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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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So exciting your requests are open! can you do a soft moment of vulnerability with King Arthur? then you can add as much or as little smut to that as you want. but I just feel like that man needs a little love and support <3 I hope you enjoy your week break and properly pamper yourself!!

A/N: I love the idea of a type of caregiver/teacher for Blue that works in the palace and so I kind of ran with it. I hope you like it. Thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking.

Pairing: King Arthur x F! Reader

Warnings: It’s pretty soft but I curse once.

My Masterlist

Late Nights with the King

“And they lived happily ever after,” you trailed off, your hand, running through the short hair at the top of Blue’s head. Your small charge had quickly burrowed his way into your heart. You pulled the covers up higher and placed a kiss on his forehead, backing slowly out of the room and closing the door with a slight click.

It was late, and the castle was quiet as you made your way through the labyrinth of halls, the book of fairy tales clutched to your chest. You turned the corner and into the room with the fabled Round Table, hoping to cut through to the kitchens for a late snack before bed. But, your steps faltered when you learned you were not as alone this evening as you thought. The King slumped in his chair, a hand over his eyes, the table littered with essential documents and maps, and you quietly began to retrace your steps out of the room, but you were not as quiet as you thought.

“Come,” his voice echoes throughout the great room, “please, is there something you need?” He slowly lowers his hand, and you lower to a curtsy, “please,” he begs, “I hate when people do that.” You can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up your throat, and he smiles, “what’s so funny?”

“The King does not like when his subjects bow and curtsy before him?” you tease, biting your lip, “how would you like best to be addressed then, sir?”

“When we are alone like this, I would like to be addressed by my name, Arthur.”

“Arthur,” you test the name on your tongue, half expecting lighting to come and strike you for addressing the King in such an informal way. He smiles and nods, gesturing to the seat beside him for you to sit. “Oh, Your Majesty, I wasn’t seeking you out; I was just cutting through to the kitchens.”

He gives you a playful glare, “Arthur, please. Would this suffice?” he pushes a plate towards you laden with grapes, apple slices, hard cheese, and a crust of bread. “I also have wine,” he grabs a second goblet and fills it with the sweet red. “Please, join me?” You’d never thought the King would ask such a request of you, but you do not wish to insult him, so you take a seat a few spots down, reaching for the plate. “Closer,” his voice is low, almost as if not to startle a fawn, “please.”

Your pulse quickens, and you rise quickly, bumping your leg into the table and causing the contents to rock, the glass of wine sloshing onto a paper. “Fuck,” you mumble, quickly pulling your skirt to wipe up the mess, the red staining your dress. He chuckles, and you turn to see him watching you with amused eyes. “I am so sorry your Maje-”

“Arthur,” he quickly corrects, pulling out the chair beside him, “those are nothing of consequence. Please just take a seat.” You pull back down your skirt and take a tentative seat beside him. He reaches for the plate and sets it between you, taking a grape and popping it into his mouth. “So why are you up so late, my Lady?”

“Please, if I must call you Arthur, you must call me by my name. Plus, I am no Lady; I am just here to raise Blue and give him a proper education.” He hands you the glass of wine, and you tremble as his hand grazes over your own, taking a large sip to soothe your nerves.

“How is Blue doing with his studies? I regret that I haven’t been a perfect father figure to him lately. Back Lack would be so disappointed in me,” he sighs, leaning back again. His eyes look distant, and he rubs a hand over his beard. You don’t think, reaching across to take his hand. He turns to look at you, the storm brewing in his eyes.

“You are a wonderful guardian to him; he loves you very much. He always speaks so highly of you and how he never thought the Boss would become the King, but there wouldn’t be any better. He admires you very much, Arthur,” he rubs his thumb over your hand. “He understands that you are the King, and when you get a chance, he will get his time with you.” His eyes lose some of their brightness, and you take a look at how utterly exhausted he looks.

“I don’t want to let him down,” he mumbles, “or anyone else.”

“It’s an enormous weight on your shoulders, I reckon, being King.” Your hands move without thought, your thumbs rubbing each other in soothing circles, his hand warm and prominent in your own.

“It is,” he whispers, leaning closer to you.

“How does one cope with such pressure?” you ask, taking your eyes off your intertwined hands and looking up at him, noting you are much closer than you remember.

“I don’t,” you feel his breath ghost across your lips, “All of it, being King, trying to be a good guardian to Blue, keeping the kingdom safe, yielding Excalibur, it’s all on my shoulders.” You lean closer, like a moth to a flame. Brushing your nose against his own, on the edge of your seat.

“Is there anything I can do, my King?” your tongue slithers out to wet your lips, and you feel it graze his bottom lip, the catch of his breath loud in the silence.

He drops your hand and moves to cup your cheek, skin soft against his calloused palm, “my name,” he breathes, “is Arthur.”

“Arthur,” you whisper, his head moving to close the distance between you. His lips are hot and firm against your own, scooting closer to lick against your lips. His hands drag you forward out of your seat and into his lap, pulling you closer until there is no space between you. His other hand comes up, and he traces his thumbs over your cheeks as he wields his tongue like the famed Excalibur, leaving you breathless. The tenderness of his touch and the way he kisses you have you melting into his arms. He pulls away with a sigh pressing his forehead to your own.

“Do you feel better now?” you whisper against the shell of his ear, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“Yes,” he nuzzles his face into your neck and presses scratchy kisses against your skin, “you are so soft and smell so good, I could get lost in your arms.” You run your fingers through his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp, and he groans, leaning further into your touch, “that feels nice,” he slurs, drunk off your warmth and soft touch.

You lean back, and his head slowly rises to meet your eyes, “I should go,” you whisper, “it’s very late and,” you bite your lip, holding back.

“What, love, tell me,” the endearment is not lost on you, and your eyes soften.

“I am not a fine Lady of the court,” you swallow, “nor am I a whore.” He blinks and cups your cheeks keeping your eyes fixed on him.

“I hope I did not give the impression that I see you as such, and you are better than all those Ladies in their fancy gowns and laden with jewels. You see me. Arthur.” You slowly drag his hands down your cheeks and stand from his lap. For a moment, he looks like he will reach for you again, but with a slight shake of your head, he drops his hands to his lap; closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the chair with a small thump.

His eyes open suddenly, lashes fluttering as you cup his cheek and press your lips to his for one final kiss. “Goodnight, Arthur,” you whisper, “same time tomorrow?” His eyes light up, and his lips turn into a smile.

“Same time tomorrow.”

Taglist: @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @ghostwiththemostbitch @the-purity-pen @paintballkid711 @wasicskosgirl @fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog @boxdyeblonde @rosiefridayrogersunday @yeah-seems-legit @mimimi-stuff @ladyblogger-margie @memyselfandellasworld @peterhollandkait @itspdameronthings @emmy626 @luv-nd-serenity @randomness501 @littlebopper96 @alexmarie29 @hell-is-my-second-home666 @thisshipwillsail316 @madslorian @no-droids-on-sunday @glixxr @sfr99 @pedro-pastel @we-can-be-himbos @sleep-tight1 @sarhabee @its--fandom--darling @im-an-adult-ish @lunarthoughts @jedi-mando @idreamofboobear @aerolanya @rebelliouscat @veracruz-djarin @marvelprincess1994 @thirstworldproblemss @spacelatinoss @martellthemandalor @kesskirata @waatermelon-sugaar @jitterbugs927 @helga1031 @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell

#King Arthur x Reader #King Arthur Legend of the Sword #charlie hunnam #Autumn Writes #King Arthur #Female Reader

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c-is-writing · 4 years

Text

i do adore

pairing: wanda maximoff x gn!reader

genre: f l u f f

word count: 1775

warnings: yet again, i did not proofread this lmao. i am just typing whatever comes to my mind. otherwise, it’s just really fluffy so pls enjoy!!

a/n: good morning, i am writing this at 1am. i should be working on my college apps but this fic was just living in my mind rent-free and would not leave until i wrote it. also, this fic is inspired by and has lyrics from a song called “i do adore” by mindy gledhill. it’s a really cute song :’DD

Everything you do, it sends me

Higher than the moon with every

Twinkle in your eye

You strike a match that lights my heart on fire

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, a certain brunette always caught your eye. You’d find yourself paying more attention to her than anyone else. At this moment, you lean against the kitchen counter, completely entranced by the way she spoke animatedly to Natasha. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders. The way she waved her hands around, using her actions to emphasize what she’s saying. How the kitchen lights gleamed in her eyes, illuminating them.

God, she’s so cute. And smart. And genuine. And caring. I- “Hello? Y/N? You there?” You are quickly brought out of your thoughts as a grimy hand waved in front of your face, blocking your view of Wanda. Your face scrunches up in disgust as you grip Tony’s grease-covered hand to stop it from moving, only to release it immediately after. Smiling, Wanda watches you glance at your now-dirty hands and start searching for a towel, careful not to get anything else dirty. You mumble, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just..distracted.”

Natasha notices that the young girl’s attention is elsewhere and decides to put a pause on the conversation. As she bids her goodbyes, Wanda takes it as her cue to head over to where you were, crouched next to the cabinets, searching for soap. “Need help?” The melody of her words steals your attention as you turn your head, meeting her blue eyes. Suddenly, your heart begins to pound and you can hear the heartbeats in your ears. At a loss for words, you shake your head and quickly rush out of the kitchen, not caring about your dirty hands. Wanda just stands in the kitchen alone, wondering about what just happened.

When you're near, I hide my blushing face

And trip on my shoelaces

Grace just isn't my forté

But it brings me to my knees when you say

Hello, how are you, my darling, today?

I fall into a pile on the floor

It’s been only a day since the kitchen incident and that’s when you realized that you, Y/N L/N, have a crush on the one and only Wanda Maximoff. Groaning and draping your arm over your eyes, you ask seemingly no one “Oh, God. What if she doesn’t like me back?” You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as you begin to think about her. You like, maybe even love, everything about her. Flashes of her laughs and smiles run through your head, like cars on a freeway until a knock on your door disturbs you. It creaks open and you have yet to remove your arm that’s covering your eyes.

You feel the bed dip as you hear the voice you’ve grown to love, “Hey, how are you, darling? It seemed like you weren’t feeling well yesterday.” Feeling the blood rush to your cheeks, you bury your face into the pillow as you slowly melt into it. In a muffled voice, “I’m fine, Wans. I think I’m just tired.” She knows that there’s something you’re not telling her but she refrains from looking into your thoughts. “Okay, well, I just wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready.” and with that she gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Sighing, you sit up and start getting ready for the day. Your mind can’t stop thinking about the way she called you darling, causing you to fumble with everything you come into contact with. In your flustered state, you nearly drop your phone, accidentally put on mismatching socks, and trip over yourself as you open the door. Quickly composing yourself, you take a breath and start heading towards breakfast. Oh boy, what a start to my morning.

We're as different as can be

I've noticed you're remarkably relaxed

And I'm overly uptight

We balance out each other nicely

“Y/N?! When’s the last time you took a break?”

“Uhhh, I’m not sure...but I just have so much paperwork to complete, I can’t really afford to take a break.”

“Nope. You’re taking one right now. Your health and sanity is more important than some paperwork.”

“But, Wans, I-”

“No buts. I’m going to a café and I’m dragging you with me”

Admitting defeat, you place the pen in your hand down and mark out where you stopped. Your joints crack as you rise up from the chair that you’ve been sitting in for almost 8 hours. Wanda gives you a smile and holds her hand out, signaling for you to take it. Gently taking a hold of her hand, she pulls you along with her, not noticing how clammy they are.

A few minutes after you leave the compound, you readjust your grip on her hand to interlace each others’ fingers. As you walk at a steady rhythm, you feel more relaxed, all of the stress from the paperwork leaving your body. Wanda takes note of how your shoulders aren’t as tense and you seem to be enjoying yourself. She carefully looks over your figure; how the sun reflects in your eyes, bringing out their color, how the wind gently ruffles your hair, how you sigh contently when you lean your head against her shoulder.

“Thanks for bringing me out here.” She squeezes your hand, “Of course, Y/N. I care about you. Plus, it looked like you really needed a break from that hellish paperwork.” Laughing at her comment, you don’t notice how Wanda looks at you as if you were a masterpiece in an art gallery; her eyes, full of adoration.

Puppy love is hard to ignore

When every little thing you do, I do adore

Arriving at the café shortly after, Wanda holds the door open for you as you step in, the smell of coffee beans and gingerbread floating through the air. She giggles as your eyes light up when they spot the gingerbread cookies on display. You turn your head to face her, offering a shy smile that sends butterflies into her stomach. Walking up to the counter, you realize that you aren’t holding hands anymore so you slowly link your pinky with hers, hoping that she’ll get the message. As she orders your guys’ drinks and a gingerbread cookie for you, she feels your finger hook on to hers. While the barista finalizes the order, Wanda releases your pinky finger, only to reattach her hand to yours, interlocking fingers once more.

After paying, you opt to sit at a table next to a large window with plants placed along the windowsill. Wanda looks at the outside world, lost in her thoughts as she unconsciously brushes her thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. You take this time to commit this moment to memory -- Wanda watching the cars pass by as the golden sunset behind her creates a glowing aura surrounding her body. Spending a few more seconds basking in this quiet moment with her, you realize that you want more than what you have with her. You want to wake up next to her. You want to be the shoulder that she cries on. You want to be the person whose arms hold her up and protect her when she is too tired to do so. You want to be hers.

Hearing her name being called, Wanda pries her eyes away from the cars and sees you staring at her with eyes full of adoration and love. She gives your hand a light squeeze and promises to be back as she heads to the counter to pick up the drinks and cookie. As she returns with the drinks in hand, you graciously take yours and, with a child-like excitement, ask “Is that for me?” when you notice the gingerbread cookie in her hand. Giggling at your reaction, she tells you yes and slides it over to you.

Finding words, I mutter

Tongue-tied, twisted

Foot in mouth, I start to stutter

Ha, ha, Heaven help me

The two of you fall into an effortless conversation that never stops until the café reaches its closing hours. You notice the time and can’t believe that you’ve been talking for nearly three hours with Wanda. As you apologize to the employees for staying so late, Wanda has a fond smile and reaches out for your hand. Grabbing her hand, you step outside and begin your walk back to the compound. For a majority of the walk, it’s quiet with the gentle tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk and occasional car passing by. You keep thinking about Wanda and how much you want to be with her. Wanda glances over, only to see you spaced out, thoughts swirling in your mind.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Aren’t you able to read other people’s minds?” you quip.

She chuckles and says, “Yes, but I would never read your mind without consent.” You pause, debating on whether or not you should tell her. Noticing your sudden silence, Wanda tilts her head in confusion and stops walking, pulling you back to her. The stop in movement brings you out of your thoughts. You quickly glance down and reach for her hand that’s not being held. Holding both of her hands, you look up to see her eyes, filled with concern.

“Look, Wans. I-” You sigh and look down at your shoes, unsure of what you want to say. A few moments of silence pass by as you take a deep breath and confess, “Wanda, I really like you. Hell, I might even love you. I love the way your nose scrunches up when you laugh, the way you take care of me and check in on me, the way you control your powers and wield them with such grace. Everything you do, I do adore. And, I just- I...I was wondering if youwouldliketobemygirlfriend?”

Wanda blinks at you with a dumbfounded expression, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that last bit.” You hesitate, “Well, I- uh, um...Wanda, would you like to be my girlfriend?” After hearing those words, she flashes you a smile brighter than the sun and pulls you in a hug. “Yes, I would love to be yours, Y/N.” You release the breath you didn’t notice you were holding and stay in her embrace, soaking in the warmth radiating from her body. She pulls away slightly and moves to kiss you, pausing and searching your eyes for permission. With a slight nod, you move closer and meet her lips halfway. I really do adore her.

tag list (marvel) - @imnotasuperhero

(if you would like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!!! :DD)

#*mine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x gn!reader #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #scarlet witch #song fic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Dismantled: Karen and Dex

CW: Caning for discipline, serious blood, cuts, wounds, bruises, all the stuff you an imagine. Dehumanizing and degrading language, references to dubcon, pet whump, dehumanization, broken bones, head wounds, suicidal ideation (brief, at the end) as a way to escape torture... look, the gang’s all here.

Takes place sometime after Like Love. Henry and Wright Farling (referenced) belong to @spiffythespook.

He walked into the trap before he understood what it was - later he would be able to see the way she had been lying in wait for him to slip, but in the moment all he understood was that, once again, Karen had said no.

"I will not be allowing you to see him."

Why? Dex signed, an angry slash of movement through the air with his hands.

That very first question had been the first mistake. They were never to ask Madam why, her word was law, she would explain or not as she saw fit. He should never have asked.

He’d done so well, for twenty years, but then he’d had to wait for Wright in perfect silence - five fucking years of silence - wearing his mask. He'd done it, in the end. He had played his part.

He'd stood behind her at prison visits, looking at Wright through glass pretending to be empty. He'd listened to their surreptitious phone conversations, unable to so much as greet him. He'd waited and waited and waited. When Wright had left prison he'd been sent to him, lived for a week in that hotel under assumed names and spent every day wrapped in him, under him, around him…

Since then, nothing. She was using him, feeding him to Wright or denying him for her own purposes and at her own whims. She always had been, but it grated on him more than ever.

He was tired of being a chess piece, a bit of control Karen could exert over someone who she was supposed to care about.

The only person she supposedly cared about.

She watched him, for just a moment, with silent regard. “Because I said no, Dex. He will ask again. Besides.” She smirked, sitting slowly back. “He’s gotten too dependent on having you as it is, and I’d like him to focus on dealing with his true passion, his projects, not… you.”

That had been the red flag, the warning sign he should have seen.

“I am given to understand, Dex, darling, that Wright has gathered his lost sheep together. I’m sure he keeps himself busy dipping his pen in that variety of ink.” The amusement on her face infuriated him, and Dex struggled to keep it buried as far as he always had, the anger in him a simmering pool beneath an unbroken placid surface. “Does that bother you?”

Dex swallowed, hard, and he could barely unclench his fists enough to sign his response. I am Wright’s bed toy, nothing else. I don’t care what he does with others.

“Ah, is that true? Is it?” Karen smiled and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Wonderful. So you don’t mind if you never see him again.”

Never? His hands shook forming the word. His heart went cold, not with fear but anger.

He had been at Karen’s side since he was nineteen years old, forced into the mold she had made for him, silent and obedient, her perfect masterpiece. His life belonged to her, had always belonged to her. She had taken it from him, and the only thing he had found for himself within it had been Wright Farling helping him remember who he was, how to speak, giving him a safe place to think.

He should have known that if she found out about Wright, she would take him, too.

“Never.” Her voice was smooth, a glossy as oil, and he should have known better.

I have to see him again, he signed before he could think about it, and stepped closer to her desk. I want to see him again. She didn’t lean back, or flinch, or show any sign of intimidation. All she did was slowly push herself to her feet, leaning forward with her weight on her hands on the swirls and grains in her large wooden desk, and looked up at him, to meet his gaze.

I have to.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Karen said softly. “Not a single thing I do not tell you to do, command you to do. But you run to him with your ears up and your tail wagging, don’t you, little dog? You spent five years all but tap dancing out your impatience. You’ve gone to him with eagerness, again and again and again, and I think… I think you are hiding something from me, Ten.”

The old number.

Dex took a step back from her, his back straightening instinctively - perfect posture sometimes got you mercy, sometimes they don’t hurt you so badly - and realized too late how deftly she had maneuvered him into the trap.

“You are,” She breathed. “I have not had to discipline you in so long, darling.” A flush had begun to find its way into her cheeks, giving her the sparkling look of a much-younger woman, and Dex couldn’t remember how old he was, how long he’d been here, because Karen had always been the same. “What are you hiding, my sweet first boy? What does he tell you that you don’t tell me?”

She suspected Wright of hiding something, and it was true, he was - Wright was hiding Dex.

Dex’s eyes flared, and his hands stutter-skipped, fingertips beginning and dismissing different ways he could reply, before he pressed his lips together firmly and signed, He tells me nothing you do not know. I tell you everything he says to me.

He had lied to her for twenty years. He wasn’t about to stop now.

“You say you do, but I don’t know…” She opened a desk drawer, and he swallowed hard, knowing what she kept in there. The disciplinary tools she never used on the others, except sometimes Peter, and then only once or twice. No, the discipline in that drawer was always kept for Dex alone. “Perhaps it isn’t that he is telling you things you aren’t telling me… perhaps it is only that you feel things you don’t tell me. Why do you run to him, Dex?”

Back to Dex. He could handle being Dex.

He swallowed, and shrugged, trying to think fast enough to get ahead of her. Karen didn’t understand emotions, she didn’t understand physicality, and if you could think around her fast enough you could hide them, could understand how to use what she could not see-

“Do you love him, Dex? Is that what this is?”

The world froze.

He could have sworn the ticking clock on her bookshelf went silent in the breath between seconds, the space carved out by the fear. He had given something away, somehow… maybe in how quickly he had gone to see Wright when he escaped, how eager he had been to visit him again.

He’d thought he’d covered it up well enough, but-

“Oh, you do." She clicked her tongue against her teeth in a mocking imitation of sympathy. "Oh, darling. You poor, poor dear. And I suppose you think he can love you back? Have any feeling for you beyond a physical appreciation for how he’s no doubt trained you to please him?” She pulled a small black box from the desk drawer, laying it out on the table. Each movement slow and deliberate, and if he were less broken he could have tried to fight her, he could have turned and run out the door. But she had taken and twisted every part of him too long ago.

I don’t know how he feels, Dex signed, shaking, but he did.

Wright called his name in bed, had done so for years, had never said anything to declare love but he didn’t have to. It was in every question and careful concern for his well-being, in every time he took him outside to feel sun on his face and the way he asked him about the books he was reading and gave him choices… It was in the way that Wright sometimes had him hide his special collar, the one he wore for Wright, under a turtleneck and took him out to dinner, like they were real, like he was a person.

It was in the way, with Wright Farling, he was human again.

“I can tell you exactly how he feels.” Karen chuckled to herself. The sound was dry and cold, even as her voice kept that hint of deceptive warmth that only barely fooled the world outside her front door. “All he thinks of you is that you have a nice face and he likes to look at it when he's fucking you. That’s all you are - a body he can thrust himself into. Wright Farling is the light of my life, Dex, but he has always allowed himself to be led by his dick and not by greater matters. To my friend you are little more than a hard-on and a couple of convenient holes.”

He felt his teeth grind together, face flaring red at the humiliation of it.

“Don’t be mad, darling, and don’t get your hopes up. We both know that he’d kill you if I asked him to.”

That’s a lie, he signed before he could stop himself, and she paused with her hands resting on the edges of the box. He met her curiosity with his own blazing anger.

“And how would you know?” She asked, softly.

Because I know, he signed, viciously. His usual quick, efficient signs were lost to the anger that had his hands lingering over signs that they normally barely registered. You don’t know him at all.

“Oh? I don't know him?” She raised an eyebrow. “You have allowed yourself to be deceived. He is using you to watch me, I’m sure of it. Are you carrying stories to him? Does he use you as a spy, sweet boy?” He has been a grown man the entire time she has known him. She has always called him boy.

“No, I won't have that. You are mine. You need to be reminded, I think, of where your loyalties lie.”

With him.

Her eyes flared with a burst of true, real anger, the whites showing all around them. Dex realized only a moment too late that he didn’t think the words - he signed them.

Karen inhaled audibly, and he saw the change in her expression. "You do think he feels for you. You think he loves you."

Dex felt real panic - not for himself, but for Wright. If he'd given too much away, she'd have a weapon to wield against her oldest friend, and Dex would be the one who gave it to her.

I don't know, he signed, letting his shoulders slump, as though perhaps he knew Wright felt nothing.

“You are a piss-poor liar.”

He didn’t tell her that she had believed his lies for twenty years, so he couldn’t be that bad at it. He managed, this time, to stay still.

“Well.” The word left her as a slow sigh, and he saw the anger begin to fade, replaced by an emotion he knew well in her, one that is so much worse. Anticipation. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ve been misled, all right, if you think he will return your loyalty. But I can fix that, can’t I? I’ll show you how loyal he is to you. Oh, Dex, my love. You were always my favorite toy to break, weren’t you?”

She took out a pair of bright blue plastic gloves. When she snapped them on, Dex flinched at the sound. He knew exactly what they would smell and feel like shoved against his mouth to quiet his screams.

The sight of the gloves was worse than the bare, vulnerable feeling around his neck.

She moved to pick up an object from the box. He knew what was on the inside - a soft, deep red lining with a hint of brown to the color, like clotting blood. Syringes inside little plastic bags, sterilized one-time-use needles he had seen a thousand times before. The little vials of liquid, color-coded not because of their chemicals but to help her remember which vial would do what.

Dex’s eyes dropped from her face and instead caught, fixated and terrified, on her hands as she pulled out a needle and opened it, discarding the little clear plastic bag, crinkling the only sound he could hear beyond his own heartbeat. She picked up the light blue vial, and Dex took an unconscious step back.

He shook his head, and she looked up at him as she carefully drew back the plunger, pulling a precise amount of the blue drug into the little canister.

“Darling, you know you don’t get to say no. Not to me. Not after that disgraceful display of emotion. Now take your collar off.”

He had expected it from the moment he saw the box, but still his hands shook as he slowly lifted them to undo the buckle that rested just under the short dark hair, felt the ever-present weight of safety drop from his neck. With his collar on, he was safe. She never hurt him more than a caning for discipline as long as his collar was on.

It was when she ordered him to remove it that he knew - that they all knew - that they were not safe any longer.

He laid the collar carefully on her desk, staring down at it, the stamped-in letters of the name she had given him after ensuring he would never remember having any other.

DEX

“Good boy. Not good enough, it seems, but that doesn't matter." She looked him over. "Right arm this time."

He did not hesitate, or try to defy her. He simply held out his right arm, the inside of his elbow facing the ceiling, and curved his fingers into a tight fist to help the veins show more clearly under his pale skin. She smiled at him, pleased by the quick obedience even as she pulled out a small plastic square and tore it open, taking out the tiny white square of alcohol-dampened cloth inside. She wiped the inside of his arm, leaving a hint of dry cold there, as always, the syringe held between her teeth as she held his arm still with plastic fingers gripped tightly, until she pushed deep divots into the skin.

Dex raised his eyes to the ceiling. He heard the sound of her taking the syringe in hand, and when she slid the needle in, he was so used to the sensation he barely felt the pinch at all.

Instead of stepping away and letting go, she kept her tight grip on him, simply dropping the empty syringe to the floor. Her fingertips slid down the inside of his arm, and he shivered, more frightened of the simple fact that Karen was touching him than of the feeling of cold he felt slowly spreading from the injection site, the way his knees began to feel suddenly, horribly weak.

He braced himself still standing, blinking, as she took his hand and unwrapped it from the fist, until his palm and fingers were totally flat, and turned it so his palm faced the floor.

“What secret is he keeping from me, Dex? Does he love you, is that it?” She asked, softly, looking up at him.

Dex swallowed, hard. The room began to shift and move around him, an unsettling instability, as his veins carried the contents of the blue liquid through his body, pumped by a heart that didn’t know not to send it right to his fingertips. His heart rate began to speed up, spurred on by a sudden artificial fear.

He shook his head.

She sighed, softly, disappointed. “I had hoped you would be more forthcoming,” She said, with quiet certainty. “But I suppose this will do.”

She took his ring finger and snapped it backwards and up until he felt the break.

Dex let out a hoarse, surprised cry of pain, jerking forwards only to have her slam her hand into his chest and force him back upright. “Don’t move, Ten.”

He swallowed hard, breathing harsh and uneven, and braced his feet shoulder-width apart, waiting.

The room moved but he stayed still. Things crawled up the walls along the edges of his vision, shadows that prickled around him, and if he did not do exactly as she said, she would let the shadows devour him. He had been eaten by shadows before.

His eyes welled with tears he couldn’t control, he spun wildly around the emotions he didn’t consent to feel. Familiar and always horribly new, all at once.

She took another finger, the middle finger, and held it. “Tell me what secret Wright Farling is keeping from me, darling, and I will stop. What does he have you do that you haven’t told me?”

He looked at her, at the cold inhuman monster that stared at him from Karen’s very human face, and took a breath. Things moved under her skin - the drug, he knew it was the drug, but he couldn’t stop seeing it.

He steeled himself and shook his head again.

She snapped the next finger as easily as she had the first, and at the new flash of agony he cried out again, louder this time. She held tightly to the broken finger, pushing it back and back and back, and he groaned out loud, fighting the way his body tried so hard to pull back and away, but he was too well-conditioned to move.

“Speak, Dex,” She said loudly, over the whining sounds he had started to make. “That’s what you do for him, isn’t it? Twenty years ago he swore he had made you speak for him when he was fucking you, and that he would get you to do it again… then he tells me he couldn’t replicate it, you were too well broken. So sad, Wright said to me, and I should have known… He lied, didn’t he? Wright Farling has been lying to me for twenty goddamn years, hasn’t he, Dex? Speak for me!”

He nearly told her it wasn’t Wright who lied, but him, his lips moving to mouth the words, but he made no sound to shape them.

She snapped a third finger, his forefinger, and bent all three fingers back as far as they would go simultaneously. Dex whimpered, trying helplessly to jerk his arm back and away from her, his knees giving out. He dropped with an audible crack to the floor.

Dex only stopped whimpering when he ran out of air, and still she was pushing his broken fingers back, until they nearly touched the back of his hand. He couldn’t breathe, the pain was too much, he made gasping animal sounds with every attempt to inhale.

“That’s not speaking,” Karen said calmly, as though nothing had happened at all. She dropped his hand and stepped back and away, turning away from him. He pulled it in tightly against his chest. Twice, now, she had taken his voice, in two different ways. “Dex, you’re fighting me, and that isn’t allowed. Not even for Wright. He is my friend, and I adore him, but your loyalty should always lie with me. And if I cannot have that loyalty through my decades of keeping you clothed, and fed, and cared for… then I will keep your loyalty through fear and pain.”

Dex tried to push back to his feet, and Karen glanced back at him over her shoulder as she stepped up to the wall behind her desk and took from a special set of hooks in the wall her favorite disciplinary cane, smooth shining black with silver on each end. “Stay down, Dex.”

He dropped back onto his knees, into Position Two, his head bowed. If he stared only at a small part of the floor, it didn’t spin like everything else. He waited for her to tell him how many strikes it would be, for this.

“Look up, Dex.”

He obeyed, and her arm was already swinging the cane. There was no time to register it before the blow connected.

Dex’s head snapped to the right so hard the rest of him went with it, slamming bonelessly into the floor, the left side of his face a sudden wet burst of horrible pain. Dex screamed, helplessly, in a voice like hoarse gravel, bouncing around the room and echoing down the stairs through the open door, writhing on the floor, raising his good hand to feel at the open wound.

“That’s more like it,” Karen breathed out, her voice thick with the closest emotion she felt to lust. Her cheeks blazed bright red and her eyes sparkled with it, as she pulled her arm back for the next strike.

Dex dropped his hand and curled up, as small as he could make himself, feeling warm blood running down his face. He would have begged her, but he couldn’t remember the signs, he couldn’t remember how to beg any longer, all he could do was pray it would end before - or after - he died.

He didn’t care which any longer.

“Do you speak for him? Does he care about you? Do you tell him things that aren’t yours to tell? Speak for me, Ten!” She shouted the last words, spit flying from her mouth with a loss of control he’d never seen before, her eyes white-rimmed and he saw the madness in her, that lay always just under the cool, collected surface.

He cried out as the next blow rained down, and the next, and the blow after that. She never pulled her strength, and he felt his clothing rip and his skin tear with the impacts. He was sliced by the sharp edge of the silver at the end of the cane, ripping his skin open in new flashes of agony he could not escape.

She would not stop hitting him, and he could do nothing but curl tighter and tighter and try to survive.

“I won’t have disloyalty!” The cane came down once more and slammed into the side of his head in a burst of terrible light. Dex went limp, feeling blood that had begun to pool beneath him on the floor soaking into his clothes, warm and cold all at once. The world spun lazily around his pain, and he couldn’t remember if the shadows that kept him here were real or not.

She raised her arm again, and he watched with dull eyes as the blood spattered onto the wall with the speed.

It went on and on and on.

He didn’t know how long. He couldn’t remember what time was, or how to count seconds. Dex existed in a place he had not lived in since he’d left the Facility, an eternal place in which he hurt and hurt and he would never stop hurting.

But he never spoke for her, and he never answered a single question about Wright. She asked and promised and threatened and cajoled and he never said a word. He clung to that fact, as he spun inside the world made of his failure to be loyal to her, the punishment, his discipline.

He protected Wright.

At some point, it stopped. There was a sudden lack of blows, where before they had been the beginning and ending of his awareness. He laid there, still curled into a ball, and listened to his own blood rush in his veins, pushing and pushing to escape through the places she had ripped him open. His left cheek throbbed worse than anything else.

One of Wright’s projects was disfigured, wasn’t he? Dex blinked, blearily, and when he tried to look up the world spun once more, the shadowy fingers started to move to grip onto his chin, to whisper to him.

Isaac…

No one was named Isaac, here.

Isaac... wake up, sweetheart, you’re late for school again...

She walked away - or didn’t, he wasn’t sure what sounds were real and what weren’t any longer - and then he heard the click of her heels moving back. She came to a stop just in front of him, and he stared at the place where the red soles of her heels met the warm hardwood floor.

Isaac, honey, this won’t work unless you get some help.

“Lick them clean,” Karen said in a cold voice, and Dex nodded, eyes unfocused as the world swirled and spun around him, the shadows in all the corners had hands grasping. He could feel the shivery brush of their fingers, like twigs drawn slowly, lightly, across his skin. He forced himself forward, dragging himself by the fingernails of the hand she had not broken.

Just sign right here, on the dotted line. And here, and here, too.

He managed to pull himself up onto his knees, swaying there, and leaned over to lick his own blood from Karen Renford’s perfect black heel with its eternal red soles, a mockery of the color he was nearly drowning in.

Isaac, baby, what time is it?

Salt-copper-sweet-sick. Swipe after swipe of his tongue, stomach flipping and lurching, until the blood he had made burst from him was gone, and only the leather remained. His head spun, and he had to catch himself with both hands, moaning low in his throat in pain as his broken fingers could not quite straighten themselves against the floor.

“Good boy,” She said softly. “Now look up at me.”

Look up, Mr. Thompson! Smile!

When he looked up, light-colored eyes nearly all black pupil by now, he couldn’t focus on her face. Her head was in front of the light, and she was a halo of bright auburn around a fuzzy black center, the goddess that owned him, the monster.

She leaned slowly down and slid a blue-gloved hand through his hair, then gripped on tight. He couldn’t remember the last time she had touched his hair, and it sent a terror into him that no other action she had taken ever could.

He had wasted too much adrenaline during the beating, he had none left to find the energy to do anything more than stare into her eyes, his own wide and unfocused and frightened, and watch her smile to see his fear.

Oh my God, Isaac, please, don’t leave! We can fix this!

Tears ran openly from his eyes, stinging into the cut she’d torn wide open along the left side of his face, and he winced in pain just as she held up her phone with the other hand.

She took a few pictures, a smile twitching along the corner of her mouth. “Perfect, Dex. Let’s just see what he has to say about this, hm?”

Dex let his forehead drop back to the floor when she let go, groaning as he could feel spiderlegs all over his skin, the distinct sense that something was crawling on him, and he cried helplessly into a smear of his own blood, his tears watering the stain until it seemed faded, nearly gone.

Just like him.

When I am done with you, Number Ten, you’ll never speak again.

“Here we go… let’s see, add attachment..” Karen hummed to herself a bit as she typed, with the slow and careful motions of someone who had only adopted texting when she absolutely had to. “Perfect. ‘Someone had a silly crush on you, Wright,’” She murmured out loud to herself, reading along as she wrote. “‘I took care of that.’ Add a smiley-face emoji. No, wait. Winky-face. There. If he led you to think he felt for any part of you except your… apparently quite talented and, granted, fairly well-endowed dick… well. He won’t like this, will he?”

There was a pause, and all he could do was try to keep breathing.

Isaac...

He didn’t know who that was. The name spun around his mind and it meant nothing.

Karen’s phone dinged and she slowly dropped into a crouch, resting her weight on the balls of her feet, and held out the phone. “Look up.”

Dex slowly looked up at her, obediently, and something inside of him shattered at the words he could see on the screen.

He broke.

Lovely work, darling.

That was it.

Dex began to sob, hoarsely, hopelessly, on the floor.

“Look at that.” Karen sighed happily. “That is all he has to say about what I’ve done to you. No anger. No enjoyment, even. Just… dismissal. You’re a toy to him. You’re nothing. You belong to me, and your life is mine to end as I see fit. He won’t want you, Dex, even if he did before. Look at you, I have disfigured you. No pretty face for him to admire now, hm? You are nothing to Wright Farling. Do you understand that now?"

Dex slowly nodded, his eyes still locked on the tiny photo of Wright next to his text, the way it wavered and pulsed with the drug running through his system. Wright’s mouth kept seeming to move, to echo her words. Dismissed. Disfigured. Pretty. Isaac.

"He doesn’t care about you. Wright Farling is my friend, mine. I won't have your little hard-on for him ruin all my years of hard work to ensure he won't walk away from our friendship. I will ask you one more time, Dex. Did you speak for Wright Farling, and lie to me?”

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and slowly shook his head.

He would not give her a weapon.

He would not turn on Wright.

Even if Wright had never seen him as a person at all.

“Good. I can’t trust you, Dex… not with him. I understand that now. So you will never be alone with him again. Ever." She leaned in closely, running a bloody blue-gloved hand through his hair.

"And my darling Wright… he won't care. Do you get that, love? No one cares about you. You’re a pet. You are a pet to me. You are even less than that to him."

Then she stood, and he listened to the click of her heels on the hardwood floor as she walked out the door and down the stairs.

He waited. He didn’t know how long.

He heard a gasp when she brought Henry upstairs and the boy saw the sprays of blood on the wall, the puddle of it Dex was lying in, the wounds still weeping with the thrum of his pulse. Karen stood next to Henry, not quite touching him, and the boy was taller than her but infinitely powerless, now.

"M-Ms.-..." Henry caught himself, crossing his arms defensively. "Madam… wh-what-... why-"

"He disobeyed me, Henry," Karen said softly. "He felt things that I did not allow him to feel. He felt love for someone other than me. I have allowed you to keep your name. I have allowed you to keep your memories and your mind. I want you to look at my Dex and understand, darling… I can take that all away from you. I took it from him, all of it, everything that mattered."

She turned to look at him, head tilted up, and slowly ran a bloody gloved finger down the side of Henry's face. He swallowed, hard, but he didn’t pull away.

"If you try to have thoughts - or feelings - that I did not allow in you… I will do this to you. And worse. You love playing the piano, don't you, Henry?" Karen's voice was soft. "That's what I adored about you, how I knew I would keep you. You are so… talented with your voice, with your piano playing. Disobey the way Dex has disobeyed, darling, and I will take your voice the way I have taken his. As for your fingers… Dex. Show him your hands."

Dex laid his palms flat on the floor. Henry gasped at the sight of his mangled right hand, the broken fingers bent at so many wrong angles.

"Continue to make moon eyes at Peter and you will lose the things you love that I have allowed you to keep. Your loyalty is to your owner and not to another pet. Am I understood?"

Henry's eyes were locked on Dex's fingers, but his voice stayed even as he slowly said, "Yes, Madam. I understand. I’ll obey."

“What am I, Henry?”

Henry’s jaw set, just a little. “My owner, Madam. You own me.”

“For how long do I own you, Henry?”

“... for… f-for the rest of my life.” His voice had dropped nearly to a whisper by the end.

“Good boy.”

He didn’t know what else she said - whispering in Henry’s ear, sounds like snake whispers, a forked tongue flickering in and out of her mouth… Dex hated the drugs, hated seeing the forked tongue that he knew was not real and knew was real all at once…

He must have lost himself for a second, because when Henry touched his shoulder, he jerked in surprise and had to shift and look up.

Henry was barely eighteen, and looked younger.

Shock of red hair, frightened eyes, the black leather collar he’d worn for so long now, still too tight and constricting - Karen wanted him to feel it every time he swallowed. Dex had watched her put the collar on Henry, watched her force him to sign the postdated contract, the polite fiction that allowed her to pretend she hadn’t broken the law.

He’d stood by while she gave Henry no choice, no escape, no way out. He’d watched her respond to his protests by threatening Peter, and seen the look the two youngest of Karen's boys had exchanged before Henry slowly nodded, picked up the pen, and carefully signed his name.

He’d watched her take Henry to the car for his surgery, waited a week with his heart in his throat, and seen the angry red skin over Henry's collarbone around the small, shining metal circles set with what looked like sparkling green stones when he returned. He could see those green circles shining now, glinting in the light that came in the window, shown off by the series of low-cut boatneck shirts she forced him wear now, shirts he hated.

Dex had stood with the others while she showed them what those little circles could do, watched Henry collapse in agony, screaming as the shock ran through his nerves. He'd watched Peter hold Henry while he cried, as his life was taken away from him, to be given to Karen’s next of kin when she died. Henry had stopped being a person before he was ever an adult, and Dex...

Dex had stood by, and done nothing, because he didn’t want to risk what he had left, the sense of himself Wright had helped him to steal back, piece by secret piece. And it had all been pointless.

I’m sorry, he tried to sign, and his broken fingers screamed in pain. He wept into the bloody floor.

“H-hold on, Dex,” Henry whispered, shaking all over like a leaf, his face flat white, swallowing reflexively, again and again. His eyes were wide and horrified, and his hands hovered over Dex as though he didn’t know what he could touch that would not make it worse. “Hold on, hold on, I just need to go get Peter, I don’t, I don’t know-”

The house phone was ringing, somewhere, and it echoed strangely in Dex’s mind. Ring, ring, ring… then it stopped, when someone picked up.

“I don’t know what to do,” Henry said, softly.

Me neither, Dex thought, laid his head down, and closed his eyes.

She was right, wasn't she? It had all been a game to Wright, to see if he could bring the person Dex used to be out from the careful shell of his training. It had been a game Wright and Karen were playing with Dex as the pawn, and it was Dex, in the end, who lost.

He was silent.

He spoke for Wright. For twenty years, he had been dreaming about him, kneeling to him, he would have done anything for him. It had been stupid, to speak at all, to imagine to himself he might matter to Wright as much as Wright mattered to him.

He was nothing. He was brainless. He was a pet, a Box Boy no matter his age, an empty void with skin stretched over it in the shape of a broken man.

She would never let him die. Or maybe one day she would.

Wright wouldn't care.

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Text

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Fifteen

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen

******************************************

When Geneva left a few days later, she took her sister to stay with her. It had been their mother’s idea since Geneva insisted she didn’t need Claire to examine her again and that she was fine. But Claire could tell from the relief on Geneva’s face as she preceded Isobel into the carriage that Lady Dunsany’s idea had been planted there by her daughter.

Claire could only shake her head at the young woman’s predicament and try to enjoy the fact that she would have her own daughter all to herself again.

Brianna appeared excited by the change in routine too. At least, she did at first. But by the end of the first week helping Claire tend to minor injuries and working in the herb gardens of the estate, Brianna was considerably less enthusiastic. Even when she began spending some of the days helping Jamie with his groom’s duties, Claire could sense something was off with Brianna.

Claire too was beginning to find the excitement and novelty of Helwater wearing away.

“You need to cut the stems at an angle,” Claire prompted Brianna as they crouched in the garden. Each had a basket next to them and a short blade with a sharp edge.

Jamie had gifted them with the matching set, though Claire’s instincts screamed not to let her daughter wield something so potentially dangerous, Jamie had taken Brianna aside and given her a thorough training with it.

“Be sure to remember, you should always—”

“Cut away from my body,” Brianna recited, exasperated. “Make sure my other fingers are out of the way. I know, Mama.”

“I know you know,” Claire said, apologetically. “I don’t say it to make you feel I don’t believe you know better. It’s more like one of your father’s superstitions. If I don’t say it, then it will happen. I’m saying it to protect you.”

She paused in her own cutting to glance at Brianna who frowned back, unamused.

They worked a while longer in silence before Claire finally broke down and asked, “Are you missing your lessons with Lady Isobel?”

Brianna shrugged but didn’t look at Claire. “Not really. I miss… I actually miss school. Back home in Boston. I miss my friends,” Brianna confessed.

Claire moved to sit beside Brianna. “Of course you do, sweetheart. It’s a lot you’ve given up and it’s only natural you would miss some of it — especially the friends you left behind. It’s not as though you can be pen pals with them. And there aren’t a lot of girls your age here at Helwater, either.”

“Sometimes… sometimes I get so bored and… I don’t have anyone to talk to,” Brianna said in a choked whisper. Claire watched one tear, then another, drop onto the tansy plant in front of her. “I’m glad to be here with Da but… I wish he could have come through and found us in Boston instead.”

Claire set her knife aside and reached over to rub Brianna’s back. “You know, sometimes I wish the same thing,” she whispered back.

Brianna’s head shot up, her face filled with disbelief and relief. “You do?”

Claire nodded. “There are a lot of things about the 20th century that I miss, too… like my friends. But I also know that they miss me and they want me to be happy – even if they don’t know where I am exactly. I wish they could meet your father.”

Brianna nodded. “I wish my friends from school could meet Da. They’d think he was a giant,” she giggled.

“I miss the hospitals we left behind,” Claire continued. “The clean smell of the antiseptic. Proper medical equipment like x-rays and anesthetic to figure out what’s wrong and set it right with less fuss. Having the necessary medication at the ready instead of always feeling like I’m going to run out of what I need the moment it’s needed.”

“Yeah,” Brianna agreed, “this is a lot more work.”

“But the challenge can be fun too. Trying to make something without the proper tools is enjoyable when it isn’t an emergency.”

“Like a puzzle.”

“Precisely,” Claire smiled at her daughter. “What are some other things you miss?”

“Television. And music, like listening to the radio in the car.” Brianna tilted her head, her voice growing more animated as they spoke freely. “I mean, it’s nice not to have so many cars around. There’s plenty of space to play and it’s quieter. But it takes so long to get places, you might as well not go. Except when you don’t go places, it gets so boring.”

Claire chuckled. “There is certainly more limited entertainment in that way. And you’ll always miss those things – the books that haven’t been written yet, the music that hasn’t been composed yet, the films that won’t happen until the equipment to make them is invented. But there’s music that you would never know about if you weren’t here to experience it in person because the people making it don’t know how to write it down or they make it up as they play. And there are a lot of books that have been written.”

“And we have Da to read them with us.”

“Mmmmhmmm. And we might miss those other stories, but we got to read them or see them or hear them and we can share those with him as well.”

“There are a lot of little things to be sad about and a lot of little things to be happy about too,” Brianna summarized, her eyes wide with the truth of it. But a smile played at the corners of her mouth too. “I think I need to do a better job counting the happy ones.”

Claire watched Brianna as she turned back to their chores. Brianna did seem lighter as she held the plant steady with one hand and cut at the stems with the knife in the other.

“I think I do too,” Claire murmured, turning back to her own basket and examining the bundles of cuttings she’d made.

They lay neatly, all going in the same direction, still mostly clustered together into the groups she would bind together and hang for drying. After that task was done, there were those herbs that had already dried that would need to be crushed and mixed into the various ointments, salves, and decoctions most used in her healing on the estate. Few of those lasted long before spoiling so it was necessary to remake them on a regular schedule and dispose of what had gone unused in the last batch. It was a constant cycle of activity, something always needing to be done, that made it too easy to ignore the disappointment and sorrow building in her chest.

She wanted a baby and every month that passed that she and Jamie failed to conceive, she sank a little further into that disappointment. It would consume her if she let it.

But if she wrapped herself in that, it would block out the light of all she did have, most importantly the daughter before her. No matter how old she got, Brianna would always be her baby. All she had to do was close her eyes and she could remember the weight and warmth of that small body in her arms, the smell of the top of her head, the subtle differences of her various cries that only she had learned how to interpret.

What’s more, she had Jamie again to share in everything yet to come. Brianna growing into a woman, courting boys, learning how to be a wife and mother, or whatever other path their daughter might decide to take — if anyone was likely to buck the expectations of an 18th century woman, it would be one who had spent her formative years in the 20th century.

She needed to focus on what she had and not what she wanted. She’d done that with Frank and it had left them miserable. It had worked out, in the end, and she’d been given what she wanted — a life with Jamie and their child — but she couldn’t expect to be so lucky again. Could she really have gotten used to having Jamie back so quickly? Was she already taking for granted the fact that she had him in her life once more?

“Mama? Are you already done?” Brianna asked, breaking Claire’s reverie.

“Just counting, darling,” Claire said, shuffling down her row and taking up her knife again. “A few more should do it. Then we can head inside and move on to the next part.”

******************************************

As she lay in bed that night and Jamie turned towards her, she began counting under her breath.

The way his fingers brushed her shift aside to expose her shoulder. “One.” The way his breath stirred her hair so it tickled her ear whenever he kissed along her jaw. “Two.” The way the heat of his body hovering just above hers had her back arching toward him, so eager for contact. “Three.” The way her skin felt like it was shrinking so that she might burst when his tongue traced its way down her torso. “Four.”

“Are ye makin’ sure I dinna miss a step, Sassenach?” Jamie asked with a chuckle as he lifted his head and grinned at her.

“Just counting my blessings,” she told him, reaching down and running her fingers through his ruddy curls. “Brianna and I were discussing all the things we miss about Boston and all the things we’re happy to have here. There were several I left off my list at the time because I didn’t think it appropriate to share them with her. But now,” she purred, writhing as he bent his head back to teasing her. “Now I intend to take a full accounting.”

“Mmmm, well, I’ll see if I can make ye lose count.”

#;mod lenny #come hell or helwater au #featuring: bree

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beelsnack · 4 years

Note

Idk what you’re music taste is, but I’m very much into rock/hard rock/metal music. Im open to anything! Those are just my favorite genres. It’s funny cause my friends don’t expect it they’re just like “You like that? That’s surprising. You’re just such a cute and innocent lady! It’s not what I expected!!” How would the brothers react to F! MC who is like that? Maybe they walked into MCs room and heard it or any other scenario?

Honestly, same! Nobody expects my smiley 5′4 self to rock out to Marilyn Manson, lol.

I had a whole lot of fun with this! Also, I’m pretty sure you can figure out my music taste from this.

Lucifer: He hadn’t intended to snoop. The human valued what little privacy she could get in the House of Lamentation, and far be it from him to intrude on that. She had accidentally left her D.D.D in the kitchen while preparing dinner, and when he picked it up, he accidentally bumped it and the screen lit up. She must have the sound muted without her headphones in (smart girl, he thought with a smirk) because along the top of the screen flashed “Now playing - Highway to Hell by AC/DC.” The human had a sense of humor.

“Oh, you found it!” she smiled at him from the entrance to the kitchen. “Thank you, I couldn’t remember where I left it!”

Lucifer placed the device in her outstretched hand. “You are full of surprises aren’t you?”

She tilted her head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

His laughter was cruelly amused as he brushed past her. “I never would have pegged you as a rock n’ roll kind of woman. How curious.”

Mammon: It wasn’t like Mammon needed help with this ridiculously difficult assignment. He just figured the human was probably struggling, and what kind of first man would he be if he didn’t go offer her his great expertise?

“Yo, human!” he called as he entered their room without knocking - really, she probably should lock her door, she lives with literal embodiments of sin. “Are you doin’ that homework from Devildom History? ‘Cause I - “

He cut himself off mid-sentence, confused. The image of the human sitting at her desk, hair pulled back with a floral scrunchie and scribbling away with a pink pocky-shaped pen while hardcore guitar riffs blared out of the speaker on her D.D.D was causing his brain to short-circuit.

“Hey, Mammon.” she looked up from her work and smiled at him. “What’s up? Sorry, I guess I had my music up too loud. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “You don’t look like the type of chick to listen to heavy metal, is all. It’s kinda...y’know, it’s...uh, d-did you do the history assignment yet?”

Levi: Honestly, he still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t just messing with him. Why would a normie care about what kind of music he listened to? So, he decided to test her.

“Ooh, who’s that band? They aren’t one of the ones you recommended.” she peered at his Devilgram over his shoulder. “They kind of look visual kei.”

“How do you know what visual kei is?” Levi quirked an eyebrow, although she probably couldn’t tell because of his fringe. She ignored him, leaning closer to inspect the promotional art.

“They look kind of like The GazettE! I wonder if they sound similar? Come on, Levi, unmute the video!”

“Hold on, jeez!”

Well, that plan backfired. Or worked? Both? Levi wasn’t quite sure.

Satan: Something was up. He didn’t know what, but she kept looking at him, glancing down at her D.D.D, then giggling to herself. They were supposed to be studying for upcoming exams, but she had clearly abandoned that plan.

“Something you want to share?”

She smothered another laugh, setting her D.D.D down. “How well-versed are you in human world music?”

What an odd question. “Depends on what time period we’re talking about.”

“1970′s - ish.”

He hummed, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “I can’t say I know all that much. Why?”

Her eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief. “Have you ever heard of the band KISS?”

“Really?” he groaned. Her only response was to bust out in maniacal laughter.

“Don’t tell me you believe that whole ‘Knights in Satan’s Service’ garbage.”

“Pfft, no, I’m not that stupid.” she slipped her D.D.D back in her uniform pocket and picked up her pen, seemingly content to get back to work. “Some of their music came on when I was getting ready this morning and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.”

“Huh.” he studied her for a moment, letting the thought of their pretty little human jamming to ‘devil music’ roll around in his head. “...Yeah, that makes sense.”

Asmo: That little fox! Sending him a bath selfie when she knew he was out. He would definitely have to come up with a good way to get back at her. He just hoped she was still in the bath. It would be a shame to have to undress her when she could be ready and waiting for him!

She typically kept an open door policy, so he wasn’t surprised that the door to her room was unlocked. The door to her attached bathroom was, however. Victory!

Asmo was about to knock when he finally registered the music coming from inside the bathroom, along with her singing along.

“...gimme more, gimme more, gimme more, shut up and sing it with me! Na-na-na-na-na-na-”

...MCR, huh?

“You know, darling, this wasn’t the music I imagined when you sent me that...enticing photo, but I kind of like it.”

A shriek, some splashing, and the music suddenly cut off. “Asmo!”

He chuckled lowly, leaning against the door. “How about you let me in and we make our own music?”

Beelzebub: Training always made him hungry, so it wasn’t too surprising when Beelzebub made his way into the kitchen. She was on breakfast duty today, and she always snuck him little bits of food instead of scolding him like everyone else.

She had her headphones in when he came in, bouncing along to the beat of whatever she had playing and seemingly enjoying herself. Leaning against the door frame, he took a moment to watch her. The sight made him smile.

“What are you listening to?”

She almost hit the ceiling, whipping around and wielding her spatula as a weapon. As soon as she saw him, she relaxed, taking in a deep breath. “Beel, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry...” he pushed himself off of the doorway and opened his arms. “I didn’t mean to.”

She accepted his apology hug jabbing him lightly in the side as punishment before turning back around to the stove.

“Levi showed me how to hack into the human world internet, so I’m finally able to listen to the stuff I like from back home. I haven’t heard Green Day in forever.”

Beel leaned around her, dipping his finger in the pancake batter before she could stop him. “I haven’t heard of that band before. Can I listen too?”

“Sure!” she grinned. taking her headphones out. Beel didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Something must have shown on his face, because she frowned slightly.

“Don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “I do like it. Sounds like the stuff I like to listen to. I just wasn’t expecting you to like something like this.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Belphegor: ‘Going on a walk’ wasn’t really Belphie’s thing. But, he was always saying that he didn’t get to spend enough time with her, and beggars can’t be choosers. So, when the human asked if he would go on a walk with her, he couldn’t really refuse.

“Wait, you’ve really been studying since this morning?” he asked, watching as she stretched her shoulders. “The course material isn’t that difficult.”

“I know, but I really don’t want to find out what Lucifer’s punishment for bad grades is.” she sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. “I don’t even want to think about - huh?”

It took Belphie a second to realize she had stopped. When he turned around, she was looking through the big open windows of a nearby bar.

“If you want to get drunk, we have plenty of booze at the house.”

“What?” she snapped back to reality. “No, there’s a band playing in there. I like how they sound.”

Belphie listened. It was the usual type of music one heard in the Devildom - he always compared it to human punk-rock. His gaze slid over to the human - big, expressive eyes, delicate features, barely came up to his chin- and shook his head.

“Hm. Never would have guessed.”

“Guessed what?” she asked. Belphie didn’t answer, just slipped his hand in hers and tugged her along.

“Come on, you want to listen, don’t you? Let’s go in.”

#ask #shall we date obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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capswritinq · 4 years

Text

Morning- Bucky Barnes Fic Part 2

Summary: Bucky reminisces and mourns y/n. The events of Endgame transpire.

Genre: More angst than I intended but a happy ending!

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: Thanks for all the lovely feedback on part 1! Hearing people’s reactions to the things I create motivates me to keep making them. I was too lazy to rewatch Endgame so everything is based off of my memory, by the way. Also, do you guys like having music to go with some scenes or is it distracting? Please let me know your thoughts!

Y/n was a homebody. Of course she loved spending time with her friends and seeing new sights every once in a while, but ever since she met Bucky, the place where she enjoyed the most was home. When they bought their first house together, y/n had visions of what she wanted the place to be.

“We have to get cute chairs for the front porch. Imagine going out there in the morning and having a cup of coffee while getting to watch the sunrise, how nice is that?...Oh! And we have to make sure we have tons of paintings and pictures on the walls, I hate when people leave it bare. I was thinking for the kitchen...”

Bucky was only half listening to her ideas. He knew that whatever she did, he would love, because she was trying to make a house their home. He knew she would make sure that it was apparent that they lived there, as she was a very expressive person. He loved that about her, how her personality was so big she wore it on her sleeve.

Getting everything unpacked only took one week, as y/n spent all day and all night decorating and putting everything where it needed to go, with Bucky’s help of course.

The night y/n deemed they had their “finished project”, they took two wine glasses out to the front porch, along with the crosley Steve gifted Bucky for his past birthday. A record was softly playing.

Y/n and Bucky sat in their “cute” chairs, along with the music floating through the evening air.

“I think it’s funny how our appliances and security system is so hi-tech, yet we probably get the most use out of your record player and my old polaroid.” Y/n commented.

A small smirk was on Bucky’s face. “I guess I never thought about that, but you’re right.”

“You know, I’ve always been an old soul. I know it seems like everyone says that but it’s true for me. I grew up on this technology yet I’ve always relied on pen and paper. I matured so young. History was always my favorite class in school, too. The World Wars fascinated me. I would go home and read all about them, past the stuff they would assign. I always wondered what it was like to live during that time.” She looked Bucky in the eye.

Bucky thought for a moment. He didn’t think about his life before HYDRA all too often anymore. His mind was now occupied with thoughts about other things, or rather on a particular person.

“Well, the air was fresher. It was just as noisy though. People talked on the streets louder, and you could hear the car engines on the road more. People weren’t so afraid of each other either.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, his eyes flickering between his flesh and metal one.

“You would walk in a place and pretty much talk to anyone. If someone came battered and bruised at your door, you would let them in. People had lost so much after the Great War, that any ounce of kindness or normalcy was embraced.”

“I bet the parties were pretty lame, though.” Y/n said lightheartedly, looking up to Bucky to see his reaction.

“You kidding? Yeah, you couldn’t really hear the music all to well but the dancing was just as good, if not better. Drinks were cheaper, too.”

Y/n laughed at that. “Everything was cheaper, Buck.”

“Well no shit.” He chuckled.

“The music was great though, I’ll give you guys that.”

Bucky hummed in agreement.

The record player crackled as it moved to the next track. The clarinet of Benny Goodman filled their ears, and Peggy Lee’s soft voice glittered in the air.

Y/n stood up from her spot, and reached her hand out to Bucky. “Dance with me.”

He smiled up at her and grabbed her hand. She turned the dial up on the crosley, and wrapped her arms around his body. Her head rested in the crook of his neck. He held her hand and placed his other arm around her waist. They swayed to the tune.

The only sound he focused on was the music playing and her light breathing. The only thing he thought about was her. In that moment, he looked at her with stars in his eyes because she was his whole universe. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for this woman.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” She whispered delicately in his ear.

Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled a breath, taking in her lovely scent.

“I love you too, darling. So much.”

“Even when I’m a little wine drunk?” She said pulling back to look at his face, a crooked smile on hers.

He grinned at her. “Even more when you’re wine drunk. You’re more fun that way.” He said cheekily.

“Oh shut it, Barnes.”

He laughed and held her face in his hands, and gently moved forward to kiss her. She responded, wrapping her arms tighter around him, her finger tips softly tugging at the ends of the hair on the nape of his neck.

Bucky could honestly say that that was one of the happiest times of his life.

Now he was left destroyed, absolutely shattered, with the absense of her. He knew his happiness rested in her, no matter how unhealthy it might seem. Half of him went away the day she vanished.

5 years without her. 5 years of misery. He felt like he just watched every day go by, not really there.

His life lacked color without her in it. Bucky thought that after 5 years maybe, just maybe, things would eventually lessen but the pain still ached in his chest. He yearned for her. It didn’t help living in the place where she last was, everything reminding him of her.

He kept her small pile of dirty clothes laying on the floor in their bedroom. He left her art studio untouched, not baring to open the door again. Even a mug that had her chapstick stain on it remained on her bedside table.

The little fragments of her pained him to look at, but at the same time it kept y/n’s memory alive. But Bucky couldn’t ever possibly forget her.

His day started just the same as every day before that, after the infamous snap. He woke up later than he used to, showered a bit less, and moved around hardly. Some days were better than others, though. Bucky counted days where he could drag himself to the grocery store a win.

The time on his phone read 10:35. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, knowing Steve was going to be disappointed in being late yet again for a meeting. He already had 3 missed texts and 2 calls from him.

Hey, where are you?

Answer your phone.

Damnit Bucky. I thought things were getting better.

Bucky huffed at reading the last one. As if he could ever get better. As if his soul, body, and heart didn’t long for her to still be with him.

He texted back a “Sorry, leaving now” before quickly putting on some clothes that didn’t smell like rubbish before hastily leaving the house.

————

Bucky sat across from Steve in the cafe booth, staring at him with pained eyes. He didn’t breathe. He looked down after a moment, trying to process what Steve just revealed to him.

“Every night since the snap I’ve gone to bed wishing I could have done something. That I could do something to reverse it all. I’ve held onto this hope. But as the days turned into years I’ve had to face the reality that she-“ Bucky paused. “She’s not coming back. None of them are. And you just spring this onto me. I don’t know if I can allow myself to build up that hope again just to have it all crash down on me. I couldn’t endure that.” He shook his head, meeting Steve’s blue irises.

“Of course there is no guarantee that this will work. But you owe it to her to try. We owe it to all of them. If there is any chance, any slim chance this could work, why not take it?”

Bucky let his words hang in the air. He really thought about it. Of course he would do anything for her, anything. But the feeling he felt when he found her ashes, realizing that this was all real and that she was gone, tore him apart. Having to rexperience that would be torture. Not even HYDRA could have done damage to him like that. But Steve was right.

He owed it to her, his light. He was so tired of living in the darkness. He would do anything for her.

“Okay. When do we leave?”

———

Banner had done it. When the plant outside the compound window reappeared, and the birds started singing louder, Bucky could feel his chest rise with hope and relief. When Clint received a call from his wife, Bucky cried.

She was back. He couldn’t see her but Bucky could feel the heart strings reattaching and the aching dulled. His world was colorful again.

The blissful moment was short lived when the building started to crumble and they realized they were under attack from Thanos.

The nerve of that fucking guy.

Bucky came out of the rubble seemingly unharmed, running to Steve. The fight had began.

Bucky just wanted to run home to her. He knew she would probably be so confused, stepping out of her studio and seeing the state of the house. It was a wreck. Bucky just couldn’t take care of it or himself anymore.

But he knew this would end in a fight. Thanos needed to be ended.

So he fought. Sending bullets into the skulls of the extra terrestrial beings and punching any creature that got in his way, he kept the image of y/n in mind. The knowledge of her being alive and him not getting to see or hold her killed him, but he was determined as ever to beat the fuck out of Thanos and his army.

In the moment he sent a bullet through another creature’s skull, the being wisped away into ashes instead of falling back on the soil. Bucky looked around, confused, until he saw Stark in the distance wielding the gauntlet.

His eyes widened as he witnessed the thousands of aliens, Thanos included, being vanished into the air. He cringed at the sight of Peter and Pepper hunched in anguish over Tony’s body.

Steve approached Bucky from behind, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“You alright?” Steve asked, tears in his eyes. It had been one hell of a day.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe Stark did it.”

Steve looked down, not wanting to Bucky to see the tear that escaped. He stood there for a few seconds, letting everything settle over him.

“You should go home. You should be able to find a car by the compound, or whatever is left of it.”

Bucky looked at him.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to catch up with Sam. Don’t worry about me. Go see her.”

Bucky instantly grinned at the mention of y/n. He hugged Steve.

“Give my regards to Sam.” He stated.

“Same to y/n.” Steve smiled.

Bucky gave Steve one last look before jogging towards the compound, his feet picking up momentum the more he thought about y/n.

He was going home, at last.

------

She was sitting on the porch chairs, a distant look in her eyes. She was holding onto a wine glass.

Her eyes widened when the car approached the driveway.

Bucky didn’t even turn it off before he got out, running to her. She gasped.

“Buck-”

“Y/n!” He swiftly pulled her into him, crushing their bodies together. He inhaled her beautiful scent. He cried.

They held each other for a while, the only thing to be heard was the muffled sounds of their breaths and clogged noses, the happiest of tears shedding.

He kissed her temple, his lips lingering. He looked down into her eyes, hers showing both love and relief.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. God, it was hell without you.”

Her face contorted in concern. “I can’t imagine what it was like, Buck. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, but pulled her into his embrace again, cradling her head in his arms. He kissed her hair.

That night, they laid in their bed, it now feeling warm and comfortable and right. He held her in his arms, so tight and close. She nestled into him, her body fitting his like a puzzle piece. Neither of them were sleeping, but neither spoke a word. He could explain everything to her later. She could tell Bucky just needed a break from talking or thinking, all he needed was to just hold her. To know that she was really there with him.

After a few moments, Bucky turned his body to face hers, moving his arm that was underneath her to his side, his other wrapped around her torso. He gazed at her.

“Will you marry me?” He whispered, voice husk, sincere.

She stared at him, and tried to stifle a laugh, but a chuckle escaped her. Bucky’s face held a bit of amusement, at the joy of getting to hear the beautiful sound, but also confusion at her reaction.

“What?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “You know I’m not one for grand romantic gestures or cheesiness, but I’m just imagining how Winifred would have reacted to you asking me that like that.” Her smiled reached the corner of her eyes, a small laugh following.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and grinning. “She’s rolling in her grave right now, yelling at me about being a gentleman and my rudeness.”

Y/n giggled, reaching out to rub Bucky’s arm.

“Oh, totally.”

After their laughs cooled down, Y/n stared at Bucky fondly and determined.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Bucky.” She pressed a kiss to his hand that rested on her shoulder.

It was crazy how much a difference a day made. Yesterday, Bucky didn’t have purpose to his life. Without y/n by his side, he didn’t see the point in continuing on. But now, having y/n in the home they shared, their bed they occupied, wrapped up in her, he wished to have all the time in the world to be alive and share it with her. Before, the only solace he gained was in sweet dreams of her, because it was the only time he felt her presence when she was no longer around. Now, Bucky didn’t want to fall asleep, he wanted to stay awake forever and spend every waking moment with her.

He fell asleep that night holding her, hearing her soft snores. In the morning when he woke up around 6, he stared at her lovely face, undisturbed by the peacefulness of sleep. He could hear the sound of four birds chirping furiously. For once, the sound filled him with an overwhelming amount of joy.

He was whole again.

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stardancerluv · 4 years

Text

Tease

Part 5

Summary: After being with Roman Sionis for awhile, the man has made you his, so now will you enter his world of shadows and screams? What if the mouse becomes a cat?

Warning: Despite serious decisions being made kind of fluffy!

Swiveling in your seat, you looked out at the lights that lit up Gotham below. A month ago your relationship with Roman Sionis changed. You had crept down from his penthouse and saw he handled his enemies. You smirked remembering how one had been an ex of sorts.

The rumors had been true. He was a forced to be reckoned with and he was yours. It made you smile. Something about it was terribly exciting.

Turning back to your computer, using your electric pen you added some flair to this new add campaign you had been hired to do. But you were terribly bored. Sighing, you held your cheek in your hand. To tried to focus on it. Clicking this and that you changed how the text was, it looked much better. Maybe you could actually finish it tonight.

Though to be honest, all you wanted to do was head over to the club.

You jumped a little when there was a knock on the door.

“Yes,” you called out, “Come in.”

Your personal secretary, opened the door and smiled. “Two packages just arrived for you lady.” She was a sweet girl.

“What?”

“Yeah, want me to bring them in?” She added in an exceptionally excited tone. “They look fancy.”

You rolled your eyes and shrugged. “Sure.”

One was rather large, always good to have that extra table for mini meetings you mused. And the smaller one looked rather dainty what could this be about, you wondered.

Your phone came to life on your desk came to life, glancing over at it you saw who was calling and your heart leapt.

“Who is it? Is it, him?” You secretary was like a young sister at times and sometimes just as annoying as one.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, please give us the room.”

And the girl knew what that meant and left, but then she popped her bead back in for a moment. “Let me know what you get.”

“Yes..yes...now let me answer this.”

With a smile already across your face you answered the phone.

“Hello.” You purred softly.

“Hello baby, did you get the package?” Roman’s voice filled your ear.

“Oh, I should have known it was from you.”

He chuckled.

“It actually just arrived. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Ooh good. Now I chose this for you to wear when you come to the club.”

Excitement, rose sharply in you. “I love that you bought me some clothes.”

“It’s not hard for a lovely girl.” He paused you could hear him taking a sip. “Now is the smaller package there?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect, are you alone?”

“Yes, the moment I answered the phone.”

“Good girl.” You could imagine him smiling. Something she loved. “Why don’t you open that one while we are on the phone.”

“Ok! Let me grab it.” Grabbed it and went back to your desk. “I am going to put the phone down.”

“Baby, put me on speaker phone. I want to hear your reaction as you see what’s in the small box.”

Eagerly, tore at the wrappings. You then saw the black and sliver trimmed box, some French was written on the outside. Oooo, you made a happy sound. “Oh! Oh...Roman....is this from that new chic French boutique?”

He chuckled. “Nothing is too good for my girl.”

Not that you couldn’t go there and buy something there yourself but the idea that Roman got you something from there thrilled you to no end.

“I’m about to remove the lid.”

“Keep going baby.” He urged you.

You lifted the lid and gasped. It was an exquisite pair of gloves. A wonderful mix of cloth and leather. Seeing them you knew exactly what this present meant, your breath was stolen. “Roman, they are lovely.”

“Just like you, baby.” He paused. “Now remember I can’t wait to see those on you tonight along with what is that other package.”

“I am even more excited to open the larger package now.” You happily told him.

“Wonderful.”

“Roman, do you want me to go right to the penthouse when I come over?”

“Yes. That would be perfect.”

*****

Once back at your apartment, you put on the lovely suit that Roman got you. It fit wonderfully. The color reminded you of the dress you wore when you had decided to return to the Black Mask. That was a long six months ago.

As you say on your ottoman zipping up your boots you caught your reflection. There was a slight flush to your cheeks. Getting up, you went over and braced yourself against your sink. You eyed your reflection. You were going to follow Roman’s and Victor’s lead. Well mostly Roman, since and Victor didn’t interact too much. Last you put on was your gloves. They were divine.

*****

Going, into the club you did love how his staff immediately fluttered around you like butterflies. You continued walking and went right up the penthouse.

Excitement, made your heartbeat fast. You were so eager to see him.

When you stepped out of the elevator you could hear his voice coming from his office. Upon walking into the doorway, he gestured for you to come in and perch on his desk.

“You should know we always have the best here.” He sighed, he ran his fingers through his silky strands. “Yes...yes...I will make, we will have her singing and not the other girl. Penguin, stop being so damn annoying or I will cancel you.”

He rested a hand on one of your thighs as you sat near him. Feeling playful you rose his hand higher, he smirked and squeezed.

“Look unlike your restaurant I have pressing issues at the club. We can iron out more details on Monday. That’s what I am saying. Goodbye.” He hung up. “Stupid bird.” He muttered.

“Hi baby.” He sighed raggedly as he sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“Roman,” you said innocently. Wanting his spirits to lift, you changed how you perched on his desk. Legs, crossed so he can take in the curve of your leg, how your stockings sat and then boots he first saw you wore striding as he put it into his club. “I loved what you picked out for me tonight.” You said demurely and it was true, you had always enjoyed the clothes he chose for himself, but this was a wonderful outfit he chose for you.

He opened his eyes, they widened a little as of seeing you all over again. He stood up.

“No teasing.” He scolded.

He gently motioned for you to uncross your legs. Resting both hands on your thighs he opened you. He went to where he belonged, between your legs, the skirt hitched so that there was nothing left hide under the skirt. You sighed as he let his hands drifted up, then stop at what you had wanted to surprise him with. You had gone out and bought something new,a black lacy garter. His hands stopped where stockings ceased and your soft skin began. He looked up at you.

“But this is a very nice distraction from that bird brain.” He chuckled.

*****

“Baby.” His blue eyes met yours.

“I bought them to surprise you. Those were my gift for you tonight.”

He inhaled, his heart picked up speed as he took off one of his gloves. He led his hand up, enjoying how your thigh stocking clad felt stopping to them relish how then he was able to feel your soft, smooth skin. “This is outstanding baby.” Smirking, hooking a finger around the taunt strap, he tugged then he let it snap. He smiled at you after you made a delightful sound.

“I am going to love these.” He slipped his hand back into the glove.

“Boss, we’re ready to roll.” Victor, appeared from out of no where.

He stiffened, annoyance rushed through him. It turned to anger as he saw you flushed a shade of red.

“Fuck Victor did you not notice us having a moment?” He barely wanted to acknowledge, he remained between your legs.

“Sorry boss.”

“Well now that you see that we are, meet us fucking down stairs!”

“Ok, boss...” He bowed his head, not looking at you. “Sorry, Y/N.” And he left.

He, held his hands up in the air. “I hate being interrupted, fuck where were we?” He chuckled, looking at you and he was able to calm down as he felt your legs. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I remember.” He smiled. “It is time for your final present.”

“Oh?” A smiled spread across your face, a sight he hated to admit but loved to create in you. “I don’t need anything else.”

“Daddy, wants you safe tonight.” He grew serious. He also knew what a month ago had done to him. Seeing you wield his knife had created desires in him, he didn’t know slumbered deeply in him. He was eager to see you really let loose, but he wasn’t going to push it. He didn’t want to lose you over it. “Now, baby do you really want to do this ?”

Before you, no one else’s thoughts or feelings ruffled him. But you, changed that.

“I do.” He watched as you took a breath. He put a gloved hand over your heart, he could feel it racing. “There was something about helping you, wielding that knife of yours. I want to do it again.” He felt his own heart race faster as you put your own hand over his.

“Then you will, kitten.” He slipped his hand gently away then rested both hands them on his desk. “Reach into my right pocket.”

You did. He could feel your fingers wrap around it and pull it out. You licked your lips, damn he could practically taste them.

“It’s your knife.” You said as you opened your hand to look at it.

“It’s one of my best ones, I want you to use one that I trust,” He smirked then catching your eye. “And to use one I know you already look good using.”

He took it from you. “This is the best way to open it, and to close it.” He handed it back to you. “You try.”

Damn, just watching you do that made a knot in his lower stomach. “Good.” He purred. Then he took it and slipped it into your right pocket. “Keep it there till you have to use it.” Stepping back, he looked at you. Fuck, I am a lucky. You were beautiful and sexy, it was a deadly combo. He offered a gloved hand and loved how you hopped down from his desk. Pulled you close, locking eyes with you.

“Tonight baby.”

“Tonight.”

@starwarsprequelfangirl @ewanfuckingmcgregor @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @darling-i-read-it @angel98624 @spn-obession @nebulastarr @darling-i-read-it (things are heating up!) @emyliabernstein @rosionis @johallzy

#roman sionis pov #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis #ewan mcgregor #tease #part 5 #fanfiction #bop #birds of prey #black mask #black mask x reader #black mask x you #black mask x y/n

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florida-preposterously · 1 year

Note

✨✨

Hi anon!

Word count - 24,140

I'm getting close to the end, and I'm so scared I'm hyping this fic up more than it deserves to to be.

But asks like these help so much, so thank you !

#keefe sencen #fitz vacker #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #what's the point of running (when my steps always lead to you)?#my asks #flori gets asks #keefitz #keefe kotlc #fitz kotlc #kotlc fandom #wield a pen and let it out my darling

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lostcybertronian · 5 years

Note

Apologies if you are no longer accepting prompt requests, but will you please do number 15. "You betrayed my trust" with Host please. Thank you kindly.

I am so god damn proud of this.

Commission Me

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demonnightmareangel @moonysmayhem

Prompt 15: “You betrayed my trust.”

The microphone flicked on, its internal gears and mechanisms coming to life with a near-inaudible whir. All it picked up for a long few minutes was the rustling of papers, punctuated by the occasional scritch-scratch of a pen.

“He knows many secrets best left hidden.” The voice that spoke was worn thin from hours and hours of overuse. It rattled from a throat that was red and raw, but showed no signs of stopping. “He is aware of many futures best left buried. He is ever vigilant in his search for these such futures, and has taken steps to prevent them from coming to fruition.

“This one, however, is worth its potential consequences, and will be recorded for future use. If anyone but he is to listen to this- if they are listening to this now- they have approximately two days and three hours to live.”

A lengthy pause. Then, a slight cough as the voice cleared its throat before continuing. “When Dark enters the meeting room, it is impossible not to tell: though he is usually a quiet man, his anger defies any nature he might have in his possession. If anything, his nature is his anger.

“But he digresses; Dark’s rage is a tangible thing, and can be felt by every occupant of the room.

“‘Someone,’ he says, coming to stand at the head of the table, where he can look every ego in the eye. Most avoid his gaze, looking down as if afraid that such a simple act would result in their untimely death. Which, considering how the very foundations of the facility seem to shake in the face of Dark’s fury, it just might. ‘Someone has betrayed my trust.’

“He pulls a photograph from a pocket within the jacket of his suit, holds it up for all to see. It is grainy and in black and white, but clearly shown is two people. The first is facing the camera. Most of the egos present do not know his identity, nor are they aware of his significance. The second is facing away. It is at the second that Dark jabs a pale, gray finger.

“‘Upon your arrival here,” he says, every word sounding like broken glass, like sharp knives tearing through flesh and, eventually, bone, ‘you were granted my protection under a certain set of conditions. The first and most important was-’ he tosses the photograph to the table- ‘never betray me. Who has done so?’”

The voice speaking into the microphone dropped to a whisper. “Not a single ego speaks up. The room is silent, save for the Host’s quiet narrations, though they seem to sink into the void that this meeting has become. He has known this was coming, and he knows how this will end. He takes pleasure from this, knowing things will soon come to a head, knowing things will soon tip in his favor.

“Dark is unaware of this. His fury builds until the glass wall to his left shatters in a cascade of glass.

“‘Who did this?’ He roars. ‘Who has the Actor led astray?’

“A frantic murmuring breaks out among those assembled. ‘The Actor? The Actor?’ They ask, the poor fools. Their ignorance of the Actor and the power he wields is amusing.

“‘Well?’ Dark’s short fuse is burning hot. He closed his eyes for a second, and his shoulders shudder. He is losing control. Unravelling, just as he is supposed to.

“It is at this moment that Wilford Warfstache stands from his seat, the grate of the chair’s legs against the floor making many of the egos cringe. ‘It was me,’ he says, with a heavy sigh of resignation. It is clear that all he desires at that moment is for this whole ordeal to be over. His thoughts are preoccupied with grandiose thoughts of television shows and ratings. He has no idea what is to come. ‘I was talkin’ with this Actor fella, wonderin’ about-’

“It happens in an instant. In a simple flick of the fingers. Dark snaps Wilford’s neck. His eyes are wide with shock as he crumples, his body dropping like a sack of stones-”

A pause. “Someone approaches. Footsteps echo down the hall, coming steadily closer. The door opens-”

“Host!” The new voice was loud. Smooth, and self-assured. “I received your message.”

“Yes,” The Host answered, and his clothes rustled as he turned away from the microphone. “Has everything been prepared? Is the Actor ready?”

“Oh, darling, I was born ready.”

“Very well. Let us begin.”

With a flick of his fingers, the microphone turned off, and there was nothing more than silence.

#the host #actor!mark #the actor #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #lostandwandering #my writing #lost writing tag #writing prompts #angst #tw death #asks #ahostofsorts

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pizzapartyfanfiction · 4 years

Text

The Menagerie. Chapter 1a

(A small snippet to bridge the two chapters. )

She had never been in a car so fancy. So high end. Little logos of a dead bird decorated the interior. It made the nickname “Fledgeling” disturb her.

“ I take it Mother-Dearest was excited to hear about the offer?” He smirked. He removed his glasses. It was so dark in this limo that she really couldn’t tell what he looked like without them. She supposed that men could be vain too. “Yes. She’s very greatful. Why is it so dark in here Mr.Swan?”. He chuckled. “ You can just call me Swan. It would make our arrangement a bit toxic if you were to be so formal with me.” She looked very confused. She felt like a spring lamb waiting in the barn to meet its inevitable slaughter. “You mean...Im not working for you?” She asked sounding disappointed. “Oh yes you are. You will be working for me but...Not in the sense that you think. The plans I have for you dear..are so much greater than a mere record deal.” She barely moved. She was a little scared. She couldn’t turn back now! She was stuck! She froze. “You’re not...going to force me into..anything u-uhm...immoral are you?” She asked keeping a tight grip on her shirt. He laughed again. “ I love how vivid your imagination is. No. I won’t be doing any of that. Not unless you want me to at least..” he winked. He put his glasses back on and pulled out a black, dismal piece of paper.

“The Menagerie is a...creative space. It’s where you will be living, writing, and performing your music. But it will not be music for the public. It will only be for me to enjoy. You will be living in your own apartment, but you will be a....sister to 3 other women. All of them are fantastic. Very talented and at the top of their genres.” He said. “Is this a...cult?” She asked raising a brow. “Hm. I suppose you could look at it that way....You will be singing and devoting yourself to me...a cult!...now that sounds much more sinister than a creative space..”

He laughed such a light, fluffy sound. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty..My dear.” The way he said this and moved his leg a bit..suggested so much. Her cheeks went red. He noticed and took delight in this. Such will he wielded over her. “I can tell by your eyes..your posture. That adorable little way you stammer when you speak to me. You are infatuated with me. Come now, admit it.” She thought she would perish with that sentence. Dissolve into the seat. Humiliated and patronized. ”...Yes. You...you make me feel that way....” she said on the verge of tears. ”Oh now no...no darling. There's no need to cry! None of that is allowed here..” he said drying her cheek with his finger. ”...I feel the same about you.” he said comfortingly. ” You do?” she asked. ”Yes. Your voice..your music. It makes me feel so much better about our sinful world.” he was drawing closer to her.

He had a grip on her hand. His eyes...they we're blue..so beautiful. ”I want you to come live at The Menagerie and sing for me. Sing to prove you love me. You can do that can't you?” he asked whispering now. She was almost suffocated. ”Yes. I'll sing and play for you..” she said sounding as if she were praying. ”If I like what I hear...You get to come and stay at Swanage with me for one month and then you’ll perform again. If I like another girl’s music they will take your place...you don’t want that surely.” he said looking concerned. Like a teacher telling his student, they could do better. ”No!...I’ll do my best! I'll reach into my heart and give you everything..”

”Everything?...Would you give me your name?”He said still holding the black paper. ”How can I give you my name?” she inquired. ”When you sign this contract, you give me your name. With your name in my possession it will make our music more powerful. Your former life will vanish. You will start anew as mine..” he said she would have sworn she heard a bestial tone to his voice. It must be her nerves. That's it. Nerves.

He took a red quill pen that seemed to come out of nowhere. He took her hand and lightly pricked her finger to draw blood. It...didn’t even hurt. Bright red glowing letters appeared on the black paper once the blood made contact. She was so pressured she didn't see important words such as eternity, punishment and soul. She took a gulp and breath and signed in her own blood. She felt ill . She felt like she was burning all of a sudden. All she could see was red, burning, angry red.

She then saw black and was in the backseat if a normal limo. The red interior now gone. ”We’re here. Are you ready, Starling?” Swan asked. ”Of course!” Starling answered. ”Im just happy to be awake. I had a really terrible dream..” she said. Starling had no idea that the nightmare was only just beginning.

#Phantom of The Paradise #Swan

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raevenlywrites · 4 years

Text

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag @elizahgodswood! I’m tagging back @writeunderthecloudsandmoonlight @iridescentpython @sword-of-stars and anyone else who would like to do this!

Your Words to Find: pleasant, frown, believe, friend, fury, rotten

I’m gonna hide them under a drop cut, cause this many words made this post loooooong. I’m also gonna go ahead and tag F&F’s tag list, cause I bet you guys will like the excerpts here :3

Pleasant and frown occurred in the same passage, which admittedly doesn’t bode well for this instance of pleasant :P

Lia frowned harder at him. “What precedent are we setting today? Tybee wanting to play host?”

Adiran thought for a minute while he got down the cocoa mix. “How the Court of The In Between celebrates Night’s Reign. Tybee is kind hearted by nature. He and Cordelia both. They want our Night’s Reign to be festive, and full of love and charity.” His eyes seemed to go distant as he stirred. “In some courts, Night’s Reign is far more grim.”

“Grim?” Lia asked, confused. “How in the world do you make Christmas grim?”

“I didn’t say Christmas.” Every word was careful, empty. Too neutral to be anything but put on. “I said Night’s Reign. The season of darkness isn’t always met with shining lights. Some courts venerate the darker aspects.”

The kettle whistled, and Adiran seemed to shake himself. “It’s not pleasant, and nothing something I’d like to see coloring our Night’s Reign. Ask me about it again after the Longest Night has passed.”

Believe

“Will you two chill out?” Gil barked. He shook himself, turning back to Jenna with a tired smile. “Don’t mind them, they’ve been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Dumb. They mean well, they’re just a little much--” that last clearly directed at the pair of siblings.

Neither of them looked particularly chagrined.

“Gil and I can walk you back to your apartment and look over it with you,” Adiran added. “It would make us feel better, knowing that you’re alright.”

Jenna glanced at the half eaten meal on the table. “I really don’t want to interrupt more than I already have.”

Gil cast the siblings a disparaging glance. “Believe me, Jenna. You’d be doing me a favor. Some time away from this chaos would be most refreshing.”

Friend

They had just settled into their meal when there was a knock at the door.

Lia glanced around, but everyone seemed just as confused as she was.

She started to rise since she was closest to the door when another knock came, but Tybee motioned her to stay sitting.

Theo was at the door, and Lia never saw her move, she was just suddenly there.

She opened the door, her expression anything but friendly. Whatever was on the other side of the door didn’t seem encouraging since she just kept staring. When no sound came from whoever had knocked, Theo half barked, “State your business.”

Fury Surprisingly, not a lot of fury in my just for fun winter fluff. I had to go all the way back into the first draft of Foxes and Fate to find it

“She didn’t ask for any of this!”

Gil threw his hands in the air, pillow falling to the floor as he waved about. Tybee gave him the space for his theatrics. Gods knew he’d learned them from the best—himself. Sure enough, Gil rose to his feet, trying to pace in a wagon barely high enough for him to properly stand. Tybee stretched out on his bunk, keeping low.

“She was just out painting, and I poured my stupid storms all over her paintings and now she’s caught up in this big web and no matter what I do there’s no way to win! If I win I lose her, and if you win--”

“And if I win,” Tybee cut in, “all I want is her mantle. I said last night I don’t care about what happens to the girl.”

Gil glared at him, the fury of the storm raging in his eyes. Tybee ignored it.

Rotten gives me a chance to show of Mirabella the gargoyle, which delights me

“You know,” he said slowly, “it never occurred to me, but I really should have had you help me look at the other gargoyles, Mirabella.”

Her ears pressed flat to her head, a clear sign of annoyance in any species. Tybee flicked her ear tufts lightly, earning him a small hiss.

“I don’t think she liked that idea.” Rhia half laughed.

“I don’t think she likes the idea of sharing attention,” Tybee said. He scooped her up, cuddling her close despite her whuff of protest. “I think the little darling is a spoiled rotten brat, yes she is.”

“If spoiled I be, I learned it from thee.” Mirabella growled, but her attempts to squirm away were halfhearted.

Foxes and Fate Tag list (as always, feel free to ask to be added or removed as you like, no worries) ((also also if you’ve asked to be added to this list and don’t see your name, please let me know! This is what I *think* is the most recent list, but I could be wrong. It’s been a week for brain fog))

@lordkingsmith @mariahwritesstuff @silver-wields-a-pen @jessiwritesbad @writinginslowmotion @alessia-writes @abalonetea @worldbuildingwren @soupopoireau @livvywrites @adie-dee

#find the word #tag games #writeblr tag games #foxes and fate winter fluff #foxes and fate #oc tybee #oc gil #oc lia #oc kyle #oc adiran #mirabella the gargoyle

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Note

Can you do Brian with ADHD?

Okay, I’ll just sit down and write out some chords, Brian thought to himself, sitting down at his dining room table, pen and paper in hand. Freddie had written a new song and needed some help with the guitar section.

He read over the notes before pressing his pen down and-

Oh, silly me. I’ve been needing to do this dishes for a while now. I’ll do them.

Brian got up and went to the kitchen sink, starting the faucet. He’d vigorously scrubbed through half the dishes before he remembered he needed to call Roger about something, which he couldn’t remember.

He dried his hands, scurrying over to the phone and dialing Roger’s number. Upon reminding Roger of the important thing. Roger informed him they had already fixed the van last week, didn’t he remember? Oh. Well, it’s still a good day to talk to his best friend. So the two chatted for over an hour before the drummer had to go.

Brian felt real happy after that talk he had. He decided he’d make some lunch and watch the telly for a bit b-

I’ve forgotten to write back my mum!

He ran back to the table, pushing aside the music sheets to write his mom a letter. They didn’t live far away but she insisted on having correspondence with him. Brian never minded it, finding it quite adorable in fact.

So he settled down, writing out the date and “Hello, mum,” in his best script.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that lunch couldn’t wait any longer. Without a seconds hesitation, he got up and padded to the kitchen, concocting a lunch of a sandwich and coffee, throwing in as many dishes into the sink as he had just cleaned earlier.

After he had satisfied his hunger, he leaned back, scratching his chin, looking around. Now, what was I doing?

His house was a mess.

The phone was dangling by the cord, letting out a faint and constant beep.

The table was strewn with papers and letters, half written notes and half opened envelopes.

The kitchen fared no better, a never ending pile of dishes in the sink, food left out on the counters.

This was Brian’s normal, but..it didn’t feel normal.

Since as long as he could remember, he was like this. Going, going, going, all day until he dropped from exhaustion late at night. He’d start things and never finish them. Not that he didn’t want to or that they weren’t important. He just couldn’t stay focused on anything long enough.

His mind was jumping from thought to idea to goal to joke, never ending. He’d forget something as soon as you said it or as soon as he thought it. He’d impulsively do things, his brain unable to think of the consequences before hand.

He lived life in this tunnel, it felt. Only going forward to the next thing, unable to go back.

He must’ve been going crazy. He must’ve already been crazy his whole life.

With his head in his hands, he groaned.

“I’ve gone mad, Fred. I can’t do this anymore,” Brian confessed to the older, leg shaking as he sat in a chair opposite to Freddie.

Freddie just smiled, head tilting. He grabbed Brian’s hand and gave it a soft pat.

“Darling, you haven’t gone mad. You’re perfectly sane,” he said comfortingly.

Brian shook his head, snatching his hand back, using it to rub his face with irritation.

“I have, I really have. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I d-” he was interrupted.

“I do know what’s wrong. You’re hyperkinetic. Like me,” Freddie said with a smirk.

Brian cocked an eyebrow, lips tightening. “H-Hyperkinetic?” he asked slowly, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Yes! Hyperkinetic. It’s an illness, darling. Means, well, you’re hyper. Can’t stop running around, forgetting things, doing impulsive things, can’t even sit still. It’s a diagnosis I received as a child,”

Brian shook his head as he processed Freddie’s words. Him and Freddie were quite similar in behavior. They never stood still, fidgeting about, forgetting and remembering together. Brian thought though, that Freddie was just flamboyant. That it was all just an act.

It made sense that it wasn’t.

“S-So...” Brian once again struggled for words. Freddie happily continued.

“You’re hyperkinetic. It’s not all that bad once you understand it, dear. There’s a medicine out there for it and some things you can do to help. God knows I’d be a mess without it,”

Brian just continued to nod, dumbfounded about it all.

Brian did collect himself and the two talked well into the night. Brian was thrilled to know that there were answers and solutions to everything he was going through. He was even more excited to know that someone he trusted had the same affliction. It made him seem less alone.

Freddie helped him schedule an appointment with a doctor and by the end of the month, he had a prescription for Cylert and some coping strategies. Hyperkinetism, later known as ADHD, was life long. But it wasn’t a life sentence to misery. Not in the slightest. Sure, ADHD had it’s pitfalls, but it had it’s advantages. Brian learned to wield and use those to his benefit.

In a years time, he was in a completely different head space. He felt good. He felt capable. And with Freddie besides him, he felt unstoppable.

#brian #adhd #adhd!brian #Anonymous

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years

Text

Hold On Tight (7/?)

When Strange is called into the department, after you and Wong have finished your tea and your chat, he’s ready to be livid. He’s worked himself into a fine bluster but Wong cuts him off, “Stephen,” he says calmly, “You must respect the Archive. She’s a valuable asset to all of us. Even if she is still growing into her powers.” Stephen glares at you, “What business does a 21-year-old have being the source of all this?” he said gesturing at the manuscripts that you’d been making painstaking copies of.

You laugh bitterly and Loki wants to reach for your hand but folds his together instead. “Well,” you say quietly, “It’s not as if I had any say in the matter, as you yourself pointed out in Greece.” Your eyes start to turn a pearlescent white and energy crackles slightly, book pages fluttering gently. “You will follow what I’ve asked,” you say your voice resonant. “You will do as I have instructed or you will not be permitted,” you say, “For the good of all. For the preservation of Ancient Knowledge, Wong has agreed to be responsible for you. If one tome goes missing, I have been given permission to take it back. By any means necessary. The preservation of this collection is my sacred duty given to my family by the goddess. I will not allow you to deter me from that task simply because you feel I am not fit. I am the Archive. I will not fail in my task.”

Stephen looks from you to Wong and sighs. “Fine, but I want my objections noted,” he said. “Write them down,” you say helpfully pushing a pen in his direction as your eyes turn back to their usual color and the energy disperses. Loki smirks and glances at Wong who is similarly quietly amused. Stephen stalks into the department, Wong gives you a wink and follows. He knows better than anyone that Strange has a lot to learn when it comes to manners in the Supernatural community.

Loki bows slightly, “Will that be all?” he asks smoothly. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, “Yes, thank you Loki.” The smile you give him is different today. Still kind but sweeter. Less professional and more personal. That pleases him and he’s still internally preening when he walks into his office. He sets his attention to the translation you gave him to do. A language not of Midgard and so out of your scope of knowledge, but he gets very little done. In his mind, he’s turning over the events of the night before. The passion and the desperate longing that he felt in you. At first, he had thought you frigid. A fussy academic with not desires. He’d thought it not surprising that you’d had a recent breakup and few romantic inclinations. But in the moments since, when he’s seen your passions aroused, angry or amorous, he knows better. Frigga would like you, he decides. She has a soft spot for broken baby birds and motherless children. Odin... Well, he thinks. It’s best if you do not fall into his hands.

You bend your head over the vellum of the blank book you’re working in, carefully transcribing what you pull from your mind. It is an old spell book. Containing knowledge acquired by a Scottish Witch centuries ago. You can feel the magic. Her intents. She was a kind soul. So often, as you transcribe these old books, you feel a pang. She was long dead, killed in fire and agony for daring to defy the Catholic Church. Daring to heal with more than bloodletting and silly ineffective salves. You say a silent prayer to the Goddess for your gift and pray that in the afterlife, your actions bring this woman peace. That in some small way, this is justice served. Your mind cannot stray too far from the task at hand. It takes effort still to call forth what you want to record. You’re still learning how to focus in one individual piece of information in the constant influx of fluff and nonsense.

Steve is writing a list of bands, Natasha is doing an equipment inventory, Bruce and Tony are recording data, Thor is writing a bawdy poem to amuse himself, Loki is translating, an intern is writing dirty texts to a receptionist... It never ends. You let it flow around you, pouring out the words of the Scottish Witch onto paper. Recording her pictures of plants as she had drawn them. To anyone else, it looks like you are asleep sitting up but for the movement of your hands. When Loki sticks his head in your office, at 3:30 when you still hadn’t brought him tea, he slips back out again quietly, unwilling to break your concentration. The serenity of it is rare. Often it is painful and you struggle to maintain any sort of focus for more than an hour or so. Wong sticks his head in the door shortly after to tell you that they are leaving and Stephen stops, staring. He’s never seen anything like this.

Your hands move with speed. Recording writing not your own as quickly as it comes to mind. The stack of Vellum under your free hand growing thicker by the minute. He wants to say it’s like watching a copier machine but somehow it isn’t that either. Your eyes are closed and your foot is tapping gently under the desk. He has questions but Wong merely gently moves him back and quietly shuts the door.

Wong gestured him down the hall, “How?” Strange asked. Wong shrugged, “It is old magic, some of the oldest on Earth... Archives. Archives are a law unto themselves. When humanity first learned to write, to record events. They never considered those events might be lost. Until they were. So, magicians, wizards, gods... they compiled the sum total of all their knowledge. Compiled it and the goddess Seshat was tasked with finding one person to give it all to. She created the Archives when she gave the knowledge to her Daughter. The Archives are a living record of all that has been so that we might have a better future.” Stephen nodded, he’d heard all that before. But that did not explain how it worked. Or how you wielded so much power.

Hours later when you had run out of things to write from your Scottish Witch, your eyes burned and your head ached. You needed to move. You stood slowly, rubbing the cramp from your hand with a groan and hobbled to the door, stiff from sitting in one position so long. You peek in Loki’s office with a soft smile, he’s still bent over his desk, translating. “Loki?” you ask softly. His head pops up, he’s ready to be irritated until he sees it’s you and his face softens a little, “Finally,” he grouses without any real heat, “You missed tea time, you know.” You wince, “Sorry,” you say, “I don’t really have a way to keep track of time when I’m that far in my head. Everything just kinda... stops.” Loki stands and rounds the desk, pulling you to him and kissing your forehead, “You’re back with me now, darling,” he said quietly. You look a little drained. Pale. Like you pushed too hard. Your lips are dry and too warm against his when he kisses you and your hands are clammy. He tuts gently, “I should have made you take a rest, and made you have tea with me.”

You shake your head, “I just need a walk. Maybe some water. I’ll be okay.” He presses a cool hand to your neck and you lean into the touch. It was nice. Like walking into a cool room after a run in the heat. He frowns and tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow gently. He thought you needed a lie down in a dark room and several glasses of water. Possibly dinner and your hair played with until you relaxed.

He walks with you and he’s pleased that the silence is companionable. Comfortable. You never do just want to fill the empty air with talk. Though, with the amount of “chatter” as you call it, in your head; the silence is probably more comfortable. In the commons, you help yourself to yogurt and some fruit before getting a glass of water and sitting at the table. Loki stays near you. He’d like to be touching you. Preferably while naked and making you say his name in bliss but he can be patient. For now.

You seem better. Still pale and overtired but better. Loki goes to get his own snack and it isn’t until he turns at a small thud and flurry of movement, seeing you slumped over, blood flowing from your eyes and nose that he realizes things are not better. He cries out wordlessly and scoops you up, half running up to medical, cradling you as close to him as he can. Your body is burning, blazing hot. So hot you’re uncomfortable for him to even hold. He stammers out what happened in a panic as medical converges on him calmly.

There’s surprisingly very little worry as they inject you with something to stop the bleeding and pack your body in ice to stop your brain from frying. Loki is pacing in the hall, still covered in your blood and trembling when Natasha comes around the corner, “You okay?” she asks him. “Do I look okay?” he snaps. She holds out a placating hand, “She’ll be okay,” the spy said calmly. Steve appears not long after, “What’d she do this time?” he asked. Natasha shook her head, “Probably just overwork. If it was a cursed book why’d have called in a witch.” Loki looks between them. You’re half dead and they’re treating this like another day at the office. “This has happened before?” he asked incredulously. Steve and Natasha both nod but it’s Natasha who speaks, “Not so much now but when she first became the Archive it was like once a week... The first time I saw it happen I was terrified. Just Mid conversation about School blood started pouring out of her face and she fell over onto the floor.” She shivered, “Coulson had to carry her. Neither Clint nor I could do it. We were shaking too hard.”

Loki watched as you started to come around slowly. “Fuck me, really?” he hears you say, “I liked this shirt.” Against his will, he snorted.

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