie gave you another tight squeeze before you left. Iin the hallway you heard the clatter of Javi’s keys in his door below. You wanted to apologise to him, you wanted him to help you! You wanted things to go back to how they were before all this but you knew Javi wouldn’t talk to you. He’d displayed his distaste for the people that fell under the powder’s spell before, he wasn’t going to help. He had trusted you to sort it out yourself but now it was abundantly clear you couldn’t.

Once again your brain reminded you how easy it would be to get some more coke to cheer yourself up. You could go downstairs and walk down the street, find one of your friends and be happy again so quickly. You didn’t have to feel this pain.

This time, you ignored it and locked yourself in your apartment. You took yourself to bed immediately, not even bothering to turn on any lights along the journey through the tiny space. You fell on the bed face first. As soon as your body hit the soft material you curled up as tight as you could and began to cry.

You had failed. You had let your team down, let your coordinators down, let your classmates down and let your family down. You didn’t even want to think about the conversation you would have to have with your mom as to why you were coming home six months early from a placement you fought so hard to get. You thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You failed.

Part 2

Translations (disclaimer I'm sorry if these are wrong I've been learning Spanish for all of 3 months hence the limited use)

Abra la puerta - open the door

No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido! - I’m not sorry Javi, it’s fun!

Eres enojado - are you angry?

No lo sé - I don’t know

Para!- stop!

Lo siento- I’m sorry

Pero- but

Me vale - I don’t care

The next part will be out next Friday! Want to get tagged? Let me know!

Tag list: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @browneyes-djarin @themidnightsun-12

gunna be cheeky and tag some mutuals i think may be interested? @ithinkwehitametaphor @wille-zarr

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zeetasposts · 4 years ago

Text

A Chance Encounter

Pairings: Vlad x Reader

Words: 1700+

Comments: Eeeeeek and so it continues hehehe! 🥺😳😳🌸//dances around! Cutie Appreciation weekend activates! hehe, hope ya enjoy love! Hehe thanks cutie for always indulging me with all my random spam and never failing to make me smile!😆❤❤❤🥺🥺 hehe sending alllll the sparkles! Hope you are taking care of yourself and taking it easy today! ✨🎉🎁🎂

.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

Amid the springtime season, your life was destined to change forever. To leave in a month but to stay an eternity. Something that you had never anticipated to happen when you had first arrived. Why you chose to remain persists to be a mystery. The door larch released after a month, yet standing before the grand oak door on the day of your supposed departure just felt off, felt wrong, felt almost as if you were going back to a word you did not truly belong in.

You never understood your own impulsive decision. Despite having befriended all the mansion’s residents and making a new home there, you felt lost, almost like a sense of searching, a longing type feeling, like you were still looking for a home—a place you belonged— a place where your heart would feel at peace.

With wistful eyes, you scanned the pages upon pages of poetry, looking for an answer, looking for comfort, but finding none. That is, until you first spotted him, striding past the bookstore window. Gaze catching sight of wisps of white hair dancing in the springtime breeze. Your heart latched forward, eyes following the figures until he was out of sight, yet the memory of him remained with you long after he had disappeared from view.

Eyes focusing back on the book of poems before you, you almost had to laugh at the poem emanating from the pages, it certainly had your hopeless romantic mind running away from you— giving hope for an answer soon to be solved. Regardless you smiled at the little poem leaving a flower bookmark in place to remember.

‘Well, from the moment I first saw you,

there was a spark of peace and mutual energy

that will forever rest inside my brain and in my thoughts.

It was so strong that I constantly think about it

and wonder if that is something

that could be permanent for me rather than a brief moment of interaction,

a brief exchange of hope and energy.

I couldn’t help myself but to be close to you,

someway- somehow.

I believe there are only a handful of people

that come across your path

that can make you feel more than simply human.

You, yes you, you make me feel alive, hopeful, and assured

that there is more out there.'

Weeks had gone by, and still, you had not come across the white-haired stranger again, the memory of him steadily fading from your mind as daily tasks occupied your time. The newest of the errands being to pick up a dozen fresh sunflowers to celebrate the resident angel’s birthday.

With a ring of the bell above the carved mahogany door you entered into the local flower shop—a quaint little shop in the middle of the busy Parisian streets. The storefront perfectly decorated with scatters of seasonal summer flowers, enticing any person passing by to visit the floral boutique. And the inside of the store was every bit as welcoming, with flowers littered on every corner of the store, drawing your eyes about.

“Welcome, can I help you with anything,” the quiet voice came blooming from the front of the shop, drawing your attention away from the delicate blue flowers and deeper into the workshop.

A tiny gasp left your lips when you finally realized that the source of the gentle voice was from the very man who had been plaguing your mind for weeks now.

You took a few clumsy steps towards the front counter, heart hammering in your chest. You felt silly for having a crush on a man you had never even uttered as much as two words to, yet here you were— Legs heavy as led, pulse racing, and sweat dripping down your back.

Your mind swam with a million thoughts, yet your mouth refused to speak. The delicate man raised a brow at you, head tilting curiously to the side as you slowly made your way closer. You trained your gaze down, fingertips nervously playing with the seams of your sleeves as you finally mustered up the courage to stutter out your request, “I-I uh, am here to pick up an o-order.”

Your eyes finally drifted up to catch sight of the slither of a smile ghosting across his lips, and you swore your heart melted then and there. Vlad’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he watched your face flush, ‘cute,’ he thought as he leaned down to grab hold of the order book.

“Ah, let me just find it for you.” He carefully placed the book down on the table before his gaze returned to yours, “your name?” he asked politely.

“Van Gogh,” you practically yelled out, eyes widening— appalled at yourself for the sudden outburst. You gripped your sleeves, knuckles white, wishing the ground would spare you the embarrassment and just swallow you whole.

“I-i mean, the order is under van Gogh, my name isn’t van Gogh” you awkwardly corrected, wanting nothing more than to bang your head against the table in mortification— but then it reached your ears—the sound of his soft melodious laughter slicing through the tension.

His laughter was light and airy, like the gentle summer breeze ringing like the garden chimes. It sparked the memory of a poem you had come across, bringing a whole new meaning into your life.

“Calm the winds as angels sing.

Lovers’ tune and flowers bring

little buds caressed by dew

sending pretty thoughts of you.”

“Sunflowers,” he stated between huffs of delicate laughter, closing the book and making his way to the backroom to retrieve your order.

The moment he was out of sight, your hands shot up to cover your warming cheeks; you felt like a schoolgirl being confronted by her crush. Keep it together, you hissed to yourself, eyes squeezing tightly together as you tried your best to focus your mind on the business at hand.

The sound of his tender voice broke the silence once more as he returned carrying a dozen bright yellow sunflowers in his arms, “adoration, loyalty and longevity.”

“What?” you questioned, eyes bright with curiously as fingers fidgeted with the strands of hair framing your face— in an attempt to calm your restless heart.

“The meaning of the flowers, adoration, loyalty and longevity,” he repeated happily, placing the flowers down on the counter. There was a beat of silence before you came back to your senses, realizing that you needed to pay the man. The soft smile never once left Vlad’s face as he watched you nervously scrabble around for the coins to pay for the order.

Finally, you found the pouch of money Sabastian had given you to pay for the flowers, and thrust it out towards the man, eyes meeting his crimson reds. They were beyond stunning, shining in childlike mischief yet holding an archaic air.

Warm hands gently wrapped their way around your delicate little ones, “It’s on the house,” he spoke, this time a spring-like smile dancing across his features.

Your breath caught in your throat as you struggled for words, “b-but I insist, I can’t just take these for nothing.” Again you pushed your hands forward, leaning closer to emphasize your intent.

“Then,” he paused, contemplating his following words carefully. It had been long since Vlad had opened his heart to another. Yes, he loved the human race, but he had never truly allowed himself to fall in love. However, there was something about you, in the way you talked, the way your every thought fluttered across your gorgeous features that captivated him, that drew him in, like a moth to a flame. “Then how’s about you spend the afternoon with me strolling the botanical garden, and we will call it even?"

The rest of the interaction was like a happy blur. You didn’t even remember how you had gotten home or even what you had done in the time that had passed; all you knew was that you were now excitedly strolling down the cobbles stone path amid the vibrant flowers in the large botanical gardens.

It had been weeks since your first interaction with the man and every day since, you had visited his flower shop, idly chatting away about anything and everything that popped into your mind. After the first date together, you knew you had fallen, hard.

“What are you thinking about?” his gentle smile played across his features, ruby eyes gazing down lovingly at you. You returned his smile with one of your own, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze as you made your way through the gardens to your favourite spot.

“It’s a secret”, came the words, eye twinkling with mischief.

“Oh? You won’t tell me?” The corners of his lips lifted to form an impish smile.

“Nope!”

“Well, then I have no other choice!” His eyes shone with affection as he gently lifted your hand and started to twirl you around.

Your laughter filled the serene area causing a few raised brows from all who passed by. Not that you had a care in the world, especially being beside the love of your life.

Just then, he stopped, pulling you closer to fall against his chest, only, he had lost his footing and went tumbling backwards with you to fall straight on top of him with an ‘oooof’.

With widened eyes, you gazed down at him, an apology on your tongue, stopped only by the boyish chuckle that escaped him.

His hand came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and fingers tenderly brushed over your cheeks. Time stood still between the two of you, each gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes before you broke the silence, “a secret for a secret,” you blurted out.

Immediately following it up with a confession of your own to prompt the man to spill the beans. “I love you with all my heart,” the secret left your lips as you beamed down at the man, dusting of pink blooming across your face.

“And I, you,” Vlad returned in a soft hum.

He reached over and plucked a delicate blue flower from the nearby bush. He twirled it between his fingertips for a few moments before securing it between the strands of your soft hair.

“Forget me not,” he said, his face softened with pure love for you.

Your silly grin continued to widen, and with a brush of your nose against his, the response left your lips, “not even for a moment.”

Your eyes soon fluttered closed as the affected words were whispered against his lips before they were sealed in a feather-light promising kiss.

.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

poems: There you are, Painting Love With Words

#And with appreciation week continuing on #i continue to butcher our beloved cutie vlad #sorry cutie #not my fault cybird hasn't released your route in eng yet #hehehe although i could have asked mama to check these #gaaaaaah although i took a page outta neemos book and didn't proof read #just post hehehe #you can thank my thesis for that #lolol #anyways done rambling in the tags #Vald #ikemen vampire vlad #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp vlad x reader #vlad x reader #vlad

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

Note

Are you still taking prompts? We are thirsty and were hoping for “bite me” in a fivan vampire au. Pretty please? What’s that you say? That’s not on the list you shared? Um, oops? I said we are thirsty! 🤤

Ahaha, okay, I think this is going to do it for the prompts for now. I want to get back to working on PEL, and I have (mostly) given the people what they want. But before you hasten to my inbox to request more of this (which I know the Very Hungry Lot of you will do, and I love you so much for it): do know that this is indeed related to a larger project and this is just the first bit of it.

What is that project? Shh. I am not telling you just yet. It's a secret.

Belgrade, Kingdom of Serbia

June 1896

The summer evening is warm and purple, lit atmospherically by both the older gaslamps and the newfangled electric lights (there is a Serb in New York, a man by the name of Tesla, whose great scientific inventions and experiments with alternating current may soon illuminate the entire world), and the well-dressed crowd flows toward the café in a tide of rustling satin, silk, and velvet, ladies in evening dress and men in top hats and monocles. The establishment is the Golden Cross, in Terazije, a bustling neighborhood just south of Stari Grad, and the attraction is an exhibition of the marvelous moving pictures of the Lumière brothers – the first such show in the Balkans, and indeed outside of Paris, after they were first premiered in great triumph six months ago. Or at least, so it is for most of the attendees tonight. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky has a different task.

He stands apart from the milling throngs, well dressed in a high-collared coat and silken cravat, dark hair parted ruler-straight and face freshly shaven, a old golden watch tucked in his breast pocket and his shoes polished to a perfect sheen. While the people hurry past almost close enough to jostle him, they have a peculiar difficulty in registering that he is there. They sense something, yes – a cold breath on the back of the neck, a prey animal’s inborn reflex to warily search the shadows – but it never quite clicks. They continue on their way without being troubled in their own sense of reality, or ever realizing who – what – is standing there with them. It is just one of the odd, disjointed experiences that Fedyor has had to come to terms with, in the twenty-two years since he became a vampire.

By habit, he checks the horizon. These summer days are late and long, and Fedyor is still young enough that he can’t tolerate more than a few minutes of sunlight. It has taken years to be able to go out by day at all, half-thinking he had dreamed the waking world, become wholly one with the shadows and the night. When he emerged in the last gasps of afternoon, when he felt the golden warmth on his face for the first time in almost two decades, he wept. It still causes him vestigial pain, but not as much. Not so much that it cannot be borne.

He pulls the slip of paper out of his pocket and checks the name again. Then he puts it back and slips smoothly into the crowd. At the threshold, he feels that faint, telltale twinge, the knowledge of entering another creature’s territory without being explicitly bidden to do so. The Golden Cross belongs to the vampire king of Belgrade, who is rumored to be five hundred years old and a veteran of the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 (which, so far as Fedyor can tell, the Serbs have never gotten over losing to the Turks) and Fedyor is not interested in pissing him off. But therefore it is, by Conclave law, a place where all vampires in the city can freely congregate, so long as they haven’t committed some terrible crime. It also means that Fedyor may find the man he is looking for in here, and not have to cross into enemy turf.

A rich reek of wine and brandy, of hand-cranked ice cream in cut-glass bowls, of ladies’ perfume and men’s cologne, of sweat and starch and thrumming hot blood, rises into Fedyor’s nose as he inhales, as his senses have been honed a hundred times more acutely than what he was previously used to. He searches the crowded room, on high alert for another supernatural. Nothing, at least not thus far. But it is a delicate and fiddly bit of bloodsucker diplomacy for which he is here tonight, having to do with the rumor that a local group of creatures have formed a shadowy secret society called Црна рука, the Black Hand, with the aim of expressly interfering in human politics. This, of course, is strictly against the rules, and they need to be reminded of that fact. Fedyor would very much prefer not to fight an anarchist rebel vampire in the middle of a café crowded with oblivious humans, but the thought crosses his mind that this is an excellent soft target. The eyes of the entire city, the Balkans, the international art community, are fixed on this place tonight. If something went wrong – if the Golden Cross and all the souls within it were blown to smithereens –

Fedyor orders a drink at the bar – he has been promised that one day he will again also be able to eat human food if he craves the taste, but it will not nourish him – and sits down near the back, keeping a sharp eye out. Andre Carr, the Frenchman who has traveled from Lyon as the Lumière brothers’ representative, is setting up the unwieldy projector and barking at his assistants to be careful with the fragile, bulky spools of film, his mustache bristling in agitation. Fedyor gauges the mood of the crowd, the din of their heartbeats, their eager interest, their whispered gossip. Still no other supernaturals that he can sense, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not here. The vampire king and his underlings will have plenty of ways to conceal themselves from a relative child like Fedyor. As will the Black Hand.

He leans back in his chair and samples the whisky. Not bad, he thinks, though it’s been a long time since he drank human libations. It’s nice to be out among regular people, but he always has to keep strict watch on the part of himself that yearns to feed, that wants them to run, to fear, to fall. Fedyor has been a vampire long enough to control the hunger, to drink mostly from animals and space out his feeds on humans, to ask them for their consent or pay them for their trouble, but it’s still a struggle. He understands the urge that drives vampires to sequester themselves, to only live among their own kind, to keep drones and other willing human servants to feed from, so that you are not put to the trouble of chasing down a stranger and politely asking to bite them in the neck every fortnight or so, don’t get mixed up as to whether the mortals are your dinner company or just your dinner. It is a deuced bloody bother of a business. Fedyor always feels like an idiot whenever he tries.

Carr and his minions sort out their difficulties, and eventually the lights go down, provoking another eager murmur. Fedyor is not immune to the lure of whatever they are about to see, and he could have done much worse for a new home. He arrived here six years ago from his hometown in Russia, once his lack of aging became too difficult to conceal from his friends and family. Belle epoque Belgrade is a cosmopolitan, cultured world of stately opera houses and marble palaces, grand balls and gaslights, synagogues and streetcars, mosques and museums, bohemians and bordellos and broad balconies, telegraph wires and trolley cars and twisting lanes, churches and coffee shops in the Viennese style, with white-aproned waiters and colored mosaics and demitasse cups of Italian espresso. It is an ancient city, placed in a lethally strategic location at the confluence of two rivers, fought over in almost a hundred wars and razed almost forty times (and doubtless there are still more unmakings yet to come). Fedyor has found a place among the vampire community here, enough that he is trusted to deal with the Black Hand, despite his immortal youth. As to how that will go, well…

He watches the film with half an eye, impressed by the moving pictures just like his human counterparts, and then he feels it. The coldness on the back of his neck, the chirp of a sixth sense, the unshakeable awareness that he is being observed by a fellow bloodsucker. Though that term is considered somewhat dated and passé these days, mildly offensive. Vampires are eager as humans to participate in the scientific and industrial revolution, to concoct more enlightened regulations for themselves, to create an academic literature for their origins. There is talk among the sophisticated supernatural set of organizing an Academy for Preternatural Science, to hire vampire scholars, to establish a university. It’s a nice thought, if somewhat too ambitious (or so Fedyor thinks) for a race of beings that has only just decided that solving every problem with blood feuds to the death might not be the best idea. He wonders if one of those unreconstructed barbarians is behind him now.

Slowly, smoothly, so as to demonstrate that he is perfectly aware of being hunted, Fedyor turns around, and catches sight of the newcomer across the way. He is handsome – but then again, most vampires are, as it’s one of the benefits of the transformation. This one, however, is possessed of a roguish, rough-hewn attractiveness that seems genuine, still close to the face he wore as a mortal man, and not the eerie, glossy, imperturbable beauty that Fedyor sometimes finds so off-putting about his compatriots. This vampire is also wearing good clothes, and his overcoat is dark red, embroidered with curling black patterns. He looks at Fedyor, their eyes meet, and he nods once, half an inch. Game on.

Fedyor does his best to sit still until the lights come up, and the crowd claps rapturously and disperses to fetch more drinks and gush about the performance. Then he gets up and drifts toward a velvet curtain, slipping unobtrusively behind it. Back here, it is dark, dusty, and smells of candlewax and grease paint, the remnants of another performance, a conjurer’s closet. He steadies himself, turns around, and –

“Good evening,” the voice says, cold and curt. “I believe you were waiting to speak to me.”

“Yes.” Fedyor does his best to smile and appear charming and in command of the situation. “My name is Fedyor Kaminsky, and I am a representative of the Conclave. They have sent me here tonight in hopes of locating Ivan Sakharov, of the Black Hand. Is that you?”

The other vampire regards him flatly. His eyes are brown, as is his hair, which is cropped military-short and kept as sharp as his face. When he folds his arms, his muscles bulge, even through the sleeves of the well-tailored coat. “And if I was?”

“Then,” Fedyor says, “I am authorized by that same Conclave to deliver a warning to you and your associates that your current activities fall outside the bounds of the common supernatural law, and if you persist in pursuing them, there will be consequences.”

The other – well, he hasn’t denied it, so this must indeed be Ivan Sakharov – looks back at him with an utterly unimpressed expression. “Oh, so the Conclave found a new stooge to do their bidding? You’re a bit younger and fresher than the usual corpses those desiccated old tightwads usually send out after us, I’ll give you that. How long have you been in Belgrade?”

“How long have you?” Fedyor is almost sure he recognizes Ivan’s accent; they’re speaking Serbo-Croatian, but in both cases with a familiar cadence. “You’re Russian, aren’t you?”

That catches the other vampire by surprise. He hisses, baring a pair of white and very sharp fangs, and his eyes go briefly black. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Fedyor says. “But older than me, I think. Possibly quite a bit, though by how much, I can’t be sure. If we were to – ” he switches languages smoothly, in midsentence – “continue this conversation in Russian, would that be more to your liking?”

Ivan Sakharov eyes him icily. He must know that if he speaks their native tongue, he risks giving away his age by the style of his grammar, or perhaps his place of birth, and that is dangerous information for an unknown quantity to hold over you. There is a whiff of the emperor’s court around him, or perhaps the empress – does he hail from Catherine the Great’s day, Fedyor wonders, or earlier? There’s a long, crackling pause. Then Ivan says in brittle, too-correct English, “Or perhaps we should converse like this?”

Fedyor inclines his head, accepting that he has – for now – been outmaneuvered. They still haven’t taken their eyes off each other, standing close together in the dim velvet-draped shadows, near enough that if they were human, they would feel the other’s heat. There’s nothing but the faint wintry chill of unliving flesh, though a certain hunger rises unbidden in Fedyor’s stomach nonetheless. Then he says, “This does not have to be difficult. Cease your lawlessness and tell your friends to do the same.”

Ivan takes another step, close enough that their noses almost brush. “The Conclave has no power over me, Fedyor Kaminsky.”

“Do you want to test that?” Fedyor breathes, struggling to keep his focus at the other vampire’s threatening-but-thrilling nearness, the way his blood is singing under his skin in an entirely different way than he expected or frankly, that he wants. Just because Ivan Sakharov is annoyingly attractive (and also Russian) does not mean that he is not a dangerous, war-mongering, secret-cabal-plotting megalomaniac, and Fedyor does not need that sort of nonsense in his life. “If you did, I would, of course, be authorized to place you under arrest.”

Ivan looks at him goadingly. “I would like to see you try.”

Oh, so he is indeed one of those immortals (read: the kind who really need to experience mortality just to be kicked very hard in the balls). Fedyor struggles to contain his irritation. If he shows that this handsome bastard has gotten to him, this will only get worse. “If you promise to desist,” he says, “the Conclave will drop this matter and consider it closed. You and the rest of the Black Hand will not be subject to further investigation. That, or – ”

“How do I know that you are even from the Conclave? That you are who you say?”

“Why would I lie about it?”

Ivan shrugs. “I want proof.”

Fedyor grits his fangs. “What do you expect? A badge?”

“No. But I will accept your blood.”

That catches Fedyor off guard. Not that it should, necessarily. Since vampires can sense the thoughts and feelings of the creature that they’re feeding on, it’s a quick and time-tested way to prove that there is no funny business going on (or at least, no business that is funny beyond the usual). The obvious difficulty, however, is that it requires a possibly unfriendly rival to bite your neck or at the very least, your wrist, and one can understand why there would be a natural hesitation to yield one’s neck (Fedyor happens to be rather fond of his) to the clutches of the likes of Ivan Sakharov. But if he says no, he looks like he is weak or that he has something to hide, that he doesn’t trust Ivan or regard him as an equal, and the already-febrile situation with the Black Hand will only get worse. As bluffs go, Fedyor could call this one. But it would be very risky, and if it blows up in his face…

“Very well,” Fedyor says, chillingly correct. He pulls aside the collar of his evening coat and tilts his head, exposing the side of his throat. “Test me all you like.”

Ivan looks at him with something that makes that thing in Fedyor’s stomach rise up again, hot as an ember left burning in a brazier even when all the other lights go out. He hasn’t been warmed like this, not even by the sun, ever since he was turned in 1874 by a vampire named Dmitri Karamazov. He does his utmost to force it down. If Ivan bites him and senses that –

There’s a final pause, soft as tissue paper, fine as crystal. Then Ivan steps forward, looking almost impressed, as if he expected Fedyor to find some reason to back out. He flexes his jaw, bringing out those two impressively white and sharp fangs again, and reaches out, gripping Fedyor’s waist with his big hands and drawing him somewhat closer than is strictly necessary. Then he whispers, “As you wish, Conclave whore,” and bites.

He’s not entirely gentle about it, not that vampires usually are and not that Fedyor wasn’t expecting it. But all at once, as Ivan sucks at him, his mouth pressed hungrily to Fedyor’s neck, wet and raw and savage, Fedyor goes weak in the knees. He’s been fed on before, tested before, and this is different from any of those. He utters a mewling noise of need that he is shocked and deeply outraged to hear from himself, pressing still closer, knocking Ivan a few steps backward into the wall. His hands come up, seeking purchase on the other’s broad shoulders, a smoky curl of desire rising through him like rich incense. “Mmm,” he mutters. “Mmmgh. Yes. Like that. Yes.”

Ivan doesn’t answer for obvious reasons, since his mouth is otherwise occupied, but Fedyor can feel the little frisson of pleasure that travels through him at those words. That takes him aback. Not that he should rush to generalize, since most vampires are fairly flexible in their intimate preferences (you don’t live that long without wanting to sample everything that is on offer, carnally speaking) but for some reason, he just assumed that this tough, frightening, hard-as-nails secret anarchist supernatural idiot wouldn’t be inclined to gentlemen. Not that Fedyor is necessarily objecting. This feels far better than it has any right to do, considering that it started out as a naked challenge to his veracity. Agh, fuck, he should not think about naked. That makes the arousal burn even more hungrily, as he arches his back and presses himself wantonly against Ivan and knows that he’s hard as a rock and that this utter menace can definitely feel it. Ivan is in no hurry to pull away. He drinks for a few more seconds, past when there can be any reasonable doubt that Fedyor is telling the truth, and then slowly, deliberately breaks contact, fangs still half in Fedyor’s throat, as he withdraws with luxurious leisure. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and growls, “Ah.”

“Yes, ah,” Fedyor says, trying not to stammer, as pulses of hot and cold rush through him from head to toe. “Are you satisfied?”

Ivan gives him a wicked smile, drops of Fedyor’s blood still glistening heart-scarlet on his lips. “Maybe.”

God almighty, kill me now. Difficult, of course, when one is – strictly speaking – already deceased. (And now deceased in a different way, which makes it two kinds of dead at once, which makes Fedyor a prodigy.) He wants to ask if Ivan will perform the customary service of licking the bite wounds closed, but he’s also afraid that he may physically incinerate if Ivan does so, and since fire is rather famously one of the only things that can harm vampires, it is better not to take the risk. Instead, Fedyor pulls out his handkerchief and dabs at his throat, with as much casualness as he can muster. “Well,” he says. “You’ve had my word, Ivan Sakharov. Will you give me yours that you will bring your illegal organization to an end and return to the rule of Conclave law?”

Ivan looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the too-tight fit of Fedyor’s pinstriped trousers. Then he leans in, so close that Fedyor truly does think they’re about to kiss and momentarily blacks out, and whispers against the shell of his ear, “Absolutely not.”

And with that, and no more than a rush of air, he is gone.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #anonymous #ask #my god i'm so predictable #(we are all predictable)#but also yes

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ssa-babygirl · 5 years ago

Text

Out of My League [Part 2]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 4.5k (ohohohoho i went OVERBOARD with the dialogue here I am sorry for all the useless exposition)

Summary: Most things have changed in the last 10 years, but it’s safe to say that a few things stayed exactly the same. Mixed POV

Warning(s): Mentions of past bullying, mentions of cheating, mentions of kidnapping, general criminal minds stuff, cursing, VERY VERY BRIEF MENTION of a miscarriage and leukemia like it’s one sentence and that’s all

Author’s Note: The moment yall have been waiting for! They grow up so fast!! I’m going on a quick trip this week and then heading back to school a few days later, so the next part may take a little longer, but I’m super excited to write it!!

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

Las Vegas, Nevada, 2004

(Spencer’s POV)

My first case out on the field was not a pleasant one. Well, it rarely is, that’s what happens when you work for the FBI to catch serial killers. For the first couple of weeks at the BAU, I helped them consult on cases, but they weren’t sure I was ready to go out on the field with them. After I got my weapon certification, Gideon told me he wanted me to come along on the next case because I was familiar with the area. There had been a series of child abductions near Vegas, my hometown. I would have been much more nervous about traveling had I not been able to see my mom while I was there. I hadn’t visited her in a while and the guilt was gnawing at me.

The first day was brutal. Hotch made some of us go back to the hotel late at night, but it was hard for us to sleep. JJ hated working cases about children, so she went to have a quick drink at the hotel bar, where she promptly forgot her purse and had to call me from her room to go get it for her. I had no hope of getting any rest that night, so I figured I’d take a walk down the hall and try to clear my head.

There was no sign of the purse at first glance, no small black clutch on the bar like JJ said. But there was a woman cleaning glasses behind the counter, maybe she knew where the purse was.

As I approached the bar, the woman’s features took a familiar shape and triggered a distant memory. Seeing her face again was like coming home after a long drive without a map, squinting through the dark and hoping the headlights would get brighter when finally, you’re pulling onto a road that you know by heart.

I didn’t need to look at her nametag, I already knew who she was, but judging by her polite smile borne solely out of the courtesy required to work in the service industry, she didn’t recognize me. In her defense, I had grown about a foot and a half since the last time she saw me. And I got a freaking haircut.

“Y-Y/N?”

She looked up from her rags and scrunched up her face in confusion.

“Okay, so you definitely know me, and I am so sorry about this, but I can’t quite place it. You look so familiar, though, I just… I meet a lot of people with this job, I’m so sorry, I forgot your name.”

I grinned, she still had that same habit of apologizing every five seconds, “I don’t really have that problem, eidetic memory and all.”

Her eyes widened, “Spencer? Spencer Reid!”

I laughed and nodded.

“You’re so tall now! What has it been, like, 10 years? Oh my goodness, come here.” She awkwardly leaned over the bar and hugged me. She still used the same shampoo.

“How ya been, kid?”

“I’m good! H-How are you?”

“Doing fine, thanks. What brings you back to good ol’ Sin City?”

“I’m here for work.”

“Oh, and what are you doing now?” She leaned on the counter and gazed up with curious eyes, “Helping the doctors at Area 51?”

Good to know she still had jokes, “No actually, I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

“Woah, you’re a fed now?”

“Yeah, we’re investigating a series of--”

“Kidnappings. Yeah. Scary shit. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You close to catching the guy?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Any of the kids turn up?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We found one boy this morning. He… didn’t make it.”

Her face dropped to a look of worry I hadn’t seen since she took off my blindfold that day on the football field, “Name. I need a name,” her voice grew hoarse.

“I can’t really disclose that information.”

“Spencer, please. Every day my kid comes home from school and asks me if I was watching the news.”

I couldn’t deny the way my heart sank at the news, but I could sure as hell ignore it, “Y-You have kids?”

“One. Little Jamie. His best friend, Robbie, is missing.” Robbie Carter, age five, he’s been missing for the past two weeks. He’s likely dead, but we still haven’t found him.

“Every time someone misses school he gets scared they got taken too. Baby Boy doesn’t understand flu season yet.”

“How old is he?” I had to get her mind off of this. I don’t want to worry her.

“Five. Just started kindergarten. Wanna see a picture?” Seems like I succeeded.

“Sure.”

She whipped out her phone and pulled up a picture of Jamie on his first day of school, backpack far too big for his body. Y/N was posed next to him, the picture too small to show that she was crying ever so slightly.

“Adorable, right?”

I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face, “Cute kid. Looks just like you.”

She looked back at the photo and smiled softly, “Except the eyes. He’s got his dad’s eyes.”

I glanced down at her hand holding the phone and was greeted with a pleasant surprise, “I’m guessing Jamie’s dad isn’t in the picture?”

Offense flickered across her features for a second, her eyebrows twitching and lips pursing, “How’d you know?”

“No ring.”

“You do work for the FBI.”

“Would you mind telling me what happened?”

“You know, you’re supposed to be the one spilling your sorrows to the bartender, not the other way around.”

“You don’t have to tell me, just thought we could catch up, I haven’t seen you in ten years.”

She sighed, returning her phone to the front pocket in her apron, “Remember Kyle Brothers?”

“Oh, do I? Yeah, of course, I remember your high school boyfriend, Y/N. What tipped you off, the eidetic memory, or the fact he used to beat me up after gym class?” It was more like the intense rage and jealousy I had when they got back together after football season ended.

“God, see, I always knew he was an asshole, but it never seemed to faze me, I’m so sorry about that.”

“You did what you could. And you apologize too much.”

“Sor--”

She froze mid-word and made a face as she realized once again that she was about to apologize yet again. I stifled a chuckle, but she laughed and grabbed a rag from the counter to finish cleaning the glasses.

“So Kyle?”

“Yes, Kyle. We broke up again before college, I was going out of state and didn’t wanna do long distance, you know all that. I was in a really bad place during my senior year of college, so after graduation, I decided to move back home for a bit, spend some time with my mom--”

“How is she?”

“She’s great! Moved to D.C. with my dad a while back.”

“I should visit her, Quantico isn’t far.”

She returned a genuine smile, “She would love that.”

“Sorry I interrupted you, keep going.”

“You’re fine. Long story short, moving back home for a few months turned into having a one night stand with my ex. Which turned into us getting engaged nine months later while I’m exhausted and holding my son.”

“Well, that’s a fun birth story for Jamie.”

“Yeah, ‘Happy Birthday, sweetie, your father proposed to me while you were, like, an hour old and then cheated on me six months later.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” She popped the p, “Came home and heard two things: Jamie fussing in his sleep from the playpen and bedsprings squeaking in our room.”

“I’m guessing that you guys were done for good after that?”

“Nice detective work.”

“Technically, I’m a profiler, not a detective, as they typically work in local police departments and I work for the federal government, not a precinct--”

“Jesus, kid, you’re gonna put the poor lil lady to sleep,” I turned around and saw Morgan crossing the lobby to the bar, still in his work clothes.

“If I'm yawning it’s from my double shift, not his rambling. It’s been a while since I heard a good Spencer Reid knowledge dump.”

“You two know each other?” He leaned on the bar and I could sense him turning on the classic Derek Morgan charm.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Uh, Y/N, this is SSA Derek Morgan, we work together, Morgan, this is Y/N L/N, we went to high school together.” The “I had a huge crush on her” was silent.

“Nice to meet you, doll,” he reached out a hand to shake yours. His eyes lingered on you for a bit too long, and I recognized the look in her eyes from the way she talked to Kyle in the halls before our study sessions, and I didn’t like any of that one bit.

Derek turned back to me, “JJ sent you down here a while ago, she’s looking for you.”

I glanced at Y/N and tried to hide the cocktail of emotions in my mind, “I guess I just lost track of time.”

He probably caught onto something because his regular teasing smirk flashed on across his face, “You guess, sure, loverboy, I’ll be in our room. Nice meeting you, Y/N.” He left and she waved, watching him as he left.

“JJ?” She asked, turning back to me.

“Coworker of mine, she left her purse down here and sent me to get it for her.”

“Oh, Blondie from earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“She seemed nice. So pretty!” She reached below the bar and pulled out the small black purse that was left behind about an hour before, holding it up to me and cocking an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“How long have you two been working together? Long enough to be more than coworkers?”

I laughed uncomfortably, “Uh, n-no, actually this is actually my first case on the field, before this I only really helped the team consult on cases, but this one was urgent and I wanted to visit my mom so they brought me along.”

“Well, send Diana my love.”

“Of course. And if you hear anything from Jamie about another missing kid, give us a call.” I reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it to her and leaving with a sympathetic smile, wishing I could say more.

(Reader POV)

About a week after you ran into Spencer, you were closely following the story as it unfolded on the news. Another kid had gone missing, the second in two weeks. His name was Drew Olson, he was a year older than Jamie. They didn’t find a body yet, so there was still hope. Robbie hadn’t turned up either, which was the best news you had about him. No other bodies have shown up yet, and the cause of death for the boy they found was starvation, so the guy probably didn’t want to hurt these kids.

Regardless of whether or not the situation was actually dangerous, the school still increased security, since two of the victims were students. The pickup line was heavily monitored by teachers and faculty to make sure all students went home with their parents. You had gotten there a bit later than usual, forcing you to the back of the crowd where you couldn’t see the kids as they came out of the building.

When you finally got up towards the front, there were only a handful of kids left.

And Jamie wasn’t one of them.

Panic started to twist your stomach into knots, but the rational part of your brain clawed at the inside of your skull saying he was just inside, he was waiting in a classroom, he was safe.

You pushed through to the teacher that was keeping track of names on her clipboard. She was younger, just about your age, and wore wire-framed glasses that complimented her dark braids. She gave a warm smile and asked for your child’s name.

“Brothers, Jamie Brothers.”

“Alrighty, let’s see--” she paused as her finger stopped over a name highlighted by a bright green, indicating that the child had been picked up: Jamie Brothers.

“He’s not here.”

“What? What do you mean he’s not here?” The part of your brain that said he was safe fucked right off and left you a shaking mess on the pavement. The teacher reached an arm out and held you by the elbow as your knees buckled beneath you. Other parents’ attention was suddenly directed towards you.

“Ma’am, the sheet says he was picked up already.”

“But by who? Not me! So who the hell took my son?” All eyes were on you as you didn’t even bother to control the volume of your voice.

“Mrs. Brothers, please remain calm, I’m sure there’s been a mistake, I can send someone in to find him inside the school.”

“Please…” You whimpered, unable to find your breath.

...Give us a call…

Spencer’s words echoed in your mind and you knew what you had to do, so you scrambled through your bag for the card you were given the week before. You frantically cursed under your breath as you searched for your wallet. You finally found it, taking it out with your phone so you could call the number on the card. It rang once, twice, three times before an unfamiliar voice crackled through on the other side.

“Agent Hotchner.”

“Are you with the FBI?”

“...Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Y/N L/N, Spencer Reid gave me this number if I knew anything.”

“Do you have information regarding the recent abductions?”

“My son’s been taken.” You could feel the lump in your throat nearly restricting any words from coming out.

“Hold on, ma’am, where are you?”

“I’m at the school, he’s not here. I came to get him and he’s not here, I don’t know what to do!”

“Miss L/N, stay put, we’re on our way.” The call ended with a click and suddenly the world went quiet. There was nothing but the rush of blood pounding in your ears. All you could do was stare blankly at nothing in particular as the phone fell from your hand, hitting the pavement, your knees following quickly behind. You felt the bruises on impact, but you couldn’t care less about how much pain you were in, not when you felt this numb. Your pain didn’t matter anymore, all that mattered was that Jamie was missing and you were powerless to help. The remaining parents surrounded you, all clutching the shoulders of their children, their safe children, the ones they didn’t have to call the fucking FBI to pick up from school today.

When your brain was able to process information again, you noticed the school parking lot had filled with police cars, including two large black SUVs. You squinted through the inappropriately bright sunlight and the bitter tears in your eyes to see a tall man in a dark suit approach you. Behind him, a scrawny young man in a plaid buttondown was following closely.

You recognized him right away this time.

“Spencer,” your voice was barely a whisper as you attempted to stand on your shaking legs. You looked straight past the man in the suit and scrambled over to him. Before you could even reach him, his arms were stretched out to you, enveloping you in a tight hug as soon as you were close enough.

Your heart had to be beating out of your chest, and you were sure he felt it against him. The tears running down your cheeks stained his shirt, soaking him to the skin as he cradled your head against his chest, trying to do whatever he could to make you feel safe again, no matter how scared he was.

The man in the suit was now joined by an older man in a brown jacket and the man you met at the bar the other night, Derek, you think his name was. The suit turned to you and Spencer and introduced himself as Agent Hotchner, the man you spoke to on the phone. He asked you to describe what happened when you arrived, if you saw anyone who looked out of place, if you saw evidence of a struggle. Spencer’s arms never left your frame the whole time you spoke.

“Thank you very much, Miss L/N, I promise we’ll find your son, we have time on our side. Reid, stay with her in the meantime, Morgan, go question the parents, Gideon and I will talk to the monitors and see if they knew who picked Jamie was picked up by.”

“Yes, sir.”

All the men left to complete their tasks except for Spencer, who was supposed to stay put with you. The second you were alone with him once again, your face returned to the spot on his dampened shirt where it had previously been. One of his hands was planted firmly on your upper back, the other stroking your hair between his fingers.

It’s strange, really. Last time you saw him he was just a kid. A brilliant, sweet, small kid. The kid who’s hair you’d fuck with. The kid you held after his bullies hurt him. Then you don’t see him for over a decade and suddenly the roles are reversed. He was tall enough to rest his chin on your head now, which you had mixed feelings about, but you couldn’t deny it calmed you down. Almost as much as his quick yet steady heartbeat drumming right in your ear. The kid was still skinny, but his hugs were still warm.

“You’re alright, we’re gonna find him,” he whispered into your hair, but you had a feeling those words weren’t only for you. After a few minutes, the three other agents returned to where you and Spencer stood, alerting the two of you that the team would be heading back to the police station where you were welcome to wait with them. Derek figured you were too shaken to drive yourself, so he offered to let you ride along with him and Spencer in the SUV, which you did not hesitate to accept.

Once at the station, you were greeted by the blonde from the bar. What was her name again?

“Jennifer Jareau, I’m the press liaison for the team. You can call me JJ.”

She sat with you while Spencer worked with the others on the case. You wanted to be updated whenever progress was made, but she told you that wasn’t totally possible. Regardless of how against the rules it was, she still gave you the profile. The unsub likely worked with children and knew them and faculty well enough to enter the building and take the kids without being noticed. They may be a parent going through a loss, as no evidence of sexual assault or any physical violence was found on the only body save for light ligature marks on the wrists. Due to the relatively nonviolent nature of the crime, the unsub could be a woman. They likely live alone since they are keeping several young boys in their home. Although this likely wasn’t the work of a pedophile, a trafficking ring could not be ruled out yet.

You suddenly understood why the victims’ families aren’t supposed to know the profile. You thought it would make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse. JJ opened up another box of tissues for you, got you water, and offered you snacks, but there was no way you could get anything down. Every sound, every person that passed the window, every buzz of JJ’s phone sent your stomach plummeting down a death drop. You had just calmed yourself down from yet another panic attack when you saw agents strapping on kevlar vests and putting their guns into their holsters.

They knew where the kids were.

(Spencer’s POV)

I wasn’t allowed to see her before we left. I couldn’t tell her where I was going, I couldn’t tell her that Jamie would be okay, I couldn’t tell her anything. I barely spoke to her since we got back to the station, and that was hours ago. Now I-- we just have to leave her there again.

This was my first time going out on the field in this capacity. I’d never had to step out of that SUV with my gun out, ready to shoot anyone who threatened the lives of my team or any hostages they may have. I’d never had to strap on a kevlar vest and worry about the potential bruises that may be left behind by being hit with bullets. I’d never had to worry about not coming back before.

“Don’t be worried. If your hands shake you won’t get a clear shot,” Gideon reminded me in the car, as if I’d be able to get a clear shot with a steady hand anyway.

The unsub was a woman named Harriet Yanonovich. According to hospital records pulled by Garcia, our new tech analyst, her son had recently passed after a short and sudden battle against leukemia. This came shortly after Harriet had a miscarriage that triggered a chemical imbalance, degrading her mental health, which resulted in the trigger, losing her job at the elementary school that the boys had each been taken from. I would have felt bad for her if she hadn’t taken my friend’s son away from her.

But she did, and now I just have to hope she didn’t hurt him.

We arrived at Harriet’s house fairly quickly. Hotch sent Morgan and me around the back, he and Gideon would take the front. As we rounded the back of the house, we discovered that she had a storm cellar under her deck. The doors were closed with a heavy padlock. Morgan aimed his gun to shoot it off the chain.

“Don’t do that. The bullet would ricochet and hit you in the knee.”

He lowered his weapon, “You got a better idea, pretty boy?”

“Yes, actually.” I quietly crept onto the deck, lifting the welcome mat from in front of the sliding glass door into the absolute wreck of a kitchen. Under the mat was a simple looking key.

“She’s a school teacher going through a depressive episode, not a criminal mastermind.”

“Alright then, genius,” he rolled his eyes, “Let’s see if it even works.”

I inserted the key into the lock, hearing a click and turning it with little difficulty. The shackle popped open. I gently removed it from the chains, trying my hardest not to make any noise that would alarm anyone in the cellar. Unwrapping the chains from the handles, I turned back to face Morgan.

“I accept your apology.” I attempted to muster my smuggest smile, but it was hard to mask the dread and worry on my face.

“Yeah, yeah, open up.”

He grabbed one handle and I grabbed the other, sliding the metal doors open and revealing a staircase into a shadowy basement.

“You first.” Morgan nudged my shoulder.

“What? No way! Morgan, this is serious!”

“So go! It’s your girl’s kid!”

He was right. Not about Y/N being my girl, because she wasn’t (though the thought did briefly replace the anxiety in my heart with pure light that I hadn’t felt since I was twelve), but I was still doing this for her. This case wasn’t just a job for me. This was for Y/N. For Jamie. Y/N deserves to see her son again, I owe her that much.

Derek would learn about my fear of the dark much later, but from how fast I jumped down those stairs into that cellar, he’d never been able to tell.

Against the farthest wall, there were four young boys all curled up in a corner. From the limited light, I could see they were all covered in varying levels of filth, the cleanest boy baring the face I had seen on Y/N’s phone screen. The boys all looked terrified, the two dirtiest looking thin and weak against the ties that bound them to a water pipe. I called up to Morgan to come down and lowered my gun.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI, I’m here to help you guys, okay?” The boys all nodded. Morgan helped me untie their wrists.

“Do you know where Mrs. Yanonovich went?”

“She said she was going upstairs, and that we have to be good or else we wouldn’t get any supper,” Jamie piped up.

“How long you been down here, kid?” Morgan asked.

Jamie shrugged, “Couple hours.”

“Did she hurt any of you?” The kids all shook their heads no.

Hotch’s voice crackled over the radio, “We have her in custody, any sign of the kids?”

“Yep, we found them in the cellar. All are alive, but we may need a medic on standby at the station for some of them.”

“Are they hurt?”

“No, just malnourished. Definitely dehydrated.”

Morgan and I led the kids out to the surface, the setting sun creating a glare off of the tin cellar doors. We were greeted by Gideon and police rounding the corner to the backyard. The kids ran out the gate towards the police cars, eager to be home soon.

(Reader POV)

“Okay, I’ll let them know.” JJ hung up and turned back to you, a relieved smile gracing her face. You stood up, desperate to hear the news she had.

“They found the kids, Jamie’s safe.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at the woman you barely knew, wrapping her in a bear hug as delighted laughs left your lungs. You felt tears of pure relief drip down your cheeks as she squeezed you back, also letting out a deep sigh.

You waited impatiently in the bullpen, anxious to see Jamie unharmed and to give the team your gratitude. When they finally arrived, you saw your son walking hand-in-hand with Spencer and the older agent you believed was named Gideon. Spencer pointed over to you with his free hand and smiled, causing Jamie to drop their hands and sprint into your arms crying “Mommy! Mommy!” You immediately lifted him up and covered his face with kisses. The two of you held onto one another so tight, you were surprised either of you could breathe. Spencer came over to you, smiling with eyes you couldn’t quite recognize.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“No need, Y/N. I’m glad I could help. I just wish I could have met Jamie here on better terms!”

You adjusted your hold on Jaime to free one hand, stretching it out for Spencer to take it in his own. You squeezed it gently, smiling into those hazel eyes that had somehow never looked warmer before, despite the deep shadows under them.

“Thank you.”

His pursed lips twitched slightly and you noticed the tears brimming his sunken eyes. The poor boy needed sleep and a lot of it soon. He squeezed your hand back, sending shockwaves up your arms straight to your heart, which hadn’t felt this light since you were seventeen years old.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @rottenearly @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper

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saphirered · 4 years ago

Text

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy!

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will.

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him.

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable.

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle.

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question.

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic.

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right?

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other?

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him?

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance.

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important.

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects.

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age.

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate…

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it.

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain.

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.”

“Another time then?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him.

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine.

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention?

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he?

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too.

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss.

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently.

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion.

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage.

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter.

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely.

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states.

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is.

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly.

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you.

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context.

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel?

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor.

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you.

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to.

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had.

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you.

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt.

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck.

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner.

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption.

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents.

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it.

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that.

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye.

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now.

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner.

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment?

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.”

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible.

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard.

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away.

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances.

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank.

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist.

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate.

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it.

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek theyless #essek

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mortemersgf · 4 years ago

Text

serendipity

hot couture: hazel nguyen x f!mc (arden moore)

summary: months after paris fashion week, a chance encounter reignites arden’s feelings for her former boss.

warning: suggestive themes.

word count: 2.2k

@choicesficwriterscreations

a/n: happy valentine’s day :D

click here for part two

Arden strides into Cremona’s, bearing a polite smile as patrons cast discreet glances at her. She slides into her usual table, the one located in the snug corner by the windows. It gives her an excellent view of the whole restaurant, allowing her to pick out who’s a diner and who’s a paparazzi pretending to be a diner.

She peruses the extensive list of dishes Cremona’s has to offer, settling on an order of Cacio e Pepe and a glass of white wine and murmuring a quiet thanks to the waiter as he glides away to prepare her dinner.

Some months ago, her eyes would have bulged at the price of the pasta dish. Now, she only breathes out a quiet sigh, too worn out to be startled.

Arden started her own business after the events of Paris Fashion Week. Her success in the states led to the opening of another branch in Milan. Since then, she’s been spending time in this beautiful city, solely focused on the task of overseeing the whole process. Milan is stunning with its vibrant culture, but Arden is lonely without Luz or Marco by her side.

She feels especially lonely this evening being Valentine’s Day and all. When she takes a gander around the restaurant, she sees couples after couples. A table to her left is sharing a slice of cake waist giggling to themselves. Two tables down, a man watches with adoration as his lover nibbles on her dessert, affection practically oozing out of his lovestruck smile.

Arden exhales slowly and unpockets her phone, swiping through various social media sites to pass time. A small smile dimples her cheeks as she reads positive review after positive review regarding her new collection. Who needs love when you have public validation? … Okay, me, but still. Her designs are being featured on the front covers of a range of fashion magazines. So long was the starry eyed newbie who picked up modeling as a means to work at Hazel Boutique.

Hazel Boutique… That’s a name she hasn’t heard in a while. Arden sets down her phone, fixing her gaze towards the kitchen. She must really miss her former job because she swears she sees Hazel Nguyen seated in the far corner, unbothered and nursing a glass of red wine as the man sitting across from her stomps away.

It’s indeed her. She’s wearing a dark dress that hugs her soft curves at all the right places with a dangerously high slit that teases her leg. Arden always found her tantalizingly beautiful no matter what she wore, but under the dim lighting of Cremona’s where the yellow gleam casts an ethereal glow on her, she looks all the more bewitching.

Arden is moving before she can absorb the absurdity of the situation, a hopeful smile spreading across her face.

“Hazel,” she breathes in greeting, “Hi…”

Hazel Nguyen, just as alluring as Arden had remembered, looks genuinely surprised. Her dark eyes widen. Goosebumps appear on her arms, sending chills down her back, the good kind. The kind you get when you see someone who you’ve been longing to see for the better part of a year.

She sets the wine glass down, eyes moving up and down the length of Arden in careful scrutiny before her gaze finally settles upon her starstruck features. An amused smile blooms on her face.

“Arden,” Hazel finally says, “Hello.”

Arden looks to the empty seat, asking, “May I?”

“Please,” Hazel nods. “How have you been?”

Arden slips into the chair, clasping her hands on her lap to keep her leg from bouncing in elation. “I’ve been good. Haut Monde has been doing well, too.”

“I know. I’ve been following your work.”

“You have?”

“Are you going to tell me you haven’t been following mine?”

“... Touché,” Arden says, recalling the way her eyes widened when images of Hazel’s new designs emerged online. They were fashionably elegant to say the very least, but the real prize was the genuine smile on Hazel’s face in those photos. She was posed among a crowd of local designers in Majorca, completely in her element. It was more than delightful to see her fall in love with creating once again.

Arden glances at the plate of untouched food sitting in front of her and shifts her gaze to the nonchalant woman across the table, mustering a small smile, “So, was that a supplier? An exec? He looked pretty upset.”

“That was my sorry excuse for a date.”

A date. Arden brushes off the strained feeling that washes over her with a small smile, willing herself to not bristle. It’s not as if they were anything more than a flirtation no matter how badly she wanted to be more with Hazel.

“Oh, that’s—that’s good. It’s good to date,” she murmurs, biting back a grimace as those words leave her lips. ‘It’s good to date?’ Really?

“Not so much when he’s an egotistical imbecile,” Hazel says, noting the way Arden’s posture tenses.

She pauses, letting the moment hang for another second before a faint, mischievous smile spreads across her face, adding, “That was Darren, my production manager. I don’t go on dates with just anyone, and I much rather prefer your company anyway.”

A surge of confidence rushes through Arden at the remark. She relaxes into her seat, huffing out a small laugh of relief, “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

Hazel hums lowly, eyes slightly narrowed as she considers her words. Finally, after a brief pause, she reaches for her wine glass, swirling the dark contents gently. “I did miss your enthusiasm,” she says, “What happened? You look drained.”

Arden fights to keep her composure intact. She wants to slump over the table, truth be told. Running a business is tiring. “I am drained,” she admits, “Been stuck in meetings all day.”

“That sounds all too familiar.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know a thing or two about running a fashion empire, would you? Any advice?”

“You have a team, don’t you? Utilize them, don’t pile everything on yourself”—Hazel pauses, noting the earnest look in Arden’s eyes—“Find the balance between leading and creating. Don’t get lost in the system, and don’t lose sight of what’s truly important to you.”

Arden nods, taking in her counsel with the utmost sincerity. “Thank you for that. I’ll remember it.”

As a waiter passes by, Hazel raises a hand, speaking coolly, “Another glass for my friend here, and clear this plate, please.”

“Oh, that’s…” Arden mumbles.

“Scared to share a meal with me?” Hazel questions.

“No, that’s not it,” Arden says. She bites her lip in thought, meeting Hazel's inquiring gaze. Something about her look coaxes Arden to straighten her spine, confidence filling her chest, spurring her on to speak her mind.

“I’m just still processing us, you know?” she says. “You said someday you could be convinced.”

An amused smile plays on Hazel’s face. She leans in and places her index finger below Arden’s chin, tipping the latter’s head upward. Arden swallows and pushes to keep her expression even, though her warming cheeks gives everything away. She catches the familiar scent of jasmine and vanilla wafting from Hazel being in such close proximity with the woman, and her heart drums with anticipation. It brings her back to Paris, back to the balcony.

“I did, didn’t I?” Hazel says, voice sultry.

Arden hasn’t got a clue as to what’s going on in Hazel’s mind. The woman is absolutely unreadable and she loves it, the mystery of it all, the unraveling of her thoughts. Right now, having her lips only a breath away, Arden doesn’t care to figure out Hazel’s intentions. Her legs feel weak. She’s sure she’d stumble if she were standing.

“Have you eaten, Arden?” Hazel asks, moving her hand to Arden’s cheek, grazing her face ever so lightly.

Arden’s face flushes with heat as she struggles to meet Hazel’s intense gaze. Her teasing touch leaves tingles in their wake, sending a thrilling chill down Arden’s spine. What is she suggesting?

“I—no, I didn’t eat yet,” she answers, “but I don’t feel like having dinner right now.”

“I don’t either. Come with me.” Hazel drops her hand, moving to stand. She places several hundred dollar bills on the table.

Arden follows suit and shoots an apologetic look at the waiter who’d just strolled out of the kitchen with her meal. He flashes her an understanding smile as if to say, It’s okay. I get it. It’s Hazel Nguyen.

They leave in a flurry with Arden tripping into the elevator. The ride down is silent, but there’s visible tension in the air. She waits with bated breath for Hazel to move, to push her up against the wall or even spare her a quick look, but the older woman looks straight ahead, face impassive.

Ping!

Arden follows Hazel out of the restaurant and into the darkening streets of Milan. The cold rushes at her like a swarm of bees, leaving her shivering. She wonders how Hazel is able withstand the chill having only a faux fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“So,” Arden begins, “where are we going?”

“Eager, are we?” Hazel answers, striding down the streets of Milan as if it were a runway, elegance laced in every one of her steps.

“Just wondering is all…”

After walking for another block, Hazel halts. They’ve stopped in the middle of a bridge that overlooks the canal. Arden breathes out a sigh of wonder at the sight of glittering lights reflecting off the water.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant colors of pink, yellow, and violet. It’s unbridled, bold, and stunning. The colors blend together so well, it tempts Arden to create an outfit, a new line, just something, based off of this sunset. She had been trapped in meetings that always ran long since she landed in Milan, which never gave her the chance to appreciate the simpler things the city has to offer. This scene before her envelopes her in serenity, and she wants to share that feeling.

Arden is inspired, but her trusty sketchbook is currently sitting on her nightstand in her hotel room to her utter luck. She didn’t expect to see such a sight nor did she anticipate running into Hazel, who is observing her carefully.

The sunset reminds Hazel of dusk time in Majorca. Half of the time, she worked in her beach suite with the setting sun as the backdrop. The other half, she was thinking about Arden, checking up on her work via social media whenever she had spare time. Hazel was invested, itching to message her a congratulatory text after her new collection sold out. Is. She is invested in Arden, and being away from the young designer has helped her realize that. Arden Moore is truly something else. She’s not just anyone.

“This is beautiful...” Arden breathes, “I bet I can do something with this color scheme.” She whips out her phone, snapping a couple of photographs at different angles.

“You haven’t changed after all,” Hazel comments. Her eyes trace over Arden’s beaming features before flitting to the water. The faintest smile graces her lips.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“It is.”

“Does that mean you still like me?”

“You are relentless, aren’t you?”

Arden pockets her phone, looking at Hazel with a playful smile. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Hazel trains her gaze ahead, studying the horizon as she speaks. “I said you couldn’t handle me once. You were inexperienced, new to the fashion world, to this life. That was nearly a year ago, and I see that you’ve grown exponentially as a designer and a businesswoman while retaining your authenticity. That’s certainly invaluable. I admire your passion and drive, Arden”—she finally turns, meeting Arden’s hopeful gaze—“I pushed away all thoughts of starting another relationship after my divorce, but I may have to reconsider that.”

Arden is flushing with her mouth slightly ajar at Hazel’s confession. To think Hazel Nguyen, her ultimate idol and former boss might actually want to pursue a relationship with her is something she didn’t see coming. It’s a delightful surprise to say the least, one that makes her heart soar with glee. She decides to play coy though, just to get back at her for the months of lack of contact.

“Hmph,” she murmurs, “You never did arrange a plane for me to visit you, you know. I could’ve helped you come to that conclusion sooner.”

“You would’ve been a distraction to the creative process,” Hazel simply says, “Being in Majorca, creating and refreshing my perspective, was what I needed to remind myself why I do this in the first place.”

“That makes sense,” Arden agrees. A crooked smile finds its way to her lips as she adds, “But you couldn’t have sent me a text? Maybe a letter?”

“I’m willing to make that up to you.”

“... How so?”

“You’ll find out soon enough...” Hazel says, leaning in so her breath fans over Arden’s ear, adding, “in my hotel room.”

Arden’s face splits into an incredulous grin. “Are you asking me to come home with you?”

“Depends,” Hazel answers easily, the hint of a teasing smile resting on her luscious lips, “Are you accepting my invitation?”

As if Arden needed to be asked twice.

#choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #hazel nguyen #hazel x mc #choices hazel nguyen #hazel nguyen x mc #choices hot couture #hot couture #choices hc #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #play choices fanfic #pixelberry #choices fanfiction

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devnicolee · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Light (1)

Warnings: none yet!

Summary: Wesley Parker is a smart, political genius with years of policy experience. After working at the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland for over a year, Erik Stevens, Wesley’s longtime friend, offers her the opportunity of a lifetime: move to Wakanda and serve as an international policy advisor to King T’Challa alongside him. For reasons even Erik doesn’t know, she jumps at the chance and immediately leaves her Oakland life behind for a new one in the elusive, secretive nation. Like her friend Erik, she is a recluse and a loner, determined to focus on rebuilding her life and keeping her secrets her own. However, when she meets a certain Mountain king, she realizes that her life in the darkness doesn’t always have to be so. But is stepping into her light that easy? Or will the fear of trusting others keep her stuck?

Word count: 4,509

Enjoy!

***

Wesley took a tentative step down the ramp of the Royal Talon, the smoldering African heat immediately hitting her in the face.

“Parker!”

Her face immediately lit up when she saw him, standing separate from the rest of the Royal Family. She hadn’t expected all of them to be waiting to greet her.

“Stevens.”

It came out as almost a quiet sigh of relief instead of the upbeat, jovial tone she usually had. After days on edge, the reality of seeing him, stepping her feet on Wakandan soil was like stepping under the warmth of a thousand suns. She couldn’t even hide how relieved she was. It certainly felt better than her impromptu move back to Oakland a year ago. She quickly fixed her face to mask her relief and put on a neutral smile, more of an expression he would expect.

As soon as she was in arm’s length, his strong arms wrapped around her midsection to pull her into a tight hug. She hesitated for a moment, surprised at his greeting, before her arms rested on his broad shoulders to return it. Even after rekindling their friendship over the past year, she still wasn’t used to this new version of him. He was more inviting… more warm than he used to be. Wakanda had changed him, just not in the ways he originally intended.

He pulled back, eyeing her up and down as if she had managed to acquire some injury in the last week without his watchful eye.

“You good?”

“Yea, the flight was great… you know, I just slept through most of it.”

Her eyes tried to take in everything: the silent planes whizzing above her head, the guards lining the landing pad around them, the grandiose palace towering above them, the sounds of bustling city streets outside the palace gates. Wesley had done a decent bit of traveling in her time and this was truly unlike any city she had ever seen.

“Aight. Good, good. Come inside, sis… get you situated.”

After a quick introduction to the Queen Mother and hellos to the rest of the family, all of whom she had met and worked with at the Outreach Center, Erik ushered her inside to show her the room she would be staying in. She knew the accommodations were only temporary, until she got settled and could find her own place. But she certainly was not complaining.

She tried to listen to Shuri as she rattled off information about the different areas of the Palace, what her new bracelet did. But Wesley knew she would retain none of it. She was too excited, too anxious, too nervous.

Her professors and old colleagues called her a budding prodigy. Everyone knew Wesley Parker was going places. But she knew what they all also called her now: a waste of talent. After graduating from Harvard, she spent years working her way from government office to government office, trying to work her way up to the upper echelons of the political sphere. She was poised to be a leading voice in foreign policy, one of the few young Black women in the field. And then, over two years ago, Wesley just walked away. From her cushy life in D.C., her high-paying position, a new job offer with the U.N. She abandoned her dream, leaving it stranded in the road for an unexpected detour. And she always looked back, always wished she could get back there.

And here she was, as she walked down the opulent halls of this palace tucked away in Africa. This was the break in the trees illuminating her path back to her dream. This was her chance, her shot to rebuild what she lost… and this was the only place in the world she could do it. She couldn’t mess it up. She wouldn’t.

****

“You like it?”

Wesley laughed, rolling her eyes, “Yea nigga… this is bigger than my whole apartment.”

Her feet sunk into soft taupe carpet blanketing her bedroom floor. She shuffled her feet, feeling the plushness between her toes. She flopped down on her bed, which felt sinfully good and soft. She propped herself up on her forearms to look at Erik, who looked amused by her childish antics.

“Good. How you feeling?”

Wesley sighed, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself back to her feet. The question was vague, as many from Erik were, but she knew exactly what he was referring to. She walked toward him, arms folded in annoyance at his overprotective and overbearing nature.

“Stevens… you gotta stop asking me that. I am fine. That was, what? A week ago? I’ve been through worse, I’ve seen worse. I am good - I’ve moved on.” Her beautiful face scrunched up in a frown, “I am honestly sorry I even brought you into all that. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes widened slightly, “The fuck? Wes. That was a big fucking deal. And lying to me about it don’t change that. You need to talk someone… you need to talk about it. And you need to tell me what ha-”

“Erik. I am begging you… drop this. Leave it alone. Please.”

She knew he could hear the exasperation in her words, the pleads. She didn’t like thinking about it, one of the many things from her past she flew halfway around the world to escape. The thin fraying ropes holding her up were starting to unravel again, and it took all her power not to collapse, fall right here in front of him.

He nodded, raising his hands in surrender, knowing that she was serious if she chose to use his first name.

“Fine. I’ll let you keep your secrets… for now. We all got ‘em. When you’re ready, I’m here. You know, I’d kill for you. I gotchu always, Wes.”

And that’s the problem.

“I know… you’ve killed for less.”

Wesley was one of the few people, outside of his new family, that knew about his past, knew the road littered with blood and bodies he traveled to reach his paradise… his home.

After her parents died in a tragic accident, 15-year-old Wesley was sent from her home in Charlotte to live with her aging grandmother who had little time or interest in raising a rambunctious teenager. However, she did have time for her friends, Ms. Louise and Mr. Franklin, the old couple in their building who had been fostering a 17-year-old boy, Erik.

She and Erik became fast friends, developing a close brother/sister bond. Already exhibiting a penchant for violence, Erik was a good friend to have around as a young girl. He was always there to fight for her, protect her. Even when he left for MIT, everyone in the neighborhood knew she was the wrong girl to mess with.

He looked after her when she joined him in Cambridge during his last two years at MIT. Harvard and MIT were demanding for the pair but they still spent as much time together as they could, studying their respective disciplines. As she kept her nose to the ground and worked on the Hill in D.C. after graduating and Erik started his career in the Navy, they still remained close, talking or seeing each other anytime Erik was available. For every high and every low, Erik was the one constant in her life.

However, when Erik decided to fall deeper into the life of espionage and violence, the calls came less frequently and, eventually, stopped all together. And there was no one to call, no one to check in with to see if he was ok. And so, Wesley lost the remaining family she had in this world, the only family she thought she would ever have.

When their paths fatefully crossed 12 months ago outside a black-owned coffee shop near the Center, both thought they had seen a ghost. They hardly recognized each other, mere shadows of the teenagers that ran through the streets together. Part of her wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. One brief conversation reminded her what it was like to have family… someone who cared. And she jumped at the opportunity to have him back in her life - with the promise that he would never leave her again. And it was clear how much his life had changed. He had found home and safety while she was still fumbling in the dark, desperately searching for both.

It didn’t take long for him to “convince” her to take a position as a consultant at the Outreach Center, lending her policy experience to help them bridge the gap between them and local policymakers in the state. It was better than what she was doing before, preparing to apply to a bookstore to pay her bills.

“Fair enough. See you for dinner? I’ll come by and scoop you… you’ll be lost in this place for days tryin’ find it yourself.”

“Yea, yea. That’s cool. Thanks. See you then.”

Wesley chewed her bottom lip as she watched his back retreat out her door. She hated how overprotective he was… how much he actually cared. Most people heard “I am fine,” and accept it as fact. Not Erik… he wanted the truth.

She flopped back down on the bed, this time out of frustration and guilt, not childlike amusement. Her hand covered her face as tears stung the back of her eyes.

“You are not fine,” she whispered out loud. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that… or the real reason why.

****

“Does this look ok?” She smoothed the front of her dress.

Erik told her dinner was casual and she tried to follow that but she also refused to look like an idiot in front of the Royal Family. This was casual enough but still stylish and cute. And purple, paired with gold jewelry, as Erik told her those were the colors of the Panther Tribe. While her relationships with Erik, Shuri, and Nakia extended beyond professional pleasantries, she could not say the same about King T’Challa, who she had only really spoken to a handful of times. She couldn’t show up to dinner looking any type of way.

“Yea… I told you it was casual tho?”

And he looked casual and comfy, sporting a pair of black joggers and a t-shirt.

“This is as casual as I am gonna get. Some of us aren’t royalty, Stevens… Or should I call you Prince N’Jadaka?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Nah you shouldn’t if you wanna know where dinner is.”

“Stevens or Erik, it is,” she vowed quickly, not wanting to smart mouth her way out of a meal.

“The tribal leader of Jabariland gon’ join us to by the way. Name’s M’Baku.”

Wesley tilted her head, racking her brain for the bit of knowledge about Wakanda she learned from Shuri, Erik, and Nakia during their long sessions at the outreach center.

“Jabariland, Jabariland… Jabari… Oh, that’s the group in the mountains right? Gorilla god, snow, just started talking to y’all again like last week?”

“Tribe,” he corrected. “But yea, that’s the one. He is cool people tho. The only council member I like.”

Wesley didn’t really understand why she was so nervous. After a year helping them launch the Outreach Center, she was, at least, friendly with everyone at varying degrees. But here? She was a stranger, feeling an intense desire to prove herself and fit in.

“Ms. Parker!” T’Challa stood as she entered the dining hall. It was set for seven, four of the people already seated and waiting.

“King T’Challa,” she rose her arms in the X she had seen others do around him for a year. He smiled brightly, an encouraging sign on her end. “And you can just call me Wesley or Wes.”

“Of course, of course. And just T’Challa will do as well. Please sit. We are just waiting on Lord M’Baku.” He gestured toward one of three empty seats available, the one with a mysterious small gift box sitting on the chair.

“You all did not need to get me anything,” she muttered as she picked up the box. It felt heavy as she fiddled with the edge of the wrapping paper.

“Nonsense. We are so excited to have you here. N’Jadaka and Nakia believe you will be a great asset as we determine how to situate ourselves on the world stage and I concur. This is just a token of our appreciation for your willingness to join us here and we hope it makes your job a bit easier.”

“Thank you. And believe me, I am so appreciative of the opportunity.” She prayed no one could see the light tremble in her hands as she started to tear the paper off. However, before she could, the double doors to the hall burst open.

“Apologies for my tardiness, my king! Issue in the mountains.”

Wesley looked up to find a giant walking toward her, that was the only way she could think to describe him. She almost wondered if he was an enhanced person, like T’Challa. For she had never seen a “regular” man quite his size.

You’ve never seen a man as gorgeous as him either.

If she could have, she would have rolled her eyes at herself. It was true, he was a sight to behold. He entered the room with an aura of power and strength that would have, once upon a time, had her lusting after him. But that was hardly what she was there for.

“No worries, M’Baku. We were just welcoming our guest, Wesley Parker. This is Lord M’Baku, tribal leader of the Jabari.”

Wesley smiled brightly, offering him a polite wave. Her smile wilted slightly under his unreadable gaze. She watched as his eyes traveled up and down her frame, lingering on her for a few moments before he seemed to catch himself and the awkward silence filling the room.

“The American… Welcome to Wakanda, Ms. Parker.”

Wesley bristled slightly at his words as if being called an American was an insult to her, and in many ways - it was. She turned her head to her right where Erik sat, rolling her eyes and mouthing “the American?” sharing her disdain with the only person in the room who would understand. To which he just chuckled lowly and shook his head. She fixed her face to hide her annoyance before turning back toward him as he sat down in the seat left of her. She supposed she should ready herself for that reaction.

“Uh.. thanks? I guess.” Her voice trailed off a bit as she spoke. Turning her attention back to the half opened gift sitting in her lap, she ripped the rest of the wrapping paper off.

She gasped as she pulled a shiny, state-of-the-art tablet out of a box.

“Oh… I can’t accept this! Thank you but I can’t.”

It was sleek and beautiful, she had seen them all with it over the last year. And she knew no amount of money would afford her something as high tech as this. But she didn’t feel right accepting it.

“Really, it is nothing.” Shuri waved her hand dismissively, completely ignoring the woman’s protests. “And it will work better with our tech here. It syncs to your beads, the easiest file transfers you have ever seen. You will love it.”

“It’s a losing battle, Parker. Just say thank you,” Erik whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she responded meekly.

T’Challa motioned for a servant to take it from the dinner table, letting Wesley know it would be brought to her room.

“Thank you! It’s too much, really. But I appreciate it. I am sure it will work better than mine.” She thought back to the broken and beaten iPad tucked in her bag, the screen partially shattered and many years past its prime.

Small conversations commenced throughout the group as Wesley sat watching. Shuri and M’Baku were engaging in a lively debate about the merits of vibranium vs. Jabari wood? Whatever that was. Hushed whispers past between T’Challa and Nakia on the other end of the table. And Erik listened, albeit reluctantly given the look on his face, to the Queen Mother chastise him for missing yet another council meeting.

Wesley sat, eating her second course of only God knew how many, just listening to all of them laugh, bicker, and poke fun at each other.

This is nice, Wesley thought. She knew they weren’t her family. But even being in their presence lifted her spirits more than she could have known. More than sad for what she didn’t have, she was filled with joy for what Erik found. She was curious how they found a way to accept him, forgive him… love him after all he did. But she was glad they had. He deserved it. He deserved happiness after losing so much for so long.

And you don’t.

She shook her head lightly, as if she could shake the negative orator out of her mind. But she knew she couldn’t. That voice was always there, always reminding her to never get attached. Everyone leaves, everyone hurts you. Because nobody wanted her.

“Wes. Wes!”

At the sound of her name, Wesley pulled herself out of her thoughts, directing her attention at Shuri. It was clear the young girl had tried and failed to get her attention multiple times.

“S-sorry, princess. I-I got lost in my own thoughts there. What did you say?”

“No problem. I just asked how the date with Jason went?”

Wesley blinked a few times in confusion before it hit her. Fuck. Jason was a gorgeous and accomplished volunteer at the Outreach Center who taught engineering to the students with Shuri. He had his eye on Wes since the day she literally ran into him in the staff lounge but Wes never really paid him much attention. Shuri had tried incessantly to play matchmaker with the pair. Wesley had almost forgot she lied and told Shuri she had agreed to go on a date with him. She had no intention of doing such a thing; she just didn’t want to be asked about it again.

“O-oh we ended up not being able to get it scheduled before I moved. Y-you know, it all happened so suddenly.”

Shuri seemed crestfallen for a moment but immediately perked up.

“Oh, well good thing there are soooooo many eligible men here. And cute too! Nakia and I will find you someone, don’t worry.”

She wasn’t worried or interested. But she appreciated Shuri’s enthusiasm and good intentions so she just nodded and smiled.

“It must have been hard, moving away from home so quickly,” the Queen Mother interjected, thankfully moving the conversation away from Wesley’s nonexistent love life. “We were surprised you wanted to move so soon.”

“I-I hadn’t been in Oakland long. Just a year so I hadn’t put down too many roots. Wasn’t too difficult to make the move.”

“Still, your friends and family. It must have been hard to say goodbye so fast?” Shuri asked.

“Yes, it was.”

She picked up her wine glass, taking a long sip, which confirmed the finality in her clipped and short response. This conversation was over.

Everyone returned to their separate conversations and their food. Awkwardness slowly seeping into her as she questioned whether she should have just lied to keep the conversation going and be polite.

“Do not feel awkward. Shuri and the tribal leaders in Jabariland have been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last year. I just ignore them.”

Wesley laughed, directing her attention to the owner of that deep baritone voice. “And they haven’t caught on yet?”

M’Baku brought his glass of wine to his lips. “Of course, not.”

“Well, I could use some of your tips then. The Princess is quite persistent. But I suppose that is what makes her the genius she is,” Wesley mused.

“Happy to share my insights anytime.”

“You live in the mountains, right? I didn’t even know it could snow here.”

M’Baku smirked, “I imagine there is quite a lot you do not know about Wakanda yet.”

Wesley took the bait, he was not wrong. There was so much she didn’t know about this country she was now meant to help lead.

“Well, tell me something about Wakanda you think I should know.”

And his answer to that question carried them through the main course and on to dessert. She mostly listened as he talked about his home, Jabariland, and the people there. It was very surface level, but it made her want to learn more, as much as she could. He explained the differences between the Jabari and the rest of the country. As he spoke, Wesley felt at ease for the first time since she sat down at the table, felt glimmer of her old eager and passionate self peaking through the thick walls she had stacked up. Talking to him felt like talking to an old friend, someone she had known all her life.

“So you come down here often?”

“A few times a month. T’Challa and N’Jadaka lean on my counsel often.”

Wesley nodded, “So we will be seeing quite a lot of each other then, I suppose?”

“Oh, I am counting on that.”

The flirtatious tone in his voice was not lost on Wesley, even if no one else at the table was paying them any attention. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing him wink at her before smiling. If her deep, warm brown skin could, her cheeks would have turned a rosy pink. There was a lot about this face that was gorgeous beyond belief. But his smile drew her eye, pulled her in. She could tell he frowned a lot, his resting face throughout dinner had looked generally disgruntled. However, his smile lit his whole face up, made him look even more beautiful - as if that were possible - and more youthful.

“All, I must retire for the evening. Attend to some tribal business. I will see you all in the Council meeting in the morning. My king.”

He saluted T’Challa who returned it and offered him a head nod. He offered Wesley a lingering glance and and a small smile before leaving.

What the fuck was that? She imagined he did that with a lot of women. Harmless flirting that meant nothing at the end of the day. She knew a man like that would never go for someone like her.

“U-uh I should head to bed as well. I have quite a bit of reading I wanted to do before bed, actually. Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.” Wesley wiped the corners of her mouth before folding her napkin and placing it by her dirty plate.

“Let me walk you,” Nakia offered. “I am headed in that direction anyway. T’Challa and Erik have some business to discuss.”

A sense of longing washed over Wesley as she watched the intimate, subtle touches that passed between the pair as T’Challa kissed her hand and squeezed it before letting her go. Once again, she shook her head, internally stamping down the emotions that did not serve her cause.

She offered them all thanks again and said good night before following Nakia. There was silence for the first minute or two as the events of dinner tumbled through her head.

Was he actually flirting with me?

Does it really matter? She debated with herself. Even if he was, which seemed highly unlikely, there were about 1,000 reasons she couldn’t pursue him. Wesley pushed that aside quickly, deciding that he was simply a flirt and she was simply a fool so starved for love that she would fall for his flirtatious nature so easily.

And then that awkward moment with Shuri and the Queen Mother. Wesley hated questions about her personal life. Not because she found them intrusive, but because she did not have the standard cookie cutter answers people actually expected when they asked those questions. She couldn’t tell the truth and all that left her with was lies and she had enough lies… enough secrets for one person.

“I can almost hear you overthinking, Wesley.”

Nakia broke their silence, stopping in front of a large bay window that looked out into the palace gardens. The moonlight illuminated Nakia’s face, which carried a concerned expression on it.

“Dinner went well. Everyone is excited to have you here, truly. Don’t stress over tomorrow. The Council will like you.”

The tension building in her chest dissipated almost immediately, thankful that this was the path the conversation was taking.

“Y-yea I’m sure you’re right. I’m good, really. Just need to get some of the nervous energy out I guess.”

Nakia nodded before turning to resume their trek back to her quarters. More turns and long hallways than Wesley could count later, they were standing outside her bedroom.

“You and M’Baku seemed to have hit it off.” Nakia’s face was filled with interest and excitement. “And that is saying something… there are few in Wakanda as cold as Lord M’Baku. Pun intended.”

Wesley chuckled, tucking a stray black hair behind her ear. Her small frame leaned against her closed, deep mahogany doors as they talked.

“He was nice! Well… everyone here is nice. But I am sure he is like that with all the ladies, just a charmer.”

“Oh I can assure you, he is not. He likes you.”

Wesley’s face must have been a lens into her inner skepticism for Nakia immediately started to laugh.

“I am serious!”

Wesley’s hand fumbled for the door knob, slowly opening it before saying, “I doubt it but it doesn’t really matter. I am here to work, I don’t have time for much else.”

Nakia tilted her head, almost examining her. She imagined it was from all the spy training but Nakia was almost impossible to read, which frustrated Wesley to no end. Half of being good at politics was simply being able to read people. Nakia always made her question that skill.

“I find that people only make drastic moves like you have for two reasons. They want to start over or they are running from something. I don’t know which one brought you here, Wesley. But you won’t find your escape or new start behind a mountain of paperwork. It is out there.” Her hand pointed behind her at the stained window across across from her door.

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying is that Wakanda is more than its political agenda. Wakanda is its people, its culture. To succeed here,” she gestured around her, “You have to know what’s out there. You have to experience what is out there. You have to live, Wesley.”

Silence.

“Just something to think about. Good night, Wesley.”

***

Tag list: @muse-of-mbaku @allinhishands @ms-reader

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#M'Baku #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagine #m'baku x oc #black panther #black writer #black panther fanfiction

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apples-r-rubbish · 5 years ago

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John (11 x reader) Part 1

Summary: The doctor was being tracked. So he decided to become John to blend into a small town. It would only be 6 months he said. Word count: 3.4k Warnings: violence mention and knives and angst AN: Hi! First fic ever uploaded to tumblr so I’m excited. Hopefully this is good and isn’t too long. Part 2 and 3 should be up soon. Hope you like it!! Also I wrote the reader as female in this so sorry, I’m going to try to be more inclusive in later fics :,)

It had been 2 years, 3 months and 16 days since you’d all arrived in the 1920s, in a quaint little village in the south. You had also been told it would be a maximum of 6 months you would spend here, and boy, how the Doctor was wrong. He was being hunted, by a species that wanted to harvest timelord energy so they could learn to regenerate. So he’d picked a random village and a random time period, given you all jobs, and rewritten his own biology in an attempt to stay safe.

“I’m going undercover as a human, I’m rewriting my genetic code to stay safe, everything non-human about me will be held in this watch, and hidden somewhere linked to me, there will be another fake one hidden with me or on the TARDIS. I won’t recognise it, I’ll barely acknowledge it, or just enough to the point where fake me won’t think there’s anything off about it.” He explained slotting the watch into a rather aggressive looking head contraption, and throwing a device at Amy “I’m becoming John Smith, a history teacher at a local grammar school, Amy and Rory, your job is to track the thing, it has a unique energy signature with that device. Rory you work in the local hospital and Amy you work in a shop. (Y/N), your job is to keep an eye out for me, make sure John doesn’t do anything ridiculous, or fall in love or in a deep hole he can’t get out of. You’re the secretary at the grammar school,”

You cringed at memories as you sat in bed. Thinking over the last 2 years and everything that had happened since, it was all a distant memory now.

“The TARDIS will be in an emergency state if you need her. I won’t know you or remember you. It’s to keep you safe and for your own good. It’ll be six months, at maximum, nothing to worry about, Ponds, (L/N),” he smiled cautiously as he put the device on his head. The thing connected as he screamed, and shook, the agony in face unbearable.

Eventually, you decided you had to get up so you didn’t lose your job, you put on a dress, strapped a cautionary knife to your leg for protection along with the sonic screwdriver so you knew it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands or just in case the thing decided to attack today. You walked to the school. The village was fairly spread out but with limited people, less than 1000 people, everyone knew at least something about everyone apart from the few of you that had been welcomed two years prior. God how you missed Uber, and being able to go on regular runs without judgement.

When you arrived you stored your coat and bag in a storage room, making polite conversation with your coworkers in your office. John wandered in and smiled at you. “Hello, Miss (L/N), how are you doing today?” He was more posh in this version of himself, he sounded southern and as if he had been educated at the grammar school years prior.

“I’m very well, sir, just a little tired today. How about yourself?” You had also taken this time as an opportunity to sound more from the time period, to blend in and look more authentic compared to your back story that was full of holes.

“Good good, sounds like you need more sleep-” He paused upon realising the implications of his words “I- I didn’t mean anything like that, I meant perhaps-” He was like this a lot, he stumbled over himself. Not as confident as the doctor in far too many areas. “Nevermind, Mr Smith, I knew what you meant. What did you come in here for?” you lips pursed together, when he had his memories back you were going to slap him so painfully hard he’d regenerate. He may have had the doctor’s face however, he was not him. Maybe this version of the doctor had taken a liking to you, more than the actual Doctor ever would. You had to stick close to him so you allowed it, although it was painful at points seeing a man you had fallen in love with, finally acknowledge your existence as someone else.

“I needed to check the staff file and I just wanted to chat with you.” So you talked for a while.

The school day went by relatively smoothly apart from a student vomiting in the hallway, and two students almost getting into a fight, everything seemed standard, as the previous 837 days had. Nothing new. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The village was small and were grateful for that, all the shops were local and the furthest house was a 45 minute walk away. Ultimately, you had decided to visit Amy and Rory as you did most nights as they understood the pain you were going through, trapped away from your time period without your family, and closest friend, whilst also being tracked by an alien.

“-and then he looked at me and said I needed to get more sleep,” You said between sips of wine and painful laughs

“I can’t believe he struggles with social interaction more as an actual human rather than a timelord,” Amy laughed, this was the tradition, when Rory was working the nightshift, one of you would visit the other, and you’d laugh and drink together.

“At least you get to see him consistently,” Amy added, “We barely do. Rory sees him maybe once every few weeks down at the pub, and I see him when he comes into the shop or at the hall. You at least consistently know he’s safe and happy,”

“Yeah but it’s not exactly him is it. It’s like you see a picture of someone before you know them, like you can acknowledge it’s them but they’re just missing the odd piece to them, like the smile isn’t quite wide enough or their hair is parted differently. It’s a version of him, without him. Without the timelordy, alieny bits,”

“Maybe so, but it’s something, and we don’t have a lot else right now,”

“God, I can’t wait to wear pants and jeans when we get back to our time,” You said standing and embracing Amy in a warm hug “I need to go home and get some sleep, long day tomorrow, my turn to check. Thanks for having me, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When you had arrived home, that's when you saw him, a boy from the school outside your door, mindlessly staring through one of your windows.

“Edward Gray, dear? Are you alright? What are you doing here?” You asked panic rising quietly through you

Seemingly snapping out of his trance “Huh? Nothing Miss, I must’ve got a bit lost and confused, that’s all,” He said rubbing his temples, the expression he gave you didn’t reach his eyes, as if he was struggling to believe the words himself.

“You might want to get home, make sure your mother knows you're safe. We don’t want her up worrying all night now do we? Run along dear,” You said as you unlocked your house and he turned and ran.

You settled into bed for the night, pulling out a notebook and writing down bits from your previous adventures you could remember, it wasn’t for Amy and Rory you would've been doubting the validity of your stories and doubting that the alien had even existed at all, and wasn’t just a random man from your work who paid attention to you, smiled at your jokes, and whose eyes were full of mystery.

More dreams, more memories, more days. You woke up with a jump, your alarm surprising you. More morning rituals. Breakfast, check. Shower and brushed teeth, check. Dressed, check. Knife, check. Sonic, check. It was a friday so it was your turn to check the TARDIS. It was abandoned in a shed in one of the in one of the many fields surrounding the village that had long been forgotten. She wheezed slightly when you entered, a half asleep acknowledgment of someone else’s company.

“Hello dear, I’ve missed you too,” You said in response, a tinge of sadness in your voice, another sleep wheeze escaped from the console. You replayed the message the doctor had given you. He animatedly explained all the points, once again, like clockwork: village, 20s, hunted, six months, keep watch, pears, stay safe, teaching, secretary, shop, six months. Nothing had changed, you kept quietly wishing for the audio to alter, or the video to change, it never did. It was still the same video, and your alien bestfriend promised 6 months and nothing more.

Somehow, you had managed to arrive early to work. The majority of your colleagues had not yet arrived. In moments like this you had begun reading in classrooms, specifically, John’s. There was something comforting about it, perhaps it was the doctor’s energy. Quiet times like this helped usually, sometimes they made the situation worse, the silence was sometimes unbearable as thoughts of your future life rumbled around your head. You had positioned yourself near a window and pulled out a copy of the Great Gatsby. Whilst you were engrossed in your book, the door opened silently, John slipping in without you noticing

“Miss (L/N)? What are you doing here?” He whispered, his eyes staring deep into your soul, at times like this, he was almost the doctor. You jumped, the sudden noise surprising you

“Ah, sorry, John, dear. I was just reading, I had a bit of time before the day began,” You started

“It’s alright, no need to apologize. What are you reading?’

“Mr Fitzgerald’s new book, I have heard nothing but good things,”

“Ah, I prefer the classics, great expectations and such.” Even as a human he was still so much of the doctor.

You stood up suddenly “Anyway, I need to go. I have my duties to attend to.”

John rambled “Stay! If you want to- I mean- if you would like you can stay here and read, I don’t mind and I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind, I’ll convince them it was my idea. even though it was anyway,”

You considered it for a brief moment, you shook your head, “I can’t, I have particularly busy day,”

“At least let me walk you home tonight then, if you’re busy throughout the day. I enjoy your company,” he said with a wink and then he caught himself and looked shocked that he had actually just done that.

“Fine. I finish at 5. But you must know the neighbours will talk,” You said in attempt to deter him

“Oh, let them, this small town loves gossip,” John smiled in a very doctorish manner. You nodded slightly. A small smile graced your lips, a tinge of sadness in your eyes, you prayed he wouldn't notice as you turned to leave the room. You didn’t see him silently stick his hand out in an attempt to comfort you, over feelings he would have no concept of. John Smith and his small smiles and sweet talk would be the death of you. The Almost Doctor. So close yet, so far out of reach.

You had the trouble of organising staff schedules that week and planning and writing assemblies for other teachers, you didn’t mind though it kept you busy.

“(Y/N), did you hear Edward Gray hasn’t shown up today,” One of your colleagues Mrs. Price had said, she was elderly woman, her hair greying slightly, her glasses rested on a chain that was always around your neck

“That’s peculiar, he was outside my house last night,” You began as you explained to the other woman. She sat in an awkward silence afterwards.

“According to his mother, he did get home ok, he just came in this morning. Must’ve just decided he wanted to wander the woods for a break,” She said with a nervous laugh and you followed suit before going back to clicking away at your typewriter.

The day eventually ended at 5pm as you said a brief weekly farewell to the other office staff members before heading to the front of the building. John Smith was stood at the front he gave you a wide small and small wave that you returned

“Mr Smith,” You said with a smile as you approached him

“Miss (L/N).”

On the way home, you chatted about anything and everything, you trying to fix the holes in your double life story, and the chameleon arch filling in the gaps in his. You were simply two half strangers sharing half truths with one another. If the Doctor were actually here he’d laugh. Occasionally, neighbours would nod their heads towards you in acknowledgment, none of them stopping to talk. One neighbor seemed off, you believed his name was Mr Roscoe and he was an older man from the village. He made intense eye contact with you both before bumping into the doctor aggressively, squaring up to him.

“Timelord, your days will soon be up. We will have your secrets soon enough,” Roscoe hissed. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, you pulled the knife from your leg and pointed it at Mr Roscoe’s throat.

“Good, God Miss (L/N), where did you- what’s going on? Why do you have a knife?” John stammered the chameleon arch kicking into overdrive.

“Shut up,” You snapped, he opened his mouth to speak, he decided against it, then closed it again. You turned your attention back to the older gentleman, “Leave him be. He is not what you are after. This is your final warning, approach any of us again and this knife is going right in one of your vital organs. Clear? Or will I have to do it as a warning?” You snarled anger rising with each word edging the knife close to the man as you waved it for emphasis.

“Crystal,” The man replied, void of tone. Before turning and walking away sending a sharp glare in your direction as he wandered off

“Do you mind if we visit your house instead I have a phone call to make?” You asked the knife away, smiling and acting like nothing had occurred, slipping your arm back around John’s. John simply stammered in agreement, still not entirely grasping the intensity of the situation.

John’s house was rather large for him, he’d claimed it was far too big for one person and that he ought to let it out, but it was close to his job and he could afford it and that he also preferred his own company.

You waited until he left his kitchen to call Amy,

“Hello, this is Amelia Williams,” She chimed

“Red, wolf, now,” You said breathlessly, it was code, you had invented, between the three of you, if people were around that couldn’t know about the predicaments you faced, such as John you would use it. Red was danger, wolf was alien. She breathed a curse into the phone

“You’re safe, I presume, stay that way and with him, time to locate the pin and the needle,” more code, you simply said a quiet yet nervous ‘yes’ into the phone. The pin being the watch, the needle being a decoy.

“What about your job? 2 years, wolf tracking was up to you,” You hissed

“I’m sorry. I think the battery died long ago, we have no idea how to charge it even with the TARDIS. Plus, he never gave us an explanation of how to use it,” You mumbled a brief apology for hissing and hung up, after she had made sure you were fine, in the overly complex code, you former companions shared.

“What was that about?” John asked reentering the kitchen and breaking you from your thoughts holding some glasses, a bottle and packet of cigarettes. “Sorry, just a small code with a code with a friend, letting her know I’m safe and with a friend incase she gets worried or tries to visit,” You explained quickly

He smiled at that, maybe he had bought it, maybe not, “You’re so intelligent.” He breathed half to himself, half to you “Come on time for a smoke and a drink to calm us down after that, erm, experience,”

You sat next to eachother on one of the few steps that led to his garden. “So why do you carry a knife?” Was the first question out of his mouth after he’d poured drinks

“An old friend, he had some issues, told me to protect myself, I just felt I needed to make sure I was safe,” You replied simply, “And I hate guns, so a knife had to do,”

“In the 2 years I have known you, (Y/N), I’ve learnt very little about you, other than today.” He sighed

“You don’t need to know a lot, there’s not a lot I can tell you really, a fairly ordinary life,”

“Do you smoke?” He said offering you the box, with a smile you accepted one and lit it,

“Not often, we’ll have to share this one, I can’t handle full ones this late.” You passed it back to him “my friend wouldn’t approve so I try to not,”

“Well you have to make your own decisions,”

“He wouldn’t approve of you offering, I mean” You corrected “Also maybe not me accepting,”

“I need to tell you something,” He began, “I have these dreams- and they’re about the future and they involve you and that quiet couple from the village. We travel to other worlds and I’m from another planet and we try to save people. And it matches some of what Mr Roscoe had said. How crazy is that?”

Shit. You hadn’t considered dreams “Well ultimately dreams are the subconscious filling the space so I would imagine it is perfectly normal thing to dream. And as for Mr Roscoe, he’s a confused old man, I doubt he even realised what he said, John,” You laughed nervously, the chameleon arch had already started fixing the damage

“You can stay overnight, if you’d like I have a guest bedroom set up and some spare toiletries, just so you’re not worried about getting home. Mr Roscoe put the fear of God in us earlier and I wouldn’t like that to happen again, especially if you’re walking home” Even now, when he wasn’t himself, he was still unbelievably kind.

“Ok, then I’ll stay,” You nodded, you did not want another Edward Gray situation

“So this friend of yours. Would he approve of you staying the night? Does he approve of much? It certainly doesn’t seem it,”

“Perhaps he would. Maybe with you, maybe not, it's difficult to say. He doesn’t approve of much and yet many things. Kindness and eccentricity are two things he absolutely loves. He’s a good man, a kind man,” You tried to explain, taking the cig back “He’s a pacifist. And when he smiles the stars seem to align. We travel together. Or rather we used to before I settled here. I’m waiting for him to come back.”

“Oh are you and him-”

“Uh, no, absolutely not. I did see him like that, he did not see me that way. He has no reason to, he carries the stars with him and the world on his shoulders. He’s got enough to worry about without me,” you stated, a small tear slipping from your eyes, John wiped it away quickly , taking the cigarette back and finishing it

“I mean, perhaps he could, view you like that. If I were him and I know I could never be, I wouldn’t hesitate. You’re wonderful, kind and beautiful, intelligent and astonishingly brave,” John smiled “and if he can’t see that, I’m sure someone else will.”

The silence after his words was comfortable. You didn’t quite expect it. The ferocious love in his voice, the warmth and kindness. It seemed so disjointed from the normal, nervous and awkward John. You rested your head against him, a form of acceptance to his words. He wrapped his long since abandoned jacket around you, along with his arm, trying to shield you from the cold. The drinks had been finished a while, and cigarettes long since burned to ash. You stayed that way for a while, at least in that hidden moment you could pretend it was him and that things weren’t about to turn terrible. At least you had now and the steps in his garden long after dark.

PART 2

#doctor who x reader #doctor who x you #11th doctor #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x you #eleven x reader #Eleventh doctor x reader #self insert fanfiction #self insert #self insert doctor who #hope this is ok :)#Doctor who #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction

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kiarcheo · 4 years ago

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A Whole New World 2/10

Jane and Kat find out there is more to each other…and to the new world they have found themselves in.

Read on Ao3 too

AN: I have seen Anne’s date of birth ranging from 1501 to 1507, and Jane’s between 1504 and 1509. For the sake of this story I consider Anne born in 1501 and consequently dying at 35, and Jane being born in 1508 and dying at 28.

Kat came back at 18 and Jane at 22, Anna, Cathy and Anne in their late twenties, and Catalina in her early thirties.

——————————————–

It becomes a regular thing. Sometimes it’s a museum Kat has already visited, sometimes a new one on the list she keeps of places she wants to see. They often make a day of it, treating themselves to lunch (usually at Jane’s initiative, since Kat tends to forego eating in favour of whatever has caught her interest), exploring parts of the city unknown to them.

One evening, close to dusk, they are walking through an empty park when Kat stops. ‘Have you ever wanted to try them out?’

‘Try what?’ Jane follows the direction of Kat’s gaze. ‘That?’

‘They look like fun.’

‘They are for children.’

‘Who said that? Besides, there are no children around...’ Kat trails off, eyebrow raised waiting for a response.

‘You know what? Why not?’

Kat lets out a small squeal before grabbing Jane’s hand and dragging her towards the playground.

‘Remember when you said “who said that they are just for children”?’ Jane asks as they are sitting on the platform, feet dangling down, recovering their breath and cooling down.

‘You mean, like, half an hour ago?’

‘Smartass.’ Jane gives her a look, before pointing to a sign. ‘Children’s Play Area. Only children under the age of 12 may use this play area.’

‘Well, technically we haven’t been back for that long?’

Jane shakes her head amused. Kat is so cheeky and she would have never guessed before spending so much time with her.

‘So what was your favourite part?’ she asks after a bout of silence. That is another thing that changed. Before, silent moments were much more common and awkward, now their quiet spells are rarer and yet infinitely more comfortable.

‘You falling off those.’ Kat motions with her head towards the monkey bars, getting a glare in response. ‘What about yours?’

‘The slides, I’d say.’

‘Yeah, they are nice. But too short, don’t you think?’

‘I know, right? By the time you pick up speed, you’re already at the end,’ Jane agrees. ‘They should make them longer. Adult-sized.’

‘Wait!’ Kat whips out her phone. ‘Let me...’

And Jane lets her. She has learnt that Kat's curiosity is insatiable. If she stumbles upon something she doesn’t know or doesn’t understand…she has to look it up. So many times, when their fellow queens mention (usually complain, actually) that Kat is always glued to her phone, Jane has been tempted to tell them that most of the time she is learning something new...but if Kat had not told them – not even if she would probably spare herself their scolding – then it’s not her place to tell them.

‘They exist!’ Kat exclaims angling the screen towards Jane. ‘Look! They even have playgrounds for adults!’

They look together at the photos for a while before Kat taps on a Wikipedia link, her first port of call every time. ‘Amusement parks,’ she starts to read the entry aloud before being interrupted by a text notification popping up on the screen.

Kat groans as she reads it.

‘What?’

‘Curfew,’ Kat sighs. ‘Apparently it’s late and they are wondering why I’m not home yet.’ She knows it’s because they care but... ‘Did you get one too?’

Jane checks her phone. ‘No.’

Kat sighs again. ‘One dies young once and she is forever treated like a baby.’ She notices the look Jane is sending her. ‘Please don’t start.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘I can't make a joke that everyone freaks out thinking I’m depressed or having a breakdown or a flashback or something.’

Jane remembers clearly one of those occasions. They had been discussing nightmares and how everyone seemed to have them except Kat, who had commented that perhaps losing her head had meant losing everything that had been inside that too. She also remembers very clearly thinking that the reactions had been a bit disproportionate compared to Kat’s offhand tone and casual demeanour.

‘Sometimes a girl just wants to be self-deprecating. Or joke about her own death without being psychoanalysed and having people wanting to talk about your trauma.’

‘I get it. I said once that I had no time with Edward. I was just...stating a fact. I was not looking for pity or anything. But they tripped over themselves to reassure me that I was still his mother – which of course! – and that I’m still a mother now. And honestly. One has a child once and she is forever just a mother in everyone’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong. I wish I could have seen Edward grow up. Wish I could have been his mother. Properly. But I wasn’t. And out of all of us, I’m the one who had less time with children. Besides you, I was the youngest one to die. So I have no idea why everyone thinks of me as this motherly figure?’

Aware that she has been ranting, Jane chances a look at Kat, who has a peculiar expression on her face.

‘What?’ she asks, feeling self-conscious.

‘I’m just thinking how happy I am that you joined me that day at the museum.’

That had been the true start of their relationship, despite having lived together for many months prior to that.

‘You mean you're happy I caught you sneaking out?’

Jane knows what she means, though. They would have never thought, and even less found, they had so many things in common. Or that they could get along so well and have so much fun together.

‘I was not sneaking out.’

Jane merely looks at her.

‘I thought nobody was home. It was just out of habit.’

‘So all the other times you sneaked out.’

Kat doesn’t reply, knowing Jane is doing it just to annoy her. They had a similar talk the second time they went to a museum together, Jane asking why they were sort of hiding their trip. It was not that Kat thought they would stop her if they knew she was going out. But she just didn’t want to deal with their questions. About where she was going, why, why she was going alone, when she was coming back...Just easier to leave without them knowing and then simply tell them she had been out if they asked having noticed she had not been home. In their defence, they knew better than to pry and as long as she was home safely, they would let it go despite being curious.

‘I know you’re the one in charge of our museum days,’ Jane starts, ‘but I wanted to run an idea by you.’

‘Of course we can go to a museum of your choice. You don’t need to ask permission or whatever.’

‘Wait before agreeing.’

‘Is it the Tower?’ Kat winces with a grimace, trying to think of places still standing that Jane might be wary of asking her to visit.

Jane stops rummaging in her bag, her head shooting up. ‘What the fuck, Katherine??’

The younger girl is so lost in unpleasant memories that she doesn't even react to Jane’s swearing nor her full naming her. ‘Hampton Court?’

‘Why would I ever do something like that?’ Jane recoils. ‘God, no! The Clink.’

‘As-’

‘The prison! Not the-’

‘Brothels?’ Kat completes, eyebrow raised in amusement. Then she nods, almost to herself. The area had been known for two main things…the prison and for allowing usually forbidden activities.

‘Yes. I mean, they made a prison museum. You know I like true crime and–’

Yes. That had been a surprise. When Kat had asked if there was something she particularly enjoyed reading and learning about, like she loved history, that had definitely not been the answer she had expected. Jane must have known that, considering how much she hummed and hawed before caving after Kat had called bullshit – literally – on her non-committal answer.

‘–I think I’d like to– but I don’t want to, like, trigger you?’

‘What’s inside, exactly?’

Jane finally finds what she has been looking for in her bag and hands her a leaflet.

‘You know what?’ Kat takes a look at it. ‘We can go and you can...scout it out?’ She doesn’t see anything upsetting in the pictures, but there will be so much more in the museum that they can show in a single leaflet. ‘You can take a look before me and if you think there is something that might…disturb me, you tell me and I’ll skip that room?’

‘Really?’

‘I mean, you know I'm not too fussed about death and stuff like that as long as it’s not too bloody. Or neck-related.’

She is not too keen on watching documentaries with Jane, but she doesn’t mind listening to her talking about them. Or about whatever serial killer or unsolved crime she is currently reading about.

‘Thank you.’ Jane squeezes her arm, hoping Kat knows it’s not about agreeing to her request, but for her trust. ‘On an unrelated note...food?’

Jane’s constant preoccupation with food is another thing put down to her supposedly maternal instinct, a desire to make sure everyone is well-fed. The truth is…Jane loves eating. Being able to enjoy doing so without the ever-present worry of looking unladylike. Discovering new foods. She doesn’t eat a lot, but she needs to eat often, or she becomes…hangry, it’s what Kat called it. And it is only polite to ask if the others are feeling peckish too and want to join her. Moreover, she knows it’s one thing she can’t rely on Kat for, seeing as she is prone to skip meals if there is anything else she deems more important or interesting.

‘Do you think Catalina would consider this as traditional local food or...?’ Jane wonders aloud as she dips the churro in the plastic pot holding the chocolate sauce.

‘Possibly? Even if they were not invented by Spanish shepherds but brought by the Portuguese from China like some say, I think everyone agrees that by the 16th century they existed in Spain. And look, Romans had fried pastry, so, if not exactly that, something similar. And naturally cacao came to Europe after the Spanish invaded the Americas, so it arrived in Spain first, although if it was just after Cortés, Catalina would have been already in England…so she might have never tried churros with chocolate? Not sure when they started to combine the two, to be honest…’ Kat trails off. ‘What?’

‘Next person who says you’re stupid, I’ll deck them.’

Kat chuckles, bumping her hip into hers. ‘I appreciate the offer.’

‘It’s not an offer, it’s a promise.’

‘Ever thought about getting a car?’ Jane asks after they have been walking for a while.

‘Why? Tired? But not really. Honestly just the idea of getting into one and driving it myself is kind of terrifying.’

Jane nods. It sounds a bit like airplanes for her. It still boggles her mind that humans can fly. And she knows they are mostly safe and all, but it doesn’t mean she is keen on trying them out for herself.

‘I thought about getting a bicycle and learning how to ride,’ Kat continues.

‘Why don’t you?’

‘Yeah, and where would I hide it?’

‘Why would you need to hide it?’ Jane is puzzled enough to ignore Kat’s tone verging on the sarcastic rhetorical question inflection that usually implies someone had just asked a very stupid question.

‘With the potential of me getting hurt? Straying away, getting lost, or whatever? I don’t know if you have noticed, but the others tend to be a bit overprotective.’

And a bit is a euphemism. Don’t get her wrong. It is nice to have people caring and worrying about her. But she spent a lifetime fending for herself. And yes, she had her struggles, and the end might have been inglorious, but Anne wound up the same way and yet nobody questions her…or her capabilities. And okay, that might have something to do with age, but nobody cared about that before, and she had been a bloody queen (and quite a successful one, if she says so herself, at least before her past caught up with her)! Still, she doesn’t want to think how worse it would be if she had come back younger than she had been at the time of her death like the others did.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Jane asks, realising she is miles away, lost in thoughts.

‘How weird it would be if we had come back the same age we died. Well, besides me, obviously.’ She hopes she’ll be there to see it in person, but she can’t really think about Catalina as a 50-years-old woman or Anna in her forties. ‘And about how there is a fine line between heart-warming care and overbearing concern.’

Because, back to the point, she might have been more or less successful, but she is used to rely just on herself and getting by, not to have four other women, Jane to a lesser extent, being overly concerned about her. For certain matters, at least. Because for other things they seem perfectly happy to…perhaps not ignore her, but surely leave her to her own devices, without trying to get her involved. And she is often more than content with it, she will admit that…except that often it also leads to remarks about how she spends all her time at home, always in front a screen, and perhaps she should go out more? And then instead of standing up all night on her phone, she would tire herself out and sleep?

‘So you don’t want to check this out?’

Kat had not even realised they were walking past a sporting goods store.

‘Look! You could easily hide that.’ Jane points out to a small, colourful, tricycle, clearly meant for children.

‘Ah ah. Very funny.’ Sarcasm is heavy in Kat’s voice, but she follows her in.

‘What about this?’

‘A unicycle? Really? Have you ever seen one of those around, in public?’

Jane takes a moment to think about it. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Exactly. Because they belong in the circus.’

‘One might say our house is a circus.’ They certainly have some chaotic days.

‘And you a clown.’

Jane gasps in mock offence. ‘I miss the days when you were afraid of me.’

‘I was never afraid of you. I was indifferent. And thought you were a stuck-up bore. Also, I know you don’t miss it.’

‘True,’ Jane admits easily. ‘Joking aside. We could put them in the shed?’

She had said once that she didn’t mind taking care of the garden and suddenly she had been left in charge of it, gardening apparently a passion of hers she didn’t even know she had. She supposes that it was deemed an appropriate hobby for boring old plain Jane (and yes, the fact that it is her actual name and not just a phrase in her case does not escape her), just like embroidery. She enjoys both of them, sure, but she is fairly confident the others think that’s all she does, no other interests – oh wait, there is cooking, or at least making sure that everyone is eating too! – which is something she tries not to dwell on too much because that’s frankly a bit (or a lot, depending on how she feels on the day) insulting.

‘We? Them?’ Kat raises an eyebrow. ‘But yes, we could store them there, but not really hide them if anyone happens to look inside. And certainly not two of them.’

Still, they continue to peruse the store.

‘What about these?’ Jane calls Kat’s attention, holding a pair of rollerblades up. ‘I’ve seen kids with them, can’t be that hard, can it?’ she continues once the girl comes over, looking interested.

‘Shoes on wheels? We’re so gonna die.’

Jane starts to put them back, slightly dejected, but Kat snatches them up. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘Yeah?’ She looks at her, tentative grin on her face.

Kat nods with gleeful smile. ‘Absolutely.’

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