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inkyblinders · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil: Part II

Part 1

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

Author’s note: This was so embarrassing to write not because of smut...but because I’m crushing hard on Adrien Brody right now. And I can’t even share this obsession with anyone because… he’s kinda niche? Someone please reassure me that I’m just going through a phase because dear God why can’t I stop watching Darjeeling Limited just to see him ahhh.

The story picks up right after the end of Part 1, so I recommend reading that first. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think!

Summary: Following your meeting with Luca Changretta, you face the Shelby family and Tommy's reaction. (2.6k words)

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing

Tag: Let me know if you would like to be added or removed

@anythingwriter, @rrtxcmt, @shut-chan

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You barely make it into your bedroom before he is all over you. The buttons of his crisp, tailored shirt fall like marbles. He moans when you nip the skin of his neck, right over his tattoo of the black cross, legs tangled together like a depraved waltz.

When he grinds into you, you shudder deliciously at the hardness that meets between your bare thighs.

How easy would it be for him to kill you after he fucks you, leaving your corpse twisted in the bedsheets. You know Tommy would find it when he eventually remembers that he has not seen you for days.

“Signorita, you know I come to you with the most honorable of intentions.” He murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts.

“You're not a very honorable man then.” A laugh that turns into a gasp as he trails his hand lower and strokes between your legs. No, not very honorable at all. And pretty soon all thoughts of honor are forgotten as he coaxes a moan from your throat.

His fingers are magic. The cold outline of his onyx rings scald your skin each time he crooks a finger inside you. Knowing exactly what you need, seeking your depths, swirling, rising to rub the clit, all the while exploring the flushed expanse of your body with his other hand.

Shoulder to breasts to hips and back again.

Without meaning to, you’ve let this stranger take control of your entire being. But God, do you crave this pure ecstasy.

It’s as if he wants to know precisely how much you can take before you're undone. So when you clench around his hand and feel the familiar ache he is right there, helping you ride the wave of pleasure, never breaking the rhythm of his thrusting fingers even as you curse, rake your nails down his back.

You almost cry out his name when you come. But you bite into his shoulder instead.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna have to hear you next time.” He growls.

His words barely register as you come down from the high. Aftershocks spark like tiny flames. Now you are wearing his scent as much as he is wearing yours.

“Be inside me,” You whimper, tugging at his soft hair, urging him for more.

He rasps an empty warning, “What's my name, sweetheart?”

Of course. All this time you've never acknowledged you know of his identity. There was no use in trying to hide it now.

“Luca,” you breathe. And his eyes gleam with approval.

With a snap of his hips, he plunges into silky warmth. The fullness stretches you to your limit, head thrown back. It’s good, so good. Every withdrawal of his thrust is a blessing because you know what follows next. It’s him inside you again, wrapping you with his touch and the scent of tobacco and roses.

“Does your Tommy fuck you like this? Like the way I do?”

“He’s not mine.” You choke out, punishing Luca with a bite on the neck that elicits a chuckle rather than a yelp of pain.

He kisses you, your foreheads pressed together. “A damn shame for him.” Soon he starts to quicken his pace, going faster, more erratic, his breathing heavy upon your ears.

Yes, you urge him, come on, now.

And this is your chance. In a flash you roll on top of him, pinning down his shoulders with your hands. He tries to arch up but you stop him with a knee.

“How many men did you bring, Changretta?” You ask, making your voice rough to mask the lust, pressing your hands around his jugular.

It's a pleasure to see him like this. Shocked at your actions, maybe even scared. Naked with want but unable to do anything to relieve it. Unless he tells the truth.

“Fifteen. Why baby, am I not enough for you?” He laughs breathlessly, hands trailing goosebumps along your hips, tracing the contour of your breasts. The jib doesn't hurt you. After all, men have said worse. He tries to surge into you again, and his hot member pulses on your thighs.

“Do you swear on your honor? That you’re telling the truth?” You insist, squeezing him harder. The touch brands his skin as much as it brands yours.

In a voice full of self-mockery he says, “Yes I swear on my honor. Now let me in, clever Isabel.”

You take him in you, the sensations amplify a thousandfold. You try teasing him, going slowly in and out, but soon you are caught up in the sensation of him completely at your mercy and you ride him, faster, until you keen his name, until he too is undone.

****

Through the haze of dawn, he stumbles out of bed and gets dressed. Before he dons his hat once more, Luca leans down to whisper in your ear, as soft as sin.

“You tell Tommy Shelby he may expect a visitor in the night. I'm coming for him as the angel of death. The vendetta has begun…” He kisses your hair.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

The door clicks shut. You rise from your pillow, and a small, hard lump rolls next to your hand.

It is a signet ring of onyx and gold.

****

“So we all get a death letter from the mafia, but Izzy gets jewelry?” Ada huffs as the family filters into the betting shop. As usual, Tommy holds court at the front of the table, brooding over a glass of whiskey. You roll your eyes as Arthur and John try to cover their snort of laughter with a cough.

“If you want it, you can have it, Ada. He’s probably planning on killing me too.”

“Doubt it. You’re not a Shelby, and we’re the ones who killed his father. Well, someone did, to be precise.” She shoots a bitter look at Tommy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Despite Ada’s matter-of-fact tone, the words cut to your heart. Not a Shelby.

It’s not her fault. No one knows you’ve been sleeping with Tommy, not even your dearest friend. It’s a lonely secret to keep, but at least you can look at the family square in the eye and not have to worry about the things they say behind your back. Or worse, pity you.

You can handle the violence and moral ambiguity of Tommy’s business. But to lose the love and respect of the Shelbys would break your heart.

“What was the mafia man like, Izzy?” Finn asks eagerly. It’s obvious the boy is thinking of the dashing, gun-wielding gangsters he’s seen in the pictures.

“He was a wrinkly old brute. Kind of like your arsehole brother Tommy.” A smile to take the edge off the insult. But Tommy only looks off into space. As if he hasn't paid attention to this entire conversation.

Arthur clears his throat. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. It was me who pulled the trigger on his dad, so the blame falls on me.” He pats Linda’s hand even as his voice is heavy with guilt.

“No one’s blaming you Arthur, you weren’t the brains behind the operation, no offense.” Ada says. He is about to say something when Polly cuts in.

“Stop squabbling like children. We’ve all voted for truce, despite everything Tommy’s done to us—” The words nearly having us hanged hover pointedly in the air. “—So let’s focus on the matter at hand." She fixes Tommy with a sharp look.

“What’s the news from Camden Town? Will Solomons help us?”

“No.” He says tiredly. And all of a sudden you feel sorry for teasing him. He look gaunt. There are shadows under his eyes, even more so than usual. Without you to remind him to eat, you can imagine his diet for the past few days consisted more of alcohol and cigarettes than anything substantial.

“Spent three hours on a fucking tour of his bakery and another pretending to drink his piss-poor rum. I think he was trying to get me sloshed so I’d forget what I came for.” Tommy rubs his head.

“He’s refusing to send his men to help. Said he’s not going to go after another oppressed people.”

“Did you tell him the Italians are rounding up Jews in their country as we speak?” Polly asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t make a difference to Alfie. Besides, that’s just an excuse. He’s really just a fucking coward.”

Polly looks troubled at this, as does the rest of the family. Everyone had been counting on Alfie’s friendship with Tommy, however peculiar, to help them with the vendetta. What they hadn’t expected was his extreme sense of self-perseverance. How are they going to protect themselves now?

“Before everyone panics, I’d like to say something.” Tommy clears his throat, setting down the whisky.

“As you may all know, two nights ago our Izzy encountered Mr. Changretta in the Garrison. He bought her a drink and asked her to deliver an official beginning of the vendetta.” He chooses this time to finally look at you. You hold his gaze until he looks shiftily away.

“We can also assume that he has been scoping out Small Heath, looking for any weaknesses on our turf. Now, Izzy has something to share with you all.”

You stand up uncertainly. The last time a woman other than Polly tried to speak her mind at the table it had been Esme, who still refuses to come to the betting shop unless Tommy is not here.

“While Mr. Changretta was, er, indisposed at the Garrison, I found some items in his coat that I think could be useful.” You fish out a passport and a stack of papers from your skirt pockets.

“Good job, Izzy! Oh, I knew we could count on you more than my idiot brother.” Ada beams.

“Becoming a right little spy, eh?” John ruffles your hair good-naturedly. As everyone gathers around, Polly gives a low whistle.

“Goodness, if this is your definition of an ugly brute, I wonder who’ll really catch your fancy, darling.”

You flush. The documents were obtained shortly after Luca had fallen asleep. It was an exercise in agility, trying to extricate yourself from his tangle of limbs, especially when you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, encased in his warmth.

To your own credit, the papers were highly useful indeed. Some were maps of Birmingham, circles drawn in places where the Shelbys are known to frequent. The Garrison. Charlie’s Yard. The Arrow House. There was also stationary from The Stanton, a hotel just outside of the city.

There had been another piece of paper in the stack, a letter. But you kept that for yourself.

“We all have Izzy to thank for bringing us this valuable information.” Tommy’s voice rises above the chatter. “I will be personally examining all the documents and think of a plan. In the meantime, everyone stay alert, stay armed, and stay together.”

“Now if no one has any further questions, I need to have a private word with her. Alone.”

*****

You twirl the onyx ring around your finger as everyone filters out. It’s much too big but you still wear it anyways. The thick band of gold is comforting in its own way. And despite what you told Ada earlier, you don’t want to give it to anyone else.

Tommy’s curt voice snaps you from your reverie.

“Was it good, then?”

A small muscle tics on the underside of his jaw. His previously blank expression is now cold. The coward in you compels you to feign ignorance.

“What do you mean, Tommy?” You ask lightly.

“Did it feel good to have that fucking wop inside you?”

You burst out laughing. “Christ, Tommy. Did you pick up that word from Alfie? You sound bloody ridiculous when you’re trying to be crass, you know.”

“Don’t fucking change the subject, Isabel.” Tommy snaps.

“Oh, so I’m Isabel, now? You only call me that when you’re trying to get me in bed. Is that what you want? A bit early in the evening if you ask me.”

“What I want for you is to tell me how it felt having that man inside you, inside---”

You blaze with anger. “My sex life is none of your business, even if you are an occasional participant. I did what you would have wanted, and now I’ve got intel on the Changrettas that could save your arse!”

“Do you know how dangerous it could have been? Fraternizing with the enemy is exactly what got us into trouble with the Changrettas!”

“And fraternizing with them again has given us an advantage. We know how many associates he’s brought with him, and where they are staying. Good God,” Your eyes widen as you see the mutinous look on Tommy’s face. “Are you jealous?”

The silence of the room presses in until it's almost palpable. Finally he rubs a hand over his eyes, looking utterly defeated.

“I have no right to.” He says, pained. “But I am, just the same.”

The admission of his feelings would have made your heart soar a few days ago, before you met a man who enchanted you in the Garrison. You only laugh bitterly.

“What makes this different from all those other times you made me seduce the men you wanted to spy on?”

He says nothing. But what else is there to say? The past is in the past, and so many hurts have been caused by the both of you, it would be impossible to untangle it all.

You soften your voice, laying a hand on Tommy's arm.

“Let me continue seeing him. He wants me, and we can use that. You know it will be help, you know it might save us all.”

A breath flutters in your chest as you wait for his decision. If Tommy allows it, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. The Shelbys are your family, whether you're one in name or not.

But if he refuses, then perhaps… Perhaps he might actually care for you, deeper than jealousy, deeper than he admits.

“Very well.” Tommy says finally, and something in your heart shatters. The corners of your mouth curve up in a wobbly smile.

“Thank you for trusting me, Tommy. I won’t let you down.”

“You would never let me down, no matter what you do. Just…Be careful, Izzy.”

He closes the distance between you and enfolds you in a hug. You enjoy this quiet warmth, as fragile as spider's silk. With a small laugh, you pull away, patting his arm before turning to the door.

You don't look back to see if he follows.

#luca changretta #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

Okay this may sound like an oddly detailed request but can you do a Laszlo x reader where Laszlo has been courting the reader for a while and has never met her father, because her father is dead or abandoned her at a young age or something like that and she never told Laszlo, but Laszlo is instant on meeting him for some reason or something like that?

Sorry if thats a weird request

Unofficial Meeting [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit angsty, mention of old fashioned ideas

Author’s note: I hope you will like it and I respected your wishes <3

"Miss?"

The voice of your chamber maid called you distracting you from answering some correspondence.

"Yes?"

She smiled so widely as a bouquet of white roses and peonies was presented in front of you. She giggled as she was just so happy for you. You have been courted by Dr Laszlo Kreizler for some time now, but he never missed to send you flowers on a Saturday morning, it was his ritual since you two became serious.

"Those are so beautiful, miss"

She said excitedly before leaving you to read the note, she was probably living the romance through you which was quite weird but cute to witness.

You opened the card, Laszlo usually was a brief but intense poet, but this time the message was clear. Can I tempt you with a lunch at Delmonico's?

You frowned lightly before looking out of your window, his dark clothing making him strikingly visible in the greenery of the park in front of your house, he raised his hat for you and smiled.

Damn him and his top level courting.

You put your letters away and got ready spraying some perfume on you before going out, your maid helping you with your coat and hat.

When you stepped out of the front Door Laszlo was waiting in front of your gate.

"You could have called"

He smirked at you "it wouldn't have been a surprise" he concluded simply.

You smirked as it was true and you have also learned to admire the extent of Laszlo'd courtship. He was attentive and respectful, he knew when to trace a line to forbid any kind of bad talks. He was already famous for being a maverick and he didn't want to put that stigma on you too.

You obliged him as you walked your way together to the restaurant, he never failed to ask you about your day and your plans. he was very attentive and you reserved him the same tenderness asking him about his patients or latest articles.

Once you arrived at the restaurant you were brought to one of the best tables, Laszlo taking upon himself the honour to move your chair back behind you and then back toward you for you to sit comfortably.

"Thank you Laszlo"

He smiled proudly taking it as a compliment, but he looked rather stiff and tense for his usual mannerism toward you.

Once you ordered your meal he toyed with his glass of wine a bit attracting inevitably your attention.

"What is wrong?"

He looked at you surprised by your question, but he smiled because you sort of alleviated him from the weight of beginning what he wanted to ask.

"I was just wondering when I will be able to meet your father" he said just as directly as your question was "I met your grandmother and your uncles and aunts, I am missing somebody"

He said it quite easily as your mother had left this earth early for the standard and you regret she won't be able to see what an amazing man you met.

"You don't need to meet him"

He stared at you puzzled, what really concerned him wasn't your refusal, but more the hardness you showed into expressing it.

"I think I do"

You glared at him, your conversation briefly interrupted by the waiters landing the plates in front of the two of you.

He thanked them before looking back at you, your stern look still there.

You had discussions before but never of this size and also as much as he tried before to hint the theme of your father he wasn't acknowledged at all.

He also noticed how the rest of your family followed that same guideline, acting like they found you under a tree.

"I think it is something I have to do sooner or later"

You glared at him again.

"Stop it"

It was hard for him to stop. He was already launched on the theme and he was worse than a wild animal when he got fixated over a theme in particular.

You pushed some common ground theme while you ate. Like John or Sara's agency or other mundane things, but you hated to see the intensity in his look.

That question over and over into his mind.

You never hated to be with him as much as you did now.

You declined the offer of a dessert pretty quickly just wanting to go away.

Laszlo obliged and lead you back outside escorting you to your place.

"I don't mean to be invasive.."

"But you're" you confirmed to him "thank you for the lunch, I can walk myself home on my own”

You left him there moving after your house's gate.

He stood there biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You didn't contact him any further on that day or the ones that followed, to be honest you avoided him and his flowers and attentions. You even stayed at home instead of attending places you were supposed to be, but where he also might find you.

Until your grandmother called you and you furiously ordered your maid to call the doctor and make him come at your place.

He arrived quicker than you expected. He was worried something happened, maybe you were ill and nobody told him.

When your maid showed him the way to your study and closed the door behind him he tried immediately to politely ask you about your state but your eyes burned holes like bullets in him.

“How dare you?” You growled at him. He stood still in front of you, his back straight even if you didn’t fail to notice the frown on his forehead.

“How dare you to call my grandmother? To ask her something I specifically told you I don’t want to share or talk or even mention? What is s hard about it? What makes you rightful to come bashing into my life asking for answers? “Y/N”

“No, no Y/N, you doctor, should learn to put a line between when you’re an alienist and when you’re a decent human being” you were being extra hard on him, but just earring your grandmother worried voice was enough to make you snap his neck.

He took your rage like a champion, even if he clearly was suffering it.

“Why is so important Laszlo? Why to see your mind at ease? It is just a man, somebody that doesn’t belong to my life, why you have to push it? Why you always have to push it?” “I just hoped..” “Hoped what? Hoped that a man that abandoned a pregnant woman while courting her was worth my time and thoughts? That I need to share my own life with somebody that wasn’t there? That never asked to meet me, or even see the woman he swore to every wind that he loved? That put my mother in the position of being considered a whore? How my grandma had to pretend I was hers to try give my mother a good shot at life?”

All those truths hit Laszlo like a bag of bricks, he was overwhelmed and saddened. Those situations were the ugliest in those times. Women always paying off the debts of the lust of men. The simple promise of a marriage just to gain something that could be tasted forever with a little more of wait. Just the human need to break a rule, just one, that revolutionary feeling that only losers at heart have. Because nobody makes a revolution over the expenses of a loved one.

“I had no idea” he concluded

“I hope you are satisfied now, your scientific mind has now all the puzzle pieces, now leave and let my family alone”

You could see his shoulders fall as you said that to him, his face paling in fear and sadness. He pressed his lips tight against each other, his jaw hurting as he didn’t know if at this point was really worth it to explain why he insisted so much. He ruined it, he tried to treat you with the white gloves and instead he hurt you even more.

“I apologise” he said staring at you, you letting him speak for the first time “I never meant to put you in such a position, I really just meant to be close to your family and I couldn’t see the fault in my own desires”

He admitted it but you didn’t wince, he crossed the line, he went too far and he needed to learn to respect the limits of others, not everyone needed to be under his care.

“I said you may leave”

He looked out of your window searching for words. Your anger was waving down as he looked so upset, and he should be.

“I am also a victim of our society in my own means, even if my behaviour is not excusable in any way, I stupidly fixated on the idea of doing things right with you and some things… Well, they teach us boys some things have to be asked to a father first”

You looked at him with a frown, you shook lightly your head as you didn’t understand his point and you were five seconds away from throwing him the vase with the latest flowers he sent you when you looked at him pul out a little velvet box from his inner pocket.

“The times are modern now, it was silly of me to try move past you like that” he leaned the box on your desk. He nodded at you respectfully leaving. You were left alone with that little box, you stared at it for a moment before moving closer to it.

You looked out of the window as you heard the gates closing and you watched Laszlo’s figure walk away.

Your eyes darted from his back to the box in front of you slowly opening it to find the ring of the dreams of any girl.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler #dr kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you

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cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Hey! 🖤

If you are taking requests, what about headcanons about Laszlo dating an insecure reader that sometimes doesn't think they deserve him because they think they're not smart enough... not like I'm projecting or something 😅

Thank you for your time and I love your writing! ✨✨✨

I feel you on this 😅

- John didn't want you involved in the case of the murdered boys, because after all, he thought that something like that would be too horrific for his younger sister to see and although you did find it all terribly ghastly you wanted to help as much as you could, and rather you quite enjoyed spending company with one of John's closest friends Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

- You were always John's youngest sister, whenever he brought his friends from Harvard around for dinner and drinks he would simply mention you in passing as you watched them come in. "Ah yes this is my younger sister y/n Moore, bare her no mind, I believe the drinks are this way" and you adored your brother even if at times he seemed embarrassed by you, so you would try and get involved in their nights together but he would hurry you away. "This is no place for a young girl like you" he would tell you, pushing you out of the door which you found dreadfully unfair as you were only a few years younger than him.

- Laszlo caught your interest pretty quickly. He was the most introverted out of all of John's friends, usually standing at the side and just observing the door. But his quiet persona caught your interest. You tried to talk to him in the times John wasn't around to push you away and he was polite to you. He wasn't like John's other friends who treated you like a child, he spoke to you as if you were an adult on the same grounds at him. The conversation could be awkward, both of you not really sure what to say, but you enjoyed seeing him scramble for words, things to say to you.

- After John moved out you saw less and less of him, and you hardly saw Laszlo anymore which upset you deeply. Over the years you became a lady and was soon expected to court and marry. Already you were past the time most people married and people were starting to ask questions. Your family were trying to convince you to marry, including John but how could you ever marry when your heart already belonged to the Alienist. Your life had been relatevily easy, you never went to university like your brother as that was not what women did, instead you spent your days learning hobbies, going shopping with your friends, attending social events. The norms.

- You weren't really sure how you ended up involved in the murdered boys investigation, you suppose as you found out John was involved that was your ticket to involve yourself as well no matter how much it displeased him. Really you cared for all the boys and you wanted to capture this murderer, but you knew the real reason for helping was to be able to see Laszlo again after all these years.

- But you knew you weren't any help. How could you? You were simply a higher class woman with no skills within any of these areas, simply getting involved because she could. You were convinced any day now Laszlo would ask you not to help out anymore as you had no purpose. But he didn't. He allowed you to stay around even with John's complaining. He would often ask you questions that were bugging him, wanting to hear your opinion. Soon when he found John a bore he asked you to accompany him to dinner, or to the Opera, or even to the park to think. Eyebrows might have been raised at such requests, how much time you were spending together without courting but you didn't mind for you were over the moon at being able to spend all this time with him without your brother.

- Soon it was like you were spending every moment with him, to the point where even John was noticing and making remarks which you and Laszlo brushed off. But one evening this was all confronted. It was late at the institute, you and Laszlo had chosen to stay behind to go over some of the new information while John and Sara had left. To help you and Laszlo had a drink of wine, which lead to two drinks, which then lead to three. Soon enough you two were sitting in the chairs in his office, laughing and joking around.

- You were so happy, and as you looked upon him, seeing how bright his eyes were, how his cheeks were tinged red, you knew if you didn't say something now you would come to regret it. And so there in his office, late in the night and slightly drunk, you confess the love for him that you have kept within yourself for years, the love that you have every time he is near and how much you wish you could be Mrs. Kreizler instead of Miss. Moore.

- Laszlo paled and stumbled with his words. At first, you worried it might have been a mistake and hastily you move to leave the room embarrassed and ashamed. But Laszlo was quick to stop you, pulling you back towards him. From his lips tumbles the words about how he shouldn't, how you are John's little sister, how John would kill him. But then his lips meet yours and everything felt right. Everything was how it should have been.

- John got a dreadful shock the next day seeing you and Laszlo arm in arm. He almost collapsed on the spot if Sara hadn't caught him. He had to sit down with the both of you and talk about how the hell this had happened, what this meant for the future, accepting the fact that Laszlo was now to become his brother-in-law. But eventually, he admitted he was happy for both of you.

- Everything was perfect, the case was solved, you and Laszlo were happily married, it was everything you had ever dare dream about and yet you still felt out of place. Laszlo was a brilliant mind, you were amazed day after day by all the knowledge he had, how he was able to help your patients. Usually, when people met Laszlo they assumed his significant other would have the same brains as him, yet you didn't. You were just like every other upper-class woman.

- It's not as if you didn't try. While Laszlo was out you would go into his office and pick out a book, trying to read it in the hope of improving your knowledge but it didn't work. Nothing stuck in. You felt the room feeling worse than when you entered. You would often stare into the mirror trying to figure out why Laszlo decided to marry you because it obviously wasn't for your intelligence. Was it for your looks? Perhaps he felt pity that you confessed your love that he courted you as he would have felt bad otherwise, or could the worst situation be true and that it was because you were John's sister?

- Laszlo came home early one night and found you crying because of it. You hadn't meant for him to see you but you didn't even know he was there until he came into the room. He held you in his arm for a minute, rubbing your back and letting you cry into his chest so you can let it all out. Eventually, when your tears dried up gently he moved his arm to hold your head up, making you look at him. "You don't give yourself enough credit mine Liebling, I always value your opinion and deductions and you are skilled in ways you don't even realise. Intelligence isn't dependent on academic success."

- He knew. Of course, a brilliant mind of Laszlo knew what was wrong without you even needing to say a word. "I just feel like I don't deserve you Laszlo" you whisper and his eyes soften, "I often feel the same way y/n" he murmurs, "I feel like you deserve better, a man who can hold you with both his arms, who can offer you a life where people won't look down at you for marrying a social outcast. A man who can give you so much more than I can. And every day I wake up beside you and I wonder what a truly lucky man I've become"

- Even throughout all of the doubts the both of you had, each of you knew how much you loved each other and with that, it was enough to cast aside any insecurities and doubts the two of you might have had.

TAGS: @shrekboobies @arianalilyblack @wonderwoman292 @justreadingficsdontmindme @thehuiabird @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemosimp420 @kadeuuijib @lieutenantn @neoarchipelago @cable-kenobi @edencherries @faustlyaccused @julyvegan @prestigious-tea @hannahbal-the-fannibal @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @competitivepomegranate @welcometothemxdhouse @flutterskies @rumblelibrary @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sky-writes-stuff @rhinestxn-e @davianos-blog @mywinterivy @xxlumos @cathana2264 @ajokeformur-ray @nev3rfound @unbeatablecurlgirl

#laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler hcs #laszlo kriezler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanon #the alienist #dr laszlo kreizler #daniel bruhel #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

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Just Like a Woman - Part 12

A Roger Taylor x Reader Story

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @rrogerchxrm, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronewritesthedust1, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @nixfreak, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa, @borhapqueen92, @theonsasheart, @vektorivittu, @chanti-frn, @brianssixpence, @dancingcoolcat, @xviiarez, @irepookie, @lnnuend0, @rogerxmeddows, @vici-xx, @bellas2silly,@rogerrhqpsody If you’d like to be added for the epilogue, let me know!

A/N: THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER! However, there WILL be an epilogue, so it’s not quite over yet!

Warning(s): None!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Part 12 here we go!!!

Two weeks passed. The sentencing was equally as satisfying as the trial. Sully was hit with ten years in prison, but would not be eligible for parole until after serving at least five. You were sure they would appeal, but for now, he was going to be off the streets and Dominique had secured her justice. It made your entire career in law up until this point worth it.

After the sentencing, Bill called you into his office. You were nervous about it because usually he didn’t have private meetings unless it was serious. You swallowed before walking in.

“Y/N,” he greeted you. “Thanks for coming up. I know you’re busy.”

“No problem,” you replied. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you for handling this case,” he said. “You took it on with no experience. You also overcame your own hurt to take on Roger’s divorce. You’ve proven just how valuable you are to this firm these past months.”

You blinked, surprised by the flattery.

“Well, I - um - thank you,” you said. “What’s brought this on?”

“We’re growing as a firm,” he said. “And with John retiring, I’ve got to start thinking about his replacement.”

John was the other senior partner. He was Bill’s professor, and they began the firm together. Your stomach jolted. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

He twirled his pen between his fingers and glanced down at a packet of papers on his desk.

“This is a new contract for employment,” he said. “For you. To become a partner.”

“A senior partner?” you questioned.

He smiled. “Just partner for now. But that is the track I see for you.”

You almost squirmed in your seat with joy. To become a partner was a dream of yours. To be on track for senior partner was even more pleasing to hear.

“What do you say?” he asked. “We’re a good team. You deserve to help me run this place, especially after what you’ve recently accomplished.”

A smile spread across your face.

“I say hell yes,” you told him, beaming.

“Wonderful,” he replied. “If you read the contract, you’ll see your salary increase.”

You reached out and picked up the packet. You scanned the first page until you found the number. Your stomach did a flip at the offer and your eyes went wide.

“What?!”

He smirked. “That’s just a little less than I make. I thought that was fair considering how great an attorney you are.”

“That’s a lot of money!”

“Nothing that you don’t deserve.”

You put the papers in your lap and looked at him with your mouth hanging open.

“This is incredible, Bill,” you said earnestly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he returned. “I’m looking forward to this.”

Feeling completely elated, you signed the papers. Afterward, you called Roger to tell him the good news.

“A partner?!” he gasped. “Y/N, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, sweetie!” you replied. “I just can’t believe it! I mean, Bill did so much of the work for Dominique’s case, and he guided me through all of it, so I was just really shocked! But I’m excited I can hardly stand it!”

“Tell you what, this calls for celebration,” he said. “How about I take you to a special lunch tomorrow and we can toast to your promotion?”

“I’d love that,” you told him.

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight, love.”

“See you tonight.”

You hung up and giggled to yourself. You could barely contain your emotion. Everything was coming together, like Roger said. You were looking forward to your future with him, and your promising career as a partner.

The next day, Jane came into your office first thing in the morning.

“Y/N, Miss -” she began, but Miss Thomas swept by her and marched into your office.

“Miss Thomas needs to see you,” Jane finished, shooting the woman an annoyed glare.

“Yes, Jane, I can see that,” you sighed. “You may go.”

She nodded and closed the door. You looked at Miss Thomas.

“Lucy, how can I help you?” you asked.

“I need you to help my father with his wrongful termination suit,” she said, swinging her hair behind her shoulder.

“Okay, what does he do?” you asked.

“He’s a primary school teacher,” she said.

“And why was he fired?” you wondered.

“Because he believes he’s Santa Claus,” she told you simply.

You blinked. “I - I’m sorry?”

“He told the children that he’s Santa - which he believes - so the headmaster fired him,” she went on. “It’s completely unfair. What, just because he’s Santa means he doesn’t have a right to work?”

“You do know that he’s not really Santa Claus, right?” you asked slowly, shock still coming over you.

“There’s no way to prove that he isn’t, really,” she said with a shrug. “Whether he is or not isn’t for me to decide. The point is, he shouldn’t be fired for it.”

“When’s the court date?” you asked, ignoring the ridiculousness of it.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Can you meet with him today?”

Your eyes went wide. “Tomorrow?! Why am I only just learning about this?!”

“He had another lawyer, but he was terrible so I fired him,” she answered. “You’re the best lawyer I know, so I came to you.”

“I can meet with him today, but it’ll have to be over lunch,” you said with a sigh. “I’m booked the rest of the day.”

“Great, I’ll see you at noon,” she chirped.

She stood up, turned on her heel and sauntered out of your office. You heaved another sigh. You had so been looking forward to your lunch with Roger, but now you were going to have to call and cancel. But as you picked up the phone, you heard the now familiar laugh of the little boy. You whipped around and spotted him crawling beneath the window behind your desk.

“What are you doing down there?” you wondered, smiling at him.

You had seen him at least once a day for the past two weeks. You told only Roger, who insisted you see a psychiatrist. Or maybe even a neurologist. You refused because going to the doctor was your absolute least favorite thing to do and you were certain the visions would stop. Only, they weren’t. You were beginning to consider Roger’s idea. Especially now that you were talking to him.

He only giggled before disappearing as he always did. You shook your head, amused. Then you dialed Roger. The phone rang, and as it did, you got an idea.

“Hello?” Roger’s voice came through on the other end.

“Rog?”

“Yes, love?”

“Could you meet me at my office for lunch today instead of the restaurant?” you requested. “I’m meeting a last minute client and I could use your help.”

“Really?” he questioned. “Sounds odd. And what about our celebration?”

“It’s Miss Thomas’s father,” you told him. “Can we celebrate tonight instead?”

“I can’t imagine what he’s like,” he said with a chuckle. “Of course we can celebrate tonight. I’ll change the reservation.

“Thank you so much,” you replied. “Get here around noon, yeah?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Love you!”

“Love you more.”

You hung up, humming contentedly.

He made good on his promise. In fact, Roger arrived before Miss Thomas and her father. You explained to Roger what she had told you that morning, but didn’t tell him the vital question you were going to ask.

Miss Thomas entered your office, accompanied by the kindest looking elderly man you had ever seen in your life. You wondered how he could have fathered someone like her. He was round, with cherry red cheeks, and a jolly smile. He wore a black peacoat, but you could see the red trousers beneath it. On his feet were black boots. Atop his silvery white mane of hair, he wore a red Santa hat. As he made his way through the office, he wished everyone a happy Christmas. Until finally, he was at your door.

“Mr. Claus,” you said respectfully. “Thank you for taking time to see me today.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replied. “This whole business is really throwing off my schedule. And this is a very busy time of year for me.”

“I imagine so,” you returned. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” he said kindly, and he sat in a chair across from your desk.

“Tell me a little bit about your case,” you said.

“Well, for most of the year, I teach primary school,” he explained. “But of course, the closer the holidays get, the busier I get. So, I told the children this and why I was so busy, and then some parents got upset and the next thing I knew, I was fired.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him. “Well, we’re going to try and get you your job back, sir. Only, we have to prove that what you’re saying isn’t proof of diminished capacity, which is what the headmaster is claiming.”

“I don’t understand all these legal terms,” he said with a shrug. “I just know that after delivering the presents this year, I won’t have the usual children to look forward to.”

“Mr. Claus, have you ever seen this man before?” you asked, pointing to Roger.

Mr. Thomas laughed heartily. “Well, of course I have! But not since he was a boy! How are you, Roger?”

“Um...fine?”

Roger raised a concerned eyebrow at you. He clearly had never actually met this man in his life.

“Mr. Claus, do you know Mr. Taylor from his band, Queen?” you asked.

Mr. Thomas shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Roger stopped writing to me when he was ten, and of course with all the new children, we lost touch.”

“Mr. Claus, how many children does Roger have?” you asked.

“Why, he’s got two!” Mr. Thomas said excitedly. “Little Felix and baby Rory. Both very good children who will be getting sweets in their stockings this year!”

Roger’s eyes went wide as an owl’s. He looked over at you again.

“I’ve never shared my children’s names publicly,” he said. “Ever.”

“And of course, there’ll be another next year, though he hasn’t got a name yet,” Mr. Thomas added with a twinkle in his eye.

You froze as you absorbed those words.

“I...I’m sorry, what?” you squeaked with shock.

Miss Thomas looked at you like you were an idiot.

“You’re pregnant, Y/N, didn’t you know?” she snapped.

“How could I possibly know, I haven’t even missed a period!” you protested.

You looked desperately at Roger. The color had drained from his face. You gaped at each other, in complete disbelief.

“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” Mr. Thomas said. “Your son?”

“M-my son?” you sputtered.

Was that the little boy you were seeing? Was that why he resembled Roger with that little piece of you?

Mr. Thomas’s eyes sparkled again as he winked at you.

“I...I have been seeing a boy, but I didn’t…” you trailed off, brain muddled with everything you were experiencing.

“He’s trying to get your attention, Y/N,” Mr. Thomas said. “Have you spoken to him?”

“I’ve tried, but he always disappears,” you admitted, unsure what made you comfortable enough to say it.

“He’s telling you he’s on the way,” he continued. “You ought to schedule an appointment with your doctor.”

You still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. You had no anticipated Mr. Thomas knowing about Roger’s children, much less the one that might exist in the future. And yet, to think that you might be carrying Roger’s son made you happier than you could recall feeling in years.

“Mr. Thomas, I will take your case,” you finally said.

“Hold on, this must be a trick,” Roger interjected. “I’m famous, he could have known -”

“Not if you’ve never shared their names,” you cut across him.

“What if he’s a journalist who could somehow gain access to -”

“Roger, he’s a schoolteacher,” you interrupted again. Then you looked at Mr. Thomas. “And so much more.”

You smiled at him, which he returned. Roger was still struggling.

“This is crazy,” he said. “It’s absolutely mad.”

“There’s only one way to be sure,” you said.

You had Jane schedule you a doctor’s appointment that afternoon. An at-home pregnancy test would not do for this occasion. Roger insisted on coming with you, so before you knew it, you were sitting on an exam table, swinging your legs with anxiety. Roger was pacing in front of you. The results of this would mean Mr. Thomas was telling the truth, but it meant even more for you and Roger.

“Rog, if we are pregnant,” you began with a sigh. “What...what would you like to do about it?”

He looked at you and his brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

Tears started to well up in your eyes. “I mean, would you want to keep it, or…?”

“Oh, my love,” he said gently, striding over to pull you into a hug. “Of course I want to keep it. It’s our child.”

“I know, but we’ve only just got back together, and we aren’t married,” you went on.

“Would you like to be?” he asked.

You blinked. “What?”

“Married,” he said. “Do you want to get married?”

“Is this a proposal?” you returned.

“It might be,” he replied.

You frowned. “Roger, I don’t want to get married just because there might be a child. I want you to marry me only if you really want to marry me. And if you are going to propose, it can’t be in a bloody doctor’s office.”

He chuckled. “Don’t get upset, it was just a way to start the discussion.”

A beat passed and he became serious again.

“Y/N, I want to marry you because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone,” he said. “The only thing more foolish than getting married would be not getting married because we have wasted so much time already.”

Your mouth began to fall open as you looked at him.

“And no, this isn’t an official proposal,” he said. “I know the one you’ve always dreamed of. But this is where my heart is and I want you to know - I’d marry you right this fucking second, baby or no baby.”

“Rog, I -” you began, but then the doctor walked in.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, it looks like you are pregnant,” she said.

The words washed over you. Pregnant. With Roger’s baby. The dream you had always wanted since before you even knew who you were.

“I...I am?” you asked. “Are you sure?”

She chuckled and then turned the paper in her hand to show you.

“I’m sure,” she said. “How did you know if you hadn’t missed a period?”

You looked between her and Roger, scrambling for an answer.

“Father Christmas told us,” he said simply.

She blinked and looked at him like she hadn’t heard him right. “Father...Christmas?”

He nodded. “Father Christmas.”

“Well, I can’t exactly argue with that, can I?” she teased, smiling again. “So, we should start you on a few things to keep you and your baby healthy…”

She went on, and you tried to pay attention, but the only thing you could think of was the life you now knew existed within you. You looked down at your stomach, thinking of how it would look in nine months. You were having a baby. With the man of your dreams. You looked up at Roger, who was listening intently to the doctor. You were so grateful that you had found him again, you felt your eyes get warm with tears.

“Y/N?” the doctor said, looking at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, um, could we just have a minute?” you choked out.

“Of course,” she agreed. “Just call me if you need anything.”

She stepped out of the room and you looked at Roger through your tears. A shaky smile formed across your lips as you met his gaze.

“We’re having a baby!” you sobbed.

You slid off the exam table and threw yourself into his arms. He laughed as he caught you. Giving you a squeeze, he closed his eyes to the feeling of you against him. This was everything he had ever wanted as well. To be with you. To have children with you. To love you for the rest of his life.

“I love you so much,” he said, choking up himself. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” you returned. “Happy Christmas, Roger.”

“Happy Christmas, Y/N.”

You went to dinner that night as planned, only without the champagne. While you were originally intending to celebrate your promotion to partner, you were thrilled to celebrate a more important promotion - to mother. You felt this was the one that would change you the most, and you couldn’t wait to see how.

As you and Roger walked back to your flat, you passed some carolers. Among them stood the little boy. He had a mischievous grin on his face that made you look at his father and smile. The boy looked at you and waved before running off and slowly fading out. The wave didn’t feel like a goodbye. It felt more like “see you soon.”

You were dragged to a stop because Roger had halted on the sidewalk.

“Rog?” you asked. “What is it?”

His eyes were fixed on the spot the boy had just disappeared from.

“Was that him?” he wondered, looking at you.

“You saw him?!” you cried.

“I did!” he returned excitedly. “He just waved and ran off! Was that him?!”

“Yeah!” you told him. “That was the boy!”

You took a giddy moment together and clasped hands.

“I’ve got the feeling we won’t be seeing him again,” you said. “Until, y’know, he’s actually here.”

“This feels so surreal,” he replied. “I can’t believe we’ve seen him.”

“It does all seem to be so magical,” you agreed. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. I know you’ve done this already, so -”

He cut you off with a sweet kiss.

“Y/N, no matter how many times I’ve done this, the thrill of being a father again doesn’t get old,” he said. “And to have a baby with you….well, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. I am just as excited now as I was with Felix. Maybe even more so.”

You beamed at him.

“I love you, Roger Taylor,” you said.

“I love you more, Y/N Y/L/N,” he returned.

You kissed there in the street, caring nothing for the busyness around you. All that mattered was the man in your arms, the baby in your belly, and the future before all three of you.

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #queen x you #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #just like a woman series

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torivikachu · 3 years

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I was just listening to Hamilton AGAIN - yeah I just put it on while working all the time - and it just hit me how really relatable Hamilton (or I mean, Lin-Manuel's interpretation of him) is. well, at least for me.

if you're wondering if this is worth your time it is NOT

anybody except me likes lists? I like lists. so let's make a list!

also let's see how many quotes can I fit into this post

whoa, I am excited about it.

1. the moment he meets Aaron Burr, he just sorta searches for something to bond over. like, hey dude I heard you went to Princeton? I wanna go there too, let's bond over it! by the way, I punched someone there lol I swear I am not stupid aand Burr, like um, no, thanks really, I better go, you seem violent, my parents wanted me to go there, okay, and Ham like WHOA YOU AN ORPHAN? WOW I AM TOO IT'S LIKE FATE OR SOMETHING LETS BOND and Aaron like wtf dude just shut up

and honestly that's just me, if I meet a person I like I will latch onto anything and I get sorta...fixated? so yeah, this dialogue is relatable as fuck

2. and Alex doesn't shut up, but then he goes all or am I talking too much?

bro, your anxiety shows.

3. and he keeps ranting all through the show, but his rants seem to charm everybody while I think mine just annoy and scare away? whatever, moving on, with Washington asking him why are you upset and he's replying IM NOT like a fucking teenager and it's probably a small thing but it's relatable as hell

4. and then once he is given permission he dives and buries himself into work, never does things halfway and is eager to take on more responsibilities and do something new and is just generally non-stop and while I can only wish for same energy as he, I like to have a lot of work aswell (well I sure as hell whine about it a lot but Hamilton does too! what's with I havent slept in a week I was weak I was awake you've never seen a bastard orphan more in need of a break)

5. he's flirty and has no qualms with innuendos. and very forward with his feelings? like you strike me like a woman who has never been satisfied sounds like a pickup line that either gonna win him a lot more than a number or fail miserably. he's like going all out, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and if it takes fighting a war for us too meet it will have been worth it and like seriously? yeah, flirt with every person in the room without skipping a beat, why not? he literally said on one intake of breath mr lafayette hard rock like lancelott i think your pants look hot laurens i like you a lot. he compliments people, he just throws it out instantly, most times he meets someone for the first time he compliments them and it's kind of my strategy too? it's not even a strategy, I just blurt out everything I like about a person once I meet them. it's like embarassing, because I liked a piece of jewelery on my co-worker once, and she was talking about something important while I could barely keep up because I kept thinking wow it looks great I gotta let her know. this strange need of mine to voice all thoughts annoys even me sometimes,

6. and then again, when he is angry or doesn't like something, it's painfully obvious. I don't tend to sprout profanities to people I don't like or saying stuff like madison you mad as hatter son take your medicine or you must be out of your GODDAMN mind or you absolutely right John should have shot him in mouth that would've shut him up but I can't school my face so it is always transparent what I am thinking about so my dislike is noted and not appreciated. it got me into enough embarassing situations. actually when studied in lyceum (like a sort of highschool) we had a principal and she addressed us as children and told us to call her mom and every time I was like WHAT THE HELL. I remember her eyes landing on me one time she said that and she almost did a doubletake at my facial expression. so the I'M NOT YOUR SON sentiment is not lost on me.

7. he speaks his mind when he thinks advice is in order? um if you love this woman go get her or for once in your life take a stand with pride. I tend to do it too, because I get winded up pretty fast, and I don't think it's always wise, because it's easy to judge from outside. I am pretty much sure that is the reason one of my friends back from school stopped talking to me. she had a bit of situation with her boyfriend and I still think her boyfriend is a piece of shit and she shouldn't have accepted him back, but whatever. wasn't my place to give advice, apparently

8. he gets overexcited? gentlemen of the jury I am curious bear with me are you aware that we are making history? like really I can't imagine ever getting like that at court. well I can imagine, because I get overexcited too, but saying that out loud? i'd be mortified

9. he's never satisfied? I know I already sorta covered it already, but it's more about him eager to learn and do more and feeling that what he's done and learnt is not enough, never enough. I so feel him on this, it's like yeah sure I know 4 languages, but that can't be enough can it? yeah I've got one degree but that's just ONE DEGREE that's like minimum I gotta get more

10. I know I talk too much I'm abrasive and I am not quoting Hamilton I am talking about myself thank you very much

11. he's a whiny bitch: but they don't have a plan they just hate mine -oh yes- or whatever it is Jefferson started it -huh yes sure-

12. forgetting your sons birthday? I forget my own age, sis. these little details just escape my attention. I like forgot it was my boyfriend's birthday this year - we literally live in the same flat. it took me a couple hours and a reminder from facebook. literally. and then I'll try to get away - hahaha it's like me saying to my parents - oh sure I'll some visit in a couple of months (they live in another part of the country) and then in a half a year being like oh wow when was the last time I went home

13. oh, here comes some more heavy stuff - say no to this. I was in a couple situations where I lost this battle. I think I have some polyamorous tendencies? but I am also very posessive and jealous, yeah, not a great mix, I know. so, I might have sorta dated two girls at one time once. well, not really dated, we were just bi-curious with one? we were friends, just... um, trying things. and then at some point I met another girl and it escalated pretty quickly and we sorta got together (oh my god the whole situation was a mess I was so confused about my sexuality back then and so ashamed you have no idea) and I didn't break it off with the first girl, but it was okay since we weren't... a thing? they knew each other but had no idea I slept with both of them. well we haven't really gotten that far with the first one but. and then the other asked at some point if she's the only one I do this with and I lied and a month into this endeavor I realized it was too much and sorta stopped seeing the first girl. we also stopped being close friends pretty soon afterwards. all my "lovestories" are embarassing actually, but this one is also the one I am most ashamed of. and then there were many situations in life when I was attracted to multiple people at the same time and ugh, I don't know, I kind of hate it, honestly. cheating is not okay. it is okay if everybody is okay with the polyamorous relationship though, but I never got to do it. so, yeah Ham's a dick but so am I

and on that depressing note I wanna wrap it up because I sorta killed the mood with that story. i think that's called oversharing?

if you actually read it to this point - wtf, you have nothing better to do or what?

I am not even gonna tag it so people don't have to scroll over that shit while searching for good content really I just like writing

the whole time I've been writing this my cat just kept staring at me. unblinkingly. I can feel her JUDGING ME

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angelaiswriting · 5 years

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Lovestruck | Finn Shelby x reader

[original picture]

✏️ Pairing: Finn Shelby x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: Finn has a crush on the new barmaid at the Garrison. Michael pushes him to confess his feelings. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: this is one of the fics I’m most proud of, tbh. I hope I captured the shyness of Finn’s youth. Many thanks to @sweetvengeancee for beta-reading and pushing though my idiotic mistakes HAHA As always, to be added to the tag list and/or to submit requests, hit me up somehow 💛

✏️ Warnings: fluff, young people in love being awkward, that’s all :)

✏️ Word-count: 2,953

Ever since the day Finn had turned eighteen, she had always been there, behind the counter of the Garrison, serving customers and helping Harry.

He hadn’t known her name, back then, she had just been a pretty face in a sea of manly chaos, her smile shining as bright as the sun. She had brought drinks and booze to his table – on the house, she had said – and had wished him a happy birthday when Isaiah had let the news slip. She had gasped, lightly, and that happy birthday, Mr Shelby still brought a smile to his lips when he thought of it – when he thought of her.

After that first chilly March Friday, he hadn’t missed a night at the bar. He had spent hours sitting there – at the counter, at a table, it didn’t matter –, watching her work. She served each patron with a sweet smile and an even sweeter greeting, her eyes always twinkling happily and her blouses always light in colour, always clean. She stood out like a sore thumb, like a bottle of water among the various rums and whiskeys and gins on the shelves behind her.

No matter what, she always had a nice word to spare for him, too. When the day was gloomy and his mood under the soles of his boots, when he felt a second-class Shelby or simply when things didn’t seem to go as planned no matter what, she was there and somehow, she always managed to bring a smile to his face.

Tonight was no exception. He was sitting in his family’s private room, shielded away from the din of the bar as though he were in a box of cotton, and he was sulking. It should have been a nice night out had it not been for Michael and Isaiah being late because of business. He had been given a couple of days off since he had ended up with a bump on his head in the gym on Wednesday and ever since then, he had been so looking forward to going out for a drink – or ten – with the two guys he considered his closest friends.

But as he sat there, alone, absentmindedly staring out of the small window that gave on the bar – absentmindedly staring at her –, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he should, indeed, have his fucking drinks, even without them. He had drunk alone plenty of times, so why should today be a problem?

“Mr Shelby?”

Y/N was at the door before he could make his mind up and call her. And while he had spent countless days nurturing the crush he had developed for her, tending at it like one waters a flower, with that same innocence of the late adolescence and early adulthood, he had never… He had never gone to her. He had courted her – awkwardly and clumsily – but it had always been from a distance.

“Yes?”

He wasn’t Michael, nor Isaiah, nor any of his brothers. He had never walked up to a girl he liked, had never had his way with women, had never even touched one. His innocence bubbled up when Y/N was around and not even all the blood covering his hands was able to help, for he always cowered away, turned his head to the other side.

“Would you like a drink? You’ve been sitting here with the door open for a while, now, and I was wondering if you…” She was blabbering, her hands fidgeting with each other, probably wondering if interrupting his contemplative silence had been a good idea. “If you would like a drink.”

Finn blushed when he met her gaze. He hadn’t expected for her to be staring right at him, for she, too, always averted her gaze when he was around, a shy smile always poking at her lips.

He nodded.

“Whiskey?”

Whiskey sounded as good a drink as any, but tonight felt particularly blue and he wanted to try something new. Something stronger. Something that could hopefully turn into liquid courage by the end of the night, when he would finally ask Y/N out. “Rum,” he answered, shaking his head at her question. “Bring two glasses.”

He had made up his mind. The thought had been playing around in his head for a while now, bugging him more than he would ever admit – and probably more than his lifestyle should have allowed. He was going to ask her out and if he had some luck, she was going to accept the offer.

But when she came back, two tumblers in a hand and a full bottle of rum in the other, his resolution withered. He looked at her and what he saw was something he couldn’t have. This wasn’t Esme, born and raised among gipsies, doing the same kind of shit he and his brothers had grown up courting. This was a girl from a respectable family, someone that had definitely studied more than him, for she could read and write, someone that went to church every Sunday morning and that had never deviated from the law.

The dull thud of the glasses being put down on the table distracted him from his thoughts and he focused his gaze just in time to see her pour liquor in one of the glasses.

“Should I close the door while you wait for your guest, Mr Shelby?” Her voice was as sweet as ever, even if more tired, strained by the hard time tonight’s clients were giving her.

His brows furrowed for a moment before he truly understood what she was saying. “Close the door and sit with me.”

She looked taken aback for a moment, the surprise flashing across her features and showing how young she still was. He had heard her birthday fell in May of his same year, but the innocence of the life she led shone brighter than his dwindling one.

A flash of regret crossed his mind when he poured rum in the empty glass and when she came back and sat on the chair opposite him, he apologized. “Stop calling me ‘Mr Shelby’. I’m Finn, just Finn,” he added, stretching his hand out to properly introduce himself.

She smiled and when she did, pearly white teeth peeked from behind her chapped lips.

Her hand in his was soft and warm, the calluses on her palms nothing compared to the ones that had hardened his skin from long days spent fighting in the ring or holding guns. It was an almost reassuring feeling – she wasn’t that out of his league, after all, or so he liked to hope at that moment.

“Drink with me.” It was probably the alcohol he had drunk as she closed the door that gave him the courage to ask her that.

For a moment, he wished to be more like John – he had never had problems with women. He went up to them and if they were foolish enough to turn him down, he went on with his day like nothing was. But Y/N was probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen – prettier than the rich women he had seen in London, prettier than the gipsy girls he had had the chance to see at the Lees’ camp. She was something else entirely and this was probably what scared him: he had put her on such a high pedestal that if she decided he wasn’t enough, he wasn’t sure he’d be like his brother when faced with rejection.

“I should…” She turned to look at Harry for a moment through the still-open window before she turned her attention back to Finn. “I have tables to clean and people to serve, Finn. I need this job, I can’t afford to be fired.” The conflict was clear in her voice and in the way she fumbled with her fingers.

“I’m a Shelby, we own this place.” He never liked to use his position and influence when she was around, but his courage was already dwindling and he really needed to catch the chance with both hands before he lost it for good. “Your job is safe. Have a drink with me.”

She sighed, eyeing the glass he had pushed in her direction.

“Until Michael and Isaiah arrive?” he added, his voice rising into a question by the end of the sentence, his lips stretching in a hopeful smile.

She nodded and he managed to get a glimpse of her smile before she hid it behind the glass. “Are we drinking to something?” she asked, leaning better against the seatback and looking at him expectantly.

“To being brave,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, his courage riding red.

They had just put the empty glasses back down on the table when the door opened and his cousin and friend stumbled into the private room. They were laughing and even Isaiah was pushing through the black eye someone had gifted him during the day. Then, when the newcomers took in the presence of the girl, they stopped in their tracks, taken by surprise.

“Are we interrupting something?” Michael had a shit-eating grin almost cutting his face in half as his gaze danced between Finn and the young and pretty barmaid sitting closer to the lovestruck boy than he’d ever thought he would see.

Finn’s crush on Y/N was no secret in house Shelby. It wasn’t because he couldn’t stop talking about her – as a matter of fact, he never even pronounced her name – but rather, it was impossible not to read his thoughts when he saw her. The way he smiled, with that shining spark making his eyes seem more alive than ever, and the way he stammered when he talked to her, his words constantly fighting with each other to come out in a haste, afraid they’d never be left free otherwise.

Y/N was expectantly staring at him when he finally convinced himself he was not going to die if he met her gaze again.

“No,” he sighed. “We were just waiting for your arrival.”

And with that and a sweet smile, the pretty barmaid was out of the room.

Finn avoided the Garrison for a week. Before March, it wouldn’t have felt this peculiar, but ever since his eighteenth birthday, this absence felt like an insurmountable mountain.

On the eighth day, though, he was dragged down to the pub for a meeting. Walking through those glass doors had felt like the liberation from the invisible weight that had slowed him down during the previous week. He inhaled deeply – the burning stench of low-quality cigarettes and cigars stinging his throat – and smiled in contentment and relief when he looked over at the counter and she was there.

She had pulled her hair up and away from her face and her neck was now exposed. Even from that distance, he could see the lights of the bar glimmering over the fine golden thread of the chain she always wore around her neck. She was towelling freshly-washed glasses and chatting with Harry, enjoying the much-needed break now that the flux of people had died down a little.

There was something so peculiarly hers that always drew him one step closer than the day before and it was something he couldn’t explain. It was the foggy excitement of his first crush, one that made his heart beat faster and the palms of his hands sweat at the idea of talking to her. The innocent shyness that always overcame him in her presence was what often got him taunted by his brothers and while he cared about it at home, he somehow didn’t at the Garrison.

“If you don’t go and talk to her,” Michael’s breath tickled his skin as he whispered in his ear, “I will.”

He knew his cousin would follow through with his threat. And while he knew Michael would never do anything to go against him, Finn feared what the man could tell her – feelings he jealously harboured, shielded away from his lovestruck younger cousin? or feelings Finn kept hidden away in the recesses of his soul, waiting for a divine sign before he finally confessed on his own?

Focusing on the meeting had been exhausting, but he had managed. He had listened to what Tommy had to say – an update about the alliance with Solomons and his bakers down in Camden Town – and had agreed on helping out with the bets at the top of his abilities.

Then, as the family swarmed out of the room and joined the rest of the patrons in the pub, he found himself weighed down by the prospect of having to talk to Y/N. If she had to hear of his feelings from someone, that someone had to be him. He didn’t want to pass as a ball-less fool in front of the girl he had fallen to his knees for. He didn’t want to risk passing as less of a man as he was, afraid to man up and spill the truth.

But he couldn’t do it, not with his brothers watching him like hawks, not with Michael waiting for the right occasion to step in and steal his spotlight. And so he stood there, at the counter, awkwardly, and ordered a drink – he needed some more of that liquid courage that had allowed him to ask her to stay, eight days ago.

His cheeks were still burning from when she had greeted him with a happy hello, Finn! when she sat a glass of whiskey in the space between his hands.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile. Everything alright with the business?” she asked, cleaning the counter with a rag before emptying the ashtrays in the bin.

This was his great chance. The chance to show his stupid brothers – and his very clever aunt Polly, of course – that he wasn’t a kid anymore, that he could take his balls in his hands and act like the man he was destined to be. Possibly, that he could take the Shelby name a step forward and start his own branch on the family tree. But as he looked at her, all he felt was young and foolish and desperately in love with a girl he was trying to convince himself he couldn’t have.

She slowed his brain and stopped his breathing for painful seconds and as he stood there, smiling like an idiot, with fire burning underneath the skin of his cheeks, masking his freckles, nothing had ever felt more right.

“I’ve been… thinking,” he answered. “About… About stuff.” He nursed his glass between slightly trembling fingers before he swallowed the lump in his throat and sipped on the burning Irish.

“‘About stuff’?”

Her chuckle tugged at his smile, making it wider and brighter, and he watched as she fixed a customer a beer – the way her hand wrapped around the lever of the beer tap, the way she politely smiled at the man a few steps to his right, and the way that same smile turned more lively when she came back to him.

“What kind of stuff? If I may ask.”

He had her complete attention as she stood there in front of him, elbows resting on the previously-cleaned counter. She was looking up at him and there was a slight pout to her lips and right there, on the bow of her upper lip, he noticed a tiny freckle.

The shrug in his shoulders was an automatic response as he downed the rest of his drink before setting the tumbler down beside him.

“You,” he confessed eventually. It was now or never and he knew – he just did – that ‘never’ would have never been a good-enough and acceptable answer.

She chuckled and straightened her back, her gaze suddenly avoiding his as his cheeks burned in both embarrassment and fear. “Me? What about me?”

“I was thinking,” he started, humming low in his throat as he leaned over the counter just like she had done a minute ago, and he brushed his thumb against the back of her left hand. On his right, sitting at a table, he could feel Michael’s hawk-like stare piercing through him, waiting to assist to his victory – or downfall. “I was thinking, I could ask her out, take her to the pictures one of these days,” he said. “I’ve also been wondering, what kind of flowers does she like? and who knows if she’s ever gone on a horse ride?”

Unable to look up at her, he heard her hold her breath before it trembled when she released it.

“Well…” She cleared her voice and when he finally met her gaze, he found her already staring at him, smiling brightly down at him. “I would love to go both to the pictures and on a ride with you.”

“You would?” His heart was beating more furiously than it ever had at the mere thought of confessing the same things he had just told her.

She nodded. “I like daisies,” she added, turning her hand in his and entwining their fingers.

“Tomorrow?”

She glanced at Harry, chatting away at the other end of the counter and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

“I told you, I’m a Shelby. I can give you the day off.”

Her amused snort ringed in his ears and tugged on some unspecified cords in his heart as his eyes and lips glossed over with the honey-like caress of his first love.

“Tomorrow sound like a plan.”

Wow, I looove writing for Finn! Hopefully you enjoyed this, too.

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender @thethyri @princesscouchpotato

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf @flowers-in-your-hayr

#finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #angelaiswriting

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englass · 5 years

Text

Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess; I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance – coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

#thank god it’s over #i’m done!#I’m not sure how I feel about this still #but then again i never think highly of my work so...#john seed x reader #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fc5 #far cry 5 #far cry

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catalystcfchange · 4 years

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∘⡊ ( brenton thwaites, he/him, earth 9 ) earth prime is now home to DICK GRAYSON, a TWENTY-SEVEN year old DETECTIVE with ambitions of LEADING THE JUSTICE LEAGUE ONE DAY. Some say they look like NIGHTWING, the masked HERO of BLUDHAVEN. But that has to be a coincidence, right?

THE BASICS

NAME: Richard John Grayson-Wayne

NICKNAME(S): Dick, Dickie, Golden Boy, Bird Boy, Boy Wonder

ALIAS(ES): Robin, Nightwing

CURRENT AGE: Twenty-seven

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: He/him

BIRTHDAY & ZODIAC: March 20, 1993. Pisces

ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic Demisexual

FACECLAIM: Brenton Thwaites

FAMILY: John Grayson (father, deceaded), Mary Grayson (mother, deceased), Bruce Wayne (adoptive father), Jason Todd (adoptive brother), Timothy Drake (adoptive brother), Damian Wayne (adoptive brother), Cassandra Cain (adoptive sister), Rachel Roth (adoptive daughter), Alfred Pennyworth (grandfather figure), William Cobb/Talon (creepy great grandfather who wants him to join the Court of Owls. Dick has not met Talon and does not know their connection. Yet.)

STATISTICS

AFFILIATION: Young Justice (formerly), The Titans, The Batfamily, The Birds of Prey (tags along on occasion), Justice League (worked with them on and off but isn’t an offical member)

MBTI: ISFJ (The Defender)

THREE FAVORITE THINGS: Robin Hood (the book), coffee, that feeling of the wind in your face when you’re swinging through the city and it feels like you’re flying

THREE HATED THINGS: Kids being hurt or targeted in any way, people who mistreat others for being different, galas

EDUCATION: Whatever top school Bruce got him into as a kid, + a degree in Forensics.

WEAPONS: Escrima sticks (with electric charges he can release), wingdings

ABILITIES: No meta powers here, but he does have an indomitable will and a genius level intellect.

SKILLS: Acrobatics, Martial Arts, Peak Human Condition, Espionage, Throwing, Weaponry, Intimidation, Aviation, Stealth, Tactical Analysis, Disguise, Escapology, Investigation, Forensic Science, Multilingualism, Leadership, Physics, Tracking, Eskrima, Stick Fighting, Firearms, Swordsmanship.

GREATEST STRENGTH: His kindness. Dick Grayson is so kind and caring and empathetic, that it’s his strength. And perhaps why he’s the light of the Batfamily.

GREATEST WEAKNESS OR FLAW: He has a guilt complex. Dick has had it since his parents died and he was unable to catch them. Because of that, he often sees himself as the family’s security net and blames himself for everything bad that happens even if it wasn’t in his control. This often leads to him trying to stretch himself thin or work alone. While he has toned it down due to raising Rachel, he still has this to an extent, and it gets worse every time someone he loves dies.

THE CRISIS

What was your character doing when the Crisis began? Did they try and stop the Anti-Monitor? Or did they simply watch their earth die?

Dick was “dead” when the Crisis happened, working for Spyral at the time. He came back to help his friends and revealed he was alive to them at the same time. After all, once a hero, always a hero, and he was willing to do whatever it took to save the multiverse. However, because he was not a paragon, he died during the Crisis.

What earth was your character from originally? How is their life on Earth Prime different from their original?

Dick Grayson was originally from Earth 9. On Earth 9 he was much more cynical and, while still kind and compassionate, hard to get close to with anger issues due to a not-so-good relationship with his version of Bruce Wayne. He was a father figure to Rachel Roth, though Dick did not feel comfortable being an official parent, thinking his life was too messed up to adopt a kid into. They fought Trigon and later went to Titans Tower, eventually fighting Deathstroke along with a few other Titans missions before disbanding the team after Donna Troy and Jason Todd’s deaths (the order of these events is vague, since he doesnt remember any of this). He found out during one of the crossover events later on that he was related to William Cobb, a Talon in the Court of Owls, through meeting a version of himself in the multiverse who was raised by his great grandfather instead of Bruce Wayne and instead of becoming Nightwing, became a ruthless assassin. Events soon led up to Dick needing to fake his death and he joined Spyral to take them down from the inside for Batman. However, those events were halted by the Crisis.

On Earth Prime, things are quite different. Here, he does not know his connection to the Court of Owls and is not as cynical as he was on Earth 9, having most of his optimism back, though he still blames himself for the deaths of his parents and Jason Todd and still has his guilt complex. On Earth Prime, he took it upon himself to adopt Rachel Roth, a young girl the Team found when he powers alerted M’gann to her wherabouts. Dick’s life here is much more put together on his civilian side than it was on Earth 9, thanks to the fact he not only had his siblings looking up to him, but a kid as well, though he can still be the soft yet serious and dangerous goofball he was as a thirteen year old. On Earth Prime, the Titans were also different, as, Dick started them at the age of eighteen after becoming Nightwing. Tired of being told what to do by the Justice League, he made his own team that didn’t need to answer to them and worked on his own terms. When Rachel was sixteen, Dick helped her and the younger Titans lock Trigon away, refusing to let the demon anywhere near Rachel. He currently tries to balance being a cop, a single father, a vigilante, and a team leader all at once.

While Dick might be more Young Justice based, there’s a few things I’m changing. First off, I’m toning down his hacking abilities, since those are more Tim and Barbara’s department, and while Dick’s good, he’s never been their level. Second, I’ve always had a liking for him being a detective, so that’s the only thing he shares with his Earth 9 counterpart (other than being a father to Rachel). And, last but not least, I am removing the extra family members the Young Justice tie in comics gave him. Dick has enough angst going on watching his parents fall to their deaths, we don’t need to add cousins, an aunt, and an uncle to the death count. His origin is angsty enough without it, so obviously, its more comics than YJ here. Dick’s parents fell to their deaths during their act after Tony Zucco messed with their ropes, and Dick was unable to catch them. Cue Bruce Wayne coming in, taking him in, we all know the story after that.

Does your character have any memories of the Crisis? If so, are they a paragon or were their memories restored? If not, would they even want to remember?

Nope, he does not have any memories. I think Dick would be curious about his old life and would ask the Paragons to tell him about it, but as for actually getting the memories back, he would rather not. Having two sets of memories in his head sounds uncomfortable as hell, and he would probably hate his Earth 9 self.

#crisis:intro #//I apologize for how utterly long the third answer got #I tried to tone it down but

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 12)

Jemima Jones II

Reader meets a strange new member of the Van Der Linde gang and they pull off a job together! Contains criminal activity, of course.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

A few long days passed without another word from Dutch. He seemed satisfied enough by my willingness to help the gang make money, and he'd left the ball in my court. It was up to me to get the wheels turning on the robbery, but everyone at the camp was so busy I was starting to worry I'd never get the job done. That was until a new face walked into camp, a man I hadn't seen before but Dutch seemed to recognise. Micah, a slightly ratty looking feller with blond hair and a certain swagger about him that was complacent at best, downright arrogant at worst. Dutch pointed him in my direction first chance he got, grabbing the opportunity to pair us up on my job.

"Hello, miss, there's certainly a lot of new faces around here. You'd think we were some kind of charity," was his very first greeting. I stood up from where I was kneeling, washing some clothes.

"Well, I'm not a charity case, Mr, uh, Mr. Bell, was it?" I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. He looked at it for a long time before actually shaking it, and he was a little rough.

"I've been told you've got some work for me."

"I suppose I have, if Dutch's given you your orders, I guess we're doing this together. It's a house, quite a ways away. About halfway between here and Annesburg."

"You want me to go all the way over to Annesburg? For what, a few trinkets?" Micah scoffed and shook his head.

"Only half way there," I cocked a brow at him. "John rode over there before, he said it looked promising. And the woman is expecting me. When she gave me that address she was under the impression I was a servant girl looking for work, she lives there with her husband and her son, my plan is to go over there and meet the family, have myself a little interview, while you–”

"While I sneak in and rob them blind, how very creative," he rolled his eyes, and I narrowed mine.

"If you'd prefer not to do this, I'm happy to wait a while until John is available. I know he's got another job going on right now, but this house ain't going anywhere."

"No, I'll do it. But I get a bigger cut than you," he pointed at me.

"Of course. I'm just a distraction, and I ain't doing this for myself anyway," I shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm gonna get changed, then we can head off now."

Micah followed me.

"Ain't you gonna explain some of the finer details? How're we doing this, you go in the front, I go in the back, we meet up behind the stables or what?"

"We can talk about that on the way, John sketched me a layout of the land, where everything is, I have an idea," I explained, picking up the dress Mary-Beth had lent to me once again, since I couldn't go robbing this woman wearing the clothes I'd stolen from her. I walked around the back of the girls' wagon, out of sight from the camp where I usually changed.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me get undressed or may I have some privacy?" I asked when Micah followed me around the corner. A smirk appeared on his face.

"I don't know, I ain't opposed to watching if you're offering, darling," he sneered, looking me up and down.

"Get out of here," I waved him off, glowering, and he turned and left with a lecherous chuckle.

It took us a while to ride out there and on the way I told Micah my plan. He listened to me surprisingly attentively, only butting in to ask the occasional question; overall he seemed pretty satisfied by what I'd told him. We were going to stop our horses a fair way away from the house and I'd walk up to the front, get in the house and get settled with the family. Micah would approach only when I was inside, and he'd find a way into the house while I was speaking to them, I'd keep them occupied while he cleaned out as much as he could. Then, I'd ask to see the stables, leaving the house empty for him to finish the job.

All going to plan, I'd leave after seeing the stables and meet Micah back at the horses, and we'd be out of there before the family even knew there was something amiss.

It was a simple plan, but I didn't do complexities when it came to these things. I wanted in and out work with little to go wrong. Micah asked me how much experience I'd had and I told him the truth; not a lot. But the experience I did have had been successful and pulled off completely on my own, and he seemed assured that I could manage what we were doing. After all, I'd just be distracting the family, having an interview, it wasn't extreme criminal activity by any means. The real work was down to him, hence why my cut would be small, he'd said.

Fair enough, I'd said. I didn't need cash, per se. I needed weapons, and so I told him to keep his eyes peeled.

We reached the house by mid afternoon and rode past it, getting a good look at the place before dismounting up the road from it. We familiarised ourselves with John's sketch of the layout, and everything checked out from what we'd seen on our pass by. With that, I declared I was ready, and Micah gave me a pat on the back.

"Good luck, Jemima Jones," he said, snorting at my alias. "Hope you get the job."

I rolled my eyes and smirked before jogging off towards the house. I slowed to a natural stroll as I got closer, making my way up the front path and taking slow, deep breaths to calm myself. The good thing about this plan was, if I was nervous it'd look natural, since I allegedly had a job hanging on this meeting.

I knocked on the front door and waited, fixing my hair in the reflection of the glass; I was wearing it in two plaits, not perfect but good enough. I'd done them myself and I was getting better each day. Mary-Beth had been proud.

The door opened and a man answered, I put on my best smile and held my hand out to him.

"Jemima Jones, pleased to meet you. I met a Mrs. Schwartz a little while ago and she told me to visit this place, it's about a job," I explained and the man nodded knowingly. He shook my hand before calling over his shoulder.

"Lou! That lady's here!" He turned back to me. "Yes, my wife told me to expect you, come on in. I'm Geoffrey, good to meet you Miss Jones."

He led me into a formal sitting room. The house we were in wasn't hugely lavish but it was certainly the house of a family who lived comfortably. The walls were nicely wallpapered and decorated with framed photographs and artwork, the occasional taxidermy head of a deer or other poor creature. In the sitting room that was located in the middle of the house, there was a fireplace, above which a Springfield rifle sat. I eyed it up as Geoffrey urged me to take a seat on one of the two sofas that took up the middle of the space, and I hoped that Micah would notice it too whenever he was able to loot this particular room.

Mrs. Schwartz entered the room a few moments later, carrying a tray with a teapot and a trio of teacups on it. She smiled at me and set the tray down on the ornate wooden table between the sofas before sitting down opposite me, next to her husband.

"Miss Jones, it's very nice to see you again. I thought you weren't going to turn up!" She laughed. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, yes please. I apologise for making you wait so long, I've had rather a busy week, I've moved in with my father," I explained.

"Ah, that explains it. You know, I was beginning to feel a little uneasy about our meeting," she said, an edge to her voice that made my hair stand on end.

"Why might that be?"

"I'm afraid my luggage went missing that day, I was starting to wonder if you might've had something to do with that. But you're here, so I realise I had nothing to worry about," she chuckled.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, and I can understand your concerns. You can't be too careful these days. I imagine it was some thug who took your case, I hear there's been more and more undesirables loitering around Valentine lately," I shook my head sadly, gratefully taking the teacup she offered to me. "Thank you."

Over the lady's shoulder, I saw Micah peer in through the window and smirk at me. I made sure to keep my face neutral and blew on my tea.

"Such a shame," she sighed wistfully. "Not to worry, it's only possessions."

"That's a wonderful attitude to have," I nodded. "Where's the boy you were with? How is he doing?"

"He's out in the stables, cleaning them out. Which would of course be part of your job if you began working for us," Geoffrey answered. "Louise told me you've had a lot of experience with that," he placed his hand on his wife's knee and I nodded.

"That's right. I was somewhat of a Jack of all trades in my old job. I'd wake up early in the morning and tend to the horses, then I'd come in in time to make the family's breakfast, and in the day time I'd be childminding, cleaning and other general chores, running errands for the lady of the house, you know.”

"Well that'd be mighty helpful. Sometimes we're just desperate for another set of hands. There just ain't enough hours in the day," he chuckled, shaking his head, watching my lips as I took a sip of my tea.

I wondered if Micah had made it into the house yet, since I hadn't heard a thing. Of course, that was a good thing, perhaps he was just extremely quiet. I hoped that was the case.

"Now, I'd just like to explain some of the terms I had in mind," Louise said, placing her own teacup down on a saucer on the table. "You'd be living with us, I believe that's somewhat standard for your line of work?"

"It has been the case for most of my employment, yes," I nodded.

"We have a room for you. Well… we will have. There's a small shack, uh, building out by the stables that we can make up for your comfort. We can go out and look at that later on but be warned, it's in rather a state of disrepair at the moment," she explained.

"But don't worry, we will prepare that for your arrival and ensure that it's to your satisfaction," Geoffrey added. I felt a touch of guilt at that, suddenly they were being very kind, behaviour that was so unlike what I'd witnessed at the train station.

I pulled myself together and pushed on. This needed doing for the sake of the gang, the people who'd taken care of me.

"That's most generous," I said.

The three of us spoke for a while, discussing my 'experience'. I mainly just spoke about the sorts of things I did anyway when I lived in a home, the cooking and the cleaning, general maintenance. It was easy, too easy, the pair of them were eating out of my hand and seemed genuinely pleased at the prospect of having me working for them. I had a constant level of guilt in the back of my mind but I kept to it, knowing that Micah was somewhere in the house, cleaning them out. These people were well off, anyway, they wouldn't miss the stuff. Right?

By the time we had all finished our tea, I was certain that Micah would've had enough time to explore the rest of the house. So I placed my teacup down and smiled at my two hosts.

"Well, may I see the stables? And the room I'd be staying in?" I asked and they both nodded.

"Of course! But like I said, your room needs a lot of work so don't let it put you off!" Louise said, rising to her feet and gesturing for me to follow. Geoffrey was right behind me, following me through the house; through the kitchen and out a side door.

"Oh, I'm sure it's no worse than my previous lodgings," I laughed.

We crossed the grounds to the paddock, heading through to the stables. The boy was in there, just like they'd said, and he was shovelling manure into a wheelbarrow. He looked up upon our arrival, greeting us wordlessly with a nod. Louise walked over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder and guiding him over to Geoffrey and I.

"Sam, say hello to Jemima," she said, and the boy looked up at me and gave me a little wave. Louise smacked his arm sharply. "Say hello, boy!"

"H-hello," he stammered. Louise gave a tight lipped smile and sent him on his way again.

"Sorry about him. He don't talk much, getting two words outta him is like blood from a stone," she sighed, shaking her head. "Anyway, these are the stables… got a few horses as you can see, so you'll have your work cut out."

I looked around and counted a total of six. They were all very nice horses, a couple of them were Turkomans, though I spotted a Thoroughbred and an Arabian too. I nodded and let out an impressed sound.

"These are lovely horses, ma'am."

"Yes, well, Geoffrey's brother used to race them. He's no longer with us, but we inherited them and now they're just… well. They're wasted on us," she admitted.

"You ever thought of selling them?" I asked.

"Yes, numerous times," Geoffrey admitted. "But I think my brother would turn in his grave."

"I see," I nodded.

"We're hoping Sam will grow up interested in riding. Would you like that, son? Riding these horses one day?" Louise called over to him.

"Sure," he shrugged, less than enthused, continuing with his job.

"Well, I suppose they're worth keeping, then," she laughed awkwardly. "Anyway, I apologise for my rudeness but I have an errand to run, so I best be off. Sam, you're coming with me."

"I haven't finished," he protested.

"Then you should've worked quicker! You can finish when you get back. Come on," she hissed, then turned to me, mouthing an apology. "It's been lovely speaking, Jemima. I can safely say I'd be happy to have you. I will leave the finer details with my husband."

She approached me and shook my hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you, Mrs. Schwartz," I nodded.

"You're most welcome. Sam!"

Then she was leaving the stables, heading off the property with her son on her heels. I was relieved that she didn't go back to the house, not knowing how far Micah had gotten. I looked back at Geoffrey when they were gone to see him staring at me, a little smile on his lips.

"So did I get the job?" I asked, making him chuckle. He took a couple of steps towards me and I resisted my instinct to back away.

"You certainly did, Miss Jones," his voice had changed, lowered.

"Alright, well I sure am glad. Should I, uh, come over on Monday to start, or?"

"We ain't even discussed payment yet," he pointed out, but the look in his eye suggested that was the last thing on his mind. "You're mighty pretty, Jemima. Lovely name, too. Jemima Jones. Rolls right off the tongue."

I laughed nervously.

"I'm glad the wife's gone. Means I can discuss some of the terms I've had in mind," he said, reaching his hand up to grasp my chin. He leaned in and I jolted backwards.

"I'm sorry Mr. Schwartz, I think you've misunderstood," I exclaimed. He took my hand in both of his.

"I understand perfectly well. You work for me and my wife, serving us however necessary. Don't worry, I'll make sure it's pleasurable for you too."

"I'm not comfortable with this, this ain't part of the deal," I backed away, but he drew me in by my waist. I went to shove him away, pushing at his chest with both hands. Fucker wasn't letting go. My leg twitched, I was ready to plow it into his groin, but before I could;

"Get your filthy hands off of my wife," Micah appeared in the doorway. My head darted towards him and Geoffrey let me go, holding his hands up.

"I didn't realise you were married, Mrs. Jones,"

Neither did I, I thought.

"Come on, Jemima, let's get out of here," Micah stepped forwards, grabbing onto my arm and pulling me towards the door.

"Hold on," Geoffrey called out. "We uh… we could work out some sort of deal, Mr. Jones."

"You better not be suggesting I sell my woman to you," Micah growled.

"You make it sound so vulgar, sir," Geoffrey chuckled anxiously.

"I'm sorry, friend, but this lady here," Micah wrapped his arm around me, pulling me up against him and burying his face in my hair, inhaling deeply and loudly. It took all of my control not to screw my face up in disgust. "Is all mine."

The dirty laugh that Micah did right in my ear made my skin crawl, but he led me out of there so it was all shadowed by relief. He didn't release me until we were far away from the stables and leaving the property. I wanted to chew him out for his actions, but no matter how I went to phrase it, he'd still helped me.

I fell back on trusty defensiveness. "I could've taken care of that myself, you didn't have to make such a scene."

"But that wouldn't've been half as fun, now, would it?" He questioned, mounting his horse, which was holding heaving saddlebags.

"I guess I should thank you," I said, leaving it at that. "How'd it go at your end?"

"Very, very well. You did good, picking this little job out. It'll make Dutch real happy."

"Good," I nodded, keeping my face straight when I really wanted to smile.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #micah bell #atink

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colorofmymindposts · 5 years

Text

The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter Four

Chapter Title: One Confession of Dr. John H. Watson

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete, chapters are posted weekly Word Count: 1892 for this chapter, 6189 for the entire work thus far Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets, Bickering Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3. You can also read chapter one here and chapter two here and chapter three here. Sorry this is a day late!

Story:

The wet starchiness on his forehead was the first thing he registered, though his mind felt hazy still. Only from his neck up was he exposed from a cocoon of sheets and soft, wool blankets. Although the curtains were drawn and the darkness in the room seemed to envelop him and all his senses, something of the surroundings told him he was at Baker Street.

Placing the rag on the nightstand next to the bed, Watson pulled the sheets off of himself and shuffled to a sitting position. It was then he felt his feet bare against the wood floor, and he was wearing only his trousers and shirtsleeves; someone must have divested him of his jacket and vest in his sleep.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, however. In fact, he could have sworn he was in Hyde Park with Holmes...and so he had been, he could recall clearer now as his mind caught up with him. Before he had panicked, thoughts racing, and all color and movement blurred before his eyes. He’d been so out of sorts these past weeks; he wasn’t sure what to expect of himself anymore.

But Holmes didn’t need to know the reason for his fainting spell, couldn’t really. The man would never let him live it down if he ever found out.

He would claim he was right all along about everything, how Watson’s union to Mary was always ill-fated and that leaving Baker Street was the worst mistake he’d ever made in his life. Watson would call Holmes a bastard, argue he still loved Mary when he wasn’t even certain if he truly could anymore, and perhaps lose not only his wife but his greatest friend again, by his own choice. No, Watson couldn’t allow that. He would have to sneak out while Holmes slept, explain at some later point that what happened in the park was a symptom of overwork and exhaustion, and they could all carry on as ever.

Just as he made for the door, it was opened by none other than the man he wanted so desperately to avoid in that moment. Poised in the doorway, Holmes was dressed just the same as when Watson had last seen him, the only change being that he was adorning his tattered, hideous dressing robe.

“I heard your footfall from below,” Holmes offered as a clever explanation, meaning to impress as ever.

Watson rolled his eyes as he deadpanned, “You’ve been outside my door waiting for me to wake up.”

His friend’s twisted in a peculiar expression that looked as though it was crossed between irritation and pride, and he had to blink several times to assume his intelligent facade once more. “A matter of semantics. May I come in?”

There was not a second that passed before Holmes marched through the doorway, grasping Watson’s arm along the way, pulling him back towards the bed. The man had the tact enough to release him before seating himself cross-legged on the mattress.

“Why don’t you sit?”

“I should be going, Holmes.”

“No, I don’t think you should,” muttered Holmes darkly. His eyes snapped to Watson’s face with deliberate and accusing focus. “You’ve been running from me ever since this began, and you must admit that nothing of your situation has improved from it.”

His breath caught in his chest. “How much do you know of it?”

“Practically nothing. I am a genius, but you know my methods, Watson. As such, you’ve given me precious little data,” the detective admitted with a curious smirk. “Much as it pains me, I understand your hesitance to come to me about this...problem. You fear the weight of my judgment.”

“I fear nothing from you,” Watson snapped back, though there was not as much bite in it as he intended.

Holmes spoke with renewed insistence. “Then tell me everything, and I shall help you in whatever way I can.”

Something about the man was hypnotic. There was an irresistible draw to him, an appeal after all these years Watson could not precisely define except that it was dangerous just as it was powerful. His figure, draped in that infernal faded red robe, resembled Mephistopheles offering Faustus the key to his happiness and ultimate destruction. He was damnable. He was wonderful too. Watson had a choice, even though he well knew which he would choose.

As he seated himself next to Holmes, it was as if a stone plunged in his stomach with the weight of this decision.

“You’re going to regret you ever asked,” he intoned, casting out a final attempt to extract himself from this conversation.

“Watson, you know a warning like that only serves to intrigue me more.”

He took a deep breath and began to tell his story.

“Everything was fine between Mary and me before all this happened,” he started as a disclaimer, expecting Holmes to huff indignantly or debate that point. To his surprise, his friend was silent and listening. He took that as a sign to continue.

“One day, Mary was telling me about her friend from church, Elizabeth. She and her husband had just had a boy. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I told her to pass along our congratulations to the family since she prefers to do that. The week after, she...asked me how I felt about family. Our family.”

Next to him, Holmes made a sort of tutting noise. “I see.”

“Yes, well...that’s it then. You know everything,” Watson sighed, whether out of relief or anxiety he wasn’t sure.

Perhaps telling Holmes was the right option.

“I’m afraid we’ve barely yet begun to probe this case.”

Or his instincts not to tell his friend were, of course, absolutely founded.

“It’s not a case! This is my life!” He practically shouted, flustered and peeved all at once.

“Why can’t this be a case about your life?!”

His anger slightly simmered solely in spite of Holmes’ own, and he walked over to the dresser where his vest, jacket and overcoat were hung.

“I knew I couldn’t expect you to understand,” he muttered bitterly as he thoughtlessly shrugged into his jacket.

And then Holmes was there, faster than an antelope, standing behind the ajar dresser door.

“How am I supposed to understand when you refuse to let me examine this?”

“I don’t want you to examine this,” he said, enunciating his words with the firm slam of the dresser door. He turned to face Holmes. “I don’t need a detective. I need a friend.”

“What does a friend do that’s so different from a detective?”

“A friend listens. He gives advice. He cares,” Watson listed off the top of his head.

His friend blinked for several seconds, processing this. “That’s exactly what I do on any case. However,” he continued even as Watson scoffed, “I can see we will simply have to disagree on that particular detail. If you seek my counsel as a friend, I shall give it.”

Any man would see this as a pitiable attempt, but, knowing Holmes as long as he had, he knew that the man was genuinely trying his best to appease.

“I’m just not sure what to do,” he confessed. It was probably the most honest he’d been about the situation.

“Neither am I,” Holmes replied. “I don’t say this very often, old boy, but I don’t think I fully understand your predicament.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s start with the facts. You love your wife.”

“Yes.”

“And she desires children.”

“I think I’ve made that much obvious.”

“Yes, you have, but your feelings on the matter have yet to be illuminated to me. What makes you so scared of your wife’s wishes for a family?”

The question, so direct, threw Watson. Ever since Mary brought up the idea of having children, an uneasiness had stewed uncomfortably in his gut; it was almost indefinable, so he had chosen not to interpret it. He didn’t like the idea, and that was that. What more was to be gained for finding the reason why? If the way Holmes was staring at him and the unpleasant tension that had brewed in his marriage suggested anything, it meant that he’d only been sparing his pride by avoiding this.

“I just...never imagined that for myself. I’ve always thought of children in regards to other people. I knew when I was in Afghanistan that many of the men there had children waiting for them back home, and I was doing my best to send them in one piece to their loved ones. In those mo—,” his voice became choked and he didn’t sound like himself.

He coughed to clear his throat and push the well of emotions that had risen up down back where they belonged. “Excuse me. In those moments I thought I was about to die, I didn’t think of how I would possibly never have to chance to raise children of my own. I only mourned the fact I was so young and hadn’t found love.

I considered myself so lucky when I survived and eventually found Mary. She was so kind and was everything I could love in a woman. She never mentioned wanting children when I courted her, so I never thought of it. I know the rules I have to abide by as a man, what’s expected, and I have no real reason not to do this or want this, for her, to make her happy. But will we still be...happy, after it’s all said and done? A child requires so much. I’ve heard and seen so many die in others’ practices; there’s no telling what could happen to our own child. With how much that can go wrong, how can anyone want it? Why can’t any two people just love each other and live off of that for the rest of their days?”

At the end of his ramble, Watson gazed at Holmes who reciprocated with a bright, burning look. It was almost as if he seemed to understand what Watson had just said, even though Watson could barely make any sense of it himself.

“Why indeed?” his friend mused quietly, almost as if he hadn’t noticed he spoken aloud. With a tilt of his head and a cheshire grin, the transparency once bled into his features was gone, replaced with a mask. “You look like you could use something strong. Come join me downstairs for some brandy.”

He left the room without time for a reply, and Watson stood there, still dumbstruck about what had just transpired. Watson just articulated everything, all the intrusive thoughts that had gnawed at him over the weeks in the backs of carriages, on sofas, occasionally while lying on his back wide awake next to a sleeping Mary. In previous conversations, mostly with his wife, he’d only been able to discuss Mary’s desires openly. How rational were his own? Did he really expect them to be able to live in perpetual honeymoon bliss? Family was the next natural step for any English couple. While there was no law requiring it, the backlash he and Mary would receive from the community should they not bear any children would be enormous.

There was no point deliberating it right now. Holmes was downstairs, and he’d given little away during Watson’s tirade. He had to know what he thought.

#holmes x watson #consulting husbands #john watson #sherlock holmes #rdj holmes #sherlock holmes movies #my writing #fanfiction

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iamkatehardy · 6 years

Text

Chaos (Bane x Reader) - Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing, Bane fluff

Author’s Notes: I’m sorry I took so long to update this 😥 I’m still trying to dive in the universe of this story again 😜 Hope you Enjoy it ❤

You can find the Previous Chapters in my masterlist , go check them out 😘 Your feedback is always appreciated, including criticism.

Tags: @markusstraya

Chapter 6

As time passed by, you let your walls come down, and so did Bane. He allowed you to visit him in his private chambers in the sewers, where no one in their right mind would dare to go, and you got to know him better by observing his “man cave”, and by his behavior when you were alone there, on in your penthouse.

Bane was far more than muscles and cruelty; you started to see that more clearly by the way he treated you. He wasn’t the typical sweet, but he had his own ways of being lovely and showing you he cared, when he wanted to.

You knew that having feelings for Bane was a terrible idea, but that never stopped you anyway. You couldn’t describe these feelings you had for him, even if you wanted to, but you knew they were a dangerous mix of admiration, attachment, affection, attraction, care, engagement, and even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was a pinch of love. The more you tried to deny them, and the more you got to know Bane, the more those feelings grew.

There was some humanity left in you, but was there any humanity left in Bane? Could he understand how you felt, or see himself through your eyes? Probably not, you thought, so you decided to keep your secret to yourself. You had a mission, it was crucial to set your emotions aside, and focus on your role in Bane’s plans for Gotham.

Jonathan Crane often popped up in the sewers, to discuss business before making any decision, he knew exactly what would happen to him in case his actions displeased Bane. Bane often received him, but if he wasn’t fit to do so, you did. This was the case.

“Hello, miss Bane…” – He smirked, mocking you.

“You know, I do have a name, and that’s not it mate.” – You didn’t even bother looking at him, and put diamond rings on your fingers.

“I need to see Bane.”

“No shit, Sherlock…” – You smirked and did the same on the other hand. – “Look, he’s not available right now. So, you can either wait or tell me what you want and I deliver him the message.”

“I believe it is better if I talk to him in person…”

“Hmmm… We’ll see about that.” – You wrapped your hands in black cloth and then clenched your fists, throwing a punch and breaking a pile of bricks with a blow. – “This is really nice! I feel like I could even beat Bane’s ass now!” – You looked at the wraps in your hands and laughed.

“Can you?” – Heavy steps could be heard coming from behind you, you saw a shadow and turned. It was Bane.

“Well, no… But just because I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” – You smirked. – “You’ve got an unexpected visitor.” – You pointed to Crane.

“I’m seeing…. To what do I owe the pleasure, Doctor Crane?” – He crossed his arms.

“I think I found the last of Batman’s disciples.”

“I’m all ears.” – Bane opened his arms, waiting for answers.

“John Blake, some fucking detective who’s still out there, plotting against you…”

“Alright, and what do you suggest we do to him?” – Bane observed him, with narrowed eyes.

“I suggest we skip the whole Court thing. Seeing a disciple of Batman might give stupid ideas to some people.”

“Very well…” – Bane looked down, pondering.

“(Y/N).” – Crane called you.

“Let me guess… I fit somewhere in your plans.” – You clasped your hands and sucked your lower lip.

“I thought maybe you could fool him. You could lure him, in whichever way occurs you, and then finish him.”

“Hmm… So, let’s get some things clear here. First of all, how can ONE single guy represent a threat to our army? How can he be a threat when Gotham is completely immersed in chaos?”

“He could…”

You interrupted him.

“Second, I don’t fucking seduce or fool people…”

“Lure…” – He adjusted his glasses.

“Seduce, lure, whatever fancy word you chose to use, to describe what you want me to do. That’s not how I work, I’m no fucking bait.”

The plan of you seducing Blake didn’t please Bane, at all, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Relief, this was what he felt when you denied to play along in Crane’s plan.

“Last but not least, I WON’T kill John Blake, YOU won’t kill John Blake , NO ONE will. You can give him a lesson if you want to, but you won’t kill him. Honor is something I value, and he might be the last creature in Gotham who possesses such virtue. We all know how to be an orphan is, and how devastating it can be if you have no one to cling to. Blake is the only person who takes care of those children, the only one they can count on… And yes, I’m a fucking bitch, but not enough to be the one taking that away from those kids. And I’ll kill whoever does. Are we clear?” – You got closer and Jonathan swallowed hard, that was the only answer you needed. - “Good.” – You turned on your heel and left that room.

“I think you better leave; we’ll decide what to do later.” – Bane told Crane.

Jonathan Crane left the sewers, and Bane searched for you. He knew Crane’s plan upset you.

“(Y/N)?” – He came to his chambers, finding you sitting on his bed, and sitting beside you.

“I’m sorry; this was the only place where I knew I’d be alone.”

He rested his hand on your knee and you lifted your head, meeting his gaze.

“Do you have feelings for that John Blake? Is that why you don’t want to kill him?”

“WHAT? No, I don’t have feeling for John Blake , Bane, I don’t even fucking know him, just heard about him. I have feelings for…” – You sighed heavily, stopping yourself on time. – “Listen, I explained you both why, I meant that. You had a rough childhood too, you rescued Talia because you didn’t want her to have the same rough childhood you did, so I hope you understand my point here… It’s not about John Blake, it’s about the children he’s protecting.”

Bane looked down at you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Let’s not think about that. I don’t want you to be sad, ok? I won’t do something you disapprove (Y/N).”

You held onto Bane’s arm and planted a kiss on it.

“Thanks for listening to me, when no one else does. It means a lot.” – You bit your lower lip and hid your face in his chest.

Bane viewed you as a strong woman, but even though you were both criminals, sometimes he couldn’t help but seeing you as the most fragile thing in his world, which lead him to feel an immense need of protecting you. He let his guards down around you; sometimes you could see the man behind the mask. Being with you, protecting you, his presence in your life…It wasn’t about having power over you, it was about love and a desperate need he had to make things right with you, hoping things between you would work.

“Do you want to the stay the night?” – He asked with a smile in his eyes, stroking your hair. Bane was getting used to your presence, to your smile, to your smell.

“I do.” – You turned your head lightly, just enough to be able to kiss his hand.

He tucked you in his bed, laying by your side, his elbow resting on the pillow, with his face on his hand, just watching you as you fell asleep. Bane didn’t sleep that night; he just drifted in his own thoughts. He knew the weight of his secrets, but what consequences would they have, if you found out about them?

You knew something was going on , because Bane was acting weird; sometimes he was the sweetest, other days he was distant and seemed to lose his typical focus and control. You wouldn’t ask why, you’d just wait for him to get it off his chest if he wanted to.

In the next morning, when you woke up, Bane wasn’t there anymore. You got up and searched for him.

“Bane?”

You heard nothing but deafening silence. Maybe he was out, you thought, although he didn’t usually leave without you, or at least not without warning you. You kept searching, and found him exercising; he didn’t really need to, he just did it when he needed to unwind. This only confirmed the suspicion that something was off.

“I thought you had left the sewers already…” – You sat down, watching him.

“As you can see, I didn’t.” – He just kept doing an insane amount of push ups.

You realized he wasn’t in the mood for talking so you got up.

“Ok…” – You turned to leave.

He got up and you could hear his steps behind you.

“When this mission ends, what will that mean for us?” – His hand rested on your waist, and he gently turned you, making you face him.

“One of two things…” – You smiled and he looked at you expectantly. – “Success or death.”

“That’s not what I…” – You hear a sigh, muffled by his mask. – “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am…” – Your fingers brushed his forearm, in a gentle caress.

“But will we still be together?” – His eyes followed your fingers and then stared back into your eyes.

“Maybe in Blackgate, maybe in Arkham Asylum, maybe in the cemetery…” – You wrinkled your nose. – “But yes, we’ll be together. I’ll stand by you, as long as you want us to.”

Bane wasn’t sure if your answer made it easier or harder for him to make decisions. He was now torn between the two women of his life: he wanted to help Talia with her goal, but now he cared about you as well; he didn’t know if he wanted to be a part of that suicidal mission anymore, much less if it would cost your life, when you didn’t even know it would. He used to think his only purpose was destruction, but when you came into his life, he started to wonder if there could be more, if there could be a whole new life beside you.

Your moment was interrupted by the frenzy in the main part of the sewers. You could hear Bane’s men shouting and calling him, in the distance.

“Trouble in paradise…” – You rolled your eyes and walked with Bane, to check what was going on.

Heavily armed men were dragging a familiar figure, with green hair and heavy makeup, who laughed uncontrollably.

“Bane, we found him roaming around the sewers.”

“And what would you want from me, clown?” – Bane crossed his arms, clearly not satisfied, and you feared what he could do to Joker.

“Nothing.” – He plastered an evil, maniac smile on his face, liking his lips and then looked at you. – “But you, I would love to have a word with you!” – He released from the men’s grip. – “There’s no need for such hostility; we’re among friends, right?” – He shrugged and slid his hand on his greasy hair.

“What are you doing here?” – You looked at him, surprised he was there.

“Oh, my Queen of Hearts, I expected a warmer welcome… But I can explain, I went to your house, and you weren’t there, so I thought you’d be here, with your…” – He clasped his hands, with a dark expression, and looked down at them. – “Partner.” – He said this last word bitterly, almost venomously, and then looked back up.

“What do you want?” – You came closed.

“I would like to talk to you…” – His cold fingers traced your cheek, giving you chills, while he looked at Bane and his men. – “Privately.”

“Hmm…”

“And with no guns on my face, please, that’s extremely uncomfortable.” – He rolled his eyes, licking his lips.

“There’s no way…” – Bane begun to talk, but you interrupted him.

“I got this.” – You dropped all the guns you had on you. – “Shall we?” – You gestured with your hand, showing Joker the way.

“See? That’s how I like it!” – He put a hand on your waist while walking with you, knowing it made Bane go crazy, but that he wouldn’t do anything, because of you.

“Are you mad? Bane has a short temper, he could fucking kill you.” – You told him, as you arrived a more secluded part of the sewers, where you could both talk without unwanted guests.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m just a different kind of sane (Y/N). And he won’t kill me, because maybe I’ll kill him first.”

You gave him a disapproving look.

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I won’t. YOU will.” – There it was, that dangerous smile of who had something evil in mind.

“What? That’s it, you fucking lost what was left of your mind.”

“I didn’t, and soon you’ll understand me.” – He took a detonator out of his left pocket, moving it from one hand to another and chanting the word “Boom”.

“What’s that?” – You stuttered, because you feared how far his madness would go. He threw the detonator to you, and you caught it.

“I think you know what that is, but please, let me describe it in other words: That, my dear, is your chance to revenge from someone who has been playing you aaaaaaall along, deceiving you from the beginning.”

“Are you nuts?” – You frowned. – “Forget I asked, you are.”

“I know you don’t believe me, even though I’m telling the truth, but soon I’ll have proof.” – He circled you, liking his lips quickly. – “Blind trust is a weakness, sometimes. Somewhere along the way you forgot this valuable lesson, maybe because you let your feelings get in the way…”

“What, I have no fee…”

“Come on, you can try, but you can’t to lie to me (Y/N). But more important, don’t lie to yourself. Now, as I was saying, those feelings made you gullible enough to think you were his true partner.”

“I am!” – You clenched your fists.

“No, you’re not. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s loyal to someone else. He’s just playing you, you’re a mean to an end. I’m here just to open your eyes.”

“I don’t believe you. Why are you trying to turn me against him?” – You looked at him, on the brink of tears, feeling frustrated.

“I’m not. I’m trying to make you see the truth, which you deliberately chose to ignore.”

You sat down, not knowing what to believe anymore.

“Talia al Ghul, an... old friend of the big guy there.”

“I’ve heard about her…” – You swallowed hard, Joker’s story seemed more believable now.

“She’s in Gotham, I’ve been told. SHE’s his partner; she’s the one he’ll give his life for.”

“No, he would’ve told me.” – You barked.

“Oh my fool little girl… How would he get you into that suicidal mission of him, if he did? Oh, yes, in case you didn’t know, that bomb he threatens Gotham with, it’ll blow, no matter what. I bet he didn’t tell you that, did he? And guess who’s in charge… Not Bane. Talia uses Bane, Bane uses you… Like a cycle of fools.”

“That’s impossible.” – You closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t the truth, but the seed of doubt was already feeding your fears and worries, poisoning your soul.

“(Y/N), when the time comes, I will give you proof. You’ll be the one to push that button when I do, not me. You have more right to do it than I do. Push the button, and he, his tank, and his fucking lies will turn to ashes…” – He whispered the last part in your ear. – “ I’ll let you think about the subject, but you’ll hear from me soon” – He turned and disappeared in the darkness.

You just sat there, putting the detonator on your pocket and thinking about the remote possibility Joker was being honest with you, but it couldn’t be, you couldn’t bear such betrayal, not from Bane.

Sometimes you thought Bane could read your thoughts; anytime you were thinking about him, he just appeared.

“Has the clown left yet?” – He inspected the surroundings.

“Yes.” – You were looking at the floor, with saddened eyes and heart.

Bane sat by your side, turning his head, to face you.

“What’s wrong?” – He could read you too well.

“Nothing.” – You tried to lie.

“We both know he said or did something that upset you.” – He played with a lock of your hair.

“It doesn’t matter now. “ – You smiled faintly.

“I don’t like when he’s around you…” – Bane took your face between his hands, making you face him.

“He didn’t mean any harm, don’t worry, alright?” – Your hand involuntarily moved to caress his.

“Even so… I don’t like him or any other fucking idiot around you.” – He looked down, in deep thought.

“Why is that? I’m a big girl , I can take care of myself.” – You giggled, kissing his shoulder.

“Because you’re mine (Y/N), just mine, and I want to be the one to take care of you.” – His eyes darted back at you.

For a moment there was only silence. The doubt that was eating you from the inside was gone for a little while.

Your fingers intertwined on his. His eyes were different now, they were softer than ever, the portrayal of who he really was, and of how much he really cared about you. Your pensive look turned into a warm smile, the one he would kill or die for. There was something about his gaze you knew you could never find in someone else, as if in that moment your souls had connected. Could someone who made you feel like this be able to betray you?

#chaos fanfic #chaos #bane x reader #tom hardy bane #bane fanfiction #bane imagine #bane fanfic #bane #bane x oc #tdkr #bane the dark knight returns #the dark knight #the dark knight au #the dark knight returns #batman au #batman fanfic #joker x reader

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Just Like a Woman - Part 5

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Word Count: 4.9k (a lot needed to happen im sorry)

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Will things finally turn around for Y/N and Roger?

Warning(s): None :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 here we go!!!

“He said that?!” Roger questioned, incredulous.

“Yeah,” you sniffled. “Fucking prick.”

You sat together in the booth at the studio. Roger was making you a cup of tea. You told him everything you discussed at the therapist’s office and the things Mark said to you. He let you cry on his shoulder at the start before getting up for the tea for the finale. Now, as he handed it to you, his eyes were narrowed with confusion and hurt for you.

“That really is an awful thing to say,” he agreed. “I mean, it’s one thing to say he doesn’t feel like he can be with you but to say that love is wasted on you….first of all, it’s not true. Second of all, it’s vicious. He was trying to hurt you.”

“Maybe I deserved it,” you said, looking away. “I haven’t been the best girlfriend to him. I’ve been afraid and hesitant and….I know I’ve hurt him.”

“Doesn’t give him the right to say something like that,” Roger argued. “And you didn’t hurt him intentionally.”

“That’s true,” you conceded.

“Besides, you’re an incredible person,” he went on. “Love isn’t wasted on you. I don’t think love is wasted on anybody really, but least of all you.”

You forced a smile. “Thanks.”

He sipped his tea and looked at you. You simply stared at yours, eyes fixed on the steam rising out of the cup.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “You’re hurting and it’s not fair. And it’s partly my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Rog,” you replied softly. “I wouldn’t take back a single moment with you. Not for anyone or anything.”

He paused at that, taking it in. A part of him had always wondered if you regretted being with him after the way he hurt you. It was a relief to know you didn’t.

“Me neither,” he said.

Another beat passed. He watched you drum your fingers against your mug. Then he got an idea.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” he said, offering his hand. “Come with me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Where?”

“We’re not leaving the building, we’re just going to the keyboard,” he said.

“Okay…” you agreed hesitantly.

He helped you off the couch and led you into the studio. Holding Roger’s hand felt familiar, but in that odd way where you think it was something you must have dreamed. You reached the keyboard and sat down beside him. You both placed your beverages on the table to the side.

“I might be rusty, so apologies in advance,” he said.

You nodded. Then, he began to play an old, familiar tune.

“Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose,” he began to sing. “To get the sun back in the sky. Lida Rose, I’m home again, Rose. About a thousand kisses shy…”

You nearly started crying again. The Music Man was your father’s absolute favorite, and he had taught you and Roger almost every song from it. There were enough duets for you two and it was fun to play and sing together. As Roger sang through the first part, your eyes watered. He looked at you and smiled gently.

“So here is my love song, Not fancy or fine, Lida Rose, oh won’t you be mine? Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

He finished, picked up the tempo and looped back around. He began again, and this time you joined him.

“Dream of now,” you sang shakily. “Dream of then. Dream of a love song, That might have been. Do I love you? Oh, yes, I love you. And I’ll bravely tell you. But only when we dream again….”

As the song progressed, you and Roger’s smiles widened as you held each other’s gaze. You were back in your parents’ living room, just barely teenagers and singing together while your father watched you behind a cup of tea and a cigar.

“Forever. Oh, yes, forever. Will I ever tell you? Oh, no…”

“Lida Rose, Oh, Lida Rose, Oh…”

You each finished your parts. A real, genuine smile claimed your lips now as you looked at him. Then you heaved a sigh and rested your head on his shoulder. You fit there like a missing puzzle piece. It hit him all at once just how much he had been missing it.

“Thank you, Roger,” you said. “You always did know how to cheer me up.”

“Well, it’s always been that song, how could I forget?” he joked.

You hummed lightly. “You’re not rusty, you know. I don’t think you missed a note.”

“Do you sing The Music Man much anymore?” he wondered.

“No,” you said wistfully. “Not since Dad died.”

“Well, you haven’t lost your touch either,” he returned.

Your forehead was so close to his lips. He ached to kiss it. To feel your familiar skin against his mouth again. You always said forehead kisses were your favorite because they made you feel safe. Roger didn’t admit it, but they were his favorite too because they made him feel like he could take care of you. Now, he once again felt the sharp pang of regret that he hadn’t. To ease his own heart, he prepared to take the risk and kiss you.

But you sat up.

He bit back a frustrated groan.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said to you outside the bar,” you said, still looking at the keyboard. “It was harsh.”

“It was true,” he said. “I understand you were feeling hurt. I just wish you’d let me explain.”

“Can I explain first?” you asked, looking at him now.

“Sure,” he allowed.

“I was so upset because when you told me you’d met Dominique so soon after we broke up, it made me feel like you lied to me when you left,” you said. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to settle down. You didn’t want to settle down with me.”

“That wasn’t the case,” he said. “Like I told you, Dom and I weren’t anything close to what you and I were. We started off as a one night thing. We tried being together, but we broke up a hundred times. We got married on a whim sort of. We decided we wanted to have a family, so...you get it.”

“She told me that…” you trailed off, not really sure you wanted to confess this to him.

“What?” he pressed. “What did she tell you?”

“She told me that you never stopped loving me,” you admitted. You looked away from him again. “But I didn’t believe her.”

He opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. What he felt during his time without you was so complex, he hardly understood it himself. He missed you. Terribly, at first. But then, he really did fuck around and do whatever he wated. He had fun. But he still missed you. He met Dom, and she sort of took your place, but she wasn’t you. No one could ever be what you were to him.

“She’s partly right,” he said. “I always remembered you and thought of you. I had love for you throughout everything. And I always will.”

“Well, I hope you got everything you wanted,” you scoffed. “And you're satisfied with your exploration.”

“Yeah, I got it all out, I suppose,” he said. “I mean, I’ll never lose the thrill of performing, but when it comes to women…”

“Roger, can I ask you something?” you put forth. “And I want you to be totally honest.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said nervously.

“When you got through those feelings,” you said. “Why didn’t you -”

You didn’t get to finish your question. At that moment, the door opened and Freddie, Brian, and John walked in. They all seemed struck by your presence.

“Well, Roger, we wondered why you never showed up to lunch, but it appears we have our answer,” John said. “Hi, Y/N.”

You beamed at them. It had been so long, and they all looked so different now. But also much the same, especially their faces.

“Hi, guys,” you returned, getting to your feet.

Freddie approached you first. He wrapped you up in his arms as you laughed, embracing him in return.

“What brings you here, darling?” he asked. As he pulled away, he glanced over you. “What a gorgeous thing you’ve grown up to be!”

“Thanks, Fred,” you returned with a laugh. “I actually didn’t intend on coming here, I just...well, I split up with my boyfriend and on my way back to work I - quite literally - ran into Roger.”

You hugged Brian and John as well, exchanging pleasantries. All the while, Roger’s leg bounced with anticipation. He had no idea what you were going to ask him, and he desperately wanted to give you any answers he was capable of giving.

“I really should be going,” you said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do for Miss Thomas’s case. Mr. Broome is in court tomorrow for his annulment and I need to be prepared.”

Roger jumped up.

“Wait, Y/N, you had something you wanted to ask me,” he said.

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” you returned.

“Okay, sure,” he said reluctantly.

You walked back over to him. His eyes were intense and longing. You were sure yours were the same. Then, you stood up on your toes, your body against his, your hands on his shoulders, and you kissed him on the cheek. His skin was warm and soft. He still smelled like he used to, only with a hint of more cigarettes. You heard him inhale deeply. His hands moved to your hips. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. You moved away, he helped steady you as you came back down on your heels. Then you locked eyes with him again.

“Thank you,” you said.

He could only nod. His heart was beating so wildly at you being close to him again. He watched you hopelessly as you grabbed your purse and coat. You waved to the guys, shared one last meaningful look with him, and then you were gone.

“Geez, Rog, what was all that about?” Brian wondered.

“Her boyfriend broke up with her because of me,” Roger answered. “We got to talking and now I….” he trailed off.

“Start from the beginning,” said John.

Roger told them. About your fight at the bar. He conveyed what he remembered you told the therapist and then what Mark said to you. They were all as disturbed by it as he was. Then he told them everything the two of you said to each other.

“Roger, this is getting complicated,” Brian said. “The two of you just need to sit down and have it all out.”

“I’d like to, but things keep getting in the way,” Roger said. “Her work or mine. Some distraction or another. We’re never together long enough to get it all out there.”

“Make time, dear,” Freddie said gently. “Ask her to dinner.”

“I dunno if we should be out in public,” Roger said. “It could get quite emotional.”

“Then have her at yours,” John said. “But you can’t go on like this, you’ll both go mad.”

Roger considered this. “That’s a good idea, Deaky. Only, Dominique still lives there.”

“I’ll have Veronica invite her to our place for the evening,” John offered.

“If she doesn’t go, it’s a large house, she can be out of your way,” Brian added.

“But something needs to be done,” Freddie finished.

“Why are you all so adamant that I do this?” Roger wondered, looking around at them.

“Because ever since you’ve seen her again, you’ve been a bit of a dope,” John said with brutal honesty. “We think if you knew where you stood with her, you’d be yourself again. Only happier, maybe.”

“I’d definitely be happier,” Roger admitted. “Even if we were just friends again.”

“That’s a good sign, love,” Freddie said. “We all miss her. It’s natural that you would miss her most.”

“Well, it’s settled, then,” Roger said. “I’ll speak to her soon.”

“Do,” Freddie said. “You’ll be better for it.”

That afternoon, you were grateful to get back to work. You were in court with Miss Thomas, and it was a welcome distraction from all thoughts of Mark. And of Roger. Especially Roger. There was still so much going unsaid between you and it was starting to drive you crazy. But without Mark in the picture, you felt more justified in exploring it.

The judge dismissed Miss Thomas’s case, as you predicted, and you apologized to her. She promised to return to you for any future lawsuits, since you were the only lawyer who took her case in the first place. You weren’t sure if you were pleased or not. For Bill’s sake, you were because it meant more money. For your own, you were worried this meant more ridiculous suits based on penile psychic abilities and you didn’t want to keep losing.

When you returned to your office from court, you got to work more on researching for Mr. Broome. Things were strictly business between you now that he thought you were a lesbian. Or at least participated in lesbian activity. In truth, you had never kissed another woman before, but there was no way you were going to admit it to Mr. Broome.

As much as you looked at your law books, your mind kept going back to Roger. Your short duet with him was affecting you much more than your breakup with Mark. It made you wonder if maybe Mark was right. Was there no other man for you besides Roger Taylor? It seemed so illogical. Most people did not end up with their first boyfriend. Why were you so hung up on yours?

The day wore on. Your office grew dark with the disappearing sunlight, but you had a few more things to wrap up before going down to the bar. You had already released Jane when you heard a knock on your door. You looked up eagerly, hoping Roger would be standing there. Only, it was Mark. You frowned.

“What do you want?” you asked shortly.

“Can we talk?” he wondered. “I want to apologize for what I said this morning.”

“Well, Mark, I don’t think I’m ready to accept that apology,” you returned, snapping your file shut and getting up from your chair. “I wasn’t lying when I said that was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I know you meant it.”

“I didn’t mean it like you think I did,” he said. “It was the heat of the moment and I was angry. I wanted to hurt you.”

“If you expect kudos for admitting the obvious, you’ve come to the wrong person,” you said. “I know you wanted to hurt me. And mission accomplished.”

“I’m just saying that I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d like to try again.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied. “The truth of the matter is, Mark, that you don’t love me. You don’t say things like that to people you truly love. You loved the idea of who I might be. I checked off boxes for qualities you’d like in a wife. But you don’t really know me. I think that if you did, you wouldn’t even like me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“You like me on paper,” you said. “I’m smart, successful, and attractive. But on the inside, I’m a mess. A mess that very few people could ever hope to understand. And you’re just not one of them.”

“So, that’s it? You’re giving up just like that?”

You almost laughed.

“Y’know it’s funny how every man who hurts me tells me I’m the one giving up,” you scoffed. “This time, it’s true. At the risk of sounding cold, it’s not worth the effort. I don’t love you, Mark. And I never will. I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you’ve decided…” he trailed off. “I really am sorry for what I said. I wish I could take it back.”

“I’m glad you can’t,” you said. “I wish you well. But this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said.

“Goodbye.”

With one last look, he left your office. You meant everything you said to him. You just didn’t feel about Mark what you had felt for Roger. With a sigh, you began to pack up your briefcase. You had to be in court again the next day, and you wanted to be extra prepared for Mr. Broome’s case. You heard another soft knock on your door, and your head snapped up as you prepared to dismiss Mark again.

Only it wasn’t Mark.

“Mum?!” you cried, stunned. “You weren’t supposed to get here until Friday!”

“Well, I thought I’d come a bit early and surprise you!” she returned, laughter in her eyes. “And you should see your face!”

You chuckled. “Come here!”

You went to her and embraced her warmly. It must have been her motherly instincts telling her you needed her because she was right on time. In fact, you had been considering skipping the bar and calling her.

“How are you, dear?” she asked, pulling away and looking you over. “You look thin. Are you eating enough?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m eating fine, Mum. Although I haven’t had much today, it’s been a rather emotional time.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you come down to the bar with me?” you offered. “You can meet all my friends and coworkers. And I’ll catch you up. You aren’t going to believe who one of my clients is.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirked, and took your hand. Together you walked to the bar.

You mother was stoked to meet your coworkers and see more of your life in London. Usually, you were the one visiting her, but you hadn’t been home since your father’s funeral. It was painful to think about. So, you invited her to see your life. She agreed rather enthusiastically, so you guessed she needed to get away as well. Now that she had done her grieving, it was the perfect time.

She danced with Bill, who flirted shamelessly with her. He had a thing for older women. You giggled watching her flush at his praise. She deserved to feel that way again after losing your dad, and you knew he’d be happy she was having fun. You could imagine what he’d say.

Well, he has good taste, doesn’t he?

You shook your head, clearing your father’s voice out of it. You found yourself thinking of him more often now that Roger was back in your life. Especially since you knew he named his son after your dad. Your father would have been so bashfully honored by that. It made your heart ache to remember he never would know that honor.

Your mother returned to her seat beside you.

“I don’t think I’ve danced like that since before your father died,” she giggled, grinning.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” you told her.

“Now, catch me up, sweetheart,” she said. “Who’s this new client? And when am I going to meet this Mark you’ve told me about?”

“Oh, about that,” you said.

You launched into the story. You told her about Roger, Mark, and everything that had happened since that fateful day you’d seen your old friend in that conference room. You left out the bit about kissing Dominique, though, since you weren’t trying to make her faint. She listened thoughtfully, taking in your every word.

“I see,” she said when you finished. “Well, I’m thrilled that you’re seeing Roger again, I must say!”

“I’m not seeing Roger, Mum, I’m representing him in his divorce,” you reminded her. “I just...I feel strange about it. All these old feelings…”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she said. “You two meant a great deal to each other.”

“But it was so long ago,” you argued. “Shouldn’t we have moved on?”

“Well if you have to ask that question, I think you know the answer,” she said.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at her. She winked and sipped her drink.

You didn’t talk about Roger much for the rest of the time you were at the bar. When you got home, though, she brought him up again.

“Darling, why not be with Roger again?” she asked. “He’s soon to be divorced, you’re single now. What’s stopping you?”

“Mum, the reason he left me was because I wasn’t enough for him,” you reminded her. “How can I trust that I will be now?”

“Because time has passed,” she said. “He’s grown up. So have you. He’s gotten it out of his system.”

“No he hasn’t, he cheated on his wife,” you said.

“Well, she isn’t you,” she said simply.

“It’s different,” you said. “Part of me is still angry at him. How do we come back from what we went through?”

Your mother paused a moment. You watched her, patiently waiting for her to answer. Her expression hardened, as if trying to hold back emotion. You shot her a worried look.

“When you were little,” she began. “Maybe seven or eight, you father had an affair with his secretary.”

A wave of shock almost knocked you off your feet.

“What?” you gasped.

“I didn’t want to tell you this because I don’t want you to think of your father any differently, but I think you could learn from it,” she said. “So yes. He began seeing her. She was young and beautiful. Bright eyed and sweet. They carried on for about three months together before I found out.”

Your eyes welled up with tears. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“I considered it,” she admitted. “But I loved him too much. I couldn’t bear the thought of life without him. And we had you to think of. I asked him if he wanted to leave me for her. But he said no, he wasn’t in love with her. He just wanted to feel young again.”

“That doesn’t excuse -”

“No, of course it doesn’t excuse it,” she said. “And I was angry with him for months. Even though he ended it with her and he never strayed again, I was so hurt by it that I thought our marriage might really be over. I think...part of me was relieved Roger left you before he caused you the kind of pain your father caused me.”

“Mum, he still hurt me,” you said. “I was blindsided. He totally crushed me.”

“As did your father to me,” she said. “I’m not saying that Roger was right. The way he made you feel was absolutely terrible. But he was honest about what he needed for himself. And there’s something to be said for that.”

“How did you move on?” you asked. “With Dad, I mean.”

“The way I saw it, I had two options,” she said. “I could be angry with him and leave - but I had already ruled that out. Or I could forgive him. I chose forgiveness. And it allowed me to keep the love of my life. And our family together.”

“Was it that easy?” you questioned.

“God, no,” she laughed. “It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever dealt with. Until I lost him, of course. But it was worth every bit of the heartache.”

You still felt a bit off balance. They had hidden that struggle incredibly well. You always thought your parents had an exemplary marriage. But if you mother could move past that...couldn’t you offer Roger the same reprieve? You had to think about it.

“I think if you want to be happy, whether or not you get back together with Roger, you need to forgive him,” she said. “Truly forgive him. It’s the only way forward.”

“Thanks, Mum,” you said. “I really needed your advice.”

“Of course, darling,” she said, patting your hand. “Now, let’s get to bed. I’m exhausted from your boss dancing me all over that bar!”

You laughed together and then showed her to your guest room.

The next day, you went to work in the morning. You had court with Mr. Broome. Unfortunately, the judge did not see it your way and therefore didn’t grant the annulment. You weren’t too upset about it, though. With your mother in town and the afternoon through the weekend off, you felt like you had a lot to look forward to. Mr. Broome said he wanted to appeal the decision, and you advised him to call Jane and set up an appointment to meet with you again and you could discuss it.

The remainder of the morning was spent putting things in order for your long weekend with your mom. You were also giving Jane the time off. If you weren’t going to be in the office, why should your assistant? Any urgent business would go through Bill, who could call you at home. But you shouldn’t be needed.

You walked home, pondering where to take your mother first. Then it hit you. It was so obvious you almost laughed at yourself.

You and your mother strolled down the street. You had changed when you first got home into jeans and a jumper, and now you were comfortably on your way.

“Why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” your mother wondered.

“Because it’s a surprise,” you said. “And I won’t ruin it.”

You rounded a corner and pulled her to a stop.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed.

“Oh, come now…”

“Just do it!”

She smirked, sighed, and obeyed. You took her hand. Then you led her down the street and into the building.

“Yeah, I like that, Deaks,” Roger said, trying the line again. “Definitely works better.”

John gave him a thumbs up. Roger played through once more using John’s suggestion, and this time played it flawlessly.

“Well done,” said Freddie from the booth. “That was remarkably not shitty.”

Roger chuckled and flipped the singer off.

“Carry on, darlings,” Freddie instructed with a lazy wave.

They continued through and ended up liking what they ended up with. Then the door opened and all eyes turned on the new arrivals. Roger’s heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw who it was.

“Vivian!” he cried, leaping from his stool and hurtling to the booth.

He saw her release a delighted cry and hug you quickly before turning back around to catch Roger in her arms. You laughed watching them reunite.

“Oh, Roger, dear, how wonderful you look!” your mother exclaimed, looking him over. “It’s been so long!”

“Too long,” he agreed, pulling her in for another hug. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright for an old lady,” she replied. “We’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she sighed, and she began dabbing at her eyes as she pulled away.

“Mum, don’t cry!” you insisted, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

“I can’t help it!” she returned. “It seems like yesterday this young man was just a boy hiding in my shed and now...well, look at you, Roger! A real rock star!”

“Thank you, Viv,” he said gently. “I couldn’t have gotten here without you and Felix.”

Her eyes watered even more.

“He was so proud of you, love,” she said, taking his hand between hers. “So very proud.”

Roger blinked back the tears that had formed in his own eyes. Your mother sighed again with a small laugh.

“Oh, how I wish you and Y/N hadn’t…” she trailed off. “Oh, well. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Really. The band is doing well, I’m alright.”

“Y/N told me you’re getting divorced,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s for the best,” he said. “Dominique and I just weren’t working out.”

“You have children?” she asked.

“Two,” he said. “A boy and a girl. My son is three, and my little girl is one.”

“Oh, you, Roger, a father?!” she gasped. “It’s difficult to imagine, you were so wild as a boy! But of course you’re wonderful. You always were when you really cared for something.”

“I love them very much,” he said. “Here, Viv, meet the rest of the band.”

You watched him introduce your mother to the rest of Queen. She was absolutely tickled about it. Even though you hadn’t kept up with Roger’s band, your parents had, which you didn’t discover until years after your breakup. They had every Queen album and record in their collection. Roger made his way back over to you while your mother spoke to Freddie.

“Thanks for bringing her here,” he said.

“Of course, Rog,” you returned. “She’d kill me if I didn’t let her see you.”

He swallowed thickly and looked between you and her for a moment.

“I always thought they hated me,” he choked out. “For hurting you.”

“Rog…”

“So knowing that they still cared after what I did...thank you, Y/N.”

“Roger, you were like a son to them,” you said, holding his gaze. “You could never do anything to make them hate you. Ever.”

“That’s a relief,” he said.

He took a deep breath and then looked at you.

“I know your mum’s here, but d’you think you could take one evening and come have dinner with me at my place?” he asked. “There’s….so much we need to talk about.”

“Yeah,” you said,a smile slowly parting your lips. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #queen x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #just like a woman series

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sharkfish · 6 years

Note

Soooo, let's say hypothetically if I've started dabbling in the Sterek fandom, could you recommend some of your favorite fics? You've got excellent taste!

here i go here i go here i go girls what’s my weakness STILES AND DEREK! (*my brain just played me far more of that song than i thought i knew)

(i’m not really involved with the sterek fandom on tumblr so i don’t know most of these peep’s tumblr urls if they exist – plz tag in replies if you recognize anyone)

like 98% of these are E rated >:)

everything is in alphabetical order EXCEPT!!!!!!! this is very possibly my favorite fic of all time and i’ve read it a thousand times and will keep rereading it until the day i die!!!!

Love Runs Wild by DevilDoll (9.5k)

derek and stiles model for a softcore werewolf skin mag. basically, porn of stiles being all pretty and biteable and then a werewolf being all bitey, except of course derek and stiles shoot together A LOT, and when stiles shows up to a shoot with a hickey, derek LOSES HIS GODDAMN MIND (in the best way)

“You’ve got a hickey on the back of your neck!” A Neckz ‘n Throats story.

Alpha Complex by Hatteress (goddammitstacey) (3.4k)

oh, you’re interested in some subby bottom derek? let me tell you a little story….

“Hold still,” Stiles says, hand clamping down on the back of Derek’s neck to keep him from turning and it’s laughable, really – the thought that that would be enough to hold him. Except it is. Because Stiles’ fingers are gripping the nape of Derek’s neck, pressure sure and hard and Derek- Derek can’t fucking breathe.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by LiviKate (17.3k)

this is a fic i go back to over and over when i just need to be punched in the heart. i’m a ho for stiles (stupidly!!!) thinking he’s somehow below derek’s level attraction-wise, and this has that in droves. it’s also about derek’s recovery from the sexual abuse he suffered with kate, in a way that i think is done with a (deservedly) delicate hand. (i’m holding myself in from going off on a [positive] tangent about the way fandom talks about derek’s abuse, but i have Thoughts.)

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.

The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.

“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’

Cornerstone by Vendelin for foreverblue_navy (83k)

this was the first sterek fic i loved and therefore the gateway drug. it’s so lovely in so many ways, AND ALSO, any time someone is like “k i’m only saying this cuz i’m your bff, not bc i have any sort of romantic inclinations or anything crazy, but i’d make the sacrifice to practice kissing with you, just to help you out”

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) by yodasyoyo (5.7k)

you know, i don’t read fics with kids (either them as kids or as parents) very often, but i’m kind of wondering why not, because i do love a good best friends from childhood to duh you morons lovers story. obviously this is a slightly different twist but the things i loved about it where the same sorts of feelings as that

Stiles is six years old when he first hears Derek’s voice in his head.

Or what happens if you have a soulmate bond, in a universe where soulmate bonds don’t exist?

Promise You’ll Look After Him by DiscontentedWinter (9.9k)

this is honestly one of the most powerful fics i’ve ever read. it’s the pov of stiles’s dad after stiles is sexually assaulted, so it fucking HURTS, but ultimately, it’s a story about profound love, both familial and romantic. (sorrynotsorry: sheriff stilinski is the father john winchester should’ve been.)

Sheriff Stilinski is used to dealing with victims of violent crime. He knows how to approach kids who’ve been beaten and sexually assaulted.

Except this time it’s his son.

It’s Stiles.

Sell Your Body to the Night by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (121k)

i can’t remember who on tumblr convinced me to read this? i remember someone telling me about it, and then emphasizing that the watersports tag is only for a single scene at the beginning of ch9 that is entirely skippable. i knew my stupid ass was going to read it anyway so mostly i was just afraid something was going to be awakened. IT WASN’T THANK GOD but this fic is so fucking incredible i don’t even care that derek paid like $5000 to pee on stiles. i can’t believe i just typed that sentence. THIS STORY HURTS A LOT!!!!!!! but then it feels better a lot

“No,” he repeated impatiently. “I’m not a cop. I’m someone who wants to exchange my money for your sexual services. I was told you were in that line of work.”

“I, uh, yeah, sorry,” Stiles said. He glanced around again and then up–the full moon was almost directly overhead. Just one of those nights, maybe. “Yeah, I am. I do that.”

Sour Kush by alisvolatpropiis (15k - series)

stonerstonerstonerstonerfic (there is a pt2, read it also)

Stiles mentally curses Erica, because in all of her warnings about how brusque this guy could be, she forgot mention that he’s also hotter than the fucking sun. If Stiles had any lingering questions about his sexuality, they’d be completely settled by what this guy is doing to him. In fact, he might not even be gay anymore. He might be in the midst of crossing into some yet-to-be-named sexuality that’s all about a scruffy black beard and alarming green eyes and muscles and tattoos and this guy’s everything ever.

The guy’s name is Derek, his lust-addled brain supplies distantly.

Well that settles it, then. Stiles is Dereksexual.

Sweeter Than Honey by the_painless_moustache (9.4k)

this is a fic that made me start thinking about what kind of non-sexual symptoms an omega might have during heat. stiles is a totally adorable disaster and derek is a totally adorable alpha trying to awkwardly court him. and none of their friends appreciate stiles like they should >:|

Stiles is probably the worst omega ever, which drives every one of his friends insane. Except for, surprisingly, Derek.

That’s Why He Lets Him In by alisvolatpropiis (12k - series)

this series is…. holy fuck. this is a stiles that was raised by sam and dean winchester as a hunter (just referenced, they don’t appear on screen). derek is a werewolf stiles let get away, and now they hate-fuck, except not really, bc they are desperately in love. it’s a little darker in tone but the writing is just – fuckin whoa.

Derek was about to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth and the crazy kid had just laughed, no trace of fear in his scent. He looked into Derek’s enraged eyes and smiled, welcoming his death.

That’s why he lets him in.

Trust Me by Areiton @areiton (4.8k)

in which a destiel & a sterek have a foursome. iirc, arei had written this (unbeknownst to be) like 2 days before i started obsessing about d2cs and wrote my fic mai tai. if i had known about this fic i probably wouldn’t have bothered writing my own xD

“What the hell are they doing here,” Stiles snaps.

“Do you trust me,” Derek asks, squeezing his hand and the tension and anger drains out of Stiles as he licks his lips.

You Were a Kindness When I Was a Stranger by DevilDoll (8k)

there is a specific sentence in this FANTASTIC bdsm fic that makes me run in circles screaming every time i even THINK about it omfg

“It’s not all handcuffs and spankings and learning to deep throat.” This is an AU with consensual BDSM sex acts, in which Derek supports Stiles financially in exchange for a sexual relationship. Stiles is of legal age.

Unsaid the Word by aerialiste @aerialiste (20.7k)

this is some Good Clean Academic AU Fun. i’ve read it multiple times and it’s a delight over and over.

Derek Hale, Stiles thought, indignant, was a goddamned scholiastic menace.

In which tenure-track Professor Derek Hale is polite and friendly to Stiles Stilinski, ABD, every year at the academic conference they both attend; and Stiles tries to be contented with pining after him—until after one night at a bar, far too many doubles, and some injudicious texting, thanks to his total inability to know when to stop talking, Stiles just may have ruined everything.

plzplzplzplz if you enjoy these fics, leave the author some comment & kudos love and share with your friends!!!

#starsinursa #sharkrecs #sterek #READ THEM #LOVE THEM #COMMENT THEM

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madaraism · 6 years

Text

Algea - Part II of Himeros

Ἄλγεα ; The Algea – the personified spirits of grief, sorrow and distress.

Summary: Following the aftermath of Riley’s departure, Liam has pressing royal duties to focus on – namely, producing an heir.

Part I - Himeros // Part III - Aletheia // Part IV - Apate // Part V - Hestia // Part VI - Achlys

Pairings: Liam x Riley, Liam x Madeleine

Rating: Mature

Words: 4220

A/N: Thank you for all the overwhelming reviews for the first part of this story! Himeros was originally intended to be an angsty one-shot but reading all your replies and thinking back to poor Liam and Riley, I felt like I needed to continue on the story. If you ever feel that Himeros was a good enough ending, that is perfectly fine – I just feel the need to perhaps give our poor King some closure. I have decided to add in Riley’s name, just to make the dialogue easier to understand. I apologise again for the chapter…

Inspirations for this chapter – Dreaming with a Broken Heart by John Mayer and Almost is Never Enough by Ariana Grande.

Tag List: @theroyalweisme @hhiggs @itzmequeenb @alicars @cocomaxley @blackcatkita @trianiasti @viktoriapetit @umccall71 @topsyturvy-dream @kawairinrin @jayjay879 @bobasheebaby @choiceswreckedme @queencatherynerhys @laniquelove @philiasperanza @hopefulmoonobject

“For the love of god, Maxwell, I wish you would just stop doing your childish dance moves at every damn court event we are invited to.” Bertrand starts, and Maxwell immediately rolls his eyes, his face filled with glee.

“Hey, it got gloomy alright? Riley said I had to have fun on her behalf.” He defends.

Bertrand snorts as they make their way out of their car and through the entrance of their home. He masks his obvious disappointment on the lack of Riley’s presence for the past two days by jabbing complaints at his childish brother.

“Riley this, Riley that, think about the reputation you’re setting on House Beaumont for once, will you?”

Bertrand enjoys the impression he leaves on people of being a constantly blunt man.

Luckily, Maxwell can read him like an open book – he sees the worry hidden within his brother’s eyes and the constant distraught hammered into his tense shoulders.

He knows he is referring to Riley’s current predicament with Liam. Maxwell places a hand on Bertrand’s shoulder, voice lowering in concern. He hopes his words can bring him a sense of ease. “We’ll figure something out. All our brainstorming can’t possibly be a waste of time. …We owe Riley this much. Now let’s go see how our honorary Beaumont is doing.”

Bertrand’s grey eyes gazes into Maxwell’s.

He knows and appreciates just how hard they have been working for the past few months, no matter how exasperating – endless frustrated pacing in the study, papers strewn on the floor, books upon books in search of some possible loophole.

He places his index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose, sighing out deeply before nodding and following Maxwell.

. . . . .

Liam finds out about her disappearance in the early hours of the next day.

He had meant to visit her as soon as he got back, but paperwork had delayed him.

When he arrives at the Beaumont Estate, Liam is surprised to find Bertrand and Maxwell with such neutral faces, welcoming him in.

Bertrand, whose appearance involves his brows slightly furrowed in the presence of Maxwell, showed almost no emotion.

Maxwell, whose appearance beared similarity to a bright sun on a clear day, mirrored Bertrand’s emotionless one.

If Liam didn’t grow up groomed to decipher and partake in the art of body language, he wouldn’t’ve suspected a thing.

Both Beaumont brothers had dark circles under their eyes. With closer inspection, he could see their unshaven faces, the top button of Maxwell’s collared shirt undone, the even more rigid posture of Bertrand.

It appears to him that the brothers had not slept.

“…Bertrand, Maxwell. You two are oddly quiet,” Liam’s eyes trails over to the familiar stairs and hallway that leads to Riley’s room. “I hope you’re not still feeling the after-effects of Adelaide’s champagne?”

“Of course not, your highness. Are you looking for Lady Riley? Unfortunately, she is indisposed for the day-” Bertrand wants to continue but is halted by Maxwell. He gives him a warning look.

. .

“What do you mean she’s gone? She can’t just be gone. If this is some sad game of hide and seek-” His speech is cut short when a panicking Maxwell shoves the note into his face.

He feels the blood draining from his face when his eyes scans quickly across the card.

Bertrand mutters a string of curse words before he clenches his eyes shut, fingers quickly massaging his temple.

“We must not let the King know.”

Maxwell splutters in protest, “What?! Why not?!”

“Think of how he will be, Maxwell. Our people need him right now. He cannot have heartache ruining his role as King.” His voice is grave, hoping that he is speaking reason into his brother’s ears.

“Bertrand, this is crazy. He already married Madeleine when he is so obviously in love with Riley – you’re telling me he can’t function with a heartache?! What has he been doing for the past few months then?! What about Riley?!”

“Please! Maxwell! We will go find her ourselves,” Bertrand tries to persuade him, panic and desperation in his voice, “It’ll be like nothing happened. Think of how heartbroken Liam will be if he finds out.”

Maxwell’s face hardens at his words.

A stiff nod.

Reluctance played a big part in his features.

. .

Trust in our King.

Bertrand is taken back from the intensity of Maxwell’s gaze. His own collected stance from earlier seems to falter just slightly.

“I’m sorry Liam,” Maxwell begins, slightly timid. He runs his hand roughly through his own hair, trying to relieve some of the tension building up. “What Bertrand said isn’t true. I’m sorry Bertrand… I can’t bear to lie to one of my best friends about such an important issue.”

Bertrand had always shouldered everything regarding the welfares of House Beaumont. As the first born, he was always expected to.

Yet in this moment, Bertrand truly witnesses the growth in Maxwell. He sees his little brother standing beside him, poised to tell truth – calm, yet ready for whatever Liam might throw in their way.

He swallows, gaze moving cautiously from Maxwell to Liam.

The King’s jaw was clenched, shoulders squared with his arms behind his back – prepared.

Bertrand couldn’t decipher what his eyes read.

Maxwell finally breaks the silence, his gaze focused on anywhere but Liam.

“Riley… She’s… She left.”

. . . . .

He sits in the armchair in her room, the card that she had left for the Beaumont Brothers in his hand.

His eyes follow his fingers, tracing over every curve of each letter, each stroke, each little indent made from the pressure of the pen.

He imagines her writing the message on the desk on the other side of the room, and he finds himself wondering what emotions could have been going through her mind when she wrote this.

Merely over two days ago, they were sitting here in the very same spot, repeating their love for each other over and over.

Repeated kisses.

Repeated ‘I love you’s.

He finds himself stuck in the chair. Every inch of his body seemed to be tied down by endless bags of solid cement, gravity his worst enemy.

He can’t move.

He can’t blink.

He won’t move.

Perhaps if he stays seated, she will come waltzing through the doors, laughing the situation off as if it was a mere prank.

His stomach tightens painfully when he remembers her laugh.

Where did she go?

Where could she have gone?

He finds his mind racing through countless possibilities that could’ve resulted in her departure – every possible reason, every excuse, every tiny detail that he could’ve done.

Was it something that he had done?

His fingers turn numb when he remembers trailing his hands over her body, touching, feeling, caressing – he can almost feel her skin beneath his touch, ghosting over.

He closes his eyes, body still, as he chases over every minuscule moment that they had shared with each other.

He remembers the way the Cordonian sunset gave her a goddess-like glow when they shared drinks on her balcony.

He remembers how she would let his hand fall into her own whenever he let the back of their hands touch ever so lightly.

He remembers the mischievous glint in her eyes when they purposely got lost in the maze.

And he remembers how her body felt against his the last time they touched, the last time that they hugged – how soft, how warm, how at home, and how at ease she could make him feel just by wrapping her arms around him, a hand trailing along his back and another getting lost in his hair.

He remembers the last kiss that they shared. One that was filled with an overwhelming amount of love, one that reminded him of all the trials and difficulties they had experienced together, how it made his body warm and full, leaving him absolutely breathless.

Yet it was one that made his stomach do flips and turns at the sadness, desperation and regret that lingers on his lips.

He remembers how she looked at him when he told her he would see her soon. He had brushed off the wetness in her eyes as if it was nothing but the norm, but upon recalling, it was everything full of remorse and guilt.

He remembers how oddly calm she had looked.

And he wonders how long, and how much effort she had put into leaving him and his country.

But for what reason?

He drags his eyes across the card.

‘Tell him that he is a loving and generous King.’

But how was he supposed to rule without her by his side, even if it were as his mistress?

Not that it mattered – he loves her as if he was already married to her.

‘Tell him that I love him. That I always have, and I always will.’

He could hear her voice in his head, solemn.

He could see the tears in her eyes, the wetness on her cheeks as she would’ve hastily tried to wipe them away before anyone saw – even if she was alone in her room.

And he finds himself letting out a quiet, broken sob.

“Why, oh why, did you leave?”

He doesn’t know how long he spends with his eyes pressed against the back of his hand.

When he feels the accumulated tears backtrail down his arm, and the wetness on his thigh, he looks up with his heavy eyes, her room a blurry mess of white, creams and golds.

And he realises then.

It was such a meaningless court accessory to him that he hadn’t realised he had been staring at the answer the entire time.

He eyes the innocent wedding band on his left hand.

Oh, how stupid he feels.

How blatantly obvious.

He wonders how selfish he had possibly gotten, to ask her out of desperation to remain in the picture while he created a child with another woman.

She was selfless and loving. But no matter just how selfless and loving a person could possibly be, they would always have a bottom line, he thinks.

And he is positively sure that he had selfishly pushed her to her limit.

“Bastien,” He finds himself croaking out as he drags his heavy body over to where her bed is, curling up with his back facing the door.

He hears it open before he continues.

“Cancel my appointments for today, please,” He mutters with his eyes closed. He trusts his security detail to pass on the message.

“Yes, my King.”

“And Bastien…” Her scent from the sheets and pillows surround him. He wants to let it comfort him, but he knows he is undeserving of peace without her by his side.

“Find where she is… please.”

When the door closes once more, he finds himself letting his tears flow. He places his hopes on Bastien’s networks and database. He hopes and prays to every deity he knows that Bastien will find her, and that she will be willing to return to Cordonia to be by his side.

But until then, he allows himself to do nothing but wallow in grief.

Liam had never noticed how awfully big and cold her room, and her bed is without her presence.

He drifts off into a pitiful sleep while wondering if this was how she lived her lonely life in Cordonia when he is away.

. . . . .

Liam loses himself to his work.

He is oblivious to how much time, days, and weeks have passed since her departure.

The card that she wrote sits in a frame on his desk, face down.

Its purpose was contradictory in itself.

Her words serve as a reminder to him as what sort of King he is. It is a reminder of a love that they shared, one that was warm, comforting and passionate.

Yet her words remind him of her disappearance. Her touches, her smiles, her presence – sudden, fleeting, haunting.

The only thing that pushes him out of bed each day is Bastien’s lead on her whereabouts.

“We have airport records and security footage of Lady Riley leaving Cordonia for New York.”

It was the most that they could do within Liam’s power as King.

His messages sent to her number and email were left unread and ignored.

He weeps as he forces himself to reread the card that she had left.

He hopes she does not hate him.

All that he can do now is wait for further leads from within America before he can go visit her himself.

He hopes she thinks of him.

. . . . .

The next time he sees his wife one on one, they have a discussion that is more one-sided, more persuasive, than anything.

It was tactical and surprisingly civilised.

As expected, it was another business arrangement.

Her green eyes were calm, red lips straight.

“No.” Unamused.

“No?” He questions. Their faces matched each other, both blank and void of any honest emotions.

“No.” Madeleine repeats. “You can’t possibly think IVF is a pursuable route for us to obtain an heir.”

“And why might that be?” Liam allows his back to face her sitting form as he pours himself some scotch. He doesn’t let her realise that his brows are furrowed in frustration and disappointment.

He already knows the reason why, and she knows too.

He had only hoped it could be a beneficial option worth considering.

“You already know why.” She ridicules him. “It’s the perfect excuse for gossip to go around the court, public and press.”

Madeleine eyed his unmoving back.

“The reality of the matter isn’t regarding the amount of money we are willing to give,” She presses on, her voice unwavering, “A risk is a risk. Cordonia will not do well with unwarranted gossip of their King and Queen unable to conceive.”

Liam swallows the hard liquor swiftly, the cup settling down on the table louder than he wanted.

Madeleine was not a stupid woman. She holds herself highly as one who is strategically adaptable to her own advantage – or more specifically, advantageous for the sake of Cordonia.

She treats her relationship with Liam like it is a job, and she knows that he does too.

She considers them highly compatible in the sense that they both knew what was at stake, and what needs to be sacrificed for the greater good of the country they both loved.

She keeps her green eyes on his tense shoulders.

There is no sympathy in her features. All that she sees is a simple roadblock that can be easily overcome.

“I hope you’re not planning to go to New York.” She states simply and bluntly.

Liam’s face is emotionless when he turns around to look at her.

How did she know?

“I am not a fool, Liam. Your emotions are all over the place like some commoner’s department store sale.” Madeleine raises a perfect brow at him, “People gossip. The walls have ears. Lady Riley hasn’t been seen at court for over a month and your paperwork has been completed quicker than before.”

She pauses only briefly to gauge his body language. Tense, exhausted, broken.

“I cannot stop you from flying to America but think about what message you’ll be leaving for the press and court when they find out you’ve gone after a commoner who had brought shame on the Beaumont House, let alone on the crown.”

She sees his jaw tighten at her words. She does not particularly care as she knows she speaks the truth, and that he knows.

Liam pours himself another drink. He is quick to swallow the burning liquid, hoping it would numb him completely.

He keeps his distance between them when he turns around to face her. Shoulders squared, chin up, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

He avoids her gaze.

“Have someone tell me the opportune date for each month. I will meet you in your chambers then.”

He swallows thickly as he looks around the room briefly before walking out.

I’m sorry, my love.

. . . . .

The first time Liam sleeps with Madeleine, he is fuelled by the alcohol in his veins.

He refuses to look at her in the most gracious way possible as they let the darkness in the room surround them.

He refuses to kiss, he refuses to caress.

He realises no matter how much alcohol he took in order to numb the pain, it was rendered useless when he had to perform.

So he lets the thoughts and memories of Riley fuel his actions instead.

Liam remembers how Riley’s body would move against his when he kissed her in specific spots.

How she would sigh in pleasure, how she would let his name roll off her lips like it was second nature.

The first time he sleeps with Madeleine, he finds his tears trailing down her back.

He remembers the knot in his stomach and the bile in his throat, threatening its way up as he pushes on with his duty for his country.

He tries with all his might to think of her, and he can almost see, and can almost feel the way she would’ve arched into him when he makes her come.

“Riley… my love… oh, my love…”

When he finishes for the first time, he sits on the edge of Madeleine’s bed with his head in his hands.

He doesn’t look up as she walks off to clean up.

He cries over the guilt of the sin he feels he has committed.

He cries over the missing warmth of her body in his arms.

He misses every inch of her being.

He misses how her hands would cup his face, and how her fingers could just run through his hair and he would feel so relaxed and at ease.

He misses the way she looks at him, eyes full of love and admiration. Full of luck and pride that they had found each other in such a vast world.

Even with all the difficulties they had faced, just looking at her and holding her hand made everything worth it.

His cries are soundless, yet deafeningly loud.

His body aches and yearns for her touch, her presence, her being.

His heart was empty, yet in so much pain.

When Madeleine returns from her bathroom for the first time with her silk dressing gown hugging her curves, she hands over a glass of whiskey, nudging the cool glass against the hand that covers his face.

She looks at him expectantly when he stares at her, his eyes red, lashes heavy from the tears.

He drinks. She fills his glass up, and he drinks some more.

Once his face is dry, he stands up to put his pants back on and to button his dress shirt.

He bows his head slightly, ever gracious, ever regal, as he gives her a quiet apology for his words.

He thanks her for the night before leaving her room.

During these moments, he never looks at her once, never mentions her name.

And Madeleine feels guilt.

Just a little.

. .

Two years pass as their own arrangement continues.

Twelve times each year, once a month, Liam would have to step into Madeleine’s room.

His legs used to feel heavy, a strong sense of self-condemnation forming in his chest with every step that he took.

Now, he feels nothing but an obligation to get it over and done with.

Liam no longer feels the guilt when Riley’s name forces itself off his lips.

The benefits of the arrangement that they had, he thinks to himself with bitter amusement as he sits on the edge of the bed after another night.

Liam watches Madeleine’s figure walk gracefully over to her en suite to clean up.

He takes his cue to leave.

. .

The Queen Mother was not pleased.

The two years that had passed did not do the crown any favours.

With Constantine’s passing in the last year, Cordonia – and even more importantly the crown, needed stability more now than ever.

She seeks for someone, or something, to blame.

Liam finds the royal physician visiting Madeleine and him more often than he would like.

They tell them that it is normal for some to take a while before they are able to conceive.

The physician is met with a pair of unamused eyes when he tells them to ‘perhaps try to allocate more time in your highnesses’ busy schedules in bed?’.

The King nearly breaks the glass of whiskey in his hand out of pent up rage.

When the physician leaves, he almost immediately follows suit.

Green eyes gaze on the King’s retrieving form.

She knows that their arrangement will remain unchanged.

She surprises herself when she looks down at her lap, finding her hands and nails clenched up and digging into some sorry part of the couch.

She blames the weather for the tears in her eyes.

. . . . .

A year and a half later on a bleak and cold day in New York, Riley receives the dreaded phone call from Hana.

“I don’t know if he has messaged you yet,” She remembers the worry in Hana’s voice, the quiet mumbles as her best friend reasons to herself, “But then again you don’t want to talk…”

She remembers her hesitant pause, “Riley… I don’t know when they will notify the press, it’s very early on, and very, very secretive, but… oh Riley, it’s Madeleine. She’s pregnant.”

She finds herself on the tiles of her bathroom again, hurling into the toilet in front of her. This time for different reasons.

She uses the baggy sleeves of her cable-knit sweater to wipe away her tears and at the corner of her mouth.

She has been waiting to receive this news for years, mentally preparing herself and her stomach.

She doesn’t know why she is still so surprised that he actually went through with it.

Perhaps some part of her had been hoping, wishing, praying, that he would never.

She closes her eyes and leans back into the cold glass door of her standing shower, wrapping her arms around herself.

She shudders and finds a shaky breath leaving her lips as she remembers being in his arms.

From time to time, she allows herself to drown in the memories she had with him – she misses the feeling of his lips against her own, how his eyes were always calm but so full of love for her.

She misses how his voice would sound when he embraced her from behind, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

She misses the lucky mornings they would get to wake up next to each other. How his eyes would gaze over every inch of her face, taking in the love that she showed to him through her gentle kisses and bright smiles.

She feels a body rest beside her, a small face on her lap.

And she forces herself back into her reality – cold on a tiled bathroom floor in a small apartment in New York.

She hugs the now four-year-old closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Levi. I’m just having one of those moments, aren’t I?” She murmurs, absentmindedly twirling some of his hair in her fingers.

His dark eyes does not meet hers for a while, but when it does, she’s relieved to see a small smile on his lips.

The boy doesn’t say anything, as he doesn’t know what, or who had brought the tears into his mother’s eyes. He was dutifully observant and mature for his age and has learnt that simple gestures like his hugs can bring some mirth back into her eyes.

She sees every bit of Liam in him – from the softness of his hair to the shape of his eyes, the way that his small nose stands tall within the frame of his face, to the way his ears sit on his head. She marvels at how he has the shape of Liam’s lips, but her volume – just slightly fuller than his.

And when she stares into her little boy’s eyes, they remind her of his when Liam isn’t weighed down with the duties and troubles of courtly life and country duties.

She sighs once more and kisses his hair.

“Let’s go get some cronuts, my love.”

. .

Surprise hits her like a truck once more the following week.

Riley stares at the face in front of her, her own failing to mask the shock. Her hand never leaves her door handle as she readies herself to close it in the person’s face at any given second she senses danger.

She couldn’t help herself but to quickly look around the corridor of her apartment building, coming to the educated conclusion that the person was most likely travelling alone.

Without him?

She could recognise those features from a mile away.

Those perfectly styled golden curls. The red lips painted with precision, always in a straight line, unamused. Those intense green eyes, staring right into her very soul as if the pair of sunglasses on her face is not even there. That damned string of pearls around her small neck.

“Lady Riley, what a pleasure to see you again.” The lady starts, her voice not matching her words.

Without Liam?

Riley stares for the longest time before remembering to close her mouth.

“Madeleine?”

Part 3: Aletheia

#liam x mc #king liam #the royal romance #choices #playchoices fanfiction #choices: the royal romance #choices: stories you play #king liam of cordonia #joey writes choices #joey writes

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