#my husband is slightly appalled at how long shes lived | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loki-hargreeves · 3 years

Text

Loki x Reader - Thanos controls You

Warnings: angst, mentions of torture, mind-control, fighting, choking, blood and gore, more angst (it's a lot ok)

Word Count: 5,8K

Summary: After failing to deliver the Tesseract, Loki has been living in fear that Thanos will one day find him again and seek revenge. You have been missing ever since Loki was imprisoned after what he did in New York. Little did Loki know that you were with Thanos all along. During the events of Infinity War, Thanos makes you battle Loki in order to obtain the Tesseract

Author’s Note: I know Thanos doesn’t have the mind stone at the beginning of Infinity War but it’s fiction and I’m gonna do what Marvel does best, ignore canon. Let’s blame the Other’s powers, okay? Please enjoy this angsty little thing! :)

YOUR POV

“There’s room for more!” Loki yelled over the cries of scared children and their crying families. There was no way he would send a half-empty escape pod on its way to Midgard. That’s when he saw a child all by herself a little further away. She was clinging onto the wall for dear life and the ship trembled due to the impact of getting shot at. Her parents were nowhere to be seen. Dead. Loki felt sick to his stomach when he knew they were most likely dead. Thanos’ children were slaying kids and their parents heartlessly and they had the audacity to say they were being rescued. That their deaths were part of something bigger than life itself.

They viewed Thanos as a god who was being merciful even when he ripped a beating heart out of someone's chest.

Loki’s heart clenched in his chest painfully. Before it would be too late, he made his way to the tiny child and picked her up carefully. She seemed to recognize the prince but she wasn’t afraid of him. Instead, she hugged Loki so she wouldn’t fall out of his grasp.

“Where’s mommy?” The girl sounded absolutely petrified.

Loki didn’t know what to say as he made his way to the pod. Once he reached it, he saw a woman by the entrance.

“You’ll be safe here,” Loki promised the child as he handed her over to the lady. That’s all he had time for as he returned to the corridor. A particularly loud blast made him stumble over his feet and he had to catch his balance by taking support from the metal wall. The lights flickered, which meant the electronics of the ship were injured. There was a strange smokey smell in the air, which lingered with the irony stench of blood.

Loki couldn’t believe this was happening. Had Thanos finally come for him? Or did Thanos somehow know of the tesseract? Either way, if Thanos succeeded, he would kill two birds with one stone. The thought of this being all his fault made Loki nauseous. Guilt was nibbling at his skin and he knew it would eat him alive in the end. He never wished for this to happen!

As he ran down the corridors frantically searching for Asgardians that needed help, he heard different kinds of cries. People were letting out guttural screams. Others were pleading for their lives. Listening to the massacre that was taking place was worse than any nightmare Loki ever recalled having. They were all drained after Ragnarok and now Thanos had found them. It was haunting how ruthless fate could be.

Footsteps began to approach Loki and they were awfully close. Too close for his liking. He was quick to grab his daggers and turn to face whoever dared try to sneak up on him. When he saw a familiar figure, he nearly dropped the blades from his hands. Seeing you there was like shock itself punched him in the face.

You were there, real and clear as day.

How long had it been since the last time he saw you?

Ever since Loki had found out about his true nature, his life had gone downhill. After he ended up with Thanos and went through pure hell with him, he had changed. During his time away from Asgard, he had only missed one person truly - you. You, who had been by his side through everything. You, who hadn’t loved him any less when you saw his deep blue skin and those crimson red eyes that in Loki’s mind resembled blood. You, who had seen him as the rightful king of Asgard when everyone else betrayed him. The light of his life, the angel that had cared for him even when he felt like a monster.

You, who hadn’t been on Asgard when Thor brought him back to face Odin in trial. Loki had spent a lot of time in his cell, alone. He waited for you to appear but you never did and no one ever told him why. They rather left him to drown in his own vicious thoughts. It wasn’t until Loki pretended to be Odin that he began to learn what had happened on Asgard during his exile.

The people at the palace loved to gossip. Some claimed you had stolen a ship and left Asgard behind for good, that living as Loki’s widow had been too hard for you. In Loki’s darkest hours, he wondered if you truly felt ashamed for being associated with him. So ashamed in fact, that you had left it all behind and started anew. Sometimes, he believed that, but it never stopped him from trying to find you. He had searched night and day but it seemed like you had vanished into thin air. It had killed him more every day living in the unknown. His only wish had been that you were okay.

Now there you were, looking like you had never left. In a moment of pure shock, Loki couldn’t even begin to comprehend how you appeared on the ship - seemingly out of nowhere. He was happy to see you, despite how appalling everything else was at that moment.

“Y/N,” Loki spoke your name softly and dared to blink. When you were still there as he opened his eyes, he felt goosebumps all over his skin.

You looked at him so innocently, but then he noticed that something was off. The look in your eyes was cold. You weren’t in your typical Asgardian gear. Instead, you were dressed in dark armour that Loki could’ve sworn he had seen before, but he didn’t know where. Nevertheless, it made him feel uneasy.

“It’s been a while, Loki,” You attempted a smile as you walked closer to him, your husband. It still counted since he had never truly died, right?

Loki didn’t stop you as you walked right up to him. His eyes never left yours. Part of him wanted to kiss you, to hold you and feel you were real, but the shrieks in the background reminded him of how dangerous everything was. The daggers disappeared from his hands and Loki held you by your shoulders. He needed to see that his hands wouldn't go right through you, that he hadn't lost it.

“You need to get off this ship, Y/N!” He told you seriously. There was profound fear in his voice.

Instead of being worried at all, you just smiled back at him.

That was so unlike you.

“Y/N, do you hear me?”

“Oh, I do,” You confirmed nonchalantly, “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

A bloodcurdling cry startled Loki. They were coming closer and closer. The two of you wouldn’t be safe in that passageway for long. By now, his heart was racing with his thoughts. He felt panic settling into his bones.

Before Loki could say another word, you cupped his face rather gently. The fact that you didn’t seem disturbed by what was happening was eerie to Loki. He knew that you had a heart much bigger than anyone else he knew of. The version of you he remembered wouldn’t have been so calm. Something was terribly wrong.

“I need something,” You admitted and batted your eyelashes. Before, Loki would’ve found that quite adorable, but at that moment it was so wrong. He had been so ecstatic to see you and know you were alive, but now he almost wanted to run the other way.

“What?” Loki barely found his voice at that point. He felt sick and heartbroken. This had to be a nightmare, the worst kind.

“The Tesseract, Loki. I really need it,” You blurted it out.

Shivers ran down his spine. How did you know about it? Why did you even care? He was unsure if he could even trust you with the knowledge that he had it in his possession. Usually, he would’ve trusted you with his life without any hesitation, but you had been gone for years and returned like this, with bizarre motives.

You returned at the same time as Thanos and you were looking for the tesseract. Loki wasn’t a fool. He finally put two and two together and the realization was too arduous to believe. The idea of you and Thanos even meeting was something Loki could only see happening in his worst nightmares, but he was afraid it had already occurred. If so, he needed to hear it from you,

“Is Thanos making you do this?”

The tone of his voice seemed to offend you as you sent him a nasty glare. Your softness turned harsh and you pushed Loki against the metal wall with a loud thud. Before he could get out of the way, you grabbed your own dagger and pressed it against his neck so it was ever so slightly pressing against his exposed skin.

“He is not making me do anything. I am glad to serve the all-mighty Thanos. I won’t fail him, unlike you,” You snarled at Loki spitefully.

Never in a million years had Loki imagined this moment to happen. One where you would be fighting against each other. It was supposed to the two of you against the nine realms. Being held like that by the one person he loved more than anything was tearing his heart to shreds, but he tried not to show it.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t truly you. He knew exactly what Thanos had done to you so you would act like this, and it only made it hurt so much more. It felt like someone was pouring salt into an open wound, and his entire body, heart and soul were wounded.

“Now give me the tesseract and we will be on our merry way,” You tried to obtain it again. This time you seemed more serious. Was it the tone of your voice or your weapon pressed against his pulse? Loki didn’t know.

“I don’t have it,” Loki lied as smoothly as he could because even thinking straight at that moment felt impossible. The world was caving in around him at supersonic speed.

You pressed the sharp edge of the blade closer to him, feeling how just a little bit more pressure would've broken his skin “You’re a great liar, my dear, but I know that’s not the truth.”

Loki didn’t want to fight you, but he didn’t see another way out. And it was good for him that you had learned most of the tricks from him. Your every move would be more easily predictable for Loki. He had to find a way to distract you.

“Why do you need it?” That was a foolish question. He knew damn well what Thanos would do if he got his dirty hands on the infinity stones.

“Why do you care?” You didn’t answer his silly question.

Suddenly, Loki grabbed your wrist tightly and yanked your arm to the side. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Loki knew you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

At least your weapon fell out of your hand, but you knew how to defend yourself without it. So did Loki.

Loki tried to turn things around so he would have you pinned down against the wall, but you didn’t let him get that far. As he turned you around so your back was pressed firmly against his chest, you kicked your legs against the wall hard, pushing both of you back. Loki took the biggest impact as he fell on the floor, with you on top of him. Quickly, you rolled out of his grasp, turning around in one swift movement so that you were now sat on top of him, with your legs tightly against both his sides.

A powerful orb of magic grew above your fingertips and you brought it closer to Loki’s face - so close that he could feel the heat of your burning powers. The magic created an electric sensation on your skin. It felt like you pushed your fingers deep into warm sand. Toying with it was exhilarating, and seeing the astonished look on Loki’s face made it so much better. The green light of your powers cast light in his eyes, only deepening the look of disbelief that was painted all over him.

“It’s sweet that you’re trying not to hurt me,” You taunted him at that point, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.”

“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Loki groaned. He was so sure of himself.

You tilted your head and smirked, looking at him like a cat would at a mouse. “I don’t know, Loki. It’s been a while,” You explained casually and leaned closer and closer to his face, stopping when your noses brushed against one another. By now, Loki was frozen on the spot. He was trying to come up with a plan and he felt hopeless.

“I’ve changed,” You whispered to him and felt tempted to kiss him, to taste him. Would you taste his fear? His heartbreak? You were sure it would taste sweet.

“The torture must’ve been painful,” Loki pushed his feelings aside. Yes, he felt like his heart had been ripped to shreds, but he had to do something. He had to surprise you, even if it would hurt. Words could hurt more than actions, and if Loki wanted to survive and to help you, he needed to reach the real you even if the only way to do so was cruel.

How did he know? You narrowed your eyes and surprisingly, found yourself waiting for him to continue.

"I was trained well."

"Trained?" Loki spat out harshly, "I know you're afraid. He has promised you something worse than the pain he has inflicted on you already. It won't happen. If you let Thanos continue his reign, he will not care about your loyalty!"

"Shut up!" That was too much for you. With tears brimming your eyes from anger, you put your hand over his mouth to silence him. He didn't budge and you didn't know why.

You pushed the memories aside. The painful memories of the time Thanos first found you. It was wrong to think of it as torture. No, he had shown you what you're truly capable of. It was training. Training to become a stronger person after the hell you endured on Asgard.

But now that you found yourself thinking about it, it seemed like the memories were all blurred as if you were looking into the past through a broken lens. Someone had spilt oil all over it and the pictures were warped.

"I know you have it," You needed the tesseract. "Give it to me and then this will all be over," you removed your hand from his mouth because it looked like he wanted to speak.

Loki knew that if he’d push you, your magic could burn him, but at the moment he couldn’t come up with another plan. He couldn’t just stay on the ground as people were being killed on the other side of the wall!

"Okay," Loki blurted out. Okay?

For a moment, he had you surprised which was the perfect distraction.

Loki grabbed your wrists tightly and pushed you to the side, but not quickly enough. You released your magic and it graced the side of his face, making him growl out either in pain or frustration - or both. The two of you rolled over and this time Loki was on top, holding your arms pinned above your head. You were trapped because of one mistake. You couldn't believe Loki had used the element of surprise to turn the situation upside down.

Furiously, you tried to kick your legs free, but he had you pinned down beneath him and Loki was strong. There was no point in squirming, you had to come up with another idea.

The two of you faced each other and Loki revealed his face and the damage you had done. Your magic had burned his skin and left a bloody cut on his eyebrow. It had just barely missed his eye. If he lived, it would surely leave a scar.

You flinched when a drop of his blood hit your cheek and it rolled down the side of your face.

"What are you going to do, kill me?"

Loki could never bring himself to kill you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself with your blood on his hands. No. He had other ideas. Loki remembered what it was like to be under Thanos' control. He remembered how much it hurt to even think about the torture. He had to remind you, he had to make you see that this wasn't the real you.

"This version of you, or I certainly hope so," Loki replied mysteriously. Before you could ask him to elaborate, Loki released your wrist and slammed the palm of his hand against your forehead. In a split second, you were in a different place - in your head. You could've sworn you heard him mutter "I'm sorry," before everything turned black.

It was hot, burning hot. Metal chains were attached to you and they were glowing red. Torching. You could only scream in pain as the metal sunk into your skin, your bones, your nerves. It felt like he had chained your mind and with the tiniest movement of his finger, he could make you do his dirty work.

He, Thanos, was sitting on his throne. He was the puppet master and you the puppet. He didn't look at you fondly. No. He was smiling as he watched you cry your lungs out, letting out animalistic growls as the pain got worse. It was so overwhelming that every once in a while, you would scream until you passed out. But every time, one of his children would be there to wake you up.

It was time for another round. And another. And yet another. Would it ever end?

Each time you tried to resist the chains, the strings that were sewn onto you and connected to his fingertips, it hurt more. Eventually, you learned that allowing the strings to tighten around you made it hurt less. It almost felt good, like a long embrace after a long day.

"I don't want to hurt you, my child."

Lies. You knew that all he said were nasty lies, but sometimes it was easier to believe lies than the truth.

"Make it stop!" You would beg him. How long had you been there?

You could remember Thanos touching your face gently, which was so comforting after everything you had endured. At the same time, it made you sick. You couldn't believe that the one who had caused you distress could have such a gentle touch.

"You're ready," Thanos had realized. The Other had appeared right before you and his fingertips were pressed against one another, making him look like he was deep in thought. You had no idea what they were doing, but the next thing you knew was that you no longer felt pain.

The chains, the strings, they were all invisible. It looked like you were free, but the weight of the metal was still pressed against your skin. Had you imagined it?

No,

Deep down you knew that the strings were still attached to you, but they had only made it seem like you had a choice.

"Excellent," The Other's voice surprised you. You merely blinked and you had returned to the vessel. Loki was above you and the Other was standing right there, "You found him."

The Other used his powers to push Loki off you. Shock had made your entire body numb and you couldn't scramble up to your feet. It felt like your limbs had been turned to stone and you were anchored to the floor.

Loki got up slowly with his arms raised in surrender. He was well aware of the powers the Other had and Loki wasn't going to fight him now. If he followed you for long enough, then maybe just maybe he could come up with a plan. Loki looked at you as you finally got up. As you stood next to the Other, you couldn't believe your legs carried you. Something was so wrong. You felt sick and you couldn't shake it off. It felt like something had snapped within you, but you didn't know what.

"He is waiting for you," The Other explained as he turned to walk away, most likely to wherever Thanos was waiting.

Loki had no choice but to follow, and you walked behind, making sure he didn't try to escape.

Why did Loki make you remember that? What did he think he would obtain with making you relive something so awful? It hadn't worked, right?

There he was. Thanos was standing by a hole that had been ripped into the side of the ship. Magic was keeping it sealed so the vacuum of space wouldn't suck everyone into it. But still, the emptiness of space wasn't frightening at all compared to the titan who was standing right there.

Loki swallowed thickly as he saw him again. It had been years but he remembered everything like it had happened yesterday. Seeing Thanos standing in the middle of the piles of bodies, in the room that smelled like smoke and blood, was sickening. Thanos hadn't just killed a part of Loki. He had just slaughtered these innocent Asgardians with the help of his so-called children. He had taken you.

He will make you long for something as sweet as pain

Loki closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. They had stayed true to their threats.

"I know what it’s like to lose," Thanos turned around now that he knew Loki was there. At long last. Thanos had not forgotten what Loki had failed to do, and Thanos was a man of his words.

"To feel so desperately that you’re right yet to fail, nonetheless," Thanos continued dramatically and slowly made his way closer to Loki. He saw Thor on the ground, bloodied and weak. The brother of Loki. As tempting as the idea was to torture Thor right in front of the god of mischief, Thanos had different plans. If there was only one way Loki would ever give him the tesseract, it was going to be in order to save you. You were Loki's true weakness.

"It’s frightening. Turns the legs to jelly. I ask you, to what end?" Thanos looked Loki right in the eye. He could see that Loki was afraid, yet Loki never looked away from him. He was either too proud or fearless. Thanos had liked that about Loki initially. But he had failed Thanos greatly. It had cost him infinity stones.

"Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. And now, it’s here. Or should I say I am," Thanos finished his dramatics because it was time for action, to turn the wheels and see the bigger picture. This was the end of an era and a new beginning for a different universe. In Thanos' mind, only he could bring balance and order. He gestured for you to walk up to his side.

Too afraid of the idea of what would happen if you disobeyed, you walked right up to Thanos, feeling like a fly that was willingly flying into cobwebs. When you were close enough, you kneeled and dipped your head so he wouldn't see the worry in your eyes. It wasn't there before.

"I didn't obtain the tesseract from him, but I am sure that he has it, father," You muttered quietly. Why did you say that? There was a pounding headache growing within your skull. You didn't know what was right or wrong anymore and you couldn't fight it either.

Father

Loki clenched his jaw as he followed the situation closely. Hearing that made his blood boil. He wanted to rip Thanos apart after this. Never in a million years had he imagined this, to see you pledge your alliance to Thanos, kneeling before him and respecting him. Thanos didn't deserve that. Hell, Thanos didn't even deserve to look at you. It was wrong.

At that moment, Loki worried that his trick hadn't worked. That the memories hadn't awakened anything within you. That it was all too late now. This was the end, the one thing in life that was inevitable.

"I know, my child," Thanos let out a sigh. Then he grabbed you by your jaw like he had done before, forcing you to face him. "I know he has it," He repeated and suddenly his touch turned violent. He closed his hand around your neck tightly and you gasped for air helplessly. Your hands - tiny compared to his - grabbed his fingers and you tried to pry them apart, but he was tougher than you. Panic shot through your entire body when you realized you couldn't breathe. It turned your blood to ice and your poor heart was beating so hard you were afraid it would explode.

What was he doing?

The moment he pulled you to your feet, so high that you had to stand on the tips of your toes, he spoke, "The tesseract or her life," Thanos smiled devilishly, showing no remorse. He didn't care about you. You were a pawn in his game and if you would die at his feet, he would just walk over you and carry on.

"You choose," Thanos put the weight of the world on Loki's shoulders.

Loki wanted to rescue you from that monster, but he wasn't stupid. With all of Thanos' children surrounding him, he knew that he would be dead before he could reach you. Nonetheless, it didn't mean he wouldn't try. Seeing you clawing at Thanos' hand, fighting for something as simple as air and not getting it was heartbreaking. Loki's body was trembling with hatred and hurt. Tears blurred his vision and he struggled to keep his composure.

How had it all come to this?

The thought of Thanos with the tesseract was haunting. Soon he would have all the stones and he would destroy reality as they knew it. But Loki could live with that. He couldn't live knowing you had died when he had a chance to save you. Perhaps he was selfish for choosing you over the entire galaxy, but Loki didn't care. Nothing mattered if he would lose you again.

"Alright, stop!" Loki made up his mind. "I choose her," Finally, Thanos released his grip on you and let you fall on the cold ground. Your hands wrapped around your throat gently and you coughed painfully. It took you a while to finally breathe again, which was a huge relief for both Loki and you.

And now Loki was holding the tesseract. It was so bright that it painted the space blue. It was almost too bright to look at. The power within the stone was so strong, you could sense it like heat from the sun in spring after a long and cold winter. Loki was tempted to use the tesseract to grab you and escape, but he quickly shut those thoughts away. Thanos would follow him for the end of all days.

"You...you really are the worst, brother," Thor was following the situation to the best of his abilities. He spat out blood as he watched Loki holding the cube. It made him sad. Everything they ever knew was destroyed in the name of power, pure and raw power that the tesseract could offer. Was it worth it?

Loki glanced at Thor who was too weak to even get up. He didn't care too much about what he had to say. Then he looked at you. There you were, on the ground struggling to breathe after Thanos had crushed your windpipe. There was bruising on your skin that would only deepen with time. Time that you possibly wouldn't have after this.

He saw the tears running down your face, but you didn't sob and whimper. It seemed like you were as still as stone. You couldn't bring yourself to face Loki.

"I assure you," Loki found his voice and he addressed both you and Thor with his words, "the sun will shine on us again."

What did he mean by that?

You were ashamed to tilt your gaze to see him, to see the tesseract. The damn infinity stone had ruined it all! It was why Thanos had wrecked Loki, why he had destroyed you too. Why so many people were now dead. If you had one wish that could come true, you would wish for the tesseract to be destroyed forever.

Thanos had his back turned to you. Loki was slowly but surely making his way closer to the titan, almost like he was afraid to move but he forced his body to comply. Why? Why would he trade the tesseract for your life? It seemed like whatever spell you had been under had worn off. You were free, but it was more terrifying than being under Thanos' control under these circumstances. He didn't need you, and soon enough the vessel would be blown to bits. All of you, even Loki.

Would you be able to tell him how sorry you were?

"Your optimism is misplaced, Asgardian," Thanos wasn't fond of Loki's strange choice of words.

"Well for one thing I'm not Asgardian," Loki replied quickly. It sounded a little bit witty, which was confusing. Where did the boost of confidence come from? Was he up to something?

"And for another," He continued dramatically. This time it was Thanos' turn to be confused.

"We have a Hulk."

Everything that happened after that happened so fast that you could hardly keep up with it. Loki dropped the tesseract and he leapt toward you. Thanos barely had time to turn around when a huge, green beast appeared out of nowhere and it seemed angry. It was eager to fight the titan.

Loki had you up on your feet in no time and the two of you ran away from the immediate danger. He led you to one of the many corridors on the vessel until no one could possibly see you. They were too distracted by the Hulk to even think about Loki and you. It wasn't until he was right in front of you that you could comprehend what was going on. He was kneeling on the floor and you were sat against the wall for support. Your hands were trembling so hard, it seemed like you were freezing up and you couldn't make it stop.

Loki had tricked Thanos.

He was relieved when you didn't fight him, yet he was unsure if it meant you were no longer under Thanos' control, or if you were simply too tired to fight.

He cupped your face gently and searched for answers in your expression. Back in the day, he had been able to read you like an open book.

You put your hands around his wrists and pulled him closer. You were desperate for the comfort he could bring in the midst of the living hell you were stuck in. How did he not hate you?

"I'm s- I'm sorry," You whimpered, finally cracking like a plate that had fallen on the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," Loki couldn't possibly let you apologize for what had happened. He was possibly the one person who understood exactly what you had gone through and what it was like to follow orders from that monster. There was not an ounce of judgement to be found in his heart.

What mattered now was that you were together again. You could come up with a plan, but you had to work fast. As much as Loki wanted to hold you and comfort you, to feel that you were real, he knew there wasn't enough time for that.

"We need to get off this thing," Loki's mind was running a marathon as he tried to come up with an escape plan.

"They're gonna blow it up," You explained, feeling how bad your lips were quivering as you spoke. The moment Thanos had what he came for, they would leave and destroy everything they'd leave behind.

Shivers ran down Loki's spine as he heard that. It only confirmed that you had to act quickly. Loki wasn't sure how long the Hulk could fight Thanos. Would they be able to rescue Thor? How much time did they have?

The blood in the wound you had caused on his face was beginning to dry. It looked gnarly and all you wanted was to make it all better. Knowing that you had hurt him made you sick with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Loki. I didn't w-want to fight you," You sniffled, breaking Loki's train of thought. For the first time, he felt lost. He didn't really know what to do. Were there any escape pods left?

"I know," Loki assured you. "I know that. I was in your shoes when I was on Midgard," He explained briefly, unaware whether or not you knew of it. Had Thanos talked about him to you?

A sense of impending doom weighed you two down. If this was the end, then at least you were together, right? You and Loki against the nine realms, you would face the end together if there wasn't another way out. Whenever you had pictured your final day, you had imagined something entirely different than this. You would be old together, with hundreds of stories of your shared life. You would be surrounded by people you cared about. It would be calm, the exact opposite of this.

"I love you," You needed to tell him that. Any moment could be your last. The world would cave in and you would be gone forever.

Loki hated how much that sounded like a farewell, but at the same time, it had been so long since he had last heard those three words, let alone from you. Perhaps it was sick and twisted, but it made him smile.

"I love you too," Loki was sure of it. He had never stopped loving you and he didn't think he was even capable of that.

It seemed like you acted on instinct. You found enough strength to push yourself right against Loki. There was no hesitation in your actions as you kissed him. Loki closed his eyes when he felt your trembling lips pressed against his. Your scent, still sweet and familiar despite it all, punched its way into his lungs. He held your face gently but the kiss was passionate, almost despairing.

You wanted to scream out in agony because at last, you were reunited with Loki but not in the way you imagined. You felt like the shell of the person you were before, and now you knew for a fact that Thanos had done the exact same things to Loki. That titan had killed your souls beyond repair. But all you could do was kiss Loki and hold him and hope that he could feel how sorry you were. You didn't want to let go, afraid that if you did, it would all end. Just like that.

Loki broke the kiss, and for a moment you rested your foreheads against one another like you had done so many times before. It was comforting. You both wanted to stay close like that, but you recognised that you couldn't. Letting go of each other and getting up on your weary feet was so incredibly difficult, but it had to be done.

The world around you began to glow brighter. You quickly held onto Loki, startled as the mysterious light surrounded the two of you.

Loki held his breath as he studied the warm glimmering magic that had swallowed you. In between the bright rays of light, he saw all the colours of the rainbow. Shimmering. He saw reds and blues, yellows and greens, shining brighter than the other and it changed smoothly.

The Bifrost

He didn't know how or why, but he knew for a fact that you were in the magical portal. He couldn't see beyond it anymore. He couldn't feel the floor beneath his feet. It was like he was levitating mid-air, with you tightly in his arms.

Heimdall must've conjured the forefathers, letting their powers flow through him one last time. Where to? Loki assumed that anywhere would be better than where they had been mere seconds ago.

And it was a miracle.

A/N: I think it would've made more sense for Heimdall to send Thor or Loki to earth rather than the Hulk. So that's why I ended it like that

I'd absolutely love to hear your feedback! <3

TAGS:

Loki: @yuna-belikova @ornella0910 @castiels-majestic-wings @lucywrites02 @myraiswack @prettysbliss @weirdfangirl2416

Forever Taglist: @iraniq @embrycallsgirl @blackroseyaz @badass-psycho @r-alexandra01 @p3aches13 @your-pixels-are-showing @disasterren @iamsuperjenna @yuna-belikova @ornella0910 @optimisticpeacecollector5 @thehumanistsdiary @your-pixels-are-showing @klanceiscannon14 @i-have-arrived-bitch

#Loki #Loki fic #Loki fanfiction #Loki oneshot #Loki x You #Loki x Reader #Loki x Y/N #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #tw angst #Loki angst #Loki/You

184 notes · View notes

jerrienelock · 3 years

Text

Royalty - Jesy Nelson

Being part of Royalty has its perks but over time those perks have a way of becoming rather tedious.

This was true for the Princess of Avonlea, Jessica Nelson, or as her closest relatives say Jesy. Since the perks had begun to retire, she had found herself looking for new things to keep her entertained.

She knew every crook and cranny of the kingdom, every escape route, every guard, every servant, but the one thing she didn't know was what was behind the golden gates that lead down to an opening in the forest of trees.

She would often admire the scenery of it from her bedroom window, which is where she finds herself now.

Her gaze stuck on the window, the faint gold of the gate blinging in the sunlight as it opens welcoming her father back from his weekly trip to his long-time friends down in a different kingdom. She had begged her father to go with him, but it wasn't a princess's duty to leave the walls of the castle. It was rather the Kings and Princes- the King in search for an applicant fit suit for the Princess, or the prince to go out and marry the nearest Princess to his liking. However, the reason her father going out all the time was not for the search of a companion for her, for she was still below the age of her meeting the requirements to marry a prince, but rather for the use of having fun with a friend- that had a son.

She had met her father's friend once or twice, but the old man had not lived up to her standards. The older King seeming rather conceited and narcissistic, just like her own. She had also met his son, Orson, an older lad just a year older than her. He was charming at first, but then he started to act like his father which threw the girl off him rather quickly. So now the thought of having to marry someone that her father chose makes her sick to the stomach. The two never got along and were nothing alike, so it was bound that the old ruler would choose someone more like him than his daughter.

Jesy sucks in her breath as her tailor pulls the string on her new corset tightly. The action pulling the girl's waist and stomach in harshly, but also lifting her breasts in support. It felt like the wind was almost knocked out of her and the brunette was left gasping for a breath.

The tailor proceeds to tie the string together before helping the young adult in a new gown that her mother had got made just for her.

"Twirl." The tailor demands stepping back, a clothing pin sticking out between his lips. Jesy does as told and twirls delicately, the dress lifting slightly.

The tailor seemed to approve of the action as he takes the pin from his lips and packs his stuff away.

Jesy thanks him, watching him leave before she steps closer to the arched window in her bedroom. She peers closer past the guards who are seeming to reopen the gates to the castle, and at a small carriage filled to the brim with boxes. You and your father sit in the front. Your father, a rather mediocre burly man with a moustache wearing a cloth dungaree that looked as though it seemed to have seen better days. And You, sporting a twice turned gown, the colour of Jesy's black buttons on her dress.

She has not seen people not so royal enter the kingdoms gates for as long as she could remember. But then again, when one from outside would venture in she would be kept hidden in hopes for the 'behaviour' of the less fortunate would not rub off on her.

However, on this day it was different.

A knock on Jesy's door tears her attention away from the window. Her mother's head appears from behind the double doors, a warm smile coating her lips. "Jessica." Her mother proceeds to enter the room, her eyes trailing over her daughter's body. "You look beautiful. Fits your physique quite nicely."

"Thank you." Jesy bows to her mother, picking the sides of her new dress up gently. "Was there anything you needed?"

Her mother purses her lips, "Yes, we have some guests from the village."

"The village?" Although Jesy does tend to dream about leaving the castle to see what lies ahead. She has left the comfort of the home a few times but it was years ago and the distant memory rather seems like a dream to the Princess - which is why she chooses to falsely believe that her parents don't want her going out.

"The one just outside the gates." The mother raises a brow and her lips form into a frown, "Has your father not taken you out to, see?"

Jesy shakes her head causing her mother to sigh, "That man, I swear." She mutters to herself but Jesy was just able to catch it. A smile shortly after makes its way onto the Queen's face "Anyhow, come along now, don't want our guests waiting too long."

Jesy follows her down to the foyer of the castle where the man, your father, and you stand in front of the King. The burly man in the dungaree laughs merrily at her fathers' words, but the Princess could tell it's just to not get on his bad side.

"Her Royal Highness." The man notices the girl and bows down slightly, you do the same with a curtsy.

Jesy gives a small smile her too bowing down only to be shortly stopped by her mother. "Jessica, this is Y/f/n and his daughter Y/n. Y/n will be a help for you."

Jesy's eyebrows clash together, "A help? I thought Mr Wilburn was my help?", Her father laughs at her words.

"He's just a tailor, not a help."

The Princess frowns and her father continues to laugh.

"Okay, hush now dear." The Queen places a hand on her husbands' arms making his laughter die down. "Y/n is going to be your help, but also be someone to keep you company."

"Company? Where are you two going?"

"Your father and I are going out to find a suitor for you." Her mother replies, "But we will only be leaving in a few days just to make sure Y/n gets settled in properly."

Jesy's frown deepens and her jaw clenches slightly. "Oh." Having heard enough from her parents, she turns to face your father who was now standing nervously, his hands peering behind the straps of his dungarees. Jesy puts on a fake smile "It was nice to meet you, sir." She turns to you, "And you Y/n, but I am afraid I will not be needing a Help or company. I have the staff and guards to do that."

"Jessica!" Her father huffs appalled at his daughters' behaviour. "This is supposed to benefit you and the Y/l/n's."

"How does it benefit me? Because you two must go out and find me a suitor, a possible eligible heir for the throne. I'm perfectly capable of taking over."

The King raises his brows in surprise before he doubles over and a sheer pure laugh of amusement comes barrelling out of his mouth. Jesy groans and storms off back to her room.

"I'm sorry about all this. I do not have a clue on what's gotten into her lately." The Queen profusely apologises to you and your father whilst the King continues to laugh his lungs out.

***

Jesy now stands in her usual spot by her window, staring out into the open. Her face is emotionless as she chooses not to let anyone see how she feels about what had just happened - despite releasing her anger down in the foyer.

It had only been a mere few minutes from when she stormed off to where her mother now stands once again with her head shoved from behind Jesy's door.

"Darling?" Her mother calls out, a slight frown curved on her lips. "Are you okay?"

Jesy doesn't acknowledge the woman's presence, rather her gaze continues to focus on the scenery- only being broken for a few seconds by the sight of your father leaving the castle and the King waving him off with a bright smile.

The Queen steps further into the princesses' room, the door widening enough to reveal you standing cautiously behind the older woman. "Jesy. Can I speak with you?" The Queen says a bit more firmly. Despite having been in the young girls' shoes once before, the woman just couldn't help but let her patience run low with the princess.

"Wait here please." She alerts you and you quickly nod. The Queen closes the door and makes her way over to her daughter.

"Jessica, I know how you are feeling about this." She rests a gentle hand on Jesy's arm. "But this is for the sake of the Kingdom."

Jesy finally looks over to her mother, "I can rule the kingdom myself."

"I know dear, but please listen, your father wouldn't understand that and there won't be much of anything I can do."

Jesy sighs, "I know mum."

The Queen frowns slightly, "How about I try and persuade him to find you someone that you'll like, and better this place."

Jesy stares at her mother in thought. There is possibly no way that the older woman would be able to convince such a man as the King to go against his set task, but a glimmer of hope from the sincerity of her mother's word ignited in the pits of her stomach. She breaks out into a soft smile, "Okay, if you can do that please."

Her mother grins and nods. Jesy continues to speak, "But why are you going to find me a suitor, I'm not of the right age yet. I'll be turning eighteen in a month?"

"Your father wanted a head start like this will be his birthday gift for you. A husband." Jesy frowns and the Queen quickly adds, "That you will love! Anyhow, I'll be gone to show Y/n her room for now. Ms Lee will come to bring you down for tea when it's ready."

***

"Her Royal Highness, tea is almost ready and the Queen would like you to wash up." Ms Lee, a long time staff member of the castle calls for Jesy, bringing the girl out of her enraptured state of thought. Jesy turns to acknowledge the older woman, "Thank you, I will be down now."

The staff member nods her head and whisks away from the room. Jesy heads out of her bedroom and into a nearby bathroom where she quickly washes her hands and straightens out her dress and hair to seem more presentable. After that, she heads down to the banquet hall where a few of the staff members are lined up along the walls, with a few still bringing in plates of food. Her parents and you sit at the table, evenly spread out.

The divine smell of the last meal of the day wafts into the young girl's nose, causing her stomach to grumble quite noisily to her dismay. Jesy mentally sends her thanks to the lord that no one had heard it due to the amount of noise being created in the room.

The girl glides over to her usual seat, which had just so happened to be right opposite to you. Jesy refrains from making eye contact with her father, for she is still greatly unpleased with the man's words and how he treated her just earlier that day. But she manages to make eye contact with her mother who sends a delightful smile her way, obviously glad that the young princess had stripped her mood, even if it is technically only to her. You had taken a look at the girl when she had taken a seat, but your look was discreet and quick so the older girl didn't catch you in the act.

The dinner was quite lengthy to Jesy's dismay, longer than usual, she had to sit at the table due to her parents taking the time to get to know you. She twirls her fork in her hand watching as the pasta that had been served was effortlessly swirling around the metal spokes. Jesy pays no mind to your conversation with her parents until she is forcefully brought into it.

"Jessica." Her mother calls for Jesy, politely dabbing a handkerchief on the sides of her mouth. Jesy looks over to her mother. "I think you should take the time to get to know our guest." Jesy nods at her mothers' request, had not wanting to put up another fight. "Thank you, dear. When you are finished take Y/n up to her room, or yours and just try to get along please."

Jesy sends another soft nod over to the queen and quickly finishes her meal and takes you up to her room.

At first, the both of you don't speak, with Jesy sitting on her bed and you standing cautiously near her cupboard. Until Jesy breaks the silence and introduces herself properly which then leads to you and her falling into a short conversation that ends up with you and Jesy laughing your lungs out on her bed.

The next day, the King and Queen were set off on their voyage, Jesy and You had waved them off and then headed back inside. Since then things were silent. Apart from the few chats Jesy and you had, nothing extremely exciting had happened. It had merely been two weeks since the two authority figures had left when Jesy had begun to start questioning you about the place beyond the walls.

You told her everything. You told her about the family business you help your dad out with, you told her about the market, and you told her about how carrying everyone is.

"It must be nice." Jesy smiles away from you, staring out to the woods. "Living in the village."

"I can take you out to the village." You offer, clasping your hands together in front of you. Jesy turns to you, her brows furrowing "But I'm prohibited from leaving the castle without permission from my parents."

You shake your head, "Her Majesty gave me permission to take you out as long as Sir Kingsley keeps guard of us."

A small smile draws onto Jesy's face and her eyes lighten up with joy, "Really!?" She takes herself away from her window and heads over to you. "That's amazing! Truly splendid. When do we leave?"

Your purse your lips in thought, "Well Princess Jessica it's truly up to you."

Jesy picks her dress up on the sides and heads straight for her walk-in cupboard, "We must leave now!" She pokes her head out from the cupboard, "And you can call me Jesy, no more of this formal stuff."

Jesy slips back into the walk-in cupboard and comes back out a few minutes later, this time in a more casual outfit, a blue pleated dress with a cropped black blazer on top. "Do you need to get dressed, or are you going to go like that?"

You look down at your frail gown and shrug slightly, your hands still clasped together. "I wouldn't want to bother you Prin- Jesy or delay you of your entry to the village. The earlier we leave the longer we can stay."

Jesy smiles and nods, "Then we shall leave right this moment." She grabs your hands and pulls you down to the foyer where Sir Kingsley had just closed the main entrance.

"Sir Kingsley!" Jesy calls for the guard, "Please take us to the village."

The guard eyes the Princess suspiciously before allowing his look to fall onto you. He raises his brows waiting for your confirmation on the request. You send a nod and the man swiftly turns back around and opens the main entrance again. "Come along Princess." He guides you both over to an open carriage and props the door open allowing you and Jesy to get in.

"I didn't expect to have you wanting to go out today Princess, otherwise I would have had the carriage prepared for your travels." Sir Kingsley apologises bowing his head.

Jesy waves her hand in dismissal, "It's perfectly fine." She smiles a contagious smile which causes the guard to mirror the young girls' expression.

***

The day out was delightful and opened up Jesy's eyes to the outside world properly. She had been able to experience many things that had sent her hurtling back into distant memories of when her father had taken her down. Like the puppy that a vendor was holding made her remember when her father had let her pet the small dog, and even carry it around for the remainder of the evening until it was time to go. She had met your father and had grown quite a liking to him, having stayed at his house for dinner. Lastly, You had shown her around and bought her some fruit from the market until Sir Kingsley had notified you both of the time.

"Thank you! Thank you so much for taking me out Y/n." Jesy yells in excitement, dropping down onto her bed.

You bow towards the girl, "Anything for you Princess." You drop down next to Jesy and she swiftly moves onto her side facing you.

The princess sets a gentle hand on your arm and strokes it with the tip of her fingers. You allow your gaze to fall to her touch. "What are you doing?" You question turning to face her. Jesy carefully pushes herself closer to you.

"You." She breathes out, "You make me feel things that I don't know how to control."

You look at the girl shocked, "Oh."

"I hated you- well disliked you merely two weeks ago and now I think I've fallen for you."

You stare at the girl, unsure of what to say until an unknown ball of confidence comes hurtling straight at you and a desire for the girl has its clutch on your gown and it just pulls you in. Until you are left pulling in the royal figure and her lips are on yours.

The kiss is sensual and almost passionate, one Jesy nor you had ever experienced. Jesy pulls you in closer to her, but instead, you shifted your position so that you were straddling her. You sit back and gaze down at the goddess below you and delve right in and peck her lips.

Carefully you slip the black blazer down the Princesses arms and ghost your lips over her partially exposed neck. Jesy drops her head back slightly, relishing in the feeling of you on top of her. This whole experience right now is new to the young girl, she had not done such an act before. It's a rebellious feeling that swarms the girl's head, it intoxicates her and she is left reeling in for more of that feeling.

You part away from her and slip out of your dress before connecting your lips to hers, your hand cupping her cheek while the other holds you up. Jesy sighs warmly into the kiss, her hands trailing down your bare waist.

"Do... you... want... to... do... this?" You question between each break that Jesy would allow.

"Yes."

And from that moment, a forbidden romance had been formed.

***

You were the first to wake from her slumber, slipping out from under Jesy and headed towards the bathroom- not before slipping on your clothes.

You open the tap and rinse your toothbrush before applying a slick layer of toothpaste. You quickly brush your teeth and rinse your mouth and stand back up only to be met by Jesy standing directly behind you.

A gasp escapes your mouth and you settle your hand over your heart. Jesy laughs at your reaction, taking a step closer towards you, she then rests her hands on your clothed waist. "Goodmorning." She hushes resting her head on your shoulder.

You lean back into the royal figure, "Morning."

Jesy moves her hands so now that her arms are wrapped around your abdomen. "How was last night?" You question and Jesy blushes profusely.

"It was nice."

You trail a finger over Jesy's arm with a smile. "Had you done it with someone else?"

Jesy shakes her head and your smile drops down into a frown. "What!? You should've told me. I would have gone slow."

Jesy giggles burying her head in the crook of your neck, "It's fine."

The two of you stand there for a few more seconds, enjoying the presence of each other when you're ripped apart by a loud bang on the door. Jesy jerks away startled and quickly peaks her head out the door where Ms Lee is stood concerned.

Jesy steps out and closes the door before the staff member could see you. "Ms Lee? Did you need anything?"

"I just came to check up on you. You sounded quite ill last night." Jesy turns red at the older woman's words. "Yes I was, but there's no need to worry, I'm doing perfectly fine now."

Ms Lee nods at Jesy's words but she still holds a face of concern, "Well if you need anything, you know where to find me."

The older woman then leaves and Jesy slips her head back into the bathroom.

"I think we were a bit too loud."

You raise your brows and laugh slightly, "Oh really?"

Jesy rolls her eyes playfully, "Yes. Now come on, we have to go get something to eat."

***

A mere two more weeks had passed and You and Jesy were closer than ever. You had done everything with her, took her out on dates to secluded spots in which you had discovered months before on having to work for the Royals. Taught her how to bake a couple of things when no one was around and eventually You moved into her room with her.

Jesy had deeply loved and enjoyed the last few weeks with you, but as the time comes closing in with her parents' grand arrival, the crashing reality of what she had been doing with you had taken a dark and unsettling turn. For a few days, she had been feeling quite queasy and tried to distance herself away from you, an action made to reduce the pain of your departure from her life. You had started to notice this and eventually had enough of the silence from the girl and got her to open up to you.

Your heart cracked.

"Let's run away," You suggest grabbing onto Jesy's shaking hands. The Princess looks up with her teary eyes, "What?"

"Let's run away." You repeat, "Start our own family. Live a normal life."

Jesy tears her gaze away from you, "What about everyone here? The staff, My mother. I can't just leave them."

You place a hand on her cheek and pull her attention back onto you. "They'll understand."

Jesy shakes her head, "I can't. My whole life is here, I can't just drop it."

You frown, heart sinking, "Then we can make one here."

"Two Queens? That type of thing is unheard of. It will cause chaos, denial."

"We can change that Jes."

Jesy shakes her head, "No we can't. It will forever be a King and Queen. A King will always be the most important. No one would take us seriously if there were to be two Queens ruling."

Jesy moves from out of your grasp, and she doesn't look at you. "I think it's best that you leave. Our affair can no longer continue."

You nod, tears swelling in your eyes while your heart completely breaks. "Understood Her Royal Highness" You curtsy and quickly walk out but stop at the door for a second. "Just know Princess of Avonlea, that if you need an escape, I will be here for you."

Jesy doesn't respond, she stares down at her feet waiting for her room door to close shut. And then the tears come hurling out, her heartaches terribly and her chest feels like it's closing in. But she pushes past the feeling and situates herself in her usual spot by the window, watching down at the newly arrival of the Prince (And her parents) she will soon have to marry talking to one of the staff and you leaving the premises completely and utterly distraught.

The Princess of Avonlea will have to get reaccustomed to her daily routine.

***

Masterlist; Celebrities

#jesy louise nelson #Jesy Nelson x reader

12 notes · View notes

phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust · 3 years

Text

Just a quick fanfic I wrote, where John and Paul are an old married couple, and John has a heart attack : (Hope you enjoy (enjoy??)

July 19th, 2016

“You can see him now,” the nurse said kindly.

Paul replied with a simple, “Thank you.”

He was in a hospital, nervously waiting to see his husband, John, after hearing he’d had a heart attack earlier that day. Paul had been at the studio, working on a song, when he’d got the phone call from John’s assistant.

“Paul? John’s had a heart attack, and he’s in hospital–”

“Is he okay?” was his knee-jerk, desperate reaction.

“I- I’m not sure right now. We only arrived at the hospital a minute or so ago, so I don’t know what his condition is. They’re taking him in for surgery now.”

Paul took an unsteady breath, then said, “Okay…what hospital is he at? I’ll meet you there.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d received a phone call like this – he thought back to the 80s, when John had been shot, but against all odds survived. That was back when he was still with Yoko, and before Linda had passed.

Though the damage this time was arguably less drastic and appalling, it still managed to evoke a dreadful fear in Paul.

He knocked on the door, softly asking, “John?” as he walked in.

“Paul!” he half-shouted. Strangely enough, he was quite lively for someone who’d only just had a heart attack and undergone surgery.

Weakly, he said, “Hiya baby…” Paul tried to summon some strength and optimism in voice, but it was unequivocally underpinned by nerves. “How are you?” he said as he took a seat close to Johns bed.

“Im fucking great Paul,” he said smiling a wide smile; it proved to be contagious as Paul asked, “What’re you so happy about? Youre meant to be miserable and tired and all that.”

“Well, im just in a good mood!”

“Jesus, I’ll never understand you.” He muttered with a smirk as John smiled back at him. Paul continued, “Your kids are gonna be here soon – Julian might be awhile because he lives over in England, but Sean’s already on his way.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the paparazzi gettin’ here?”

Paul gave him a little grin, and grumbled, “Someone’s already tipped them off, the place is bloody surrounded outside.”

The excess of attention they received, especially in recent years after coming out, would typically aggravate John and throw him into a rant – this time however he simply chuckled at it. “Knew it…”

Paul tried to continue smiling, but seeing John lying there in a hospitable bed, looking like complete crap, and presumably feeling like it too, he wanted to crumble into tears and just drip to the ground; but he’d decided that, for now, he’d try and be strong for John.

Thinking back to that split second though, where all Paul had known was that John – his John, his husband – was in hospital, and he’d had no idea if he’d survive or not, Paul couldn’t help but let himself falter to an overbearing dejection.

His face fell into his hands, and he sighed, “God John…”

John looked over to him, “Paul?” He dropped his comic tone, recognising that Paul was too upset to appreciate his out of character optimism.

Paul shook his head as a response, signalling ‘no’ as answer. “Come on Macca…Im alright, aren’t I? I survived!”

“Yeah…” he moaned, “but you could’ve died. And I- ” he paused as his voice began to shiver, he was verging on the edge of tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Paul, one of us are gonna have to croak sometime – and let’s face it, your much healthier than I am, so it’s probably not gonna be you.”

“Don’t say that…” he whined.

“Well, I don’t what to say Macca,”

Lifting his head from his hands, he sighed sorrowfully once again and said, “Oh, I don’t know…Can’t you say something corny?”

“Alright; Paulie, love of my life, light of my world, I am – to everyone’s surprise – immortal! And thus, I will never die, and we will be united in our kingdom of love, for ever.” Paul simpered at this, then muttered, “Aren’t I lucky to have an immortal husband.”

“Certainly are…”

Paul took the others hand, ensuring he was careful as not to hurt his husband. “Gowan Macca, get in.” John said, signalling for Paul to climb into his hospital bed

“You sure you’ve got the strength?” he was hesitant for fear that he might hurt John in his weakened state. “Im not dead Macca! Besides, I miss you…”

“We’ve only been apart for a day!” he retorted. “And I already miss ye!”

Smiling bashfully at this, Paul stood up and slowly edged his way closer to the bed, then climbed in, embracing John in a loose cuddle. He burrowed his face in Johns shoulder, muttering “You better not be lying about that immortal thing…”

“Have I ever lied to you before?” “Yes – repeatedly actually. Pathologically even.” He joked in response.

“Well…im not this time.” Paul looked up from Johns shoulder, and tenderly he replied, “I know yer not.”

And with that, he sat up a little more, and leaned in for a kiss from his husband.

They were interrupted when a nurse entered: “Mr McCartney? Your daughter’s here.”

Slightly embarrassed, he said, “Oh, okay – thank you.” The nurse exited, and Paul continued, “Im just gonna go talk to her in the hall for a minute – don’t you dare die on me now!”

“Im immortal baby!” he said excitably.

“Course you are…”

“Dad! How’s John doing?” She, like Paul, maintained her usual optimism, but it was skewed with genuine concern for both John and her Dad.

“He’s doing okay, y’know. The doctors say he’s fine and all that, but…”

She finished the sentence for him, as he’d trailed of near the end. “But it’s a sign.” “Yeah.” He said cynically. She affirmed, “He’s gonna be okay Dad.”

“Yeah, I suppose so – but still…”

“Did the doctors offer a prediction on how long they think he has left?”

“Not yet – they said it’s too vague right now, and he isn’t suffering from any immediate health risks, but they’ll get back to me with a prediction soon enough.” “I think he’s gonna be okay; and I mean that! Make a few dietary changes and that, and id say he’s still got quite a few years left in him.”

“Yeah?” Paul asked hopefully – he understood Stella wasn’t a doctor and of course wasn’t equipped to make that sort of judgement, but hearing her earnestly testify to that belief still offered him confidence.

“Yeah.”

#mclennon #fanfic #mine #mclennon fanfic #angst #fluff

32 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

The Handmaiden🌹1

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

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

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string.

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it.

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected.

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention.

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room.

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift.

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. “He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap.

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear.

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you.

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark!fic #dark fic #the handmaiden #mcu #marvel #captain america

1K notes · View notes

bangtancentricsblog · 4 years

Text

hell hath no fury

↳ they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned God was not an exception

❒ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

❒ genre: angst, some fluff maybe, re-imagined bible story

❒ alternative universe: biblical, modern, married

❒ rating: NC 17

❒ word count: 2.8 k

warnings/disclosures: this isn't meant to mock religion or anything so please don't see it that way!, a whole lot of other gods/goddesses that i don't know enough about but decided to use for this fic, LUCIFER JUNGKOOK, GOD MC, APHRODITE SEOKJIN, BES YOONGI, MICHAEL TAEHYUNG, talks of war, Jungkook and MC have a daughter, they talk in circles lmao, mc doesn't let things go….nothing too bad though so i hope you enjoy it…..

main ml • AO3

It’s bright, so uncomfortably bright. Jungkook likes to think that maybe the white monotone and the open concept of the living room isn't because you held onto that disgusting idea of purity. To be honest he’s absolutely positive you’ve never known purity in your life, but he’s not one to judge. He’s not quite sure why he’s here but he supposed it's a good sign when his wife finally decides she wants to see him, especially of her own volition. There’s something about the solitude of your house that makes his skin tingle almost as if one of his brothers were near. Though one can never be certain when it comes to you, especially considering those horny bastards had been after you way before you two had even gotten married.

His leg has begun to bounce, a nervous tick he picked up from one of his human friends, but to say he’s nervous is a long shot. In truth he’s excited, the last time he’d seen you was during the wildfires of 2017 and that already seemed so long ago. Sure he’d caused it but what other choice did he really have? It’s not everyday one so easily gets to see their wife, especially one who has gone out of her way to make it known that although they were indeed still married they were in fact separated. He sighs heavily, manspreading while leaning his head against the back of the couch, he can’t wait, he thinks allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

Jin stares at you, eyes half lidded the way they always are when he can smell the love in the air. Though it's not just in the air, the scent of love has heavily wrapped itself to your being like a second skin and he finds that not for the first time he wants to know who exactly had such an effect on you. His cheek rests in his open palm, his stare taking in every bit of you in search of a possible answer, but alas he can’t seem to find a crack in your hand crafted mask. The garden you sit in is like that of a fairytale, Jin would know he’s read his fair share, but he digresses, he’s not quite sure why he’s here though. Sure he loved having tea with you but recently something had changed and when the goddess of love and beauty says he wished he could have tea with you in a beautiful garden he hadn’t expected you to make one in mere seconds. Surely something had to be wrong for you to build an entire garden just to appease his whims.

“____, honey, is there something you wanted to talk about?” he asks, eyes still trained on your face, still searching.

“I’m not sure what you mean Aphrodite, can’t I simply want to have tea with you?”

“You would never take me for a fool, just as I would never dream to take you for one. So I’ll ask once more and you know I don't usually ask love. Is there something you wanted to talk about?” he waits, his nose twitching as the beautiful sweet fragrance of love so unique to you is tainted by the bitter scent of smoke and iron. He wants to gag but he won’t because it seems your little mask has begun to crumble unknowingly.

“I’ve summoned my husband.” you whisper cupping the teacup in both hands. He doesn’t mean to gasp, it just slips out the seams of his lips. He knows of all the things your husband has done and he knows that they hurt you deeply, even now.

“What can I do to help?” he asks instead of ‘Do you want my husband to beat him up?’

“How do you, I mean how can I, well I'm not too sure honestly.” you chuckle bringing your teacup to your lips and the look in your eyes is far away, one Jin has never had the pleasure of knowing especially in one as young as yourself.

“Honey, you can't force someone to love you, love is something that just is or isn't.” He knows it's cryptic and yeah all the old gods spoke in riddles like this but he knows you, and he knows you’ll understand.

“I hate riddles, you old gods should keep up with the times.” you say, and suddenly he’s reminded of Bes who despite being slightly younger than him is much more in tune with the ways of humans and the current ruling god. His brows twitch, the smooth expanse of his unwrinkled face twisting as he feels the words slide onto his tongue, “You should talk to Yoongi then, he seems like a better candidate than this old goddess.” Your laughter fills the air, a sound so joyous that the garden around him seems to grow bigger and brighter. Oh, he thinks as he watches the garden evolve past anything he can imagine. Mortals were so dumb to think that a man could do anything much less create all that they have, even now as you sit before him he’s completely in awe of your true powers. There’s that scent again, the smell of love but much more different, yours is sweet and warm this one is cool and soothing almost like the scent of rain. It washes over him and mingles with yours twisting up in a way that compliments one other.

He’s turning his gaze away from you in search of the scent and finds himself staring straight at Lucifer. It’s not a surprise really, he knew that Lucifer was handsome, dare he say rivailed the looks of many of his friends and yet he was a different kind of handsome. Though right now he finds himself equal parts intrigued and disgusted because there was no way this was your husband.

Jungkook is roused from his nap by the sound of laughter, more accurately your laughter. It's such a sweet sound, he can't help but feel slightly upset that you sound so happy giggling up a storm with someone that isn't him. He knows the difference between your laugh, can easily tell, before you’d decided to separate he’d spent the better part of 7 millenia with you. He can see the way the shrubbery just outside a window is blooming, the once small buds blossoming into the full grown flowers as your laughter continues. He’s off the couch and following the sound like a bloodhound to a scent, he doesn't remember the cobblestone path nor the fountains of water nymphs that shy away from him as he passes. He doesn’t remember what used to be his home being so vast, the land is green, small rose bushes growing taller and taller into a hedge maze. He’s walking through it blindly, it’s bizarre really, because he’s sure he’d never gone through it before, almost as if it had grown in an instant.

He can see the trees that line the outsides of the hedge maze, can smell the sweet scent of honey suckles hidden from his view. All of these things are new to him but you aren’t one of them. Your laughter has died down to mere gasps and he’s rounding a corner when he finally finds you, though to his surprise it’s not just you. His gaze is quick to fall on Aphrodite, as his aura fluctuates from a soft pink to a dark raspberry his dislike for Jungkook is clear. The sun prickles at the back of his neck as you turn your gaze to meet his, a strange comforting warmth spreads through him. One he is accustomed to, something else he’s missed since you’d forced him from his place by your side. He watches your eyes grow wide as if you’ve just now remembered that you’d summoned him. A slow itch finds its way to his palms, he has to clench his fists to get rid of the sensation, blunt fingernails digging into the skin. He hides the slight wince well face falling into one of indifference as you continue to gaze at him.

“I’ll take my leave now, but I expect to hear from you soon.” Aphrodite says to you smiling in a way that annoys Jungkook. You seem to hesitate to tear your gaze from Jungkook’s, there’s that sparkle he missed, the one that shines brighter than all the galaxies in creation. He knows it sounds like an exaggeration but it’s not, your eyes really do hold stardust and shine just as bright. The breeze carries your scent to him and he takes a deep breath relishing in the indescribable smell, he sighs, fingers twitching at the thought that he’s finally this close to you.

“Wife.” he says.

“Jungkook.” you parrot his tone, but he can see the way your lips twitch in a failed attempt to hide a smile. He can feel his own pull upwards, his cheeks heating the longer you smile at him.

“May I take a seat?” he asks motioning to the chair opposite you. You nod your head gaze trained on his form as he easily closes the distance. The sun shines beautifully off his hair bathing him in a golden glow that makes him just that much more handsome, and it further reminds you just how breathtaking he is.

“How have you been Jungkook?” You ask as he takes a seat, the sun once warm now feels slightly uncomfortable against your skin, the dress you wear doing nothing to protect you from its suddenly harsh rays.

“Could be better, I do rule over hell after all. How about you, how is heaven going for you?” He says, moving to rest his cheek in an open palm.

“It’s going well, the death rate has gone down significantly. Nothing I can really complain about. I would like it if you stopped threatening to stir up trouble though.”

“I do no such thing, if my brothers have lied to you that’s on them. I would also love to not see you flirting with them at family functions.”

“I don’t flirt with them.” You say appalled at the thought.

“You do, you just don’t know you’re doing it.” He laughs taking your hand that rests on the table. His skin is warm against yours, your fingers twitch in his hold as he moves to intertwine them. His eyes are lidded, a soft smile playing at his lips the longer the silence grows. A breeze blows past carrying with it the faintest scent of salt and heat, one that comes to mind when you think of one person. You pull your hand away from his just barely catching the way his face falls at the loss of contact. It makes your heart ache, the loss of contact with him when he’s just returned to your side. But you have to be strong, it was you after all that had chosen to separate.

“Mama!” Your daughter squeals bounding over to you before she throws herself into your hold. Her skin is warm, the scent of salt just that much stronger now that she’s sitting in your lap. Her gaze falls to Jungkook quickly as she squeals again quickly squirming off your lap and towards him.

“Papa, I missed you! Did you miss me?” She asks as he moves to hold her close.

“Papa always misses you, my precious girl.”

“Mama said she had a surprise for me, are you staying over?” She asks excitedly before she begins to play with his fingers comparing her little hand to his.

“I don’t know, what do you think mama?” He asks around a grin that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks heat.

“I think your papa is busy honey. Why don’t you go play with your toys while we finish talking and then we can do something else.” You ask eyes hopeful that she’ll agree easily.

“Okay.” She sighs sliding off his lap but not before she kisses his cheek and bounds off towards the house. Both of you watch her go, gaze reflecting the adoration you hold for her.

“She’s gotten so big, how do you handle her?”

“With a lot of work, look I called you here because for some reason Yoongi has convinced me to try and work things out with you.”

“I’ve always liked Yoongi, he’s a very reasonable god.”

“We have our daughter to think about so I figured we should at least try for her.”

“And what about us?”

“What of it?”

“Are we not going to try and fix our relationship?”

“Jungkook, I know you don’t love me. You’ve proven it many times over and I don't want to force any of my feelings on you.”

“Why do you think that?” He asks, the annoyance is clear as he sticks his tongue into his cheek crossing his arms at his chest.

“You cheated on me, more than once.” You grit out.

“For the last time, it was a misunderstanding. You never let me explain, but of course you wouldn’t because you’re god and you’re always right.”

“I didn’t need to hear a lie about how that minor goddess came to be in our bed.”

“It wouldn’t have been a lie, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Just like you did nothing wrong with Lilith?”

“Exactly, Lilith is a liar she wanted to get away from Adam. I had nothing to do with that!”

“Surely you think me a fool.”

“I don’t but I do think you’re being foolish. I have never and will never be unfaithful to you. I love you, even after you cast me out of heaven, even when you refuse to believe me, I love you.” He says so earnestly your heart skips a beat. In his eyes you see nothing but truth, they glitter like they did all those years as if they’d been sprinkled with only the purest of stardust. They’re just as beautiful, just as lethal, but still beautiful and yet there’s something different.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You ask, the lightness in your tone is gone, replaced with something firm, something unyielding.

“What makes you think I’m hiding something, if I’m hiding anything at all.”

“I know you, and you are most definitely hiding something. So what is it?”

“The years have made you cynical, I don’t spend all my time plotting just so I can see you again.”

“Of course not, you spend the rest of your time bedding demons and corrupting the minds of humans.” You laugh a hollow empty sound, it’s unpleasant and makes his stomach twist.

“Must we have this conversation again? We’re talking in circles love, I have not done anything wrong….recently anyways.”

“Jungkook,” you start only to be startled by the appearance of Michael “Taehyung what brings you?”

“Pardon me my lord, I bring news of the human realm.” he says, shooting a glance at Jungkook.

“Tell me.”

“There are whispers of war, amongst the humans and the celestial realms.”

“War is common amongst humans, but higher beings have not been at war for millenia. What has changed?”

“Witnesses have said a serpent has whispered into the ears of many creating tensions between once peaceful beings.” Your gaze falls to Jungkook who sits quietly; his suit lacks any creases, crisp even as his brother delivers this sudden news. He lacks the surprise that one would usually witness when hearing this information.

“You did this.” you whisper resigned to the inevitable fact that he has stirred up trouble yet again but somehow this is worse than anything you could have imagined.

“I might’ve lost sight of the serpent who whispered in Eve’s ear some time ago, however I had no part in this. I am the king of hell, despite how the world sees me I do not relish in the useless spilling of blood human or otherwise.” He breathes picking lint off his sleeve, gaze meeting yours once more. His eyes are ablaze at the mere thought of war especially when he has something he wishes to protect whether you’d want to be protected or not. You and your daughter are his most precious treasures and if this war comes, he will surely die to make sure that the two of you are safe.

“Go to the general, prepare for war and make sure my daughter is safe at all costs.” you speak, and this version of you is the one Jungkook loves the most. The one who easily takes command of her domain, the one and only God.

“I’ll fight with you, I will always fight with you my love.” he reminds you, taking your hand once more, moving to kneel before you as he pledges his life to you again for all eternity in life or death he would be yours.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #emm writes #mine writings #emms jungkook content #genre: slight angst(?)#genre: fluff #alternative universe: biblical #alternative universe: married #alternative universe: modern #Aphrodite!Jin #Michael!Taehyung #Bes!Yoongi #Lucifer!Jungkook #God!MC #usersuhdays #bangtanarmynet #bangtanedu #heartsforbtsnet

26 notes · View notes

pettyprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Four

Word Count:

Warnings: Angst, Val is a bit of a bitch, also poorly written smut. Oral sex (fem receiving) be gentle with me I went lite on the smut because i’ve NEVER WRITTEN THIS BEFORE.

Summary: After a long day at work you get a visit from your richest customer and learn more about the ruthless trophy wife than you’d expect.

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @captainsamwlsn @readsalot73 @zeldasayer @cinewhore

Chapters: 1/2/3/4

“So what are they like?”

You raised a brow at Cassie, who you were currently walking to her car. It was something you did each night after the shop closed, you would usually stay for another hour or so but you wanted to make sure she got home safe before late. Mostly to make sure she wouldn’t wake up late for school the next day.

Cassandra was a good kid. Smart as a whip and dedicated as hell, she was saving up for college so she worked any time she was free, which was right after school every single day. You knew that eventually, you'd have to bring more people on board for the shop, but right now you had a comfortable level of close knit customers that the pair of you could handle with ease.

“Who?”

She snorted and bumped her shoulder against your arm. “You know, the Lords.”

“You tell me, you see them every time they come into the shop.” Which was true, but each time she seemed to freeze up and lose the ability to speak. Upon learning what they were actually like, the glitz and glam wore off pretty damn quickly in your opinion.

“But you get to talk to them!” She unlocked her car before clamoring in and poking her head out of the window. “Seriously though, how are they?”

You pondered for a moment before giving her a dignified response. “Dickish. Goodnight Cass!” The teenager laughed before pulling out of the parking lot and driving home, you watched until her car was out of sight before turning around and walking back to the store. The only light you had was the streetlamps passing the corner and the flickering neon signs of the twenty four hour restaurant across from you.

Until the bright headlights of a car driving right up to the sidewalk in front of your store.

There’s a brief moment of panic in your heart before you steady yourself. It’s late, you're alone, a black woman in D.C with nobody at her side, you've been in this position before and will continue to be as such. The door is only a few paces behind you, if you had to, you could turn and sprint to make it in time.

Your planning process melts away when the engine of the car turns off, the driver side door opens and a long leg wearing a red stiletto heel steps out, followed by another.

“Mrs.Lord?”

Sure enough, Valerie Lord walked up to you at ten thirty at night, heels clicking with authority against the asphalt and a smile.

She looked...off-put.

“Hello Stitches.” Maybe it was the lights of the lamps above playing tricks on you, or just your lack of sleep, but you could’ve sworn you saw a little tremble in her painted lips. “Mind if I come in?”

-----

“I just figured I’d pop in.” She set her purse on the counter, looking around the store before her eyes settled on you again. It seemed like she was trying very hard to be nonchalant with you and it made the entire situation seem even more off. “See how much you’ve gotten done.”

“How much I’ve gotten done?” You quirked a brow at her. Last time you saw them they spent more time arguing with each other than actually giving you feedback. “Well I’ve got a few ideas but-”

“Lovely!” She clapped her hands together and you fought the urge to cringe at her voice. It sounded too shrill, too high pitched and forced, all the other times it has been smooth, an almost husky lure, but tonight, it seemed tense.

In fact, all of her did.

Her smile was a touch too wide, you could see the strain in her cheeks, her hair mussed and face slightly raw, as if she had rubbed all her makeup off just to put it all back on. Her blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were glassy, as if she was fighting back tears.

You knew the feeling a little too well.

“Why don’t you bring those out for me and I can have a look.” She sniffled and turned her nose at you, most likely to hide the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “To make sure I’d actually wear them of course.”

“Oh, uh, yeah sure.” You turned on your heel to go into the backroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Right before the door you froze, pondering for a moment before an idea, albeit one that could easily blow up in your face, formed.

“Is something the matter?” Her voice quivered as she spoke, but she covered it with a sharp hissing tone.

“Uh, no.” You turned around and let out an awkward chuckle. “I uh, just forgot where I put the book is all, don’t worry. I remember now!” You spun on your heel to the door across from it, opening it quickly and clamoring up the stairs.

Valerie watched your form disappear up the stairs and scoffed. “I hope your sewing skills are better than your organization skills!” She heard a series of clinking and frantic footsteps coming from whatever was above your store that you were sifting through to find the design book. She took a deep breath, taking a moment to dab at the corner of her eyes.

Keep it together goddamnit. You didn’t lose it in front of Maxwell's business partners, or your own fucking son, so you certainly wouldn’t lose it in front of a seamstress with a shop smaller than your kitchen. You're Valerie fucking Lord. Act like it.

The last words rang through her head like the church bells on her wedding day, the same day they were first spoken to her by her new and oh so charming mother-in-law.

“You're about to become Valerie fucking lord.” The elder woman hissed, gripping the tearful bride’s wrist so hard Valerie feared it would break. “Act like it! Quit sniveling, smile happy for the photographers and say ‘I Do.’! It’s not that hard, my son that has to do all the heavy lifting!” The woman who somehow only came to Valerie’s shoulder but still made the psychiatrist feel two feet tall. She sneered at Valerie, with her hair perfectly done, makeup immaculate, and a designer wedding gown made to fit her body like a glove.

“If your sorry excuse of a mother was still alive she’d be appalled by what you became.”

She laid a hand on the counter to ground herself in the situation. She was here, at your shop. She’s fine, she’s fine.

Her hand came down on the smooth cover of a notebook, her plucked brows scrunched up when she realized this was the same one you had during their consultation. Another loud thunk from above her.

So what the hell were you looking for?

The stairs creaked as you walked down them, arms out and your focus solely on not dropping or spilling anything on the tray in your hands. Valerie felt her heart clench, you carried the tray over to the counter, gently setting it down. It held two cups of what seemed to be steaming hot cocoa, along with bags of marshmallows, big, small, and colored.

“What-” Her voice came out watery and weak, she cleared her throat before she spoke again. “What, the fuck is this?”

You looked up at her with a sympathetic smile. “I uh, had a rough day today.” One hand came up to hold the back of your neck. “Hot chocolate usually helps me feel better, would you like some?”

She knew you were lying. She wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself. She didn’t need your help, the useless pity of a woman who couldn’t even dream of owning half of the things she did. She was Valerie Fucking Lord.

But when she looked at the tray that you had put together, all for her, she couldn’t find the strength to say the words.

You had already begun to set a cup in front of her. “Big marshmallows or little ones?”

Valerie finally let her voice crack as she spoke.

“The little ones.”

-----

The pair of you drank in silence for the first few minutes. Valerie was thankful for that. Every time she tried to find her voice it would die in the back of her throat. You didn’t seem to notice, or at least you pretended not to.

“It’s got to be hard.” You answered a question she didn’t ask. Why did you do this? “Living the way you do.”

Valerie scoffed. “Oh yes it’s very hard living with a walk in closet, endless funds and a staff that waits on me hand and foot. It’s a struggle but I do survive.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course it isn’t. You wouldn't know how I live. Because you live like this.” Valerie waved a hand around the store. “Meanwhile I live in a house so big my husband and I can live on separate sides and not even see each other for a month! I look like this-” She gestured to the designer red dress that fit her body and had a slit up the leg before pointing to you. “Meanwhile you look like-”

Her voice vanished in her throat when she looked at you, a woman who worked for her, a black woman living on her own and making it her way in a world that didn't want her to, a woman that owed her nothing besides the service of sewing, that had extended an olive branch to her when she came to you late at night because she didn’t have anywhere else to go and she repaid you in the classic Lord way.

By being a class A bitch.

“A chick who shops at thrift stores?” You finished for her. She looked down at the mug in her hands, her thumb trailing over the cartoon hearts that danced along the brim.

“Like somebody who doesn’t have to hide.”

You laid your hand on the cool surface of the counter top instead.

Your hand released the handle of your mug to reach across the counter, so close to holding her hand in yours, feeling her smooth skin and the way it would flush under you. But you worried you would instead feel the way she would rip it from your grasp, shouting obscenities and those words at you, before promising you that her husband would hear about this.

“Just because we have different struggles doesn’t mean we don’t still go through them.” Your voice was gentle, like a wrap being laid over her shoulders that took away her tremors and shakes. It made her feel warm all over in a way she wished it didn’t. “We all get days where everything feels like it’s too much. It’s nice to have somebody in our corner when we do.”

She looked up from the mug to finally meet your gaze with a watery smile. “And here I thought I was the one with the degree in mental wellness.”

The corner of your lips tilted up and Valerie pretended not to notice the way her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m afraid I don’t know as many big words as you do Mrs.Lord, but I do know that a good cup of hot cocoa and a friend to talk to can help on a bad day.”

“Valerie.”

“What?”

Her watery smile was replaced with a confident grin. She leaned over, plucking a marshmallow from your cup and plopping it into her mouth with a wink. “My friends call me Valerie.”

There was a split second where you were frozen, simply staring at her and she wondered if she had overstepped, if she had gone too far but then a big grin grew on your face and she felt her heart pick up again.

“Valerie it is.”

“And for what it’s worth-” Her eyes ran over the rings on your fingers, to the chain on your chest with an impish smile. “-I think you look pretty good in thrift store clothes.”

“Do I now?” You settled your head in your hands and grinned at her. Valerie squeezed her thighs together at the way you smiled, preening like a prize animal under her attention.

“Good enough to eat.” She purred, you dipped your head back and laughed at her words. The moment was interrupted when another heavy noise came from above them.

“Okay, this is driving me insane.” She pointed to the door you had come through. “What in God’s name is up there!”

“Oh!” You waved a hand in the air before answering. “It’s my apartment.”

“You live above your shop?” Her eyes looked ready to shoot out of her head and you snorted.

“Well not all of us can afford a giant mansion Mrs.Lord, besides, the shop was my pop’s and when he died I took it over.” You smiled wistfully at all the memories you had in the shop growing up, as well as the tiny two room apartment you and your father lived in above it. “It just didn’t seem right to leave it.” You waved a hand through the air dismissively.

“The noises are probably from my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Valerie’s voice was a combination of fear and awe. You puffed your chest out and smiled wide.

“Sure do! Cujo is my pride and joy. He was a rescue but he’s got a heart of gold.”

Valerie stared at you for a moment.

“Cujo?”

“Yeah! You know, from Stephen King?”

She shook her head at your reference.

“Seriously!? The movie came out last year, it was phenomenal!”

Valerie scoffed. “I'm afraid I have more important things to do rather than see a movie about some dog.”

You tsked, shaking your head solemnly. “That’s a sad way to live.”

She knew you meant it as a joke but the words weighed heavy on her heart. It really was.

“Do you want to meet him?”

As you asked the question she was already slipping out of her chair and making her way to the door.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!”

Valerie never had the chance to own a dog. Her parents were always out on sets, filming movies and going from place to place for photo shoots, interviews, and premieres. A dog would fit into that life just as well as a child would.

Even though she never had a pet, she absolutely loved dogs.

Every time she went on the street and saw somebody walking a dog, there was an internal battle within her to stop herself from crouching down and petting whatever canine her eyes landed on.

“Uh fair warning though.” You unlocked the door and looked behind you at her. “He’s very big, and very affectionate. But he doesn’t bite! People just see him and get scared at first but-”

“I’m not some little girl stitches.” Valerie huffed. “I know not to run screaming from a puppy.”

You shook your head. “Whatever you say Val.”

Valerie was so struck by the nickname you gave her, she didn't even have the time to register the positively massive dog that jumped at you the moment the door opened.

“Oh hello my handsome boy!” Your voices was at least three octaves higher than she was used to. “Did you miss me! I missed you!”

The dog in question was a pit bull, a large black mass with eyes that could almost be described as gold, that jumped and butted it’s head against you.

You gripped the dog’s collar in one hand while setting the other on his rear with a little tap. “Alright settle boy, settle.” The dog plonked it’s bum onto the hardwood floor, tail wagging from side to side and it’s tongue lolled out in a happy grin. “Valerie, this is Cujo.”

Cujo looked up at her, panting and practically vibrating with energy. She looked over to you, who held such adoration in your eyes for the dog it made her own heart hurt.

“It’s okay.” Your voice was soft, gentling coaxing her forward. “You can pet him if you’d like.”

She reached out with one hand, slowly setting it atop his head and bringing it down in one smooth motion, when she pulled it back the dog turned his snout down and lurched forward, presenting his head to her in search of more pets.

“Looks like he’s got a favorite Lord.” Valerie ran her hands over his smooth fur, and even let him lick her! Oh if Max could see her now.

“That’s not a hard contest.” Valerie scoffed. “Maxwell is petrified of nearly every animal and bug in existence.”

The image alone of Cujo bounding after Maxwell in search of tummy rubs, only to see the multi-billionaire run away while shouting for help was enough to make you cackle. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Maybe next time you all come down to get your measurements down I’ll let Cujo come say hi.” You turned to the pitbull and began talking in a baby voice again. “Hear that buddy? If you scare the funny looking business man, mama will give you a treat!”

As you spoke, Valerie flicked her eyes over the hallway that welcomed her into your home. It was lined with posters of bands she didn’t know, small mugs and souvenirs lined the bookshelf and window sills, a small quilt laid folded up on a table. The colors clashed, the theme was overbearing and cluttered, but it felt more like a home than her own house did.

But it was a home that she didn’t belong in.

“I think it’s time I head home.” Valerie turned to you and swore she saw a frown flash over your features before you nodded.

“That’s probably a good idea, it’s getting late.” You turned and pat Cujo on the head once more. “I’ll be right back buddy, will you be good for me?”

The dog let out a deep ‘boof’ as a response and you grinned.

“Atta boy!”

Maybe it was the fact that you asked her what marshmallows she wanted, or that you took the time to reach out to her instead of using that moment of weakness as leverage like anybody else would have, or the way you smiled at her when she pet your dog, or the way you preened at her compliments, but Valerie couldn’t get out of your house fast enough to escape how you made her feel.

Her heart didn’t stop beating frantically until your shop was nothing but a dot growing smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror of her car.

It was almost midnight, Alastair was no doubt asleep and Maxwell would be soon enough. Whether it be in his office passed out on a stack of papers or in his bedroom on the other side of the house, neither one would worry where she is.

She turned into the parking lot of a hotel before turning it off. She didn’t bother trying to sneak in through a back exit or pay the front desk employee off, she simply waltzed in with her head held high straight to the elevator ahead. The employee didn’t bother to welcome her, or even ask if she needed a room, they knew if they asked her anything they’d be fired the next day.

Any hotel employee in D.C knew if they saw a Lord at their establishment, they kept their mouths shut about it or else they’d end up penniless within a week.

The moment the silver doors shut behind her, Valerie fluffed her hair, wiped away any tears and adjudged any smudges on her makeup. She stared at her reflection in the compact mirror

You may have been allowed to see her moment of weakness, but nobody else would.

The elevator stopped and she snapped the compact in her hand shut.

This was her deal with Max after all. They didn’t meet their side pieces at home or in public, for the good of their name and simple respect for one another. Late night rendezvous became normal for Valerie just like quick fucks before a meeting became mundane for Maxwell.

She only knocked on the door once before it was opened wide, revealing a grinning shirtless man who was built like Adonis.

“You're late.” The man answered, the moment the door shut behind her his hands were on her, roaming her body and yanking up her skirt while his lips attached to her neck with a needy groan. “I’ve missed you so much baby.”

Robert was a model, a handsome man from the deep south who came for a fresh city start. He quickly found a job in flexing his farm-bred body and smiling pretty for the cameras. Valerie found his voice, deep grit with a southern lilt, alluring at first. But tonight it just annoyed her.

It wasn’t the voice she wanted to hear.

She pushed her way out of his grip with a scoff. “I’m a busy woman Robert, don’t expect me to come running every time you need to get your dick wet.”

The man began to unbutton his pants with a smile. “But I’m not the one who called for this little meet-up, am I honey?”

Her eyes, cold as ever narrowed into slits. Valerie laid down on the bed, not even bothering to take off her heels before pulling up the skirt of her dress and spreading her legs. “Why don’t you put that fucking mouth to use for once,-” She shot him a venomous look, plump lips bent in a frown.

“-And quit it with the fucking pet-names Robert, I’m not your high school sweetheart.”

The man shook his head. Valerie was never sweet during their trysts, but she seemed especially bitchy tonight. He didn’t make an effort to ask why, instead he simply pulled her lace panties to the side and ran his tongue along the seam of her cunt.

He looked up, already opening his mouth to make a comment on just how fucking wet she is for him, when her hands tangled in his air and shoved his face back between her legs.

“Not tonight.” She breathed out, her eyes shut and head dipped back. She gripped his hair hard enough for him to feel a sting in his scalp, but he said nothing. “Just..not tonight.”

Valerie didn’t have the time nor the patience for Robert’s frat boy peacocking tonight, to hear him boast on how ready she is for him and how she takes him so well when all his voice would do is pull her away from the images in her mind.

Instead of the short, gelled hair of a model between her fingers, it was yours. Long, soft, curls threaded in her hands as you sucked on her clit. The gentle husk of your voice coaxing praise and sweet words against her thigh, pulling away from her core to tease her legs with feather-light kisses. She’d want to complain, order you back on her, but with the sweet smile and look of adoration in your eyes it would vanish.

Would your eyes flutter shut as you slide your fingers inside her pussy while you sucked on that beloved little bundle of nerves, curling just right so that she’d cry out for you, or would you watch? Eyes open and focused solely on her as she fell from ecstasy.

It wasn’t the heavy hands of a farm boy turned coke-snorting model that gripped her plush thighs, but the slender palms of a seamstress, so used to creating beauty but now working on unraveling it. Would the cool metal of your rings bite against her flushed skin? Would you moan against her dripping core, breathe fanning out against her as you groaned out just how sweet she was?

Her hips bucked up against your mouth, thighs tightening around your head as you pulled her closer and closer to her climax. Your fingers setting an unforgiving pace inside her that she didn’t even know she needed so goddamn bad from you until you gave it to her.

“Fuck!” Her back arched like a woman possessed, toes curling as you pulled away only for a moment to coo out her name.

“That’s it Val-” You nuzzled between her thighs, the tip of your nose just brushing against her clit in a way that pushed her over the edge. “-cum for me, baby.”

The great Valerie Lord bit down on her lip as she came, so desperate to keep your name from falling off her lips that she felt her own blood on her tongue.

She laid there in a haze, tremors of the after shock slowly subsiding, a small smile grazed her lips when she felt your lips press to the inside of her thighs. But the bliss was broken when the sound of a zipper met her ears along with a cocky voice crooning out.

“I got you good, didn’t I baby?”

Her eyes shot open and sure enough, the fantasy was gone. She wasn’t finding ecstasy in the cluttered home with you between her legs, but instead laid spread open on silk sheets in a five star hotel while a dazzling super model with washboard abs in front of her.

The bottom of her Louboutin heel pressed against his bare chest, pushing him back and back until he nearly slipped off the edge of the bed.

“Not tonight.” She said simply, getting up and ignoring the slight shake in her knees as she did.

The man furrowed his brows, before turning his head and scoffing. “You know if you were anybody else I’d be offended, but I guess it’s expected from a Lord. Ain’t it?”

Valerie looked at her reflection in the mirror, swiping away the smudge of lipstick against her cheek and setting each stray hair back into place until she looked just as flawless as she did when she walked in. She didn’t bother looking at Robert as she spoke.

“If the way I fuck is so tiresome, go find somebody else cowboy, I assure you I’ll have no trouble doing the same.”

She grabbed her purse from the night stand, opening the door before freezing in the doorway. She turned to Robert with a sultry smile. “One more thing Robert baby.”

At her sweet coo, the man puffed out his chest and grinned. “What is it sugar?”

Her face fell as she plucked a cigarette from her purse and set it between her teeth as she spoke with disdain.

“Call me Val one more time and I’ll fucking ruin you.”

#maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord #Maxwell Lord x Valarie Lord x reader #maxwell lord x valerie lord x reader #valerie lord #valerie lord x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ww 1984 #ww1984 #WW84 #Pedro Pascal x You #maxwell lord x you

100 notes · View notes

47-shades-of-hitman · 3 years

Text

In Your Likeness | Chapter 5 - A sliver of humanity

“Hey, you down for a run?”

Agent 47 looked up from the folder Diana had given him and saw you standing on the threshold, hands on your hips. Your hair had been tightly tucked behind your ears and instead of your usual Assassin’s attire, you now wore a somewhat more casual fit.

“Why not.” he said, standing up and putting away the documents.

You hummed and plopped down on one of the available chairs.

“Well then, I’ll wait here for a bit until you’re ready to go.”

He frowned. “Wait for what?”

“For you to put on your training gear, or something more breathable.” you said.

After a moment of silence you turned to him.

“You aren’t going to tell me that your plan was to… To run in that suit?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, a lot actually.” you explained, “People will stare. Besides, it’s very hot outside.”

“I function just right in this no matter the heat.”

You arose from your seat and crossed your arms, opposing him. “It looks ridiculous. A man sprinting in a suit like that through ancient Jerusalem. Tell you what, we’ll take an alternative route instead.”

Agent 47 wasn’t sure what you meant – “Alternative route?”

Instead of answering, you turned on your heel and left the room, the hitman soon following. He easily caught up to you and in silence, you left the Brotherhood’s quarters.

Despite the scorching heat, you broke out into a slight jog to warm up.

“Do you do parkour?” you quizzed upon approaching a wall.

“Excuse me?”

You flung yourself onto it, grabbing ridges and bricks that were sticking out, climbing up with practised ease. In about six seconds, you stood on top of a two-story building, peering over the edge to see what was taking him so long.

“I’m not sure if I…”

You pointed at the drainpipe on the side of the wall, shrugging. “Just use that. You’ll learn.”

47 climbed up and dusted down his slacks right after. “Heavily reliant on scaling buildings, aren’t you?”

You chuckled dryly.

“The Assassins have been doing that since the beginning of the Brotherhood. If anything, it’s one of our most important skills. It’s a fantastic way to go from A to B unseen, and way quicker at that. I don’t carry them on me at this moment, but on one of my bracers I do have a grappling hook which I can use to my advantage.”

Walking over the flat rooftops, you hopped from one house to the other, staying out of sight from balconies and cameras.

“The beginning of the Brotherhood,” Agent 47 repeated. “How far back does it date? Golden Age? Middle Ages?”

A laugh fell from your lips and you jumped down a ledge before propelling yourself up a higher wall, gripping the edge. After hoisting yourself up, you turned back to help 47 out, but he managed just fine on his own.

“No, 47. The Brotherhood of Assassin originates in ancient Egypt.”

“Egypt?”

“In the time of Cleopatra. The Hidden Ones were the first ones, but no one knows who they really were. Eventually, it grew out into a Brotherhood for people carrying out assassinations and protecting our employers. Long story short: through the ages, we spread all over the world. Greece, Italy, America, France, England… You name it.”

47 let out a sound of surprise, since he had never known that it dated so far back.

“Our cause was to fight for peace above all things. Protect the people who needed us to do so. Working in the dark to serve the light. Our motto – nothing is true, everything is permitted .”

You halted and looked out over the Wailing Wall, folding your hands on your back. Taking in the sight of Jews gathering to pray brought a sense of serenity.

“We fight for peace in freedom. And in that, we differ from our enemies, the Templars, or their more public name nowadays, Abstergo Industries . Once founded in the early thousands, set on claiming back the Holy Land under a veil of Catholicism, but under the surface, a whole lot less to do with whatever peace the church preaches. The Order of the Knights Templar once believed that peace could only be gained through oppression of lesser people and dictatorship.”

You shuddered even though the weather was far from cold – thoroughly appalled by the idea of them.

“And eventually, it became an institute of rich men seeking to become more wealthy and powerful. And then came the Pieces of Eden. Of course they already existed, but the more modern war about them, I mean.”

For a moment, you looked over at 47 to see if he was still listening. His eyes were as blue as the sky and made your heart skip a beat. Every time you saw that colour you remembered that they were the bluest shade you had ever seen.

Deciding to proceed walking, you stepped away, 47 in tow.

“I promise I won’t bore you for any longer.” you said, “If I’m talking too much, just say the word.”

“Well,” 47 began, “I was the one who asked you to teach me about the Brotherhood of Assassins, did I not?”

Your lips quirked upward and you exhaled. “I suppose. Tell me about you first, it would only be fair.”

“If you insist.” he said, “At the moment, I work for the ICA. It’s an organization handling contracts given by clients. I’m their hitman for particularly difficult jobs.”

“Like seeking out a secret organization created by both of our enemies.”

“Correct. As you know, I’m genetically made to be the best assassin one can create, with a very low failure rate.”

You hopped down a few roofs and reached a lower wall, where you jumped off, landing on the cobble street. Your conversation hadn’t made you able to do some parkouring through the town, anyway.

“Since you told your story quite quickly, I shall make mine short, too. I killed Ort-Meyer, who created me through his experiments, wanted to leave the world of killing by living with a priest, but eventually, he got kidnapped and I was pulled back into the trade. After all, I barely know how to do anything else.”

A large grin spread over your face as you two walked down the street, pushing past a few tourists in the process. “A priest? Never expected you of all people to take interest in such things.”

“I tended to the garden.” 47 explained, unsure why he was telling you this – after all, he barely knew you and whatever he was telling could be used against him, for he couldn’t be seen as weak.

But your eyes were kind and glimmered in amusement as you looked at him.

“Look at you, the one purely created to take lives, tends and cares for it.”

47’s gut twisted in confusion at the lack of humour in your voice. Where he had expected you to mock him for it, you were inexplicably accepting. “I suppose.” he mused.

“And here we are.” you added. “This way.”

You guided him outside of the ancient city and went uphill for a while, the Mount of Olives at your right hand.

“The Pieces of Eden, then.” 47 reminded you.

“Oh, yes.” you breathed, “The Pieces of Eden grant the holder great power over others. The Templars want those artefacts for themselves, so the Creed countered by making it their duty to do all to prevent that. And if we know where those artefacts are, we can keep an eye on them, take them to hide them away and most importantly, avoid conflict.”

“Avoid conflict? That clashes with our current mission.”

“Well, if it can be avoided. We’re not afraid to fight for it. Peace through freedom, I mean. Sometimes force is needed, and so it shall be done.” you concluded, shrugging a little.

“And you, what is your story?” 47 quizzed as the pair of you halted on top of the Mount of Olives. You were slightly out of breath because of the heat, holding your hand above your brow to shield yourself from the sunlight. The golden Dome of the Rock stood shining brightly.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), thirty-five years old, Master Assassin of Jerusalem’s Brotherhood. Nothing that you don’t know of.”

Agent 47 huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Why the interest?” you softly quizzed. “It’s not that it matters.”

“You said you wanted to become acquainted.”

You smirked, folding your hands on your back, closing your eyes to enjoy the light of the sun on your cheeks.

“I was born into the Brotherhood, like my father and his father’s father. Needless to say, we have a long history in the Creed. Not the most prominent or anything, but quite famous. My father’s side of the family consisted of ruthless Assassins, living for their trade. My father fell in love with a young female Assassin and married her – my mother. They had my brother, Joseph, and me. All was well and my parents were loved by the Brotherhood, but one day, my father died while on duty.”

Your voice faltered upon ending your sentence, and you looked at your boots for a moment, exhaling deeply. “I never really got to know the man who he was behind the blade. He trained us, and everything I know, I know from him. In hindsight, he was more a mentor than a father. I respect him greatly, but I never felt like I was his daughter. I suppose it’s a bit strange… Well, not for you. In theory, you killed the man who put you onto this Earth.”

Agent 47 hummed, breathing in the scorching air.

“And your mother?”

“She’s in Thailand, in a retirement home set up by Assassins. There she can live her final days in peace, try to forget about the passing of her husband and her son, but with her later stage of Alzheimer’s, I’m not sure where her emotions are at the moment.”

Gesturing to the side, you told Agent 47 to head down the street.

“What happened to Joseph?”

You halted in your tracks, a few tourists that had been walking behind you nearly bumping into you, muttering something angry in what you recognized to be Spanish – Perdona , you murmured, shaking your head before resuming your walk, albeit at a quicker pace now.

“I don’t like to talk about it.” you said, “Maybe another time. I’ve already told a lot about myself. Enough for now. We should get to actually working out, now.”

Breaking out into a jog, you started running down the street, passing by tourists every now and then.

“Do you often run?” 47’s voice was unusually steady given that you were dashing forward at quite a pace.

“As often as I can. Keeps me fit.”

He hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You went running through a few streets before speaking again – “Mind if I spice this up a bit?”

Before 47 could respond, however, you were already scaling a high wall on your left, pushing yourself up with practised ease. He spotted a drainpipe and sighed in acceptance, soon following you up the roof.

When he finally vaulted onto it, he saw that you were already a few buildings away, leaping from one with so much as the bat of an eye.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked, then realizing that Diana couldn’t hear him – after all, he wasn’t on a mission and thus he didn’t carry his trackers – and he knew that pursuing you wouldn’t bring him anywhere. Another thing he recognized was that he lacked an important skill he hadn’t realised he didn’t have, until now. You leapt further and further away, gracefully so, as if you were dancing.

Where he mostly blended into the crowd, hiding in plain sight, you were away in the blink of an eye, gone with the wind.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing him just stand on the roof where you had left him. He was watching you with an odd posture, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of your antics.

Smirking, you shook your head, resuming your trip back to the headquarters. Bouncing to the edge, you peered down the side of the roof to see if it was all still clear, and upon seeing that the bushes were still soft and plump enough to fall upon, you spread your arms, diving off.

Agent 47 felt his stomach churn in shock, his breath hitching as he watched you jump. As if snapped out of a trance, he darted to the end as quickly as he could, immediately figuring out the importance of scaling and parkour in the speed at which he was currently going.

He came to a halt at the edge and leaned over it to find you standing with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you…”

“Hm…” you replied. “Come on, let’s get back to the headquarters.”

47 slid down a drainpipe and walked up to you.

“That was… Impressive.” 47 stated as you resumed your trip back to the base.

“Thank you.” you mused, “That dive was a Leap of Faith. Took a long time to master.”

“I can imagine.”

You turned your face away, smiling in amusement.

Even though it was tiny, a bond was starting to form.

These months were going to become interesting, you figured.

#agent 47 x reader #agent 47 x female reader #Assassin's Creed X Hitman crossover #hitman #agent 47 #reader insert #In Your Likeness

11 notes · View notes

blvejeanbaby · 4 years

Text

What Has Changed

Pairing: Jisung x reader, Minho x reader Word count: 2.7k Warning: gets angsty real quick

Songs I listened to while writing include: Ivy by Frank Ocean Rivers and Roads by The Head and the Heart You Give Me Something by James Morrison

It’s your wedding day. It should be the happiest day of your life. But as you’re looking down at the people gathering in the courtyard for the ceremony, taking up rows upon rows of seats, you start to doubt. Not doubt if this was the right choice – if marrying the love of your life was the right choice. But doubting if perhaps it was wrong to never have truly explored different opportunities. What if you had decided you would try long distance with your partner? What if you had decided to have babies before getting married? What if you had decided to get married the first time he proposed to you, when you declined? What if, what if, what if? But the biggest what if of your life came walking into the wedding venue that moment, looking for his seat among the rows of chairs. Every seat had a name on it, the seating well thought-out. But for him, it didn’t take him long to look. The front row, reserved for closest friends and family, on the groom’s side. “Han Jisung,” you whispered, well aware that even though you were alone, you could be overheard, “I have missed your face like hell.”

There was something so special about him, about the surroundings you were in, about the day itself. The sun set beyond the signs along the highway, your bikes discarded in the grass behind you. You pulled your legs up under yourself, watching as your friends walked down the grassy hill, toward the cars rushing past on the highway. You weren’t about to risk your life like that, but you also were fairly sure your friends knew what they were doing. You glanced beside you, trying not to make it too obvious that you were trying to look at him. Jisung sat next to you, his hood pulled up over his head, his skateboard underneath his feet as he tried a new flavour of candy you had recommended him. You weren’t sure if the sunset or Jisung would be a better sight. “Hm, this is pretty good.” Jisung smiled at you, offering you the candy. You stuck your hand into the bag, feeling around for your favourite type. He watched you intently as you put the jelly on your tongue, wanting to see your reaction to it. “Is that your favourite?” “Yeah. It’s the red and gold one with the hole in the middle.” You glanced into the bag. “There’s only two left.” You dipped your hand in again and pulled out the two of your favourites, handing one to Jisung. “Are you really sacrificing your favourite candy to me?” He smiled at you as he grabbed the candy from you. “Sure.” “Why?” “Cause I love you,” you said, jokingly. Or really, you weren’t sure if you were joking, considering the thoughts you sometimes had about him. But Jisung took it as a joke, although a dreamy look appeared in his eyes as he popped the jelly in his mouth. “Good?” “Really good.”

“My family moved,” you said, explaining once again to your now husband’s close family friend how things had changed for you, how you had to adjust to living in the Seoul area by yourself. How you had met your husband. You didn’t know what to make of this man still not knowing the story, after you had explained it to him on multiple occasions. You were glad to find an arm sneaking around your waist, your husband appearing behind you. There was no way you would call him by his name now, as he was your husband and you were proud of it. “Hey, Minhyuck,” he said to his ‘cousin’. After all, Minhyuck’s mother had always been auntie to him. Auntie looked beautiful, decked out in her nicest clothing for the wedding ceremony. She had always been really supportive of your relationship, even in the early days when things were still a little rocky and your husband’s family was a little apprehensive about you. “Hey, Minho,” said Minhyuck, a genuine smile on his face that made him appear more handsome than he generally looked. “Y/N was just telling me about how you two became a couple.” “Oh, I remember that,” Minho said, smiling at you. Your husband was the most handsome of everyone gathered here tonight. He was even more beautiful than the past, you reminded yourself.

If perhaps you had thought that something would come off of the subtle hints you would give Jisung, you guessed you were wrong. There was little to nothing that would confirm Jisung receiving and understanding the hints you were increasingly trying to give him about you maybe being interested in more than just a friendship. It got to the point that Chan pulled you aside one evening, asking: “So, how’s things going with you and J?” “Jisung?” You rolled your eyes as you glanced over at the boy in question. He was laughing at something Minho had said, his entire body involved in his laughter. You felt your heart swell up and immediately willed it to calm down. “There’s nothing going on.” “I thought you were going to confess to him.” Chan accepted the soda can you handed him from the cool box at your feet. For tonight, everyone had gathered at the beach for a barbecue, you being the one in charge of the drinks. You hadn’t really left the cool box’ side at all yet, admittedly sulking a little bit about Jisung and how little attention he paid to you. “Yeah, well, I kind of did. But he thought I was joking. And it started nothing, so…” You shrugged. “I don’t think I even want it all that much.” Chan eyed you suspiciously before he shrugged and said: “You know, it’s your choice.” And so you thought about it. And a little bit more. You ended up taking Chan’s advice and asked Jisung to swing by your place the following night. You had asked him to come by in the afternoon, but he was off collecting his car from the shops. Jisung’s car was stunning, an old-style BMW they had done a new painting job on, which made it sleek black. You climbed into it knowing full well to expect a messy interior, only to find out that it was relatively clean – cleaner than Jeongin’s car, that’s for sure. “What do you think of my baby Ronda?” “You named this thing Ronda?” You pulled the door shut. “She needed a name that would fit her past,” Jisung lovingly stroked the steering wheel. “Isn’t she beautiful?” “She actually is.” You smiled at him. The two of you drove, across bridges lit beautifully with reds and greens and blues. Once you left town, the light pollution lessened and there was room for the stars to shine through now. Jisung parked the car in a grassy field near the farms that surrounded town. And you got to thinking. And overthinking again. Before saying: “You know, I have to ask. If I don’t do it now, I will never do it and I will forever regret that I didn’t.” Jisung turned to look at you, away from the stunning view of the city skyline. His face scrunched up slightly in confusion. You took a deep breath and said: “I like you. A lot.” Jisung’s face stood frozen for a second. And then he said: “Oh.” Just that. Oh. You felt like you were going to be sick or cry or have a heart attack. Possibly all three at the same time. All from that blank statement. Oh. “Y/N… I’m- I’m so sorry. I don’t feel the same way. I can’t.” “You can’t?” Were you so appalling to him? “It’s just… It’s not about you,” Jisung said. You were aware that perhaps he thought everything was coming out all wrong too, but you simultaneously weren’t really prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. You withheld from making the comments you so desperately wanted to make – if it wasn’t about you, then who was telling him now that they loved him? But you were glad you didn’t say anything, because what Jisung then said, rocked you to your core. “I just- I’m in therapy right now. For my depression. And my therapist sometimes says things… My parents say I misinterpret them, but I’m pretty sure I understand them really well. Anyway… She said that perhaps I should focus on improving myself first and being in a healthy relationship with myself, before I try to give myself to someone else.” Even though he had been avoiding eye contact up to that moment, he now looked you right in the eyes. “If things were different – if I didn’t feel this way – then maybe I could feel the same way towards you. But at this moment I just can’t. Everything just sucks right now and I don’t want to hurt you.” “You’ve already did.” You weren’t sure if you said that out loud. For the remainder of the drive home, you both didn’t speak a word, letting the music in the background do all the talking.

All eyes were on you right now - on you and Minho. Your arms were around his neck, his arms decently around your waist. There was nothing lustful about the way you held each other, nothing to indicate that some day, you had touched each other without love. Despite how nervous you had been before the music had started, you felt utterly at ease in Minho’s arms. The music that played was perfect to sway to, perfect to remember this moment by. You didn’t doubt that whenever you would hear the song on the radio next, you would think back to this moment - your first dance with Minho as a married couple. He spun you, the way he always did. You had danced with him before, as practice for this moment. It wasn’t that you didn’t often dance with him, because Minho loved dancing, you sometimes swore he loved dancing more than you, but more so that it was now in front of all of these people. In front of the boy whose heart you wanted to break so desperately that he made you fall in love with someone else...

You were entirely aware that you were doing this just to make a statement to Jisung. You knew that hooking up with his best friend was probably the lowest of the low you could stoop, but you were there anyway, your arms around Minho’s neck as his tongue explored your mouth. You were both not fully into it – you also both knew the reasons why. Minho’s head was stuck on his fight with his now ex-girlfriend Dojin and you were only thinking about Jisung. There were no feelings involved, but it was beneficial to you for Jisung to think there was. After all, if you were all over Minho now, it didn’t have to matter that you got rejected by Jisung then. Then refering to just a week ago. When Jisung dropped you off at home he tried to tell you that you would probably feel better by the weekend. You had told him to drive safely, shut the door on him trying to tell you something else and ran inside the house. Safely in your bedroom, you could let the tears fall freely. You screamed into your pillow and hated yourself for confessing. And now, a week after your confession, you didn’t necessarily feel better. Just different.

You were whisked away from your friends, didn’t get a chance to tell them goodbye. They didn’t have a chance to wish you a nice honeymoon, wherever it was you were going. Minho had neglected to tell you, in favour of keeping your destination a secret. You hated every single moment you spent not knowing, hated every single moment he had your friends pack your bags. He knew they could keep a secret and according to you, they kept their secret too well. You were up in your prepping room, the balcony doors closed with the curtains shut to offer you some privacy. You were in the middle of getting out of your wedding clothes and changing into something a little less dramatic and a lot more comfortable, considering you were hopping on a flight soon, when there was a sharp knock at your door.

“Hey, Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” Jisung asked, his hands nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. You nodded, jumping up and wiping the sand from your behind and legs before following Jisung to the seaside, where you were out of earshot from the others. “Do you hate me? For not liking you back?” “Hate you?” You were stunned at the sincere look on his face. For exactly how long had Jisung been thinking you hated him? “I don’t hate you.” “I’d understand if you did.” Jisung bit his lip. “I wouldn’t know why I would hate you, J,” you said, shaking your head. “Whatever’s happened between us has already happened. I could never hate you. And even if we weren’t friends anymore, there’d always be a part of me that would still love you.”

Perhaps it had been stupid to imagine Minho being at your door. After all, he was changing out of his tuxedo now too; knowing him he was changing into the most comfortable pair of sweats he owned. But even though you scolded yourself for not expecting anyone other than your husband, you would never have been able to predict it would be Jisung. “Hey, Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his hands nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. He was dressed impeccably for the occasion, you had to admit. Even though it had been years and you were happily married to someone else now, your heart still contracted a little at the sight of Jisung. You nodded and stepped away from the door, opening it further in the process to let him in. He stepped into the room, looking around it and at the royally uncomfortable outfit you had just shimmied out of, laying on the bed. “So...” you said, when Jisung didn’t immediately say anything. “What’s up?” “I just wanted to say...” He turned around, hands still busy. “I wanted to congratulate you and Minho. You’re an amazing couple. You know I think so. And uh-” He gestured toward your packed bags next to the door. “I wanted to wish you a lot of fun on your honeymoon. I know where you’re going and you’re going to absolutely love it.” He smiled, but it was a half smile. You couldn’t help yourself. “Do you sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like?” “All the time,” Jisung said, too fast. He was obviously shocked that the words had passed over his lips. “But we put it behind ourselves, right? I meant what I said, back then. I was sincere when I told you that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have. Loved you back, I mean. And when I thought you hated me... I was always glad that you weren’t stuck on me. That you were able to move on, move past my rejection of you. I’m really happy that my two best friends found each other.” You weren’t really sure what part of that to respond to, so you responded to what had stuck best in your mind: “We have put it all behind us. We’ll never be those skater kids again.” “I’m just glad we’re still in each others’ lives.” “Me too.” There was a knock at the door again, followed immediately by Minho’s mother, asking you if you were nearly finished. “Yes, I am.” You managed to keep the shakiness out of your voice. “Thank you for stopping by, J.” “Of course. Have fun on your honeymoon.” “Thank you.” You gave him a last smile, before grabbing your suitcase and opening the door. “Let’s go,” you said to Minho’s mother, smiling at her brightly. She smiled back and started down the corridor. Before you closed the door you cast one look back at Jisung, who still stood in the middle of the room. His hands were still now, but there was something different about him that wasn’t connected to his nervousness having subsided. But it wasn’t your place to wonder what had changed.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids angst #lee minho x reader #lee minho imagine #lee minho angst #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagine #han jisung angst #kpop x reader #kpop angst #kpop imagine #mine #my writing

52 notes · View notes

taintedbloom · 3 years

Text

Say Amen // Archie & Amelia

Perhaps, it weren’t the brightest of ideas to enter his father’s office without his permission, in spite of the fact the office space was rarely used to start with, but the Devereaux patriarch’s untimely demise dampened the likeliness he would receive punishment for the trespassing. It is not as if Archie cared for the man, he discovered the acceptance he couldn’t feel anything for anyone, much less an absent father who took advantage of the wealth tacked onto his last name. His mother seized control of all financial aspects long before her husband expired, she evidently wore the pants in their relationship, and it was an unspoken truth in the household.

In the seventeen years of his life, he and his eldest brother Grayson were entrapped by Amelia’s torrential competitiveness engulfing the brothers and while their bond suffered from such meddling, his relationship with every member of his family would not have improved regardless for the unfortunate parental methods. There was his brother, throwing about snarky side comments and refusing to stand up to their mother, their mother as a whole who mildly terrorized her children in a way that she played oblivious to, and dear old dad became the male socialite on steroids. Archie reminded himself of this as he lingered about the moderate length of the room, his fingers gliding along the smooth mahogany surface of the ornate desk.

“You should not be in here, Archibald.” The teenager’s gaze slowly lifted to meet his mother’s, whose form hovered in the doorway with her hands properly folded behind her back. That was the word to describe the woman, proper. Proper clothes, proper hair, proper posture, everything about her screamed frustratingly perfect and unkempt. It was a miracle how she fell in love with a husband farthest from flawlessness. “I needed a moment. Dad’s too dead to care.” His father’s funeral wake shoved Archie to his emotional limits. The shaking of hands and condolences, every lie spilling from the lips of those who pretended as if they painted a doting image of his father, disgusting. One more reeking pile of a bullshit story and he would have set the mansion ablaze. “Where’s Grayson?”

“Downstairs entertaining our guests where you are meant to be.” Amelia tensely replied, taking a few steps into the room, frowning at the work that will need to be done packing the rest of her husband’s belongings for storage. Or simply tossing everything in the trash saved her the trouble. “You needed a moment, right? Is that why I found a packed suitcase under your bed?” Her eyebrow lifted as her son’s briefly dropped and even if Archie experienced no shame hiding the evidence of his immediate escape not a single day that his father’s corpse had been in the ground, he was slightly guilty at himself for not concealing his post-funeral plans smarter. “As soon as the meaningless charade of a wake is over, I’m leaving.” Archie nonchalantly dropped the knowledge as his fingers wrapped around the carbon copy of the family portrait that was currently hanging above the living room’s fire place on the first level. All smiles, nothing screamed imperfect, though, the ten year old version of him could hide the almost dead look in his eyes. Something...unnerving.

“Excuse me?” The woman’s eyes narrowed into small slits, turning her nose up at the mere prospect of her son believing he possessed the nerve to leave home, “You’re not of age yet, Archibald, what would you possibly know of supporting yourself after the reliance this family has given you?” She spoiled her children, or more so their wealth spoiled them for her, but she prepared the boys for this cruel harsh world. Archie the most selfish, the most pampered of them all. “You are not leaving and shirking your responsibilities.”

“Yes, I am.” Archie placed aside the frame he was holding, feeling the same flare of rage tickling the surface of his subconscious. “School is finished, Father’s no longer stealing from my savings, and now there’s nothing left for me here.” Not to mention, his newfound career path Archie chose for himself. All it took were the right people to fall in step with, the right contacts providing the resources mandatory for blossoming the seed of a thought planted by those who uncovered extraordinary potential. He never picked up a gun before this, but now the weight it carried in his hand and tucked in the back of his suit pant waistband felt eerily natural. “Tragically heartbreaking as it is to confess, Mother, the thought of taking over your business would’ve certainly colored me envious for Father’s fate.”

Amelia pressed a hand to her chest at the young male’s statements, appalled by his ever careless nature and unsurprised at the brutal honesty. Speaking ill-will of the dead? She taught him better. “As willing as you are to erase the existence of your own family, my boy, you still live under my roof. The food you eat down to every last expensive article of clothing gracing your entire person is from the generosity of the high class I have dropped in your ungrateful hands. As this is my rules, my house, I am within my right to speak freely when I say,” Her chin slightly tilted, “You are not going anywhere, Archibald. Your attitude lately, for one, has been without a doubt the most unacceptable.” The woman scoffed, “You’ve been distant, distracted, you must take me for the fool when you believe I have not noticed when you sneak away at all ungodly hours of the night. It ends tonight, Archie. And quite frankly-”

“And you choose now of all days to share your complete truthful opinion.” The young male cut his mother’s statement short with a flourish of his hand, “When you have spent almost two decades of my entire life throwing me no more than manipulative lies and scrutiny.” Archie wouldn’t normally allow his temperament to graze the surface for the entertainment of the Devereaux matriarch, much less shatter the self-contained gentlemanly bearing, but Amelia knew what to speak, how to portray her attitude, to rile her child. “If you have something, anything to say, now is the time, Mother, because I guarantee you will not receive another chance as soon as the sun rises when I am gone tomorrow.”

“You want honesty? No matter how harsh?” Amelia pressed a finger to her lip, mulling through the dozens of thoughts once remained unspoken. Her son’s curt nod forced the woman to continue, “I knew from the moment you were born, there was always something wrong with you, Archibald. You were too quiet as a child, too calm, too everything that should not have been possible of someone your age. You were cold to others, a difficulty empathizing, and while the latter trait I thought was an inheritance from your family lineage, you lack a filter and an unwillingness to make friends. And even with such a cutthroat heartless state, you were and are still a disappointment.” It might’ve been cruel and unjust, but he asked for honesty and honesty he shall bare, “I tried, for years, I tried preparing you and your brother for the lifetime that has been handed to you, but you’ve failed every expectation. You are selfish, conniving, arrogant, it is no wonder you have no stable relationships, no girlfriend or what have you. It’s not how a Devereaux acts. I detest saying this so openly, darling,” She paused, the regret she might experience later not bothering her the slightest, “I’m almost ashamed to call you my son.”

Archibald made the assumption she would back down from sharing a scrap of integrity and brush the conversational topic aside before leaving him to his devices, yet, she spilled seventeen years’ worth of what has remained bottled away for appearance’s sake. It all made perfect sense, the competitiveness, the silent dinners, the snide insults veiled by criticism, she hated him. Amelia did not need to express such, which was pointless attempting to spare his emotions when she shared the knowledge he couldn’t feel, but she one hundred percent hated his guts with every fiber of her being by the opinion he clutched closely. He heard nothing but the shrill ringing in his ears, saw nothing but flashes of his childhood memories pass his gaze as if someone pressed the fast forward button. Archie suddenly felt his hand reaching around, could feel his fingers encapsulate the cool metal of the gun hidden in his waistband, and only realized the gravity of his actions the second he heard the click of the gun’s hammer. The barrel...pointing straight at the woman who bore him into this world. “I was never enough for you.” His hand shook faintly even though he tried steadying it.

Amelia watched as her youngest son’s expression warped before her very eyes. She anticipated dismissal or even a slather of sarcasm to conceal how greatly her opinion mattered whether or not Archie faked his disinterest. Just as he preferred dismissing the can of worms he tore at the seams, the woman flickered her attention to fixing the watch clasped to her wrist. She noted the late hour and the awaiting guests missing the grieving widow’s presence before a small clicking sound caused Amelia to raise her head slowly, heart instantly pounding the moment she collided face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. “You wouldn’t pull the trigger, Archibald.” Her voice wavered and the man seemed to take satisfied joy in that, “Doesn’t change the truth and you know it.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Archie dropped his index finger to the trigger, hammering in his point, “I mean, you have granted me the perfect ammunition, Mother. It’s what we call a motive.” He tightened the grip on the weapon’s handle and barked a dark sound from the back of his throat that was closely reminiscent of a laugh, “What parent pits her children against each other, hm? You have done nothing but confirm time and time again the real culprit why I’ve consistently felt even crazier than I thought I already was. I have never once apologized for who I am or how I am, but since you are so determined to cast me as a monster, here I stand.”

“A monster.” Amelia mocked the use of the term. “This earth is crawling with competition, my dear, anyone believing playing fair achieves their dreams are inadequate buffoons.” She slid her foot backwards in the door’s direction and, in spite of how miniscule the movement was created, Archie’s teachings displayed the tools to spot when a target came close seizing an escape opportunity. Her confidence never diminished, “Blood alone will not establish my safety, but one fact certainly does.”

Archie breathed a chuckle devoid of all humor and care in the world, “Then give me a single good solid reason why I shouldn’t extinguish the one person who has slashed at every part of who I’ve become and carelessly laugh while I bled.” The woman was a walking terror at times and while he couldn’t recall her revealing any gesture of motherly kindness, she never deserved the privilege of children. If kids would ever enter his story in the near future, as any god lurking out there is his witness, they will never endure what he has suffered with either a hellbent competitive parent nor an absentee father. “A bullet solves everything. A bullet saves my life, my freedom. You think I’m the selfish one, Mother, it is no wonder where I learned it from. Finally, you have taught me something useful. So, I ask again,” He hissed, “Give me a fucking good reason.”

The tip of Amelia’s mouth quirked, “You are weak, Archie. Weak like your father.” Her piercing stare hovered from the gun her son was holding and landed on Archie’s expression, adrenaline kicking in almost instantly. She was frightened, oh yes, her facial features revealed nothing damning that could be used as an advantageous upper hand, but facing death was troublesome, “Why do you believe he slept with every living creature in this city, pet, has that crossed your mind? I haven’t the faintest clue what deep trench of an underworld you have dug yourself in, Archibald, but you’ve sealed a fate that’s promised your worst fear. Loneliness.” Amelia paused for melodramatic effect, “Despite what you feel about me or your brother, butchering your own family means you’ll truly be alone in this cesspool. No one will love you. So, go right ahead,” She stepped forward cautiously, “Do it. Solve your problems at my expense.”

Archibald could feel his confidence slipping quickly, willing his physical state not to follow suit, forcing the memories of the wisdom imparted on him by others who introduced the young male to a dream career engaging in his darkest fancies. Kill her, kill her, kill her, a voice from somewhere screamed blaringly. Squeeze the trigger and the pain disappears, as if it were that simple. Killing his mother had not crossed his mind before, though, its presence and the formulating euphoric rush couldn’t surprise or scare him. He realized a split second too late the hands wrapped around the gun were wobbling uncontrollably as his head rationalized between two battling arguments. Pull the trigger, don’t pull the trigger, the racing thoughts produced a maddening result. No one loved him, did he want love? How can he when he could not feel it? Couldn’t feel anything? One night stands came and went, meaningless dalliances, but nothing lasted. Not that the youngest Devereaux allowed the progression.

In the end...Archie shakily lowered the firearm.

“See?” Amelia cracked the silence emanating in the middle of mother and child. Placing one foot in front of the other, the desk was the only object within that office standing between them. “Your pride and vanity will be your greatest weakness, Archibald. While the one faithful enough to count on the most is yourself, paranoia is a downfall capable of destroying all chances to pass on our family name.” Archie turned away from her, watching his mother pick him apart from the corner of his eye, “Choosing what you think is right will be a path you travel alone. You and I both know how this story ends, boy,” The woman carelessly waved her hand to the side and spun on her heel as she sauntered towards the door, “You dead and no one here to pick up the pieces. Nor I or your brother will.”

“You’re wrong.” Archie’s voice sliced the everlasting din, his gaze dropping to the gun in his hands. Amelia grinded to an abrupt halt as the male continued, “You may have needed me, needed Grayson, to resume our lineage, but I have never needed you.” The words were venom on his tongue. He attempted playing the role of dutiful son, he spat his complaints, threw about sarcastic remarks without a care in the world, but Archibald faced a resolution and he would not stray the road ahead. He cannot turn back now, not when he has come this far for any other alternative. “I’m done.” Archie traced a circled path around the desk and gravitated towards the door.

“Archibald,” His mother’s voice caused the young male to pause in his tracks as soon as he passed her, “When this power trip of yours fails, you will come crawling home begging for my forgiveness.” The statement caused a harsh laugh to flee from the teenager’s lips the minute it reached his ears. “No, Mother,” He partially turned, “you will be begging for mine watching the disappointment you raised make a name others only dare whisper. And for once, I’ll take it one way or another.” Archie didn’t bother wasting the energy drinking in his mother’s likely appalled expression as he reached the doorway. Archie was nothing if not a dramatic little bastard, that isn’t falsified knowledge, but to stand on the precipice holding the match as every bridge he possessed torched before his eyes, well...so shall it be his reality. “Send Grayson my regards.” Directing one last comment for the only living parent he had, Archibald disappeared from the room.

#self para: say amen #ft. amelia devereaux

1 note · View note

julemmaes · 5 years

Text

Lucie, my love

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Matthew Fairchild and Lucie Herondale angst/whump one shot

This turned out way fucking longer than I expected, but I cried while writing (both from exasperation that from despair because of what happens in this os) so I hope I’m gonna make everyone suffer like I did, expecially @clara-sm. This is for you. Sorry if this took so long, but I had some connection problems.

(If you want something specific don’t hold back and dm me everything and whenever I have time I’ll gladly write that for you. If you want to be added to my very-short-nearly-non-existent taglist let me know in the comments and I’ll add you)

Word count: 4,735

Lucie was in the Herondale Lounge at the London Institute that night. She was laughing carefree with Cordelia. Initially the idea had been to sit at the table to write something, and she had succeeded in her mission, for twenty minutes, but then Math and her brother had entered, followed by her parabatai, and focusing on anything other than the caresses of her future husband on her arm had become impossible. They talked about the upcoming wedding for a couple of hours before the boys went out to the Devil Tavern with Christopher and Thomas, leaving them alone to talk about what they would call “girl stuff”.

“So.” Cordelia said looking at her with a lively glance over the edge of the cup.

“So… what?” Lucie asked, sipping her own tea.

“Oh, I know I’ve already asked you a billion times, but I really need to know, or I’m gonna go crazy. What did Matthew get for Jamie?” she asked with a shrill voice, tormenting her hands, “I’ve bought at least twelve books in Persian, but I’m sure he will not like half of them.” said Cordelia desperately, bringing her right hand to hold the daisy-shaped pendant James gave her right after their wedding. Lucie had almost cried when she saw it.

She sat still, fixing the foldes of her dress, “I can’t tell you,” she said taking another sip of tea, “because he didn’t tell me either. I know dad has something to do with the whole plan, but he’s been avoiding me for a week.” bewildered she shook her head, “He seemed so happy to have to leave today and not have to lie to my face every day. Unbelievable.”

Cordelia sunk even deeper into the chair, puffing, when the living room door slammed against the wall, causing her to snap. She brought her hand to Cortana so quickly that Lucie didn’t even notice when she pulled it out, she only saw a golden glow, but then she felt it. She felt as Cordelia’s mood changed, while dropping the sword to the ground. She looked at the door ready to fight whatever thing had gotten into the Institute and her stomach fell under her feet when she saw James holding himself with a bloody hand to the door and his face almost unrecognizable. He was wheezing, like he had been running, but it was visible how much even that slight movement of his chest was hurting him. Normally pink skin was pale as ivory under that dry layer of blood, and golden eyes now shone, bright with tears.

She felt, rather than saw, Cordelia moving between the chairs and reaching for Jamie. She was gonna ask him what the hell had happened, where the others were, but he beat her to it, “Matthew…”

Lucie held her breath as the doors opened wide and Thomas and Christopher entered, a body hanging between the two of them, and that blonde hair, which she could recognize in the midst of a thousand heads, was dark, covered with blood. By the Angel, there was so much blood, so much… She squeezed the cup so hard that her knuckles turned white, and she didn’t recognize her voice when she asked, “What happened?” she still couldn’t get up. She was motionless in that wooden chair that had never seemed so fragile, as if at any moment it would break under her weight. Christopher looked at her with a pleading look and she saw with horror the cut across his right cheek. An image of another night, two years away from that moment, formed in her head, but she immediately put it away.

“Move everything, we have to put him on the table.” said Thomas grunting, but Lucie didn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to. “Dammit Lucie, move that teapot!” there was an edge in Thomas’ voice, Lucie had never heard it before. Cordelia called her and she moved her head to the side, looking at her, but not really seeing her. James held an arm on Cordelia's shoulders and they were moving towards the couch, his wife the only support of his brother in that moment. Just as she had been Jesse’s only support the night those Kuri demons had hurt him so badly that she had struggled to recognize him when they’d found him.

“Luce I need you to do me a favor and move all the things on the table so Tom and Kit can lay Matthew down. Please.” Cordelia’s voice betrayed her, breaking on the last word, but that was enough to startle Lucie. She remained silent while with a single movement she threw everything on the floor. If something broke, she didn’t care. She heard Thomas swearing and then her heart tightened in a press so tight that she thought she was dying, because Matthew had just woken up. And he was screaming. Christopher pushed him on the table and Lucie walked away with her hands on her mouth to stop a sob, as her sight blurred.

“Shit! James!” Thomas turned to her brother as his body bent over Matthew’s to keep him down. Matthew, who was shouting so loudly with his mouth wide open that it was difficult to be heard over the noise and that with his hands closed, was trying so hard not to faint. Lucie wouldn’t have been surprised if he had half-moon marks on his palms the next day. “James, you have to come over here and make him an iratze! Mine aren’t working!” Thomas was trying to stay calm, but holding Matthew down was getting too complicated.

“I-” James looked at him and the desperation imprinted in his features almost made Lucie scream, “I’ve already tried. I couldn’t… mine didn’t work either.” He was crying when he finished talking. Cordelia’s hand holding the stelee on James’ skin stopped for a second, long enough to glance at the table, before resuming her task faster.

Christopher went running out of the room, saying he was going to call someone, anyone. Thomas turned to Math when he stopped screaming, started whimpering. Lucie approached slowly when he began to whisper and move his head frantically. His legs kept kicking, but his body was relaxing enough to make Thomas move away so she could see the situation better. The agonizing expression, so similar to that Jesse had had in the last minutes of his life…

“Jamie. Jamie, where are you?” Matthew was saying, “James.” he sobbed, opening his eyes and reaching out to his parabatai. James tried to stand up driven by the voice of the other, and when the wound on his waist prevented him, he sat down again and closed his eyes, “I’m here, Matthew, talk to me. I’m here.”

Lucie, taking a deep breath, stood beside him, holding a hand to his cheek. When he turned to her, leaning completely on her touch, he said, “Luce, my love,” they sobbed together. She knelt beside the table and took one of his hand with the other, holding as tight as she could, trying to draw his attention to that contact and not to the pain he was feeling.

Matthew grimaced, closing his eyes when Thomas ripped his shirt off, but Lucie kept her eyes fixed on his face. If she looked at her future husband’s chest, she would lose all hope, she knew, she had to stay focused on his features, his eyes. She was going to ask what happened, but Tom put a piece of rolled up cloth in front of his mouth, “Sorry, Math, but you have to bite this.” Matthew looked at him, appalled, shaking his head slightly, “You have a bone that is not where it should be, and I have to put it back in before I can do anything else.” He said, “Bite it, please.” Thomas’s eyes filled with tears and at that point Lucie could not resist any more, she burst into tears taking the piece of cloth from her friend’s hand, caressing one last time her boyfriend’s cheek. “Open your mouth, love, for me. It will all be over before you know it, I promise.” she smiled despite the tears.

“Promise me?” he asked, frightened, inhaling abruptly.

“I promise you, now bite it.” she said, making him open his mouth. “Take my hand. Stay here, stay with me.” she looked at Thomas from above her shoulder and felt Matthew stiffen as Tom touched his knee. He nodded his head, and she gripped Matthew’s hand tighter, holding back the tears when both Matthew and James shouted and Thomas put Matthew’s bone back into its place, straightening his shin with the torn shirt.

Math was crying again, clenching his teeth as hard as he could. He turned his head to his side, toward his parabatai, and tears fell on his nose and temple as he looked at James and took one last breath before he passed out.

“Math? Math, Matthew.” she said, shaking his shoulders. She glanced at Thomas, looking for help, but his friend was looking at Matthew as one looked at a lost cause, and took a step back. No, no. she wouldn’t have allowed it. “Love you have to wake up. You have to keep your eyes open.” she whispered to his ear. A sound of frustration escaped her control and she finally allowed herself to look at the chest of the boy lying on the table, when he gave no sign of hearing her. No, she sobbed and her sight blurred once more, not again. Three cuts… No, three claws, those wounds could only have been made by claws. Three claws so deep that Lucie could see the bones in all that shredded flesh. She choked another sob, wondering how he still had vital organs inside his torso. Another wave of panic poured over her and closing the gap between her and James in a few strides, she took the stelee from his hand and quickly returned to Matthew, starting to draw as much iratze as she could, wherever she could find a spot that wasn’t reduced to minced meat.

“Lucie,” James tried to call her.

She burst into a desperate cry and could no longer stop, while every rune she drew disappeared immediately afterwards. She tried to stop the blood from pouring out with her own hands, resting them on his wounds, and when Matthew gave no sign of feeling that either, she screamed. She screamed until Thomas put his hands on her shoulders, taking her away from Matthew’s body. She tried to free herself from his grip, but he held her tightly, and kept pushing her further and further away. Further and further.

Only when Cordelia touched her elbow did she realize that Christopher had returned and with him was Ragnor Fell. The warlock took in the surroundings wide-eyed and bleached, and signaled everyone to go out, but Lucie was still crying and would never have been able to leave Matthew alone.

“Luce please, he can’t focus if you stay here and,” Christopher’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she finally managed to detach her gaze from Matthew’s chest, which was moving more and more slowly, “you need to calm down. Stressing yourself so much won’t help you. You have to stay stable in case you need to bring him something. You could make yourself useful.” Kit put his hand on her back, pushed her out, and Lucie knew what he was doing, he had done it two years before, when she had lost Jesse. Jesse. Raziel, she would’ve lost Matthew, too.

“I can’t get out.” her voice stuck in her throat and Thomas joined her on the other side, “You have to come out. Come with us, you’ll make an iratze on my arm, and as soon as he’s done, you can see him. Now come.”

“No you don’t understand. It’s already happened, I can’t go out. If I go out he’ll die and it’ll be like with Jesse, again. I, I can’t… He can’t.” she took a trembling breath and saw Thomas and Christopher exchanging a look of understanding. They tried to move her, but Lucie couldn’t.

“Lucie?” At the sound of her brother’s voice she looked up and when he smiled at her, she sighed. If James smiled, it meant that there was no danger of death. However, she looked over her shoulder towards Matthew and it was not possible that he would make it. “Lucie.” James called back, “Come with me. Let Ragnor work.” He took her hand encrusted with blood, Matthew’s blood, and carried her out with the help of his friends.

Once in the hallway she leaned against the wall and with his brother, she let herself fall to the floor. She looked at her dress and squeezed the heavy red cloth between her fingers. James’ hand landed on her knee and she looked up at him, seeing how his wounds were closing. Why were iratze working on him? What had hurt Matthew so badly?

She turned to the others and was surprised to see Cordelia, laying the stelee on Christopher’s neck. Thomas was resting his head on Alastair’s shoulder, who in the meantime was drawing healing runes on his left arm, next to the real tattoo. He must have arrived with Christopher. Not that she really cared in that moment.

“What happened?” her voice came out much harder than she intended.

“We were going to the tavern and we met Alas on the way there. We… I greeted him and a pack of werewolves passing by saw us. They’ve started making unpleasant comments.”

Answered Thomas promptly, his face hardening while staring at Alastair the whole time he was talking. Now that she was paying attention, Lucie had never seen her parabatai’s brother so pale in his life. He had not yet said a word, and it was rare that he did not comment on everything as he did since he joined their group.

“Matthew did not take it well and we had already had a drink on the way. A fight broke out.” James ended up for him. Lucie sighed, typical of Matthew.

“Why is he the only one who’s not healing?” she asked. A moment later, Cordelia was at her side and, like Lucie, she had a confused frown on her face. She stooped to check James’ wounds, but he moved her gently, trying to look Lucie in the face.

“The leader of the pack has targeted him and must have had something on his claws, because they glowed. Christopher noticed, but it was too late.” said James.

Lucie was on her cousin in an instant, “What was that? Tell me, Christopher, or I swear on the Angel I’ll rip your arms off and-”, he put his hands on her shoulders looking at her a little scared. “I’ve already told Mr Fell everything. He knew what I was talking about, but he needs silence to focus and be sure to get all the poison out of Matthew’s body. You just have to be patient.” Lucie lifted her chin, making a small nod of assent, and sat down next to her brother again.

She was still worried and the second she saw Matthew she would burst into tears, but at least someone was healing him. She closed her eyes counting the breaths she took, as Uncle Jem had taught her to do every time she got upset. One, two, three, four… she did not reach the fifth, that a ghostly presence attracted her attention. She opened one eye and almost jumped up when she saw Jesse’s ghost across the hall. She excused herself before heading to the common room next to the entrance. She didn’t dare opening her mouth until they were totally alone and out of reach of prying ears. Her friends knew about her power, but she didn’t want them to know that Jesse was there.

He was looking at her from the window, where he sat down, as usual, and smiled down at her.

“Hey.” He murmured to her like a prayer.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked, smiling shyly, feeling all the fatigue of that evening overwhelming her in an instant. She leaned on the door.

“You called me a couple of times. It’s not as if I could decide whether or not to come.” He replied, “Is that your blood?” Lucie noticed a note of concern in his tone, but she didn’t give it much thought.

She shrugged, “It’s Matthew’s.” He nodded, reducing his lips to a thin line, as if that explained everything. What had happened and when. Why.

“Are you all right?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that.” A trembling breath came out of her as her eyes circled with silver. Jesse made to move, but he froze, as if he remembered that he couldn’t touch her anymore, and he sat straight back down.

“He will recover, you’ll see.” he tried to reassure her. She looked at him, making a nervous laugh slip away.

“You said that to me the night you died. Oh, but I’ll be fine, you’ll see.” She said imitating what sounded more like the voice of a Silent Brother than an 18-year-old. He burst into laughter, and to Lucie it seemed a little forced, but she didn’t care about that either. He was just trying to cheer her up.

“I don’t have that voice. And he’s really going to recover, I can’t see him. Or feel him, for what it is.” he said running a hand through his hair. To Lucie that gesture looked so normal, so alive, that it seemed to her that the world was shaking for a second. And then, “I miss you.” Jesse held his breath, “I miss you every day. And every time he goes out and comes back with a black eye or… or his belly completely open,” she said gesturing to the salon where someone was taking care of Matthew, she sighed, “I can’t help but think that one day he won’t come back. And I’ll have to relive it again. And I can’t do it, J. I can’t.” she said, starting to sob. The other remained silent starring at her and, as if he had never been there, he disappeared. Lucie bent in two when the pain in her chest seemed unbearable, closing her mouth so as not to be heard, when someone knocked on the door and it opened slightly. Cordelia told her that they had moved Matthew to their rooms and that if she wanted, she could go to his bedside. Lucie quickly wiped her tears away with a final sigh of relief. If they had moved him, it meant that the wounds had been cleaned at least. And maybe now they could have put come iratze.

Thomas had already warned all the adults with various fire messages and in a few minutes they would all be here, asking them all kind questions, so she might as well have gone next to him and enjoyed those last moments of peace before the storm.

***

Matthew had never felt worse in his life. He had spent the last three days in a state of half-sleep that had stunned him. He vaguely remembered Lucie’s hands on his chest as she changed his bandages and the cold tip of James’ stelee when he was able to stand to draw some iratze. He remembered the voice of his brother Charles, who offended him for not being responsible enough, and his mother’s gentle touch on his forehead when she told him she loved him.

In all of this, Matthew could only agree with his brother. He had been a fool and a reckless. What exactly did he want to do? Fighting against an entire pack of werewolves, breaking the Law? Raziel, the Accords. His mother would have killed him.

The thought made his head spin and he grunted when the light blinded him. He felt someone move beside him and someone else taking his hand, on the other side of the bed.

“Math? Are you awake?” Jamie asked, whispering, as if he were afraid to scare him.

“No, but I was dreaming of you and I had to share my sorrow.” He joked, bringing his free hand to his face, to protect himself from the sun. He heard Lucie laughing and his heart stopped, and then started beating faster again. Only for her.

“Idiot. You really are an idiot. Next time you do something like this, I’m not gonna let anyone cut your chest open. I’m gonna do it myself.” When he finally saw his parabatai, he had a band around his arm that held it close to his chest, but he was smiling widely, despite the dark circles under his eyes. He turned his head to the other side and nearly cried at the sight of his future wife.

Lucie was staring at him with a shy smile on her lips, as if nothing had happened, and as if she had not stayed by his bed for those long and endless days. But darker circles than her brother’s told Matthew enough about how she must have spent all that time. He gripped her hand before looking at James again, making him understand that he wanted to be alone with his fiancée, and he, after having left a kiss on his head, that Matthew noticed only in that moment was bandaged, went out.

Matthew saw her, staring at her finger where their engagement ring shone and biting her lip thoughtful. He had never noticed it before, how often she did it. It was a nervous tic that she had acquired after Jesse’s death, of that he was sure, but lately it had become a daily occurrence, and Matthew knew that it was partly his fault.

“I thought I’d lost you.“ she said suddenly, staring at the ring. Matthew wasn’t sure how to breathe anymore. He went to talk, but she stopped him, “I thought I’d lost you. And that I would never touch your hand again.” she repeated. She looked up at him and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “I would have lost you, but I would have kept seeing you, because I would have called you every single moment and you would have appeared and this time I wouldn’t have moved on.”

He reached out a hand, brushing her cheekbone with a thumb, removing what was left of her crying, “Luce,”

“No, Math, no Luce here, Luce there.” She said in a sharper tone than she intended, “I spent almost four days watching you turn in your sleep and repeat my name and that of Jamie and your mother.” She grasped Matthew’s hand before she took it back and put them both in her lap. “You’re gonna have to change your way of having fun, or the next time you do something like this, I’m gonna leave.”

Matthew snapped to a sitting position, and the dizziness almost made him fell to the side, but her quick hand grabbed him by the shoulder. He looked at her wide-eyed, gasping, looking for the right words to say to her to make her understand that without her, he would not keep living.

“I tried to make you understand that this kind of life is not good. Not for me, not for Jamie, not even for you. And you go on and on exaggerating every damn time.” Her voice broke, “I’m done with this bullshit.” he flinched at the use of that word. Not that she wasn’t right, but he never thought he would hear Lucie say it with such spite. “I’m letting you decide Math, it’s me or the alcohol. I’m giving you one last chance.” she got up from the chair taking the Fairchild ring off her finger and giving it to him. All without looking at his face. A traitorous tear slipped on her cheek, but she was quick to remove any trace of it. Matthew first looked at the ring and then at her, and then again at the ring. He gently lowered her hand, “No.” he said.

“No?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead.

“No. I love you Lucie and, and this thing, this disease I have…” he was struggling, looking for the right words to say, “You know.” He looked for her eyes and when she finally looked back at him, Matthew started talking again. “You know what happened. You know about the baby. I can’t stop, there’s no solution to that kind of mistake, and if I can’t fix it, then I have to forget. Because if I don’t forget, Luce,” he interrupted and caught his breath, “If I don’t forget, I’ll go crazy. And I don’t want to go crazy. I don’t want to go crazy.” he was starting to repeat himself, and Lucie knew that when he started to repeat himself, it wasn’t a good sign. It meant he was spiraling down his thoughts.

Closing her eyes and gathering her last strength she picked up the skirt of her dress in her arms and made a sign to scoot over to her boyfriend.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting into bed with you, what does it look like? Now move.”

Matthew did, and she sat beside him, circling his shoulders with one arm and carrying his head on her lap. Now he was curled up on her side, and she was passing her hands through his hair, being careful not to bump the bandage, “I’m sorry, Math.” she whispered to him.

“No Lucie don’t, I should be the one apologizing. I should apologize for the way I am, for the way I’m acting. For being the worst friend and fiancé a person could have.” he murmured, “I’m terrible.”

“You’re not terrible. And I love you, Matthew.” She said, taking his chin and making him turn towards her, “I love you because you are the most extraordinary person I know, and I would not have anyone else beside me. I’m not telling you that I want to leave because you’re a bad person, I’m saying that if you decide to deal with this problem, I will deal with it by your side and I will never leave you alone. I’m saying I can’t be the one to make this decision, because it has to start from you.” Matthew sat down in front of her, his lower lip trembling, and when she touched his cheek, he melted on that touch, like every time she grazed him. “I’m telling you I’m here, if you want me, but if you don’t see that there’s something that needs fixing, then I can’t be a part of your life. Do you understand that?” He nodded, always with his face on her hand. He took hers in his and kissed it before looking at her and reaching out to her face. They were about to kiss each other when a sharp pain in his chest caused Matthew to bend over. He groaned for the pain and brought one hand to his side, while the other went to his head, which had just slammed against Lucie’s. She, in turn, started giggling and massaging her forehead, “Yeah, you’re really terrible.” she teased him. When Math didn’t answer, she started to worry. He started breathing irregularly and his shoulders were shaking, but she didn’t think he was hurting that bad. The wounds were almost healed.

“Math?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I think it’s the heart, you know. The fact that you’re not wearing the ring bothers it.” He finally said, raising his eyes lit with fun on her face. She made an exasperated noise, pushing him to the side, before grabbing the ring left on the chair and putting it back on her finger. Matthew took her hand smiling and like a few seconds before, kissed the finger with the family ring on it.

He leaned on his back and brought her to his lap, “I’m so lucky to have you.” He kissed her cheek and she blushed to the tip of her feet. There were few who made her blush with the demonstrations of affection and unfortunately for her, but fortunately for the playful side of her future husband, he was among them.

“And I’m lucky to be loved by someone like you.”

She took his face in her hand and finally, after days of waiting, she was able to kiss him.

90 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 4 years

Text

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 37)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2604

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy, @carryonmyswansong, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

You watched your husband and Cat put on skates and go out to the rink and for a long while they just skated, saying nothing. Spencer couldn't skate at all, and Cat was skating all over the place. She caught up to him and held onto his arm to help him skate and you watched from the side with burning in your eyes and stomach.

It’s a very good thing Dexter taught you to keep your emotions in check. You’d been here before though. Jealous. First with JJ, and it took a long time for s Spencer to convince you there was nothing there. Then with Max, and that had yet to be addressed, and now, a psychotic killer was wheeling your husband around a rink and he was actually smiling.

Why is it when Cat Adams takes him on a random date, he can smile and have fun, knowing the hell she put him through. But you and him were at each other’s throats for months when he found out you were a killer. You were his wife. The love for you should’ve shone through everything else.

So what was the difference? Could he not forgive you for the lying? You knew he was jealous of Dexter but now… Now he’d had three women that made you question your entire marriage in the course of half a year. You had been nothing but open and honest about your entire relationship with Dexter since he found out.

Did he really not see how any of this would affect you? The constant attention given to max/ The slight flirting he was doing with Cat? He didn’t have to flirt. Cat knew it, you knew it, Spencer knew it. He just had to play the game -- he didn’t have to enjoy it.

Cat mentioned that if you weren’t here, she’d request a song from the DJ and make out with Spencer right now. They skated some more and she acknowledged that Spencer would try to get inside her head, so he asked about her baby. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. He said he was trying to use the hormonal effect against her.

“Oh, really? Um, waht about sex?” She skated towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, he wrapped his hands around her waist, and you stiffened. “Why don’t you use that against me?”

Real date or not, it’s never a pretty sight to see your husband that close to another woman.

She slightly pushed away from him and he had trouble staying upright. She made a face of disgust and slapped him so hard that he fell over.

Your eyes went wide with rage. She skated over to where you were, trying to skate past you, but you grabbed her hand in a swift motion, almost too fast for anyone to see and you bent her hand backwards, threatening to break her wrist.

“If you ever touch my husband again, I will kill you. And my method won’t be as humane as a needle in the arm,” you darkly vowed as she bent backwards, wincing. “Are we clear?”

“Jeez, you weren’t this jealous last time,” she responded.

In the background, you could hear Spencer and Luke shouting your name.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Spencer cried out, skating towards you.

You applied more pressure, any more and her wrist would fracture. She was nearly on one knee by now from the way you were pushing.

“Are we clear?” you asked again.

“Yes!”

You released her and stood straight up again as Spencer skated over to you. He gave you a look of anger but you returned it to him.

He spent the next few minutes talking to her, telling her how he couldn’t get her out of his mind and you wanted to roll your eyes. She asked if Spencer thought about her when he kissed you and he said sometimes. The next thing she wanted was to see where you two lived so blissfully happily.

So, within a matter of seconds, everyone was loaded up into the SWAT van and everyone went over to your home. Spencer got out his keys and started to unlock the door before she stopped him.

“Did you really mean what you said?” she asked.

“”Yes.”

“Prove it,” she ordered and you just rolled your eyes. He’d refuse. You knew he would.

But faster than you could blink, Spencer’s hands went to her hair and his mouth collided with hers. Your eyes went wide in shock as your stomach dropped. Fake or not, your husband was kissing another woman, in front of you, on your porch. He was kissing her hungrily, in a way he hadn’t kissed you in a long time.

Luke glanced at you, gauging your reaction, seeing as just a few minutes ago you nearly broke her wrist and threatened to end her life. You couldn’t watch, but you couldn’t look away.

She swung your front door open to reveal a woman in your house and you frowned.

What the hell was this?

Spencer and Cat broke apart and you looked at them, then looked at the girl.

“Max, what are you doing here?” Spencer breathed.

Of course it was fucking Max inside your house. Of course this day was going to get worse and worse.

Luke ordered that someone get Max out of here but Max said, “No, no, no, she’ll kill them if I leave.”

“Kill who?” you asked as you stepped inside the foyer of your home.

“My father and my sister. Look I got a call from some woman with my sister screaming in the background. I was told to come here, that there would be a key taped underneath the porch swing. Spencer, what is happening?!””

“We recovered your father, but your sister is still missing. Look I say we put cat in her cell and we regroup,” Luke suggested

“No. Bring her in here and leave us alone,” Spencer quietly ordered. He then set it up so that the team would hear all of you the entire time, instructed Max on what not to say, and they let Cat come back in.

Fantastic. You were in your home with a woman that was monopolizing your husband’s time and a psychotic killer that was obsessed with him.

“We’re all here, what do you want to talk about?” Spencer demanded as she walked in.

“So, so much.” She eyed Max and said, “She’s cute. I see why she turned your head away from your wife.”

“What are you talking about?” Spencer asked as she walked in your home, touching things and looking at the art and decor.

“You’re married?” Max asked as if she didn’t know and your face whipped to Spencer. You were dying to know why that would be a bit of news to Max.

Finally, she stopped walking and turned to you. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your husband?”

“No.”

“Why not? You nearly broke my arm for slapping him. Is he free real estate? Speaking of which, he kissed me, so you can’t kill me.”

“No, but I’d hope you’re not stupid enough to think the kiss was real.” You cocked your head.

“Are you going to hurt my sister?” Max suddenly asked, taking a step forward

“No. Not if she follows instructions. It could be a learning experience for her.” After a moment, everyone got settled in in your living room. “Normally Spencie and I, we play games, but tonight, I’ve brought you all here to make a point. Y/N, you should know the truth about your husband.”

“I already know everything there is to know about my husband,” you evenly said.

“Oh, really? Did you get the mail today?”

“Yes, why?”

“Go check your mail.”

You got up and looked and found an envelope that was addressed your name, but no address or return address.

“Open it,” Cat ordered.

You peered at her, wondering what the game was. You opened it, and a stack full of photos came out. One was a picture of Spencer carrying Max through a sprinkler system at the park. Another was the two of them laughing over coffee. Another was her hand on his in a booth at a restaurant.

“So? I knew they were spending time together,” you asked, throwing the photos on the coffee table as you looked down at Cat.

“You knew how much, but you didn’t know how. Does that look friendly to you or flirty? Not to mention Max here didn’t even know he was married. Hid the wedding ring and then never mentioned you. How does that make you feel?” she pressed.

“Fine. That doesn’t mean anything. I never came up. He tries to avoid talking about work, and I’m part of his work.”

“Don’t be blind, Y/N, you’ve never been stupid, dont’ start nowy. It’s not a cute look. Not mentioning his work is one thing, but you, his wife? Hmm, it appears our spencie has been a naughty boy.”

“He isn’t ‘our’ anything.”

“Sure he is. Just because I didn’t get a picture of him kissing Max over here doesn't mean it hasn’t happened or that it won’t. He kissed me without hesitation to save her family.”

“He did that to save two people, it doesn’t matter who they are.”

“But it does. See, I know the real Dr. Reid. He’s not this bookish genius that saves the day and has all the answers.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’s the real me, Cat?” Spencer prompted.

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls, and hisses that he’s going to kill them,” Cat said.

“That was a very different situation,” Spencer said.

“No it wasn’t.”

“What’s she talking about?” Max asked.

“Why don’t you explain it? She won’t believe it coming from me,” Cat said.

“Two years ago Cat kidnapped my mother. Just like tonight, she got under my skin, and--.”

“You threw her against a wall?” Max asked, clearly appalled.

“Don’t skimp on the details, Spencie,” Cat instructed as she paced around. “She should know everything, as your mistress.”

“I’m not his mistress,” Max responded.

“She was pregnant at the time, and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And, the next day, I miscarried. The end.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer retorted quickly, a look of concern washing over him.

Oh, he was concerned Cat miscarried, but not about him committing infidelity. Nice to know where you stood.

“It most certainly is true. Check my medical records. So now you both see. Max, you see that Dr. Reid is actually a lot darker than you thought. He’s married, he’s a liar, and a cheat--”

“I never cheated,” Spencer corrected quickly.

“No, but you thought about it and you didn’t think twice about kissing me to prove a point.”

“What is this?” Max asked, jumping up. “What is this sick twisted game you three are playing?”

“Okay, fine,” you said, your voice hard. “You want to break up my marriage with vague photos, fine, but why take Max’s family. What do they have to do with this?”

“Because I want to show everyone what happens if you involve yourself with Spencer Reid. See, Maxine here should know that this is what life is like for anyone who knows him.”

“So why not abduct me?” you challenged.

“You’re already married, it’s too late to show you anything new, except what he’s done with Max here. You should be thanking me, Y/N. No woman will want to get near Dr. Reid.”

“Thanking you? You’ve put two innocent people's lives in danger,” you responded, your teeth gritting together.

“You’re being very ungrateful. I’m saving Maxie from the inevitable danger she’ll get in with Spencie and I’m trying to show you that he’s just like every other scumbag guy out there. He’s out for himself and that’s it.”

“I can't believe you didn’t tell me you were married,” Max responded, clearly upset and now you realized you had a reason to be too. What had they done that would cause concern for being around a married man?

“See? Men are pigs,” Cat spat as she kneeled in front of Max. “You’ve been hurt before like this. Been the other woman. Tell me about it. I could have little sis and Juliette go over to his place and take care of him.”

“Just give her what she wants,” Spencer encouraged.

“He’s just saying that so I’ll call and they can trace it.”

Max jumped up, ended the landline phone call that was keeping the team in contact, and begged Cat to get confirmation her sister was alive. But Cat insisted on a name and a story first. So Maxine started in on a story about a man she knew that made her feel special, made her feel like she was on top of the world, only to find out he was married with two kids. So when she confronted him, he got violent, and she hit him over the head with a vase that killed him. She told 911 it was self defense, but she went there looking for a fight, a way to hurt him.

Cat entered the phone number, the text, and everyone waited on confirmation that her sister was alive. She said, “See? There, now everyone is miserable. Maxine is right back to being the other woman. Spencer has broken two women’s hearts. Better than their neck though, right Spencie? And Y/N sees her husband as the cheating, lying, psycho he is. I mean, in one night, we’ve determined he could kiss me easily, on your front porch no less, and with Maxine here…” She shook her head before looking down. “Oh look. Proof sis is alive.”

Maxine grabbed the phone and dashed out of your house and showed your team the photo. You and Spencer didn’t speak as Cat was reloaded into the SWAT van and you drove to the prison.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?” Cat asked.

“To prove I’m a monster, just like you,” Spencer said, his eyes meeting yours from across the van.

“No, silly,” Cat retorted before resting her head on his shoulder. “I just wanted to see you again.”

Your eyes flashed with pain and heartbreak as you stared at her.

“You ruined my marriage and the only friendship I’ve had in a long time, just to see me? You could’ve just written me a letter.”

“Would you have written back?” she asked.

He didn’t respond and the rest of the ride was silent until you reached the prison. They oepned the doors, and began to unload Cat.

“You know, just because those pictures didn’t show Spencer kissing Max, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t cheating,” Cat said as she got out of the van.

You frowned as you said, “What do you mean? Of course it does. If you couldn’t get one picture of them being physical--”

“Don’t forget who your husband is, Y/N. His love language isn’t physicality. It’s books...poems...museums… He’s a lover of the mind. You might want to ask Maxine just how many gifts she got from Spencie here.” She glanced at Spencer before looking to you again. “It’s been a real pleasure. It’s too bad I won’t be there to see the divorce finalize. Best date ever.” She gave you her signature crazy look, and then they walked her away.

It was only you and Spencer in the back of the SWAT van now.

“Y/N,” he started softly.

“Don’t,” you warned through gritted teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging:

Forever Tag:

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification

@thejemersoninferno

@rda1989

@munlis

@thefridgeismybestie

@bubblyanarocks3

@igiveupicantthinkofausername

@kaliforniacoastalteens

@feelmyroarrrr

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo

@damalseer

@heyitscam99

@yknott81

@thelittlebigirl

@glitterquadricorn

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm

@alyssaj23

@sea040561

@princess76179

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@sarahp879

@malfoysqueen14

@ellallheart

@breezy1415

@marvelmayo

@paintballkid711

Spencer Reid

@camigt1999

@ultrarebelheart

@lenawiinchester

@esoltis280

ITCM

@arganfics

@zozoleesi

#inside the criminal mind #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #dexter #dexter morgan #dexter fic

31 notes · View notes

fourteenaway · 3 years

Text

A Tragic Prologue | The Story of Cary / Part I

tw: abuse, rape, domestic violence, infidelity, pregnancy.

Exactly five years and three months had passed since Caren had married Leeland, and it’d taken that long for them to finally have something that resembled a real vacation. Five years and three months and still she often felt as if Leeland was a stranger to her.

Madame Ephron had been the one to suggest that they take a break, go to Barcelona, they deserved it. Or rather she thought perhaps that Leeland needed it to get back in true form.

It was here that Daniel’s graduation invitation from med-school finally found her in a little villa they’d taken up in for the weeks they’d be here. She knew it instantly when she spotted the thick envelope, her heart jumping at the announcement of Daniel’s achievement of his medical degree. How proud she felt knowing he’d done it, completed college and then medical school in seven years what took most at least eight.

When she opened it she found not only a formal announcement but a note from Daniel, written in his handwriting that was far better than any other doctors unreadable scrawl:

Dear Caren,

I am embarrassed to tell you this, but I am the top graduate in a class of two hundred. So don't you dare try and find an excuse to keep away. You have to be there to bask in the glow of my excitement, as I bask in the radiance of your admiration. I cannot possibly accept my M.D. if you aren't there to see. And you can tell Leeland this when he tries to prevent your coming.

Your dearest,

Daniel

Caren smiled glowing from cheek to cheek at his excitement and good humor. The only bothersome thing about this was that she and Leeland had signed a contract some time ago to tape a TV production of Giselle. It was set for June, but now in May, they wanted them both. Both of them were sure the television exposure would make them the stars they'd strived so long to be.

It had seemed a perfect time to approach Leeland with the news. They’d returned to their villa after touring old castles. So as soon as their evening meal was over and the pair had sat out on the terrace sipping glasses of a red wine, she knew he was nuts about, but gave her a headache. Only then did she dare to timidly approach going back to the States in time fo Daniel’s May graduation.

“Really, we do have the time to fly there and be back in plenty of time to go into rehearsal for Giselle," she tried.

"Oh, come off it, Caren!” Leeland said impatiently. “It's a difficult role for you, and you'll be tired, and you'll need to rest up."

“Two weeks was plenty of time ... and a TV taping doesn’t take too long. Please, darling, let's go. I'd be sick not to see Daniel become a doctor, just as you'd be if your friend was reaching the goal he'd strived for year after year,” Caren tried again.

"Hell, no!" Leeland flared, narrowing his dark eyes and shooting sparks her way. “I get so damned sick and tired of hearing Daniel this, and Daniel that, and if it isn't his name you drum in my ears, then it's his brother, William this and that! You are not going!"

Caren pleaded with him to be reasonable, “He's only like a brother to me,” she lied slightly, “it just means his graduation day is nearly as important to me as it is to him. You can't understand how much this means not only to him, but to me as well! You think he and I lived lives of luxury compared to yours, just because we were adopted by the Derricks, but you can rest assured, it was no picnic!"

"Your past is something you don't talk about to me," he snapped back. “It's exactly as if you were born the day you found your precious Dr. William! Caren, you are my wife now, and your place is with me. Your William has Cassidy, and they'll be there, so Daniel won't lack applause when he gets that damned M.D.!"

"You can't tell me what I can do and what I can't do! I'm your wife, not your slave!"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said, standing and seizing hold of my arm. "C'mon, let's hit the sack. I'm tired.”

Without speaking Caren allowed him to tug her into the bedroom where she began to undress. But he came over to help, and in this way she was informed it was to be a night of love, or rather sex.

But she shoved his hands away.

Scowling, he put them back on her shoulders and leaned to nibble on her neck; he fondled her breasts before he reached to unhook her bra. Caren hissed and slapped his hands away, before screaming, “No!”

But he persisted in taking off her bra, finding it as easy as a mask to take off, he threw away his anger and put on his dreamy-eyed romantic look.

Caren supposed there had been a time when Leeland had appeared to her the epitome of everything sophisticated, worldly, elegant, but compared to the way he was now, since his father's death, he'd been only a country-bumpkin.

There were times she actually detested him. This was such a time.

"I am going, Leeland You may come with me, or you may meet me in New York after I fly back from the graduation ceremony. Or you can stay on here and sulk. Whatever, I am going. I want you to come with me and share in the family celebration, for you never share in anything-you hold me back, so I don't share either-but this time you can't stop me! It's too important!" Caren told him sternly.

Quietly he listened and he smiled in a way that sent chills down her spine. Oh, how wicked he could look.

“Hear this, beloved wife, when you married me, I became your ruler, and by my side you will stay until I kick you out. And I'm not yet ready to do that. You are not leaving me alone in Spain when I don't speak Spanish. Maybe you can learn from records, but I can't,” he spoke coldly.

"Don't threaten me, Leeland,” Caren said coolly, though she backed off and felt a terrible pounding of panic. “Without me you don't have anyone who cares, except your mother, and since you don't care for her, who have you got left?"

Lightly he reached out to slap both her cheeks. She closed her eyes, resigned to accept anything he did, as long as she could go to Daniel. She allowed him to undress her and do what he would, even though he clutched her buttocks so hard they hurt. For she could, when she chose, withdraw until she was outside of herself, looking on, and what he did to me So that what was appalling didn't really matter-for she wasn't truthfully there-unless the pain was great-as sometimes it was.

“Don't try and sneak away," he warned, his words muffled because he was kissing everywhere, teasing her like a cat who plays with a mouse when it's not hungry. "Swear on your word of honor that you will stay and miss your dearly beloved Daniel’s graduation and stay with husband who needs you, who adores you, who can't live without you," he demanded.

She knew he was mocking her, though his need for her was that of a child needing his mother. For that was what she had become. His mother, in everything but sex. She had to choose his suits, his socks and shirts, his costumes, his practice outfits, though he consistently refused to let her handle the household accounts.

"I will not swear to anything so unfair. Daniel has come to see you perform and you have gloried in showing off to him. Now let him have his turn. He's worked hard for it," she insisted.

Caren pulled free from him then, and strolled to pick up a black lace nightgown he liked her to wear even though she hated black nightgowns and underwear. They reminded her of whores and call girls but also her mother who'd had a fancy for black lingerie.

"Get up off your knees, Leeland. You look ludicrous. You can't do anything to me if I choose to go. A bruise would show, and besides, you've grown so accustomed to my weight and balance you can't even lift another dancer properly,” she spoke chillingly though she thought, truthfully.

He came at her angrily then, shouting, "You're mad because we haven't made it to the top, aren't you? You're blaming me because our booking was canceled. And now Madame Ephron has given us a leave so I can sober up and come back refreshed, made wholesome by playing games with my wife. Caren, I don't know how to entertain myself except by dancing; I'm not interested in books or museums like you are, and there are ways of hurting and humiliating you that won't leave any bruises-except on your ego-and you should know that by now."

Foolishly she smiled, when she should have known better than to challenge him when he was feeling less than confident. “What's the matter, Lee? Didn't your sex break satisfy your lust for perversion? Why don't you go out and find a schoolgirl, for I'm not going to cooperate."

She'd never before thrown in his face that I knew about his debaucheries with younger women.

It had hurt at first when she found out, but now she knew he used those girls like he used paper napkins, to casually toss away when soiled, and back he'd come to her, to say he loved her, needed her, and she was the only one.

Slowly he advanced, using his pantherlike stalk that told her he would be ruthless, but still she held her head high, knowing she could escape by shutting off her mind, and he couldn't afford to hit her.

He paused one foot away as she heard the clock on the nightstand ticking in the silence.

"Caren, you will do as I say if you know what's good for you," he warned.

He was cruel that night, evil and spiteful; forcing upon her what should only be given in love. He dared her to bite. And this time she wouldn't have just one black eye, but two, and maybe worse.

“And I'll tell everybody you are sick. That your period has you so badly cramped you can't dance, so you won't skip out on me, or make any phone calls, for I'll bind you to the bed and hide your passport,” he told her as he took.

He grinned and slapped her face lightly when he finished before whispering, "Now, honey-chile, whatcha gonna do this time?” He asked reverting into the southern drawl he’d grown up on.

The next morning, smiling and himself again, Leeland sauntered naked to the breakfast table, and flung himself down, sprawled out his long, beautifully shaped legs and asked casually, "What's for breakfast?"

He held out his arms so Caren could come and kiss his lips, which she did. She faked a smile and brushed a lock of dangling hair from his forehead, and poured his coffee, and then said, "Good morning, darling. Same old breakfast for you. Fried eggs and fried ham. I'm having a cheese omelet."

Assured by her tone that all was past he sighed, “"I'm sorry, Caren," he murmured. “Why do you try to bring out the worst in me? I only use those girls to spare you."

"If they don't mind, then I don't mind... but don't ever force me to do what I did last night. I'm very good at hating, Leeland. Just as good as you are at forcing. And at harboring revenge I'm an expert!" She warned him.

She slid onto his plate two fried eggs and two slices of ham. No toast and no butter. Both of them ate in silence. He sat across the checkered red and white tablecloth, closely shaven, clean and smelling of soap and shaving lotion. In his own dark and light exotic way he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

"Caren ... you haven't said you love me today," he said eventually.

"I love you, Leeland," she replied.

An hour after breakfast,and she was now madly searching every room to find her passport, while Leeland slept on the bed, where she'd dragged him from the kitchen after he fell asleep from all the sedatives she'd dumped in his coffee.

He wasn't nearly as good at hiding as she was at finding. Under the bed, and under the blue rug, she found her passport. Quickly she threw clothes into her suitcases. When she was packed, dressed and ready to go, she leaned above him and kissed him good-bye.

He was breathing deep and regularly, and smiling slightly; perhaps the drugs were giving him pleasant dreams. Though she'd drugged him, she hesitated, wondering if she'd done the right thing.

Shrugging off her indecision, she headed toward the garage. Yes, she did what she had to do. If he were awake now, he'd have buried himself into her side all through the day, with her passport in his pocket. Besides she'd left a note telling him where she was going.

When she arrived at the airport William was waiting for her and after hugging him briefly she asked, “Did Daniel get my message? He does know I'm coming right?"

"Oh, indeed. He was fretting through every moment, afraid Leeland would refuse to let you leave him, and knowing Leeland wouldn't come. Honestly, Caren, if you hadn't shown up, I don't think Daniel would accept his degree," he said with an appraising look in his eyes.

To sit beside William and Cassidy, and watch her Daniel stride down the aisle and up the steps to accept his diploma, and then stand behind the podium and make the valedictory speech, put tears in her eyes and a swelling happiness in her heart.

He did it so beautifully she cried. William and Cassidy also had tears to shed. Even Caren’s success on stage couldn't compare to the pride she felt now. And Leeland, he should be here too, making himself a part of her family and not stubbornly resisting all the time.

When she looked back at the stage though, and saw Daniel up there, ready to step behind the podium though, it all slipped away.

She didn't know how he managed to find her in the crowd, but somehow he did. Their gazes met and locked, and across all the heads of those who sat between them, they met in silent communication they always had and shared an overwhelming jubilation! For they'd done it! Both of them. Reached their goals; become what they'd set out to be when they were children. The dreams they’d shared to each other when they were both young and feeling unwanted and undeserving of the love the Derrick’s had both given them. And watching Daniel, Caren believed she could see his whole life.

She saw him swinging a bat when he was ten to smash a ball over the fence, only for him to run like mad to touch all bases in the quickest possible time, when he could have walked and made his home run. But that wasn't his way, to make it look too easy.

She saw him that first day when she’d showed up on the Derrick’s doorstep only a few years after he had, scared and untrusting of everyone as she clutched her younger sister to her chest. She saw that encouraging smile on his face that gave her hope when there was none.

She saw him racing on his bike yards ahead of her, then slowing down deliberately so she could catch up and they'd both reach William’s office at the same time and then locking up the bike for her.

The ceremony ended with a huge luncheon planned by the university in celebration. At the table Cassidy babbled away, but Caren and Daniel could only stare at each other, each of them trying to find the right words to say.

Suddenly Daniel frowned and asked why Leeland hadn’t come.

"He wanted to come, Daniel, really he did," Caren lied, “But he has obligations that keep him so busy he couldn't spare the time. He asked me to give you his congratulations. We do have very tight schedules. Actually, I can only stay two days. We're going to do a TV production of Giselle next month," she reasoned to him.

When everyone had gone and they were back at William’s house, alone on the veranda Daniel sighed and said, “Caren, he didn't want you to come to my graduation, did he?”

Caren remained silent in her answer and Daniel shook his head and said, “He’s going to ruin your careers. I warned you not to let him be your manager. Madame Ephron would have treated you more fairly. She loves you."

Caren began to pace the porch. Her original contract with Madame Ephron. had expired two years ago, and all she owed her now was twelve performances a year. The rest of the time, Leeland and her were freelance, and could dance with whichever company they liked.

Now everything was falling apart.

Everything was made worse by the fact that she had made a secret trip to the gynecologist the day before. Two missed periods didn't really mean anything for a woman like her, who was so irregular. She might not be pregnant, she thought. It might be just another false alarm ... but something about this time felt different.

If it wasn't a false alarm, she prayed she'd have the strength to go through with an abortion. She didn't need a baby in her life. For she knew once she had a child, he or she would become the center of her world, and love would again spoil a ballerina who could have been the best.

Ballet music was in her head when she drove Daniel's car to visit Leeland’s mother, Madame Milena one hot spring day when all the world seemed sleepy and lazy except for those poor children being instructed by a shrill little bat wearing black, as always.

Caren sat in the shadows near the far wall of a huge auditorium and watched the large class of boys and girls dance. It was scary to think of how soon those girls would grow up to replace the stars of the present. Then she too would become another Madame Ephron and the years would flow like seconds, until she was Madame Milena, and all her beauty would be preserved only in old, faded photographs.

“Caren," called Madame Milena joyfully when she spied her. She came striding swiftly, gracefully her way. "Why do you sit in the shadows?" she asked. “How nice to see your lovely face again. And don't think I don't know why you look so sad! You're one big fool to leave Leeland! He's a big baby; you know he can't be left alone or he does things to hurt himself, and when he hurts himself, he hurts you too! Why did you let him get control of your management? Why did you let him burn up your money as fast as it hits your pockets? I tell you this, in your place, I would never, never have let him put another in my role of Giselle!"

‘God, what a blabbermouth he was!’ Caren thought.

"Don't worry about me, Madame," Caren said coolly, "if my husband doesn't want me for his partner anymore, I'm sure there will be others who will."

She scowled and advanced on her. She put those bony hands on her and shook Caren as if to wake her up. Up close, Caren could see she'd aged terribly since Leeland’s father had died. Her ebony hair was almost white now, and streaked with charcoal.

“You gonna let my son make a fool of you? You let him put another dancer in your place? I gave you credit for having more backbone! Now you hightail it back to New York and push that other girl out of his life! Marriage is sacred, and wedding vows are meant to be kept!" She insisted.

Then she softened and said, “Come now, Caren," and led her into her small cluttered office, “Now you tell me about this foolishness going on between you and your husband!"

"It is really none of your business!" Caren insisted.

She swung another straight chair to where she could straddle it. Leaning forward upon her arms, she stabbed Caren with her hard penetrating glare, “Anything, and everything concerning my son is my business!" She snapped. “Now you just sit there and keep quiet, and let me tell you what you don't know about your husband."

Her voice turned a little kinder, "I was older than his father when we were married, and even so I dared putting off having a child until I believed the best of my career was behind me, and then I became pregnant. Leeland’s father never wanted a child to hold him down, and back, and so, from the beginning Leeland had two strikes against him,” she tells Caren.

She looks down then and whispers, “I tell myself we didn't force the dance upon our son, but we did keep him with us, so the ballet became part of his world, the most important part.”

She sighed heavily and wiped a bony hand over her troubled brow. "We were strict with him, I admit that. We did everything we could to make him what was perfect in our eyes, but the more we tried, the more determined he became to be everything we didn't want him to be. We tried to teach him perfect diction, so he ended up mocking us with all kinds of vulgar street language-gutter talk, his father called it. You know," she went on with a wistful expression, "only after my husband was dead and buried did I realize that he never spoke to our son unless it was an order not to do something, or an order to improve his dancing technique. I never realized that my husband could have been jealous of his own son, seeing that he was a better dancer and would achieve more fame. It wasn't easy for me to become only a ballet mistress, and for Georges to be only an instructor. Many a night we lay on our bed and held to each other, craving the applause, the adulation. ... It was a hunger that would not be satisfied until we heard the applause for our son."

Again she paused, and birdlike craned her neck to peer at Caren and see if she was paying full attention.

Oh, yes, she had her attention. She was telling her so much she needed to know.

"Leeland tried to hurt his father, and my husband got hurt because Leeland made light of his father's reputation. One day he called him only a second-class performer. My husband didn't speak to his own son for a whole month! They never got back together after that. Farther and farther they drifted apart ... until one fine Christmas Day when another prodigy drifted into our lives, and offered herself. You! Leeland had flown back to visit us, only because I had pleaded with him to try and make it up with his father ...and Leeland saw you,” she took a pause and sighed, “It is our responsibility to pass along our skills of technique to the younger generation, and still I felt some apprehension in taking you on, mostly because I thought you would hurt my son. I don't know why I thought that, but it seemed obvious from the very start, it was that older doctor you loved and if not him then his younger brother. Then I thought you had something very rare, a passion for the dance that is seldom seen. You were, in your own way, equal to what Leeland was, and the two of you together were so sensational I couldn't believe my eyes. My son felt it too, the rapport between you two. You turned those big, soft, admiring blue eyes on him, so later he came and told me you were a sex kitten who would fall easily under his spell and into his arms. He and I always had a close relationship, and he confessed to me what other boys would have kept secret.”

She paused, flicked her stony eyes over Caren and went on breathlessly, "You came, you admired him, you loved him when you were dancing with him, and when you weren't, you were indifferent. The harder you were to win, the more determined he was to have you. I thought you were clever, playing a skillful woman's game when you were only a child! And now you, you ... you go and leave him when he was in a foreign country, when he couldn't speak the language, when you should have learned he has weaknesses, many of them, and that he cannot bear to be alone!"

She jumped up like a black, scrawny alleycat and stood above Caren.

“Without Leeland to give you inspiration and enhance your talent with his own, where would you be? Without him would you be in New York, dancing with what is fast becoming one of the leading ballet companies? No! You'd be here, raising babies for that doctor. God knows why you said yes to Leeland, and how you can keep from loving him. For he tells me you don't, and never have! So you drug him. You leave him. You take off to see that younger brother, not even the one you were with before, become a doctor, when you know damn well your place is at your husband's side, making him happy and taking care of his wants! Yes! Yes!" she shrilled, "he called me long distance and told me everything! Now he thinks he hates you! Now he wants to cut you off. And when he does, he won't have a heart left to keep him alive! For he gave you his heart years and years ago!" She shouts.

Caren began to shake, slowly she rose to her feet; her legs felt weak and trembly as she brushed a hand over her aching forehead, and held back tired tears.

All of a sudden it hit her hard, she did love Leeland. For now she saw how very much they were alike, him with his hate for his father who had denied him as a son. And her with her hatred for her mother, making me do crazy things, like sending off hateful letters and Christmas cards to sadden her life and never, never let her find peace. And Leeland in competition with his father, never knowing he'd won, and was better...and her in competition with her mother-but feeling that she had yet to prove herself better.

"Madame, I am going to tell you something Leeland might not know, and I didn't really know until today; I do love your son. Perhaps I always loved him, and just couldn't accept it."

She shook her head, then fired her words like bullets, "If you love him, why did you leave him? Answer me that! You left him because you found out he has a liking for young women? Fool! All men have yearnings for young women but still they go on loving their wives! If you let his desire for young flesh drive you away, you are crazy! Slap his face; kick his behind-tell him to leave those girls alone or you will divorce him! Say all of that, and he will be what you want. But when you say nothing, and act like you don't care, you tell him plainly you don't love him, or want him, or need him!”

“I'm not his mother, or a priest, or God," Caren said wearily, sick of all the passion she used. Backing toward the door, Caren tried to leave before saying, “I don't know if I can keep Leeland from younger women, but I'm willing to go back and try. I promise to do better. I'll be more understanding, and I'll let him know I love him so much, I can't abide the thought of him making love to anyone but me."

Madame came then to take Caren in her arms. She soothed, “Poor baby, if I have been hard on you, it was for your own good. You have to keep my son from destroying himself. When you save him, you save yourself, for I lied when I said you would be nothing without Leeland. He is the one who would be nothing without you! He has a death wish, always I've known it. He thinks he's not good enough to live on because his father could never convince him he was, and that was my fault too, as well as his father’s. Leeland waited for years and years for his father to see him as a son, worthy of being loved for himself. He waited equally as long for his father to say yes, you will be even a better dancer than I was, and I'm proud of what and who you are. But his father kept his silence. But you go back and tell Leeland his father did love him. To me he said it many times. Tell him too that his father was proud of him. Tell him, Caren. Go back and convince him of how much you need and love him. Tell him how sorry you are to have left him alone. Go quickly before he does something terrible to himself!" She begged before Caren left.

So it was time for her to say good-bye to Cassidy and William. Only this time she didn't have to bid adieu to Daniel.

He put his foot down, “No! I'm coming with you! I'm not letting you go back to a crazy man. When you've made your peace with him, and I know everything is alright only then will I leave," Daniel declared.

The plane set down at La Guardia around three. A hot, sultry day. Both Carena and Daniel were both tired.

"At this hour Leeland will be in the theater rehearsing. They'll use the rehearsals as a promotion film. There have to be a lot of rehearsals; we've never danced in this theater before and it's important to get the feel of the space you have to move in,” Caren explained to Daniel.

Daniel was lugging along Caren’s two heavy suitcases, while she carried his much lighter bag. She laughed and smiled his way, glad he was with her, though she knew Leeland would be furious.

"Now you stay in the background ... and don't let him even see you if everything goes alright. Really, Daniel, I'm sure he'll be glad to see me. He's not dangerous,” Caren reasoned.

“Sure," he said glumly.

They sauntered on into the darkened theater. The stage up ahead was very brightly lit. The TV cameras were in position, ready to shoot the warm-ups. The director, producer and a few others were lined up in the front-row seats.

The heat of the day was chased by the chill of the huge space so Daniel opened up one of Caren’s bags and spread a sweater about her shoulders after they both sat down near the aisle, midway back in the center section.

Automatically Caren lifted both her legs to stretch them on top of the seat just ahead. Though she shivered, the corps de ballet were sweating from the hot light. Caren looked for Leeland but didn't see him.

Just to think of Leeland though, was to bring him out of the wings, onto the stage in a series of whirling jetés. Looking so handsome.

"Wow!" whispered Daniel in Caren’s ear. "Sometimes I forget how sensational he is on stage. No wonder every ballet critic thinks he will be the star of this decade when he learns some discipline. Let it be soon ...and I mean you too, Caren."

She smiled, for she too needed discipline, "Yes," she said, "I too, of course."

No sooner had Leeland finished his solo performance than the woman that had replaced Caren, Loretta Price pirouetted out from the wings, wearing red. She was more beautiful than ever and she danced so extraordinarily well for a girl so tall.

That was, she danced well until Leeland came to partner her, and then everything went wrong. He reached for her waist and got her buttocks, then he had to quickly shift his hold, so she slipped and nearly fell and again he adjusted to save her.

A male dancer who let a ballerina fall would soon never have a partner to lift. They tried again the same jump, lift, and fall back, and this time it went almost as awkward, making Loretta seem ungainly, and Leeland unskilled.

Even Caren, sitting halfway down the row of seats, could hear her loud curse. "Damn you!" she screeched. "You make me look gauche-if you let me fall, I'll see you never dance again!"

"Cut!" called the director, getting to his feet and looking impatiently from one to the other.

The corps de ballet milled about, grumbling, throwing angry looks at the pair center stage that was wasting so much time. Obviously, from the sweaty, hot looks of all of them, this had been going on for some time, and badly.

"Laurent!" called the director, well known for having little patience for those who required two, or even more takes. "What the hell is wrong with your timing? I thought you said you knew this ballet. I can't think of one thing you've done right in the past three days."

"Me?" Leeland railed back. "It's not me... it's her-she jumps too soon!"

"Okay," the director said sarcastically, "it's always her fault and never yours." He tried to control his impatience, knowing Leeland would walk out in a second if criticized too much. "When is your wife going to be well enough to dance again?"

Loretta screamed out, "Hey, wait a minute! I came all the way from Los Angeles and now you're sounding as if you're going to replace me with Caren! I won't have it! I'm written into that contract now! I'll sue!"

"Miss Price," said the director smoothly, "you are the cover only—but while you are, let's attempt it again. Laurent, listen for your cue. Prince, make ready and pray to God this time it will be fit to show an audience who might expect better from professionals."

Caren smiled to hear she was only the cover. She had thought she was really written out. She found she perversely enjoyed watching Leeland make a fool out of himself and Loretta as well.

Yet, when the dancers on stage groaned, she groaned along with them, feeling their exhaustion, and despite herself she began to feel pity for Leeland who was diligently trying to balance Loretta.

Any second the director could call "take ten" and that's when Caren would make her move.

Up ahead, first row, Madame Ephron suddenly turned her wizened giraffe neck to crane Caren’s way, and those sharp little beady eyes saw her sitting tensely, watching like an eagle.

"Hey, you, Caren," she called with great enthusiasm, “Come,” she gestured, “sit by my side.”

"Excuse me a minute, Daniel," Caren whispered. “I've got to go up there and save Leeland before he ruins both our careers. I'll be alright. There's not much he can do with an audience is there?"

Once Caren was seated beside Madame Ephron, she hissed, "Sooo, you’re not so sick after all! Thank God for small favors. Your husband up there is ruining my reputation along with his and yours. I should have known better than to always let him partner you, so now he can dance with no one as well."

"Madame," Caren asked, "who arranged for Loretta to be my stand-in?”

"Your husband, my love," she whispered cruelly, “You let him get control, you were a fool to do that. He is impossible! He is a tempest, a devil, so unreasonable! Soon he will go mad, if he doesn't see your face or we will go mad. Now run fast and put on dance clothes and save me from extinction!"

It was only a matter of seconds before Caren had on a practice outfit and, as soon as she had her hair bound up and securely fastened in place, she strapped on her pointes. At the dressing room barre she warmed up quickly. Doing her pliés, and the rond de jambes to pump blood into each limb. Soon enough she was ready. Not a day passed where Caren didn't do her exercises for several hours.

In the darkened wings Caren hesitated. She was prepared, she thought, for almost anything for when Leeland saw her, what would he do? While she watched him on stage, suddenly from behind she was brutally shoved aside!

"You've been replaced," hissed Loretta. “So, get out and stay out! You had your chance and loused it up. Now Leeland is mine! You hear that? He's mine! I have slept in your bed, and used your makeup and worn your jewelry. I have taken your place in everything."

Caren wanted to ignore her and not believe anything she said. When the cue came for Giselle to go on, Loretta tried to hold her that's when Caren turned savagely upon her and pushed her so hard she fell. She blanched with pain, while Caren went on pointe and glided onto the stage, making her perfect little string of pearls.

Each tiny step could have been measured and proven to be of an exact distance. For now was the shy, young village girl, sweetly, sincerely falling in love with Loys. Others on stage gasped to see her. Relief lit up Leeland's dark eyes for an instant.

"Hi," he said coolly as she neared him, and fluttered her dark lashes to enchant him more.

"Why'd you come back? Your doctors kick you out? Sick of you already?" He asked.

"You are a nasty, inconsiderate brute, Leeland, to replace me with Loretta! You know I despise her!"

His back was to the lookers as he sneered wickedly, all the while keeping time, "Yeah, I know you hate her. That's why I wanted her."

He curled his beautiful red lips so they looked ugly, “Listen to this, dancing doll. Nobody runs out on me, especially my wife, and comes back and thinks she can still fit in my life. My love, my dearest heart, I don't want you now, I don't need you now, and you can go and play bitch to any man you want! Get the hell out of my life!"

"You don't mean that," Caren said, as they both performed perfectly, and no one called cut. How could they when they did everything so exquisitely right?

"You don't love me," he said bitterly. "You've never loved me. No matter what I did, or what I said, and now I don't give a damn! I gave you the best I had to give, and it wasn't enough. So, dear Caren I give you this!"

And with those sudden words, he broke the routine, jumped high into the air, to come down forcefully and directly onto her feet. All his weight, brought down like a battering ram to crush her toes.

Caren uttered some small cry of pain, then Leeland was whirling back to chuck her under the chin.

“Now, love, see who will dance Giselle with me. Certainly it won't be you, will it?" He hisses.

“Take ten!" bellowed the director, too late to save her.

Leeland gripped her shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. Caren stared at him rattle-eyed, expecting anything. Then suddenly he whirled away leaving her center stage, alone, on two damaged feet that hurt so badly she could have screamed. Instead, she sank to the floor and sat there staring at her rapidly swelling feet.

From out of the darkened auditorium Daniel came running to her assistance.

“Damn him to hell for doing this!" He cried, falling on his knees to take off her pointe shoes and examine her feet. Tenderly he tried to move her toes, but she cried out from the awful pain.

Then he picked her up easily and held her tight against him, "You'll be alright, Caren. I'll see that your toes heal properly. I fear a few are broken on each foot. You'll need an orthopedist,” he told her.

"Take Caren to our orthopedist," ordered Madame Ephron who teetered forward and stared at Caren’s darkening, enlarging feet. She peered more closely at Daniel, having seen him only a few times before.

“You’re Caren’s doctor boy who caused all this trouble?" she asked, making Caren blush. “Take her quick to the doctor. We have insurance. But that fool husband, this is it. I fire him!” She declared.

At the doctor of Caren’s feet were X-rayed disclosing three broken toes on her left foot, and one broken small toe on her right.

Thank God both her big toes were spared, or else she might never dance again!

An hour later Daniel was carrying her out of the doctor's office with a plaster cast drying on one foot that reached to her knee, while the small toe was only taped and left to heal without such protection.

The doctor's last words rung in her ears though, “You may, or you may not dance again, it all depends."

On what it depended, he didn't say.

So she asked Daniel.

“Sure," he said confidently, of course you'll dance again. Sometimes a doctor likes to be overly pessimistic so you can think how great he was when everything works out fine due to his special skill."

Clumsily he tried to support her while he used her key to open the door of the apartment Leeland and her shared. Then he carefully lifted her up again, carried her inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible on one of the soft couches.

Caren had her eyes squeezed tightly together, trying to suppress the pain she felt at every move.

Daniel tenderly supported both legs so he could stuff pillows under and keep them elevated to reduce the swelling. Another fat pillow was carefully eased under her back and head and he never said one word not one word.

Because he was so silent, she opened her eyes and studied his face that loomed above her. He tried to look professional, detached, but he failed. He showed shock each time his eyes moved from one object to another.

Fearful Caren looked around and her eyes bulged and her mouth opened.

This room! The mess! Oh, God, it was awful!

Their apartment was a wreck! Every painting Leeland and her had so carefully selected was torn down from the walls, smashed on the floor. Even the two watercolors Daniel had painted especially for her, portraits with her in costume.

All the expensive trinkets they’d bought lay broken on the hearth, lamps were on the floor, the shades slashed to ribbons and the wire frames bent. Needlepoint pillows she'd made during the long tedious flights from here to there while on tour were ripped, destroyed! Houseplants had been dumped from their pots and left with roots exposed to die.

Two cloisonné vases that William had given as a wedding gift, gone too. Everything fine and costly, and very cherished, things they had planned to keep all their lives and leave to their children, all beyond restoration.

"Vandals," said Daniel softly, "Just vandals."

He smiled and kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand as tears came to her eyes. “Stay calm," he said, then he went to check the other three rooms, while she sank back on the pillows and sniffed back her sobs.

Oh, how he must hate her to do this!

Shortly after, Daniel was back with his expression very composed, in that same eye-of-the-hurricane way she'd seen a few times on his face.

"Caren," he began, settling cautiously down on the edge of the sofa and reaching for her hand, “I don't know what to think. All your clothes and shoes have been ruined. Your jewelry is scattered all over the bedroom floor, the chains ripped apart, the rings stepped on, bracelets hammered out of shape. It looks as if somebody set out deliberately to ruin all of your things and left Leeland's in perfect condition."

He gave her a baffled, troubled look, and maybe the tears she tried to hold back jumped from her eyes to his. With glistening blue eyes he extended his palm to show her the setting of a once exquisite diamond engagement ring, given to her by his brother, William.

The platinum band was now a crooked oval. The prongs had released their clasp on the clear and perfect two-carat diamond.

Sedatives had been shot into her arm so she couldn't feel the pain of her broken toes. She felt fuzzy and disoriented, and rather detached. Someone inside her was screaming, screaming hatred was near again-the wind was blowing, and when she closed her eyes.

"Leeland," she said weakly, "he must have done this. He must have come back and vented his rage on all my belongings. See the things left whole, they are things he chose for himself."

"Damn him to hell!" cried Daniel. “How many times has he vented his rage on you? How many black eyes—I've seen one-but how many others?"

"Please don't," Caren said sleepily, "He never hit me, that he didn't cry afterward, and he'd say he was sorry. Yes, so sorry, my sweetheart, my only love. I don't know what makes me act as I do when I love you so much,” she muttered.

"Caren," began Daniel tentatively, tucking the platinum band in his pocket, "Are you alright? You look close to fainting. I'll go in and straighten up the bed, so you can rest in that. Soon you'll fall asleep and forget all of this, and when you wake up, I'm taking you away. Don't cry for the clothes and things he gave you, for I'll give you better and more. As for this ring William gave you, I'll search around the bedroom until I find the diamond."

He looked, but he didn't find the diamond, and when she drifted into sleep, he carried her to the bed he'd made up with clean sheets. She was under a sheet and a thin blanket when she opened her eyes, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her face.

Caren glanced toward the windows and saw it was getting dark. Any moment Leeland would come home, and find Daniel with her and there'd be hell to pay.

But she wanted him to stay. For always he gave her comfort when nothing else could. Always he was there when she needed him to do and say the right thing.

“You’ve made it Daniel. I haven’t yet. You should let me go,” Caren whispered and then added, “You've achieved your goal of being a doctor. But I'm still not a prima ballerina." she said this last part bitterly.

"Caren, don't belittle yourself. You will be a prima ballerina yet!” He said fervently. "You would have been a long time ago, if Leeland could control his fits of temper that makes every company manager afraid to sign the pair of you on. You get stuck in a minor company just because you won't leave him."

Caren sighed, wishing he hadn't said that. It was true enough Leeland’s fiery temper tantrums had scared off more than one offer that would have placed them in a more prestigious company.

“You've got to leave, Daniel. I don't want him to come home and find you here. He doesn't want you near me. And I can't leave him. In his own way he loves me and needs me. Without me to keep him steady he would be ten times more violent, and I do love him after all. If he struck out sometimes, he was just trying to make me see that. Now I do see,” Caren told him.

"See?" he cried. “You're not seeing! You’re letting pity for him rob you of good common sense! Look around you, Caren! Only a crazy man could have done this. I'm not leaving you alone to face a madman! I'm staying to protect you. Tell me what you could do if he decides to make you pay again for leaving him alone in Spain? Could you get up and run? No! I'm not leaving you here, unprotected, when he might come home drunk, or on drugs,” Daniel started.

“He doesn't use drugs!" Caren defended, protective of the good that was in Leeland, and for some reason, wanting to forget all that wasn't.

"He jumped on your toes, when you need those toes to dance on, so don't tell me you will have a sane man to deal with. You need to leave him,” Daniel insisted only to be rebuffed.

"Daniel, I'm going to have Leeland's baby. I went to a gynecologist while I was in town. It's the reason I stayed longer than I originally intended. Leeland and I are having a baby."

She could have slapped him from the way he moved backward. He sat up on the side of the bed and bowed his head into his hands. Then he sobbed, "Always you manage to defeat me, Caren! First William, my brother who I can’t even hate, then Leeland who I’ll never understand why you put up with, and now a baby."

There was a silence for a moment before he suddenly faced her, "Come away and let me be the father to that child! Leeland isn't fit!”

"Daniel I'm going to have the baby with Leeland,” Caren said with a firm resolution that surprised even herself, “I want Leeland's child for I do love him, Daniel, and I've failed him in so many ways. Failed him because you and William got in my eyes, and I didn't appreciate what I could have had in him. I should have been a better wife, and then he wouldn't have needed those girls. I…” Caren tried to continue before Daniel interrupted.

"You forgive him for breaking your toes?" he asked, astonished.

"He kept begging me to say I loved him, and I never would. I kept a deceptive parasol over my head, to keep dark doubts in my mind, and I refused to see anything that was noble and fine about him but his dancing. I didn't realize that to love me, even when I denied him, was noble and fine in itself. So, let me go, Daniel. Even if I never dance again, I'll have his child and he will go on to fame without me."

Daniel looked at her with deep sadness before standing up and leaving.

So Caren slept only to bolt awake at the sound of a telephone ringing.

Why did a telephone ringing in the dead of night always have such a threatening sound?

Caren sleepily reached for the receiver and muttered, "Hello?”

"Mrs. Leeland Laurent?"

Caren came awake a bit more, and rubbed at her eyes. "Yes, this is she."

She named a hospital on the other side of town, “Mrs.Laurent, would you please come as quickly as possible? If you can, have someone else drive you. Your husband was in an auto accident, and is even now in surgery. Bring with you his insurance papers, identification, and any medical history you have, Mrs. Laurent...are you there?"

But she wasn’t she was back to being a young child and hearing her father was dead in auto accident, and she instantly cried out, “Daniel!” Hoping her hadn’t left.

He was to her in a second coming from the other room, “I’m here,” he said, for he always was and would never truly leave her.

In that dim and lonely hour that comes before dawn, Daniel and Caren arrived at the hospital.

In one of those sterile waiting rooms they sat down to wait and find out if Leeland would survive the accident and the surgery.

Finally, around noon, after hours in the recovery room, they brought him down. They had him laid out on what they called a "fracture bed", a torturous looking device that strung up his right leg which wore a cast from his toes to his hip. His left arm was broken, and in a cast, and strung up in a peculiar way too. His pale face was lacerated and bruised. His lips, usually so full and red, were as pale as his skin. But all of that was nothing compared to his head.

Caren shivered to look. His head had been shaved and small holes drilled for metal calipers to be hooked in to pull his head up and backward. A leather collar lined with fleece was fastened about his neck. A broken neck! Plus a leg fracture, and a compound fracture of his forearm, was to say nothing of the internal injuries that had kept him on the operating table three hours.

Caren cried out, “Will he live?”

"He is on the critical list, Mrs. Laurent," they answered so calmly, "If he has other close relatives, we suggest you contact them."

Daniel made the call to Madame Milena, for Caren was deathly afraid he'd pass away any moment, and she might miss the only chance to tell him she loved him. And if that happened, she'd be cursed and haunted all through the rest of her life.

Days passed. Leeland flitted in and out of consciousness.

He stared at Caren with eyes lackluster, unfocused. He spoke but his voice came so thick, heavy and unintelligible she couldn't understand. She forgave him for all the little sins, and the big ones too, as you are apt to when death is around the corner.

She rented a room in the hospital next to his where she could catch naps, but she never had a full night's rest. She had to be there when he came to, where he could see and know, so she could plead with him to fight, to live, and, most of all, say all the words she'd so stingily kept from his ears.

"Leeland," she whispered, her voice hoarse from saying it so often, "Please don't die!"

Their dancing friends and musicians flocked to the hospital to offer what consolation they could. His room filled with flowers from hundreds of fans.

Madame Milena flew up from South Carolina and stalked into the room wearing a dreary black dress. She gazed down on the unconscious face of her only child without any expression of grief.

“Better he die now," she said flatly, “than to wake up and find himself a cripple for life.”

“How dare you say that?" Caren flared, ready to strike her, "He's alive-and he's not doomed. His spinal cord wasn't injured! He'll walk again, and dance again too!"

Then came the pity and disbelief to shimmer her jet eyes and then she was in tears. She who'd boasted she never cried, never showed grief, wept in Caren’s arms.

"Say it again, that he'll dance-oh, don't lie, he's got to dance again!"

Five horrible days came and went before Leeland could focus his eyes enough to really see. Unable to turn his head, he rolled his eyes Caren’s way.

"Hi."

"Hello, dreamer. I thought you were never going to wake up," Caren said.

He smiled, a thin ironic smile, "No such luck, Caren love."

His eyes flicked downward to his strung-up leg. "I'd rather be dead than like this."

Caren got up and went to his fracture bed that was made with two wide strips of rough canvas slipped over strong rods. It was a hard, unyielding bed to lie on, yet she stretched beside him very carefully, and curled her fingers into his tangle of remaining uncombed hair.

Her free hand stroked his chest, “Lee, you're not paralyzed. Your spinal cord was not severed, crushed, or even bruised. It's just in shock, so to speak."

He had an uninjured arm that could have reached to hold her, but it stayed straight at his side, "You're lying," he said bitterly, "I can't feel one damn thing from my waist down. Not your hand on my chest either. Now get the hell out of here! You don't love me! You wait until you think I'm ready to kick off, and then you come with your sweet words! I don't want or need your pity-so get the hell out, and stay out!"

Caren left his bed and reached for her purse, crying, even as he cried and stared at the ceiling.

“Damn you for wrecking our apartment!" Caren stormed when she could talk, "You tore up my clothes!" Caren rampaged, angry now, and wanting to slap his face that was already bruised and swollen, “Damn you for breaking all our beautiful things! You knew how painstakingly we chose all those lamps, the accessories that cost a fortune. You know we wanted to leave them as heirlooms for our children. Now we've got nothing left to leave anyone!”

He grinned, satisfied. “Yeah, nothing left for nobody,” he yawned, as if dismissing her, but she was unwilling to be dismissed, "Got no kids, thank God. Never gonna have any. You can get a divorce. Marry some son of a bitch and make his life miserable too."

"Leeland," Caren said with such heavy sadness, "Have I made your life miserable?"

He blinked, as if not wanting to answer that, but she asked him again, and again, until she forced him to say, "Not altogether miserable-we had a few moments."

"Only a few?"

"Well... maybe more than a few. But you don't have to stay on and take care of an invalid. Get the hell out while you can. I'm no good, you know that. I've been unfaithful to you time and again."

"If you are again, I'll cut your heart out!"

"Go 'way, Caren. I'm tired."

He sounded sleepy from the many sedatives they fed into him and shot into him, “Kids are not good for people like us anyway."

“People like us...?"

"Yeah, people like us."

"How are we different?”

He mockingly, sleepily laughed, bitterly too, "We're not real. We don't belong to the human race."

"What are we then?"

“Dancing dolls, that's all. Dancing fools, afraid to be real people and live in the real world. That's why we prefer fantasy. Didn't you know?" He asked.

"No, I didn't know. I always thought we were real,” Caren whispered.

"It wasn't me who ruined your things, it was Loretta. I watched, though."

Caren felt sick, scared he was telling the truth. Was she only a dancing doll? Couldn't she make her way in the real world, outside the theater? Wasn't she better at coping than her mother?

"Leeland ... I do love you, honest I do. I used to think I loved someone else, because it seemed so unnatural to go from one love to another. When I was a little girl, I used to believe love came only once in a lifetime, and that was the best kind. I thought once you loved one person, you never could love another. But I was wrong,” Caren tried.

"Get out and leave me alone. I don't want to hear what you've got to say, not now. Now I don't give a damn," Leeland told her.

Tears coursed down Caren’s face and dropped down on him. He closed his eyes and refused to see, or listen. She leaned to kiss his lips, and they stayed tight, hard, unresponding.

Next he spat, "Stop! You sicken me!"

"I love you, Leeland," she sobbed, “and I'm sorry if I realized it too late, and said it too late but don't let it be too late. I'm expecting your baby, the fourteenth in a long line of dancers, and that baby is a lot to live for, even if you don't love me anymore. Don't close your eyes and pretend not to hear, because you are going to be a father, whether or not you want to be."

He rolled his dark, shining eyes her way, and she saw why they shone, for they were full of tears.

Tears of self-pity, or tears of frustration, she didn't know.

But he spoke more kindly, and there was a tone of love in his voice, "I advise you to get rid of it, Caren. Fourteen is no luckier a number than thirteen."

She left his room to sleep on Daniel’s shoulder for a few hours. When she got up she walked to Leeland’s room to see he was asleep, deeply asleep. The intravenous tube that led to his arm ran under the sheet and into his vein.

But for some reason she fixed her eyes upon that bottle with the pale yellow liquid that seemed more water than anything else, so quickly it was being depleted.

She ran back to shake Daniel awake, "Daniel," she said, as he tried to pull himself together, “isn't that IV supposed to just trickle into his arm? It's running out very quickly,too quickly, I think."

Hardly were the words out of her mouth when Daniel was up and running toward Leeland's room.

Daniel only had to throw back the sheet to see the problem, the tube had been cut!

"Oh, God," sighed Daniel, "an air bubble must have reached his heart."

Caren stared at the shiny scissors held so loosely in Leeland’s slack right hand.

"He cut the tube himself," she whispered, "he cut the tube himself, and now he's dead, dead, dead.”

Daniel turned on the nurse, but Caren stopped him even in her grief, “It's all right," she said dully, "If he hadn't done it this way, it would have been another. I should have known and warned you. There was no life for him if he could never dance again. No life at all.”

Leeland was buried next to his father. On the headstone, Caren made sure Madame Milena agreed to the name she added:

Leeland Laurent Romanov, beloved husband of Caren, and thirteenth in a long line of Russian male ballet stars.

Maybe it was ostentatious and gave away her own failure to love him enough while he lived, but she had to let him have it the way he wanted or as she thought he wanted.

Daniel, William, Cassidy and her paused at the foot of his father’s grave too, and she bowed her head to show respect to Leelands father. Respect she should have given him too.

“Caren," said William when they were all seated in the long black limousine, "your room is still as it was, all yours. Come home and live with Cassidy and me until your baby is born. Daniel will be there too, doing his internship at the local Hospital."

Caren stared over at Daniel who was seated on the jumpseat, knowing he'd won a much better position in a very important hospital—and he was interning in a small, unimportant one.

“Duke is so far away, Caren," he said with his eyes avoiding hers. “It was bad enough traveling when I was in college and med school so if you don't mind, let me be somewhere near so I can be here the day your son or daughter arrives in the world."

Madame Milena jolted so her head almost struck the ceiling of the car, "You carry Leeland's child?" She cried. "Why didn't you tell me before? How wonderful!" She glowed, so the sadness dropped from her like a gloomy cloak. “Now Leeland's not dead at all, for he will father a son, who will be exactly like him!”

"It may be a girl, Madame," William said softly, while he reached for Caren’s hand causing Daniel to turn away slightly, “I know you long for a boy like your son, but I long for a little girl like Caren and Cassidy ...but if it's a boy, I won't object."

"Object?" cried Madame. "God in his infinite wisdom and mercy will send to Caren the exact duplicate of Leeland! And he will dance, and he will reach the fame that was waiting just around the corner for the son of my husband!"

That night as Caren sat on the porch, the door behind her opened and closed quietly. She didn't look to see who it was, for she knew. She was good at sensing people, even in the dark.

William sat in the chair next to hers, and rocked his chair in the same rhythm as she rocked.

"Caren," he said softly, "I hate to see you sitting there with that lost and drained expression. Don't think all the good things in your life have passed you by and nothing is left. You're still very young, very beautiful, and after your baby is born, you can quickly whip yourself back into shape, and dance until you feel you're ready to retire and teach."

She didn't turn her head. Dance again? How could she dance when Leeland lay in the ground? All she had was the baby. She would make the baby the center of her life. She would teach her child to dance, and he or she would reach the fame that should have been Leeland’s and hers. Everything that her mother failed to give her and her siblings she would bestow on her child.

Never would her child be neglected. When her child reached for her, she would be there. When her child cried out for Momma, he wouldn't have to make do with only an older sister. No, she’d be like her mother was when she was with her father. That was what hurt the most, that she could change from someone loving and kind into what she was, a monster. Never, never would she treat her child as her mother treated hers!

She had to be careful and not eat junk food; She had to drink plenty of milk, take vitamins, and think happy thoughts, not vengeful ones. Every day from now on she would play ballet music. Inside her, her baby would hear, and even before he or she was born a small living soul would be indoctrinated to the dance.

She smiled, thinking of all the pretty tutus she could buy for her little girl. She smiled even more to think of a boy like his father with dark blue eyes just like his.

Carailand Ryan Laurent would be his name. Carailand for both her and his father and Ryan for Daniel’s little brother who now filled her dreams, remembering the way Daniel described him.

Though she tried diligently to think only of the innocent child growing within her, still her thoughts would steal to her mother, filling her with hate, filling her with unwanted plans for revenge. For somehow she had caused Leeland’s death too.

Madame Milena came often to check on her condition,and filled her with authoritative advice.

“Now you keep up your practicing; play the ballet music to fill Leeland’s baby with love for beauty before he is born; inside you he'll know the dance is waiting for him."

She glanced down at Caren’s feet that had finally healed, “How do those toes feel now?"

"Fine," she answered dully, though they ached when it rained.

The long days of grief sped by more quickly because she had Leeland's baby, part of him to keep with her.

Soon Christmas was upon them, and she was so large she didn't feel she should show herself. Daniel insisted, along with William, that it would be good therapy to go shopping.

Caren bought an antique gold locket to send to Madame Ephron, and inside she put two small photos of Leeland and her, in their Romeo and Juliet costumes.

Shortly after Christmas her thank-you note arrived:

Dear Caren, my own love,

Yours is the best gift of all. I grieve for your beautiful dancing husband. I grieve for you most of all if you decide not to dance again just because you are to become a mother! Long ago you would have been a prima ballerina if your husband had shown less arrogance and more respect for those in authority. Keep in shape, do exercises and bring your baby with you. My poor son just had a baby himself, I pray he will be a dancer. Bring your darling child and they can run around together. We will all live together in my place until you find a new dancer to love. Life offers many chances, not just one. Come back.

Forever here for you,

Madame Ephron

Her note put a wistful smile on Caren’s face.

It was a cold February night when Caren felt her first contraction. She gasped from the sharp pain. She had known it would hurt, but not so much!

She glanced at the clock, two o’clock in the morning of Valentine's Day. Her baby would be born on what would have been her and Leeland’s sixth wedding anniversary!

"Leeland," she cried out, as if he could hear her, "you are about to become a father!"

She got up and dressed as speedily as she could before she crossed the hall to rap on William's door. He mumbled something in the way of a question.

“William," Caren called, "I think I just had my first contraction."

"Thank God!" he cried from the other side, instantly wide awake. "Are you all set to go?"

"Of course. I've been ready for a month."

"I'll call your doctor, then alert Daniel, you sit down and take it easy!"

"Would it be all right if I came in?" Caren asked.

He swung open the door, wearing only his trousers, "You're the calmest mother-to-be I've ever seen," he said as he helped her sit.

He raced next to swipe at his face with an electric razor, then he was running to put on a shirt and tie.

“Had any more contractions?" He asked.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, when another seized her. She doubled over, “Fifteen minutes since the last."

She gasped and he looked pale as he pulled on his jacket, then came to help her up,"Okay, I'll put you in the car first, then go for your suitcase. Keep calm, don't worry, this baby will have three doctors doing their very best..."

"To get in each other's way," Caren concluded.

"To see you have the best medical attention possible," he corrected.

He left a note for Cassidy for when she woke up, also telling her to call Madame Milena and put the tape they made for her.

It seemed forever before the hospital loomed up ahead. Under a protective canopy at the emergency entrance, a solitary intern paced restlessly back and forth. Daniel, who said "Thank God you're here! I was picturing all sorts of calamities," even as he assisted her out, while someone else rushed up with a wheelchair, and without any of the preliminaries other patients had to endure.

She was snug in bed in no time at all and gasping from another contraction.

Three hours later, her son was born, Daniel and William were there, both of them with tears in their eyes, but it was Daniel who picked up her son, still with the cord attached, messy and bloody. He put him upon her belly and held him there while another doctor did what he had to.

"Caren can you see him?" Daniel asked tears in his eyes.

“He's beautiful,” Caren breathed in awe, seeing all that light wavy hair, the perfect little red body. With a fierce anger so like his father's he waved his tiny fists and flailed his thin legs, screaming at all the indignities inflicted upon him and all the light that came so suddenly to shine in his eyes, and put him center stage, so to speak.

“His name is Carailand Ryan Laurent, but I'm going to call him Cary,” Caren whispered.

Both Daniel and William heard her thin whisper. She was so tired, so sleepy.

“Ryan?” William asked for the rest was understandable to him.

It wasn't Caren who had the strength to answer. It was Daniel who understood all of it.

“Carailand was for both of them, and she always did love Cary Grant movies. But he’s blonde and beautiful just like my brother Ryan was. I used to tell her about him all the time when she first came here,” he whispered with a small smile.

For a moment their eyes met and she smiled. How wonderful to be understood, and never have to explain.

#cary: musing #cary: story #caren: musing #danield: musing #harry: musing #anything in these story pieces is something cary knows happened #most of this writing comes from the book in which cary's character is largely based on with several details changed and parts rewritten #we worship cary's bad ass mother caren and amazing step father daniel in this house

1 note · View note

sixqueendom · 4 years

Text

One-Shot: All My Love, Catherine

This one-shot was inspired by this drawing by the talented Zara (@you-need-a-jello-shot). It depicts a sleeping Anne and Kitty in front of a laptop in bed, however before I read the caption the drawing automatically made me think of Cathy and Kitty, so I decided to roll with it! Side-note: I know from doing research that Thomas had apparently asked for Elizabeth's hand in marriage within a month of Henry's death, before being rejected and going on to marry Catherine. I decided to overlook this fact for the sake of this fanfic, wanting to keep focus on Cathy's feelings for him (it's not clear whether she ever knew about Thomas's proposal to Elizabeth). A huge thank you to Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone) for being my dedicated Beta-reader for this fic and for all your help and support throughout! She deserves full credit for Cathy's love letter, which she helped me write in a mix of modern/Tudor script, through looking into Catherine Parr's actual letters. As always, the link to read on AO3 is included below if you’d prefer to read on there.

AO3

Fanfic Masterpost

-------------------------------

Cathy had known it would be a bad idea.

And yet, here she was, wide awake at 3am, engrossed in an online article. Realising she wasn’t getting much writing done, she’d had every intention of going to sleep, resigning from her desk to the warmth of her bed. That was, until she’d let her mind drift momentarily to the past once more and flipped open her laptop, spurred on by a silent yearning to see their name, to read those familiar words and remember. As if those words would be enough to satiate her grief, to bring her some comfort. Oh, how she regretted her decision now, as a solitary tear trailed down her cheek; that ever familiar ache, that hollow emptiness, forming in her chest.

It was then that she heard a hesitant knock at the door, as the youngest of the Queens tentatively poked her head in. Kitty knew that she could always rely on Cathy to be awake at this ungodly hour of the morning, and occasionally sought out the writer for solace when she was struggling to fall asleep, not wanting to disturb Anne.

“Hey,” Cathy said softly, giving a weak smile as she quickly brushed away the tear, praying Kitty didn’t see. “Can’t sleep?”

The younger girl shook her head as she approached the bed.

“I have never understood how you can sit up reading and writing at this hour…”

Eyes wide, her heart skipping a beat, Cathy frantically closed the article she’d been reading.

But not quickly enough.

She didn’t miss the flash of concern in Kitty’s eyes.

“Cathy…”

But already, even with her head bowed, Kitty could see the writer’s lip trembling, her hands clenched into fists as she struggled to fight the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. As she let out a sob, Kitty immediately slipped into bed beside her, wrapping her in a hug.

“I can’t help it. I just…”

Cathy felt like a schoolgirl, caught in the act. What a disappointment she was. An immense sense of guilt suddenly weighed down on her shoulders and she squirmed slightly at Kitty’s touch, feeling disgusted with herself.

“It’s okay,” Kitty reassured, rubbing her arm. “You don’t need to justify anything to me. You have every right to miss him.”

Cathy had to admit she was surprised by Kitty’s mature reaction. Sure, the girl was an adult, but she’d only ever experienced men as predators. Cathy didn’t think Kitty would be able to comprehend how she felt, not about Thomas. But the reaction, though calming, did nothing to quell her disappointment in herself, her frustration.

“Do I?” Cathy’s face twisted into a grimace. “After everything he did?”

It was somewhat of an emotional tug-of-war for Cathy, something she found herself constantly fighting with. Of course, undoubtedly she missed him, her true love. Nothing could ever dispel the love she had for him. Yet, that love was something she’d always felt guilty about. It felt wrong, disrespectful even, to yearn for him. Despite showing such care and compassion for her, he’d also committed some admittedly wicked deeds, earning him an egregious reputation with her fellow five Queens, all of whom despised him to varying degrees. If they knew what she was doing, they would be appalled. How could she possibly still harbour feelings for a man who was so cruel, particularly to one specific girl in his care?

Yet, despite all that, here was sweet Kitty, being so understanding and impartial. True, she had never had any involvement with him, but surely she felt some discomfort on the subject, given it had concerned Anne’s beloved daughter? Everyone knew she would come to her cousin’s defence.

Realising how selfish she was being, Cathy made a feeble attempt to compose herself, exhaling shakily. After all, it had been Kitty who was seeking her comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks.

The younger girl only nuzzled in closer, resting her head on the writer’s shoulder.

“Don’t be silly. Your feelings are valid, Cathy. You’re allowed to miss him just as much as you do Mae. You’re allowed to grieve. Just like Jane is about Edward, or Catherine about Mary.”

Cathy noted how she’d carefully missed out Anne and Elizabeth in a bid to be sensitive.

“But they were innocent.” Cathy gripped her bed cover, balling her hands into fists once more, gravel in her voice.

Even soft, kind words couldn’t douse the burning resentment in her chest.

Kitty took a moment to contemplate. She couldn’t forget that, despite the events that had transpired later, Cathy had been devoted to Thomas well before Henry appeared on the scene. She had fallen head over heels in love with him, yet, upon Kitty’s execution, Henry had found himself requiring another Queen. And that honour - if you could ever call it that - fell to Cathy. She’d had no choice in the matter, unless she wanted a swift exit via the executioner’s axe, in which case, there’d have been no hope of reuniting with Thomas later on whatsoever.

She’d married Henry to survive.

After the King’s death, Cathy had finally been reunited with her love and her life seemed so much brighter, filled with so much promise. They’d started making plans for their future together. But fate had other ideas. Just days after delivering their beautiful daughter, Cathy would succumb to what would later be known as childbed fever, the very same fate that took Jane. Once again, Cathy had been ripped away from Thomas. Only this time, it had been permanent.

It was just never meant to be. Life could be so cruel and twisted like that.

Despite all of this, Cathy hated herself for missing him and their potential future together, all the “what could have beens”. So, she locked herself away in her bedroom, where she searched tirelessly for any information on her little girl, and, like tonight, anything to remind her of Thomas.

Kitty rested a gentle hand on hers.

“He may have done some bad things in the past, but it’s not like you condone his actions. Besides, you can’t keep dwelling on what happened; it’s done now and there’s nothing that you can do about it. It was almost five hundred years ago! This is meant to be our fresh start.”

When the Queens had initially been reincarnated, relations with Anne had been stiff and difficult. Cathy had tried to avoid contact with her as much as possible, distancing herself and trying not to initiate unnecessary conversations, fully understanding her bitter resentment. From the corner of her eye, she’d often caught Anne casting a sharp glare at her, and she’d always thought she deserved it. Eventually, Anne had confronted her, throwing all of her feelings about Cathy and Thomas out into the open, tearing open old wounds. Cathy had acknowledged all the terrible things that Thomas, and she, though unintentionally, had done. Much to her relief, they had called a truce and decided to put their differences aside. Now they had a rather amiable friendship, although deep down Cathy knew Anne would never be able to fully trust her. Not that anyone could blame her. How could she expect her to after what had happened to Elizabeth? What Cathy had allowed to happen?

That autumn day still haunted her; she could still see Thomas struggling with Elizabeth as they fought over one of her dresses. It hadn’t taken long for him to overpower her, snatching the dress from her grasp and cruelly shredding it into pieces, all whilst the girl sobbed. It made her feel sick now, having stood and witnessed it all, restraining Elizabeth as her husband ruined her favourite gown. She could still hear the girl’s distraught cries echoing in her ears.

She’d never forgiven herself.

But it didn’t stop her from missing him. How, when she had served in Princess Mary’s household, they’d exchanged love letters; how’d she’d look forward to receiving them, her heart fluttering as she carefully opened each one, reading his sweet words, over and over. The letters inevitably stopped once she married Henry. Thomas was consequently removed from court and sent away to war. She had desperately wanted to write to him, but it was just too risky. Any hint to suggest promiscuity and she’d be next in line to be executed; she’d learnt that lesson from Kitty’s unfortunate demise. Yet, Thomas had still waited for her. He waited four years for King Henry’s death, to be reunited with her.

Despite Kitty’s reassurances, Cathy found it impossible to forget, to put what happened aside and focus on her, in the here and now. It was true: they had clearly been reincarnated to have a second chance at life, since each of their previous lives had been corrupted by Henry and his abuse. But with a new life came old memories. They had never faded. Everything remained vivid, as clear as if they’d only happened recently. And Cathy clung to them dearly; she didn’t want to forget. She never wanted to forget the beautiful daughter she’d brought into the world, but never got the chance to see grow up. She never wanted to forget Thomas, his kindly face and sweet letters. She didn’t want to forget the blissful life they had started to create together, before her untimely passing. How could she, when it all made her who she was today? Thomas had shown her what it was to be a true wife, to be loved unconditionally. Mae, her sweet little girl, ultimately made her a mother, albeit for the shortest of time, but also drove her motivation to write and research. With Thomas, she had finally been able to breathe. For too long, she had been silenced by Henry, stifled. Unable to be herself. But Thomas had loved her for who she was.

Exhausted, Cathy released a weary sigh.

“I just wish it wasn’t so hard,”

After a moment, she wriggled free from Kitty’s comforting touch, delving underneath her bed. She lifted up a loose floorboard, revealing a stash of neatly folded papers. Letters.

As Cathy clutched one in her hand, slumping back on her bed beside Kitty, the girl recoiled a little. She’d already guessed what they were, who they were to and how personal they would be. But to her surprise, Cathy offered her one.

“I sometimes write to him or Mae when I can’t sleep,” she admitted, her lip twitching.

When Kitty didn’t move, Cathy gave a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay. You can read it.”

Kitty tentatively took the letter and unfolded it carefully. As she began to read Cathy’s elegant writing, she felt a lump form in her throat.

My Dearest Thomas,

As Lord Tennyson once wrote: “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. I make likeness with him when it comes to my feelings for you, for I regret not one moment we were together. I was truly blessed by the time we had, though it may not have been as long as we desired. Though, I do ask myself, would forever have been long enough? I don’t think so. I am, therefore, eternally grateful for the time we had, to have been blessed with your love and kindness for so long.

Every day I awake to birdsong, and I think of you. How I would rise eagerly as early as the sun, waiting for your letters. Your words, written not only in ink but most truly impressed on the heart, were treasured by me.

Now, I wake and realise, with most wondrous sadness, that you are no longer with me.

Some comfort I may take through these letters, as they impress upon me a sense of calm, a grounding force amongst a chaotic world. The 21st century is breathtaking and frightening, somehow all together. How fast, loud, and massive the world has become cannot be written, nor relayed in terms you might understand. Yet, the sun still rises and falls, and the stars still shine. I only wish you hither, in my arms, to share in these beauties.

I can only pray we are reunited again. This time, I hope it is for eternity.

All my love, Catherine

As she read the last sentence, Kitty sniffed loudly, moved to tears. Cathy’s words were so eloquent and beautiful, resonating deeply with her. Quite frankly, it broke her heart. Was this true love?

She finally got the courage to glance up at Cathy, who was still staring, glassy eyed and longingly, at the letter in her hand. As if she thought reading her words would make them become real. Kitty solemnly rested her head on Cathy’s shoulder.

“You’ll see him again, someday,” she murmured. “I know you will.”

At that, she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

In the darkness, Cathy nodded, nuzzling close as she finally found peace.

She found herself running through sunflower fields, the sun streaming down upon her, the warm heat of summer on her skin, a little girl’s squeal of laughter in the air. Every so often, she caught a flash of a white dress billowing in the breeze; black curly hair in pigtails.

“Can’t catch me!” the girl cried with a giggle.

As she reached the edge of the field, Cathy stopped in her tracks, holding her breath. Only now, in the stillness, could she hear the birdsong. And there, in front of her, their little girl atop his shoulders, was Thomas.

Her family.

Finally, she was home.

#six fanfiction

9 notes · View notes