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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Five: War

Author's note: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: just a smidge of angst, talking about feelings and a slightly steamy moment to look forward too.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Five - Next

When you returned back to Max’s home, the sky was pitch black. Max fumbled opening the front door, grunting in frustration when he couldn’t get the key in the hole because it was so dark. When the door finally swung open, he sauntered inside without saying a single word. You hovered behind him, following him around his home like a lost puppy. He strolled into the living room, walked over to the mini bar, and poured himself out a glass of honeyed whiskey. He contemplated taking the whole bottle upstairs to his office and using the alcohol to drown his sorrows away. The silence made him forget he had a guest. “Can I get you a drink?” he muttered, not even looking at you. His thumb grazed the expensive liquor label.

“I’m okay,” you denied quietly. Maxwell didn’t say a word, but he took a swing out the small crystalled tumbler. His eyes were still glossy from his tears and his blonde wavy hair poking up in random places. He was practically unrecognisable from the television infomercials, although you deemed it inappropriate to bring up his appearance right now. To you, he was still so handsome. You waited for him to say something, but a few minutes had passed and not a single word had escaped his soft lips. “Max, I think we need to talk.”

You had a lot of questions, and he had a lot to ask you. Maxwell poured out another glass of whiskey before turning around and leaning against the bar. “Yeah, I agree. Why did you read the letter?” He asked first through a shaky exhale. Clearly it had been preying on his mind. Inside that letter was information he wanted nobody to see. He didn’t even want to see it himself. But you… he actually cared about what you thought of him. He feared your judgement more than anything else.

“You’d really hurt yourself and I could see you were very angry. When I saw the letter crumpled up on the floor, I thought it might have something to do with it and I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” You explained your genuine concern, even noticing the way Maxwell’s face softened at your confession. Despite the fact you had invaded his privacy, he just couldn’t bring himself to stay mad at you. “I knew I was looking for a man named Lorenzano. If the letter hadn’t told me you were Lorenzano then I would never have gone to Thomas Family Lawyer’s.”

“I find it difficult to believe that you were worried about me,” Maxwell scoffed incredulously, rolling his eyes and taking yet another swing of his drink. The warmth your words had brought him were short lived and he was immediately engulfed in a cold, unwelcome chill.

“I was,” you reiterated. “I care about you a lot. You- you’re my friend. You gave me a home and you believed me when I told you about Themyscira and the God’s. Max… can I ask… why did you believe me?”

Maxwell hesitated for a few seconds, anxiously picking at his already short fingernails. He could lie. He could tell you that he only believed you when you demonstrated the lasso of Hestia on him, and that would be enough. But there was no time to be deceitful, not anymore. You’d been honest with him from the very beginning, and he owed his honesty to you too. For the sake of Alistair, he needed to be truthful. For the very first time, Maxwell was going to open up about what happened on the island when he made a broadcast to the entire world.

“Part of me already believed you when I saw you in the lobby of Black Gold for the first time. You were asleep on the sofa, covered in mud, in that crazy Amazonian costume thing…” he gestured to your tunic and skirt which was still discarded on the floor from when you had undressed earlier. He chuckled lightly at the memory of you. You were so beautiful and peaceful. He thought that when you awoke, it would be revealed to him that you were there to hurt him - just like everyone else in the world. “There was just something about you. When I saw you for the first time I just felt… I just felt like…” Max was struggling to get his words out. He couldn’t describe the feeling. For the first time, the well articulated and extroverted businessman was at a loss for words. All he knew was that every second he spent with you, this strange feeling grew stronger and stronger. “I just knew I could trust you,” he shrugged helplessly. That part was true at least. “It sounds dumb, I know. You’re a stranger. But I’m not a very trusting man in the first place, so feeling this was kind of a big deal. And then you mentioned Diana,” Bewilderment crossed your face as you wondered what exactly Diana had to do with any of this. “I knew a woman called Diana Prince. Worked at the Smithsonian museum,” Maxwell took a deep breath before saying your name. He took both of your hands and sat you down on the sofa. “I need to confess something.”

“What is it?” you asked with concern. You brushed your fingers over his knuckles and he relished the way your simple touches erupted a frenzy of butterflies in his stomach.

“I did a bad thing,” Maxwell told you, fear in his eyes. “And I’m still confused and… afraid. Look, I actually care about what you think of me so please-”

You placed a chaste kiss over Maxwell’s knuckles and Max swore his heart stopped beating. Your lips felt just as soft as they looked… just as soft as he’d imagined earlier in the shower. You didn’t know why you kissed his hands… you just felt like it. And it felt good. And you hoped that maybe one day you could do it again. Your eyes flicked up to meet his own. “Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. I’m here to help you Max. I won’t judge you.” you promised.

“Okay,” he said with a deep sigh. “My company… I’ve worked my whole life building up Black Gold Cooperative. I really just wanted to do something great. Growing up, I never really had an idol or someone to look up to. And when Alistair was born, I wanted to give him the world. Anything he wanted. Because he was my son and most of all I just wanted him to be proud of his father. I was led along the wrong path by a few businessmen who were trying to sell off their investments in oilfields for cheap. So I bought them. Turns out, the oilfields were completely dried out and they weren’t going to earn any money whatsoever. I looked at the data and nothing suggested that was going to change but I couldn’t bear to give up. I didn’t want to look like a failure in front of Alistair… in front of my wife,” he croaked out, rubbing his temples as the stress consumed him. “So, I clung on to hope. And I never let go even when I probably should have. I led the world on with my infomercials, telling people that if they invested in us they’d own a part of the most lucrative oil industry in the world. And as share prices rocketed up, they’d eventually earn more than what they put in. That was the plan from day one. But the cold war meant that-”

“-Max,” you cut him off with a gentle whisper. “You’re putting yourself down for having hope. You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t do that. Having hope is the most important thing in the world.”

“I was deceitful,” Maxwell grumbled, shaking off your comment. “I found this stone that supposedly possessed magical powers. I’m a realist, I couldn’t believe it but I had to see for myself. It dated all the way back to ancient Rome… was a beautiful citrine. After a heist in the mall it was stolen and… let's just say I got my hands on the stone by means I’m not at all proud of. The stone possessed wish granting powers and I-”

Maxwell was rambling but at this point, he didn’t need to give you any more information. You already knew. Everything was making sense. From your dreams and your visions and now this.

“No.” was the only word you managed to breathe out. You shook your head profusely as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. It couldn’t be. You remembered your mother telling you that one of the stones was magically destroyed and no one knew how or why. But if Maxwell had wished to become the stone... “No no no… you didn’t, did you?”

Maxwell swallowed as he immediately sensed your disappointment in him. He nodded in silence, unable to say any more words. He felt nauseated. It was already so difficult to live with - the fact he had spiralled into mania so fast. At his core, he was a lonely man who had nobody to guide him. He thought he was in control the entire time but the truth is, he had lost control.

“Romulus possessed you,” you exhaled shakily, wiping your eyes. You let go off his hands and stood up, brushing yourself down. You nervously began to pace up and down the area of the living room. Maxwell closed his eyes, unable to let himself even look at you. He figured you were so disgusted in what he had done, you couldn’t even touch him anymore.

“Who?” Max questioned you eventually. He wanted the answers too.

“The God of Lies, Max!” you snapped back, not even realising how you’d raised your own voice but you were so stressed and paranoid. “Oh goodness… what if he’s still in you. What if-”

“I renounced my wish.” Maxwell informed you with not an ounce of emotion in his voice. He felt empty. Your head snapped to face him once more and your face softened at his revelation. You wanted to hold Max, cradle him in your arms and promise him that everything would be okay. That you’d be able to figure all this out together. But there was still so much you needed to know.

“Why?” you gasped in defeat, letting your shoulders slump.

“Diana.” Maxwell shrugged weakly, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweater.

“No,” you shook your head. “Why did you wish in the first place?”

“I was so afraid of Alistair thinking I’m a loser. Sometimes it’s so easy to believe the whole world is against me. I just wanted him to love me the way I love him.”

“Alistair has always loved you, Maxwell.” you told the teary eyed man, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. Max’s breathing hitched under your touch and he spent a few moments contemplating your words. No person had ever shown him such unconditional kindness. People were either intimidated by him, or enemies with him. No one had ever even wanted to be his friend. Even his relationship with Julianna was a whirlwind fueled on lust and her desire for his money. That’s why as soon as the oil fields dried up, the marriage broke down, and she’d gone on to find someone else with money - Theodore.

“Julianna messed with me, a lot. Told me that Alistair cared more for Ted than me, that I was nothing but a low-life. Since I found out Julianna was pregnant I was filled with this fear. I wasn’t scared of becoming a father, I was scared of becoming my father,” Maxwell choked out, making a fist as anger consumed him. He tried not to hate, he really did, but he could never ever forgive his father’s actions. You watched as his lips trembled and he looked down at his feet. “The world almost collapsed and it was all my fault,” he shuffled his feet around uncomfortably. “And I’m filled with this gut wrenching guilt I just can’t escape…” He looked up at you and wiped his eyes furiously. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said, moving his hand away from his face and wiping his tears away with your own fingers. “You are a beautiful man,” you whispered, cupping Maxwell’s face and stroking the height of his cheekbones. You saw him flush a gentle pink colour. “And Alistair is so lucky to have a father who would do all of this… just for him. You are loved. You are loved way more than you know.” you assured, and Maxwell found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch. He was so pretty you could just kiss him again. Maybe this time on the lips.

“How- how can you not hate me?” he choked out, taking you out of your thoughts about kissing him. “Even I hate me. I’ve been thinking, maybe I’m not good enough to be a father.”

“I know how it feels,” you admitted hesitantly, biting your lip. You’d never spoken about this to anyone before. “My father is Zeus, king of all Gods. My mother is Hestia, the Goddess of Truth. I know how it feels to be put on a pedestal. To be compared to others and I know how it feels to not feel good enough. Not important. To have no purpose…” you trailed off. “I’ve spent my life searching for some significance. Zeus had many children, most of which were never able to satisfy their duty as a God or Goddess. But when I started to have these dreams… when I heard your voice I knew in my heart that you… you are my purpose.” you took a deep breath and smiled. “But Max… the dreamstone…”

“What is it?” Max urged you, his dark eyes flicking to yours. “If you can help me with Alistair, let me help you with this. Whatever you need, I can help you.”

“I- I don’t know if you can.” you confessed with a sigh.

“What is it?” Max repeated, staring into your eyes.

“My mother told me the story of two brothers, Romulus and Dolos, both the God of Lies. They were evil… destructive. They wanted to watch society collapse and build a new world. A world they could rule together,” you explained and Maxwell winced. Maybe you were right. Romulus had possessed him… because all of this was sounding far too familiar to him. “When the brothers left Olympus, Zeus gifted them with two citrine stones. The brother’s practiced their wish-granting powers on the stones. Romulus created Rome and Dolos created Athens. And now, only one stone remains.”

“Dolos’ stone remains,” Maxwell said his thoughts out loud and you nodded in affirmation. “Because it was Romulus’ stone which possessed me. So how do we destroy Dolos’ stone?”

“My mother… my mother told me only one thing can destroy the stone.” you whispered. Maxwell looked at you with an urge for you to continue. “Love.” you revealed.

There was a deafening silence that filled the room. “I-I don’t understand,” Maxwell swallowed. “It was the truth that pushed me to renounce my wish. Truth is the opposite of lies… your mother is the Goddess of Truth so maybe-”

“She told me love would destroy the stone,” you repeated, putting your foot down. “There’s no question about it. She’s my mother and I trust her.”

“Okay okay,” Maxwell soothed you. “I trust her too. I just don’t understand how-”

“Me neither,” you exhaled, cutting him off. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

“Right.” Max confirmed. “Are- are you tired?”

“A little.” you admitted.

“There’s five empty bedrooms upstairs. Take your pick. Make yourself at home.” Maxwell smiled wearily and you nodded your head in appreciation. He was so friendly with you. So generous.

“Thank you Max,” you whispered. “You know. I think you’re a good person.”

Maxwell swallowed. You were so softly spoken and you looked so gorgeous under the dim amber lights. If you were any other woman in any other circumstance, he’d press you against the wall and promise you a night you’d never forget. But he couldn’t do this to you. You were so innocent- and he could risk hurting such a delicate soul. “I’m going to tidy up down here first but uh- I’ll come say goodnight in a few minutes.”

You left the room and Maxwell stood alone for a few moments. As he tried to tidy up the mini bar, every single one of his thoughts were consumed by your beauty, your kindness… just you. And that’s when it hit him. Had he fallen in love with a goddess?

There was so much he didn't know about you— but if he could, he'd spend every waking moment with you, asking you questions about Themyscira and your family. He wanted to know what it was like over there, and if he could visit. He wanted to meet Hestia. He couldn't help but smile to himself. You were literally the daughter of Zeus— and you were in his home. If you had came into his life a week ago, he would've idolized you for your power, but now it was different. He genuinely liked you and wanted to be around you. It was crazy.

You walked down the long, wide corridor, not really caring too much about which bedroom you select. You had more important things on your mind— such as how you were going to find the dreamstone, and how you were going to destroy it. Maybe it didn't make sense right now, but you could only hope that the pieces of the puzzle would begin to fall into place sooner rather than later. The bedroom you had settled in was large, with an en-suite bathroom and a walk in closet. It was magnificent, but then again, it seemed as though every room in Maxwell Lord's home struck you with awe. The bed was enormous too, much bigger than the single one you had back on Themyscira. You wondered to yourself what the point was in having such an extensive sized bed, but you struck it down to comfort over anything else. And it certainly was comfortable. You kicked off your gladiator sandals and sat on the white sheets, sighing as the soft material silked around your bare legs. It was wonderful.

Taking the photograph from earlier out of your shirt pocket, you held it delicately between your fingers. Maxwell Lord, with dark brown hair and a smile that could break hearts, holding little baby Alistair. Every time you looked at the photo your heart felt like it was melting, but in the best way possible. You could practically feel the love radiating from the father and son.

You placed the photograph carefully on the nightstand and unbuttoned the pinstripe shirt that Max had loaned you. Folding it up, you placed it in his closet amongst his other clothes, deciding that's where it belonged. You climbed under the sheets, tangling your naked body amongst the blankets. It felt amazing. Your surroundings might have been unfamiliar, but you had never felt more at home.

Just then, the main light switched on, illuminating the whole bedroom. Max gasped when he saw you lying in his bed. "Oh- oh shit, hey!" he exclaimed awkwardly, his eyebrows raising. His expression was almost animatronic as he saw your shoulders and the top of your bare chest peek out from underneath the duvet. "So, you found a bedroom! Uh- that's good."

"Is everything okay?" you asked, sitting upwards and propping yourself against a pillow. "Is it because I'm naked?"

"No- I mean yes! I mean no! Everything is fine. And, I know you said you were used to sleeping naked before so, it's okay. I promise. I just- you see- this is actually my bedroom. And that's my bed. So…"

"Oh." you nodded slowly, feeling slightly embarrassed. It usually took a lot for Max Lord to get flustered the way he was, and that scared him.

"No! I mean, there's no way you could have known. It's fine. You can sleep here tonight. I'll take one of the other rooms." Maxwell smiled, reaching over to the light switch to turn it off again. "Good night."

"Max wait-" you called before he could leave. He looked at you but said nothing. "Do you think that you could stay with me tonight?" you asked hesitantly, shuffling around the blankets. "It's just… when I'm with you, I feel… safe."

Maxwell struggled to find words, so instead, he just nodded, and sat next to you on the edge of the bed. "When I'm with you I feel safe too," he confessed with a gulp and you smiled. "Although that's probably because you're some superhuman goddess. I suppose I also feel quite intimidated by you." he shrugged, a nervous blush flushing his cheeks.

Your gaze snapped to face him and you tilted your head in bewilderment. "Intimidated? You are intimidated by me?" you asked. "Why would you- why-? I don't understand. I mean, look at me." you scoffed incredulously, gesturing down to your body that was hidden by the thin white material of Maxwell's duvet.

"I am." he exhaled, his eyes not leaving yours once.

And there were the butterflies again. The feeling you just couldn't shake. Everyone he looked you in the eye… every time his voice got low and soft it just made you feel… you couldn't even put it into words. Maxwell rubbed his feet awkwardly along the carpet.

"You can come under the blankets with me?" you suggested after a brief silence. You pulled the duvet open and gestured for him to lay next to you.

"Oh I don't know," he shuffled around. "Here, in the world of man, people only really lay together if they're… well, together." Max explained.

"Aren't we together?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"Mm, not like that," Maxwell pursed his lips together. He wanted to lay with you— he really did, but he didn't want you to get the wrong idea. "People only lay together if they're… in love."

"Were you in love with Julianna?" you asked a little too quickly. Maxwell finally broke his gaze from you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that." you tried to retract but Maxwell shushed you.

"No, it's okay. The truth is… I don't know. I thought I was in love with her but… I'm not sure anymore." Maxwell sighed, running a finger through his hair. He wasn't sure because now he was having feelings for you and these feelings weren't anything like he had ever felt before.

"But you shared a bed with her?" you quizzed.

"Well, yeah. We were married."

"Have you shared a bed with anyone who you weren't married to?" you beckoned further.

Maxwell paused. "Of course."

"So please," you hummed, smoothing out the bed sheets. "Lay with me."

Maxwell smiled before taking off his shoes and climbing in next to you. "Have- have you ever shared a bed with a man before?" Maxwell asked, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. Just the thought of you being with another man made his head spin.

"No," you said quietly. "There are no men on Themyscira." you reminded him.

"Oh right yeah." Maxwell nodded understandingly.

You snuggled up close to him and laid your head on his chest. "You're warm," you mumbled happily. "It's nice."

Maxwell stretched out his arm and wrapped it around you. You and him were cuddling in bed. He wanted it to mean something, he really did, but he couldn't help but feel like it was platonic on your end. You smelled so amazing. And your body fit into his like a puzzle piece that had been missing his whole life. He could stay in this moment forever. And you were also more than content. Maxwell was broad, and his arms were strong. You felt safe laying with him, you felt like he could protect you from any danger. You trusted him. And he trusted you.

"So, am I the first man you met?" Maxwell asked you, clearing his throat.

"You are," you confirmed. You pulled the photograph of Maxwell and Alistair from the nightstand and showed it to your friend. "I found this earlier today. I like it a lot."

"Oh yeah, that was the day Alistair was born," Maxwell smiled. "I was happy that day."

"You're so lucky to be a father. I've always wanted children." you confessed, biting your lip.

"Well maybe one day you can have some of your own." Maxwell murmured, smoothing out your hair.

"I doubt it. Amazons can't bear children. Although, I suppose I could."

"What makes you different from the other Amazons?" Max beckoned.

"A lot, actually. They're all warrior queens. Fighters. But Zeus blessed me with the ability to carry children if I were to become a mortal, because I'm the Goddess of Home and Hearth. I reunite families. I'm maternal at heart. That's why he granted me that blessing, I suppose." you explained, trying your hardest to recall the words your mother had spoken to you when you were just a little girl.

"Only if you become a mortal? How would you even do that?" Maxwell anxiously slid his hand into yours, and his heart filled with joy when you intertwined your fingers with his.

"If I exposed my true self in front of a large crowd of people then I could no longer be a goddess. Zeus would take away my powers and I'd never be able to return to Themyscira. I'd be normal, just like you."

He wanted to laugh. There was nothing about Max Lord that could be considered ‘normal’— but he opted to let your comment slide. He knew what you meant anyway. "Would you consider giving up your powers and becoming a mortal?"

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I would do it for love." you turned to face Maxwell, to look him in the eyes, but he was already looking at you— memorising your beautiful face. Everything about you was so perfect.

"Love." he repeated, validating to himself that he was indeed listening and not completely entranced by your beauty. His voice had dropped an octave and was no louder than a mere whisper. His eyes flicked down to your lips and he had never felt an urge so strong in his life to just kiss you. He remembered how soft your lips were earlier in the night when they'd gently brushed over his knuckles.

And now, you were looking at his lips too. They were pink and plush and— you'd never even kissed anyone before, let alone a man who was attractive as Maxwell Lord. From what you had learned about him, he was already so esteemed and had probably kissed dozens of girls in his lifetime. You on the other hand, were quite inexperienced. But that didn't mean you didn't want to learn.

You could hear his beating heart as you felt his chest rise and fall. He made sure that no piece of stray hair was in your face. He wanted to take in every detail. With a sudden air of confidence, Maxwell leaned in and nudged his nose against yours. Naturally, your eyes fluttered shut as his warm breath fanned over your skin. His hand dropped down to your waist and he gave your hip a gentle squeeze under the covers as he tilted his head and pressed his lips against yours.

It was magical. His lips moved perfectly against yours, like they were made for each other. Max closed his eyes and pressed his face further into yours, even using his tongue to teasingly lick a stripe over your lower lip. You felt your cheeks flush as an involuntary moan escaped your lips. As your mouth parted, Maxwell seized the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth… and it felt delightful. You wrapped a leg around his and tangled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you. You prayed that this moment would never end. His lips were sweet and you imagined they tasted vaguely of the honeyed whiskey he had been drinking earlier. His hand glided down to your thigh and you eventually pulled away from him with a gasp. He removed his hand from you.

"Too much?" he asked breathlessly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your swollen lips.

You moved his hand back to its position on your thigh. "No- no," you whispered, shaking your head but unable to contain your smile. "It's just, I've never done anything like this before. I've never been kissed like this… or even touched… I've never even… you know."

"It's okay," Maxwell whispered, cupping your face. "We don't have to do anything you want to do."

"I want this." you confirmed, pulling your body on top of his and straddling him. Maxwell felt his cock twitch in his pants as you accidentally grinded over him, leaning in and reattaching your lips. The blanket was still draped over your shoulders but fuck, you were naked. You were naked and on top of him and you were kissing him. Maxwell was still practically fully clothed and he didn't want to remove the blanket from you but he did contemplate taking his own sweater off.

"You feel so good on top of me like this," he muttered against your lips. "Can I touch you?"

You hummed in response and grinded your hips over him again. "Please."

Maxwell brought his hands down to your breasts and began to fondle with them as you kissed him. You moaned and giggled as his thumb grazed over your puckered nipples, squeezing them gently now and again.

The make-out session must have lasted a good half an hour, and Maxwell swore it was the best he'd ever had. If he wasn't sure about his feelings before, this was only confirmation. He'd grown deeply in love with you.

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pastelwitchling · 4 years

Text

When Michael had opened his eyes to find himself, not only in an unfamiliar bed, but with Alex in his arms, he knew he was dreaming. Not that he did much to try to wake himself up.

He didn’t get these dreams often, or not as often as he would’ve liked, anyway. And now, with Alex curled in against his chest, his long lashes fluttering against his rosy cheeks, Michael could do nothing but slowly rest his head back down and stare at him, his heart hammering in his chest at the fear of waking up too soon.

He leaned forward, gently nuzzling Alex’s cheek, inhaling his scent. Everything about him felt so real, so warm. Michael’s eyes fluttered shut, and when he opened them again, he saw Alex looking up at him with dark, beautiful eyes.

Michael swallowed. He had to remind himself he was dreaming as Alex reached up and lightly touched his stubbled jaw, Michael’s heart thrashing at the contact.

He closed his eyes and turned into the touch, letting his forehead fall onto Alex’s, soaking every bit of him that he could before reality kicked in and he woke up in bed alone, or . . . with someone else. He had no memory of the night before, what he’d done to be dreaming of Alex now, but as he reached a hand through Alex’s soft hair and let his fingers fall down the airman’s smooth back, he found himself not caring. Not so long as he got to have Alex now.

As Michael leaned down to kiss his lips, then jaw, then neck, Alex burst into giggles beneath him. “Stop, you know I’m ticklish there.”

Michael looked up through his lashes from where he was kissing the airman’s collarbone. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even Alex’s laugh sounded real. “But I like the way you taste here.”

“Get off me,” Alex burst into laughter, pushing his shoulder.

Michael’s smile fell as Alex moved to sit up. This was it, the moment he usually started to wake, but even as Alex swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Michael found he was still there, the blankets still pooled at his hips, his body all the colder for losing Alex.

Michael frowned. What was happening? Why wasn’t he waking up?

“Uh – wait, wait,” he said, pushing himself off the bed. If he was going to be awake a little longer, he wanted to enjoy the fantasy. He pressed Alex against the wall of the unfamiliar bedroom – weird, considering they’re usually always in his airstream when he dreamed of them together – and kissed him hungrily.

Alex kissed him back just as eagerly, gasping his name as Michael kissed down his neck and sucked at the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. All the while, he couldn’t help the thought that this all felt so real. Too real.

As Alex’s hands scratched down his back, Michael’s eyes fluttered shut, and he took Alex’s lips back in his. He ran one hand up and down Alex’s side, the other around his waist, holding him in place. He should’ve woken by now, the fantasy should’ve dimmed a little, but Alex still felt as real as he had a moment ago, the ground beneath his feet just as solid. He knew he should’ve questioned it more, but as Alex moaned against his lips, he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Then –

Knock knock knock. Michael almost jumped, but Alex seemed quite unsurprised by the intrusion.

“Boys, pancakes,” a familiar voice sounded, and Alex responded with a roll of his eyes and a smile.

“Coming!” he said and kissed Michael’s jaw. “Come on. You know how upset he gets if we don’t eat them fresh.”

“He,” Michael repeated slowly, but Alex had already pressed a last kiss to his cheek before slipping into the bathroom.

As running water sounded from inside, Michael took another look around the room, his brows furrowed. He stepped back towards the bed, hoping it would push Dream Alex to follow him, but he hissed as he suddenly stepped on his belt buckle.

He frowned at the discarded pants a second before realization hit. Michael quickly reached over and pinched himself, hard.

“Ah,” he winced, the skin already turning red.

“What’re you doing?” Alex asked, and Michael turned to see him with a small towel in hand, the tips of his hair sticking to his face where he’d washed.

Michael stared. This was real. Alex was real, and he was staring at him, and wondering what was happening. Michael wished he could tell him, but he had no idea.

“U-uh . . .”

Alex frowned, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

“I – Alex . . .” he tried out Alex’s name on his lips, expecting himself to come to some revelation or deep understanding of what was going on at the sound of it, but Alex only watched him expectedly, the concern in his eyes growing.

Michael swallowed. “Where – uh – where are we?”

Alex’s expression turned to relief, and he smiled. “Ha ha, very funny,” and he threw the towel at Michael. “You really had me going for a second there. Now, would you hurry up, please? Otherwise, dad will just take all the whipped-cream for himself.”

Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Jesse?”

Alex, seemingly unaware of the millions of questions and exclamations that just flooded Michael’s head, shrugged. “Yeah, okay, he’ll probably save you some, but me –”

Michael stepped towards him. “Jesse’s here? Now?”

Alex stared. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Michael knew it was stupid, that he had to have been dreaming somehow, despite the pain still tingling in his arm where he’d purposely hurt himself. But as Alex started to look worried again, Michael found himself nodding numbly.

“Hey,” Alex stepped closer, cupping his jaw, and his hand was so warm, his presence so real, that Michael couldn’t help but reach up to hold the airman’s waist to keep him close. “I know it’s weird spending the holidays away from Isobel and Max, but it’s just a couple of days. We’ll be back in Roswell before New Year’s, I promise.”

And Alex’s smile was so soft, his voice so gentle, his eyes so loving that Michael pulled him in against his chest, burying his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, his eyes still wide and his brows furrowed. He clung desperately to Alex for several minutes, and not once did the airman pull away or squirm. He held Michael back just as tightly, his fingers gently raking Michael’s curls, making the cowboy’s eyes flutter shut.

When he felt like he could somewhat think, he released Alex with a kiss to his neck, and plastered on what he hoped was a convincing smile. Alex clearly wasn’t fooled, but he kissed Michael’s nose and turned back to the bathroom. As soon as the door was closed, Michael hurried to the window, taking a look outside.

The ground was covered in snow, and while they were by no means the only house around, the land where they stood was clearly large. Michael’s confusion grew. Santa Fe. They were in Santa Fe. What the hell?

As soon as he had the bathroom, he splashed his face with ice water, wincing at the cold. Wake up, he thought. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

This couldn’t be real, no matter how it felt. Something was wrong, and Michael couldn’t figure out what. He urged himself to think. What had he been doing last night? How did he end up here? He couldn’t remember, that couldn’t be normal.

“Think, Guerin, think.”

Something about fantasies, a dark face with dark eyes, an evil smile. But the memories left as soon as they came, and a moment later, Michael opened his eyes to find himself gripping the bathroom sink for dear life, Alex’s knocking at the door waking him from his thoughts. Had he slipped out of consciousness a moment there? Wasn’t that good?

“Michael?”

“I’m – I’m okay,” he called, coming close to the door. He reached out to touch it, imagining Alex on the other side, worried for him.

Even if this was a dream, did he really even want to wake up? He had Alex here, with him. In his other reality, he was with someone else. But he didn’t want anyone else, he had never wanted anyone else. He only wanted Alex.

He washed his face again, thinking that maybe a few more minutes in this fantasy couldn’t hurt if he got to have the airman. With the resolve that he would try his hardest to figure out more in mind, that he couldn’t raise suspicion now in case this all turned out to be a trick, Michael finished up in the bathroom and came out to find Alex putting on his boots.

“There you are,” he said, his smile soft.

Michael stood in front of him for a moment, touching his hair as he adjusted his shoes. The soft strands were like silk against his fingers.

“What’re you doing?” Alex laughed, taking Michael’s hand and tugging him down. He easily kissed Michael’s lips as if this was something they did all the time.

As he moved to pull back, Michael cupped his jaw and turned his head to deepen the kiss. He wrapped one arm around Alex’s waist, following him down onto the bed, laying him on his back, kissing him even as he laughed and tried to pull away.

“Stop,” he said, gently pushing Michael off. “The last thing we need is Flint bursting in here with the excuse that we were late.”

“Flint,” Michael repeated. Alex’s family was here, and Alex wasn’t flinching at the mention of them.

“I know,” Alex stood, pecking Michael’s lips. “That man will blackmail anything.”

“Are y’all talking about me?” a voice suddenly said from behind the door, and Michael assumed it was Flint. “Should I be flattered or insulted?”

“You’re such a –” Alex dashed across the room and opened the door in time to see his brother bolting away with a laugh. “Dad!” he yelled. “Flint keeps eavesdropping on us! It’s weird!”

“Flint! How old are you?” Jesse scolded from somewhere inside.

“They’re talking about me in bed!” Flint yelled back. “And I’m weird?!”

Michael’s hands curled to fists. He knew these people were Alex’s brothers and father, that in whatever dreamland he was in, they weren’t the villains, but at the sound of their voices, he couldn’t help but feel rage course throughout his body.

The next thing he knew, the entire house was shaking, and Alex stumbled and fell with the shock.

“Ah!” he winced as his knee hit a drawer knob on his way down.

The ground instantly turned still as Michael registered the pain on Alex’s face. “A-Alex –” he quickly fell to the airman’s side, one hand gripping the knee he was clutching.

“Alex, hey, I’m – I’m so sorry, Alex –” he reached out to touch him, but then Alex caught his eyes, and Michael saw something familiar, something he was sure he himself had woken up with. Shock and confusion.

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Guerin?” he breathed.

Michael stilled, not daring to hope. Was it true, then? He was dreaming? But then, how was Alex snapping out of it, too?

But as Michael blinked, Alex’s confusion was gone, and something in his expression cleared. He smiled painfully. “I’m – I’m okay. Are you? Why’d you use your powers?”

“I –” Michael shook his head. “Alex . . . did you just –”

“Boys, you all right?” Jesse appeared at the door, a whisk in hand and an apron strapped to his chest. “We felt the earthquake.”

“Everything’s fine – dad, I’m fine, I can stand on my own,” Alex said as Jesse helped him to his feet.

“I know you can,” Jesse said, patting down Alex’s hair, making him laugh harder. “I know. I know, you’re fine!”

“Stop it!” Alex doubled over, slapping his father’s hand away. “You’re going to burn breakfast.”

“Already burning!” another man called from inside, and Michael assumed it was another one of Alex’s brothers. “I’m just going to flip it!”

“Don’t you dare, Gregory!” Jesse yelled, running back down the hall. “Each one of those is perfect, if you mess up my streak, I swear –”

Michael couldn’t begin to process what he was hearing from the men he’d seen kidnap and torture innocent people. It was as if he’d stepped into another dimension, but none of it mattered as Alex dusted off his pants. There was no fantasy of Michael’s where he accidentally hurt Alex.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, pulling Alex in against him. Real or not, this Alex felt real, and as Michael held him, he chuckled and gripped him back just as tightly.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Alex smirked as he leaned back. “I’m not fragile, Guerin.”

Michael searched his face, and knew, without knowing how he knew it, that something was wrong. Alex’s smile wasn’t reaching his eyes, and his fingers tightened on Michael’s sleeve, so slightly that if Michael didn’t know him as well as he did, he might’ve missed it. But Michael did, so he hadn’t.

He narrowed his eyes as he searched Alex’s face. “You . . . know, don’t you?”

Alex’s expression faltered. He shook his head. “Know?”

“This world . . . it’s fake –”

“What’re you talking about? Stop it,” he chuckled, but he sounded more frightened than anything else. “That – that’s not funny.”

Michael held him tighter as he began to pull away. That was not a normal response to what Michael just accused him of. Alex may not have been as awake as Michael was, but Michael was sure of one thing; this wasn’t just his fantasy. Alex was involved somehow, too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Alex’s hair, holding on tighter. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” And he would figure this out on his own. If they needed saving, he would save them both.

“O-okay, come on,” Alex said, his voice light, taking Michael’s hand in his, and kissing his fingers. “Come on.”

Breakfast with the Manes men was a little more than excruciating. Jesse kept ruffling Alex’s hair, Flint kept teasing him, Gregory kept asking him how his music was going, and all of them laughed about Alex’s third brother Clark who had refused to get out of bed until noon. It was as if they’d been this close their entire lives, as if they’d never beaten Alex down with weapons and words.

But Alex was laughing so easily, his smile more and more genuine as they all talked and ate, Michael was finding it hard to lose control of his powers when the love of his life beside him had never seemed happier.

“I had the weirdest dream last night,” Flint said, waving a forkful of pancake. “I was in a plane, in skydiving gear, naturally, but instead of being above the clouds, I was in space. And dad kept yelling me to jump!”

“Did you?” Alex smiled, amused.

“No!” Flint laughed. “I’m not listening to everything dad says!”

“You really shouldn’t,” Jesse said with a shrug. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. It’s a miracle all of you still have your fingers, let’s put it that way.”

The boys all laughed except Michael, who flinched, and, to Michael’s surprise, Alex. He chuckled weakly, his hand reaching over to Michael’s left hand and kissing his fingers. Michael watched him.

“Sounds more like a nightmare to me,” Alex scoffed, his hand on Michael’s tightening, as if to make absolute sure Michael still had all of his fingers.

Flint looked as if the question itself was ridiculous. “No, dude! It was awesome. I never realized how much I wanted to skydive. Now, I do.”

“Oh that’s,” Jesse winced, “reassuring.”

“You worry too much, dad,” Gregory said.

“Well,” Jesse shrugged, taking a sip of juice, “I mean, no, it’s good. You never really know how badly you want something unless you’ve experienced it, right?”

Michael blinked. “You . . . never know . . .”

“Hm?” Alex turned to him with a smile.

Michael searched his face, then looked to the others. “Of course . . . of course. . . .”

Alex’s family home, warm and inviting, his brothers, laughing and teasing, his father, kind and supportive and an actual dad instead of a war sergeant, and – Michael, here. This was never Michael’s fantasy, it was Alex’s.

That’s when the memory returned. They had been fighting an alien in the bunker, one of the darker ones had snuck through the security, but it was okay. Alex had been prepared. He’d had a system ready to hijack any enemies that came to hurt them. But someone had caught hold of them first.

“Let’s see if you can hurt me,” the alien had said with a smirk like fire, “deep in your dreams.”

Michael and Alex had been on opposite ends of the bunker, Michael’s powers were weakened, he couldn’t get to Alex in time, and getting to Alex was all that mattered. And then they’d both fallen.

“That’s where we are now,” he whispered.

Alex was calling his name, even his family was asking if he was okay, but Michael couldn’t think of that. All he could think of was Alex.

Without warning, he grabbed the airman’s shoulders, pulling him out of his seat and slamming him against the wall.

“Whoa!”

“Hey!”

“I-is this a kink thing?”

Flint, Gregory, and Jesse stood at once, but Michael wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were on Alex, who looked shocked and afraid. Afraid of Michael.

“Wake up,” he demanded. “Alex, you have to wake up.”

“Guerin,” he shook his head. “You’re – you’re freaking me out, please stop.”

“You’re Alex Manes,” Michael said, gripping him tighter. “Nothing freaks you out, nothing but losing me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m scared now –”

“So doesn’t that tell you something’s wrong?” Michael brought his hands up to hold Alex’s face. “Alex, we’re not here. None of this is real. We’re in the bunker –”

“Bunker? What bunker –”

“We got attacked, an alien is watching us right now, planning something, and the fact that we know something’s wrong means that we’re still alive. We have to wake up, you have to wake up!”

“Michael,” Alex seemed to be trying for a calming voice, but as his eyes darted all over Michael’s face, Michael knew he was frightened. “Please, baby, listen to yourself. This isn’t a dream, it’s real.”

“Should we call a doctor or something?” Flint asked.

“Michael,” Jesse said from somewhere to Michael’s left, “whatever’s going on, we’ll fix it. Let Alex go, you’re going to hurt him. Michael, let him go.”

Michael leaned into Alex, ignoring his family. “You know the kind of person your father is.”

“Stop,” Alex whispered.

“You know who your brothers are –”

“Please stop –”

“You know what the Manes man legacy really is –”

“Why are you doing this?” Alex cried, and Michael’s heart shattered at the way tears filled his airman’s eyes. But he had to do this. He had to wake Alex up. “Why are you trying to hurt me? Can’t we just . . . please, let’s just sit back down.”

“Take a seat, Michael,” Jesse put his hand on Michael’s arm, and Michael flinched away from him, moving Alex with him. He wouldn’t let Jesse near Alex again.

“I’m doing this because you know the truth,” Michael said, pressing his forehead roughly to Alex’s. “You know, and you don’t want to, and I get it, Alex. I get not wanting to face it, but if anyone ever taught me to fight, it’s you. If anyone’s strong enough to beat down all that evil, it’s you –”

“I’m tired of fighting,” he grit out, and Michael stilled. “I’m happy, for the first time in . . . my life.”

“But it’s not real –”

“Real sucks,” Alex said, and as he spoke, Michael got the feeling it was more to himself than Michael. “Real hates me –”

“Real hates everyone –”

“No, you – you have a family. You have Isobel, and – and Max. You,” his voice cracked, “you have Maria. I have nobody. No friends, no family. Nothing. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Michael searched his face, his grip unbearably tight. “A-Alex – Alex, please –”

“You wake up,” Alex whispered, his voice quiet, his eyes dark. “I’m done, Michael. I’m done.”

Michael woke with a gasp, the alarm in the bunker flashing red, the sound loud enough to pierce his skull. Before him stood the same alien man that had infiltrated the bunker, the one dressed in military uniforms. He was meant to look like Alex’s brother, Flint, but as he knelt over Alex’s sleeping form, Michael thought he looked more like a giant insect.

“Get away from him!” Michael choked out. Something was leaking from his forehead, his muscles were on fire, his bones like lead. But Alex was there, lying on the floor, his hair sticking to his face with blood, his body so still and his face so pale that Michael’s heart hammered painfully in his chest.

“Don’t worry,” Alien Flint said, running a finger down Alex’s face and holding it up to marvel at the blood. He licked his finger and hummed pleasantly. “He won’t feel anything soon.”

“Alex!” Michael tried pushing himself up to his knees. “ALEX, WAKE UP!”

The alien laughed. It sounded like broken machinery. “But why would he want to? I’ve given him his greatest fantasy. I’ve given him the gift of giving up.”

“Alex,” he winced as he stood. “Alex doesn’t give up.”

The alien’s grin widened, his teeth dark with blood. “That’s the thing that I’ve discovered about humans. They all need rest. And this one,” he gently pushed back Alex’s bangs from his eyes, “this one’s never had any. It’s a mercy, really, letting him die like this. Finally, with some peace.”

Hot tears rolled down Michael’s cheeks as he took another step towards Alex and fell back down to his knees. “Don’t touch him.”

Alien Flint shrugged. “He’ll be gone soon enough. As for you . . .”

He held out his hand with a claw-like grip, and Michael gasped, his breath caught. He was choking, his face burning. He clutched at his throat, but try as he might, he couldn’t breathe. The tears fell more freely now, his eyes on Alex as he gasped for air.

He couldn’t see Alex anymore, his airman had disappeared, and Michael didn’t know if it was because Alex had somehow been moved, or because his own vision was darkening.

“You’re a traitor to your kind, Michael Guerin,” Alien Flint seethed. “If you can love a Manes, then you can die for one.”

Michael’s lungs were on fire, his breath gone completely. Alex. He just needed to see Alex one more time. Then –

“Ah!” Alien Flint froze, and Michael fell to the ground, gasping.

He heard writhing and screaming, and as his vision cleared, he saw the computer screens around the bunker had turned bright with symbols and coding, and Alien Flint was twitching as lines of blue electricity stretched along the floor and focused on him, like a tangle of spiderwebs aimed to kill.

“Don’t touch him,” Michael heard, and turned his head to find Alex standing at the main computer, his hand on the console. His lip was cut, blood dripping down his chin, his face and hands were covered in bruises and cuts, his hair was tousled, and his dark eyes reflected the bright green, blue, and gold lights of the computer screen as he hit the alien with the most hateful glare to ever be cast. Michael thought he’d never looked more beautiful.

“You . . . stopped . . . fighting,” Alien Flint grit out.

Alex’s eyes fell to Michael, his finger hovering over a small blue switch. “I always fight.”

He flipped the switch, and the electric lines intensified, turning so bright that Michael had to look away. When he looked back, the alien had turned into a body of ash on the ground. Michael looked up just as Alex fell, exhausted, his eyes cold and numb on the corpse that once held his brother’s face.

“Alex,” he tried, but Alex didn’t react. Michael licked his lips, and tried again, “Alex!”

Alex looked up then, his eyes unfocused. Michael slowly and painfully made his way over to him, reaching for him as soon as he was close enough.

Alex let Michael hold him tightly against his chest, the airman staring ahead, unseeing.

“Baby,” Michael whispered into his hair, his eyes shut tight as he ran his hands up and down Alex’s body, trying to take in whatever he could, to reassure himself Alex was here, in his arms, safe and alive.

But Alex didn’t react, didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just allowed himself to be held by Michael, as silent as if he were dead.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex one shot #malex fanfic #malex fic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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hiswordsarekisses · 3 years

Text

I have a small testimony of how God has shown me the light in this verse. It’s been a long journey, and one that I can only attribute to Him showing me light. I prayed that He would always show me the truth even if it’s not what I want to hear - because what does it even matter if it’s not HIS truth?! Loving the truth saves us from deception. (2thess 2)

About 10 or so years ago I began having severe peripheral neuropathy in my feet from an injury to my lower back. The burning sensation - which feels like a severe sunburn - later spread up my legs to my thighs and in my hands. I was also diagnosed with fibromyalgia at that time. Over the next 8 years I was put on every drug you can probably name trying to fix me. By the end of all those years I was on 2 different antidepressants, 3 very strong opiates and the max dose of a popular seizure medication and blood pressure medication as well - all of these at one time. In spite of all of that I was still experiencing a level of pain that is outside of my comprehension and with each medication it seemed to grow worse. It became so bad at night that I did not sleep for 3 days at a time sometimes, and once I passed out from sheer exhaustion I would only sleep for a few hours before the pain would wake me up and the cycle would begin over again.

It was 8 years of constantly analyzing what I ate last, and what I did last, and every detail of my life was consumed in trying to figure out what was causing it and how to make it stop. I was driving myself crazy, along with everyone around me.

Then my life took a drastic turn and I suddenly found myself without insurance or income and I quickly had to ween myself off of all those medications. Those were some rough times, but when I think of it - it wasn’t much different than the torment I had already been through!!! I was just trading torment for torment.

I started trying to eat healthy, cutting out a lot of sugar and things like that and the next few years were a lot like the ones before. There were never any answers or relief. Eventually I discovered a perfect combination of suppliments, vitamins, and herbal help that gave me way more relief than the pharmaceutical drugs ever even came close to, and those are still helping.

Over a period of 3 years I really began to heal. The 3rd year my concoction, along with eating better and figuring out which foods seemed to help and which ones flared me up, along with daily exercise and lots of fresh air and sunshine - and just so much joy that came from feeling so much better and enjoying the beauty of God’s creation, brought me to a new level of healing I never dreamed possible.

Then my life took another turn when I hurt my foot and stopped exercising. I became depressed and eating badly as well, and I ended up back on blood pressure medicine and an anxiety medication. I began to sleep a lot and stay inside, and even gained 1/2 the weight I had lost back again. Notice the pattern?

I was still keeping with my suppliment/herbal/vitamin regiment which kept me from spiraling completely, but then I was facing getting my act back together again to get off of these pharmaceutical drugs so that my body can heal itself again before I end up in as bad of shape as I began in.

See, over the years, every new drug brought with it damage and a need for another new drug. I have now learned that lesson with all my heart - so I was able to recognize what began happening when I allowed myself to start taking only these two medications again!

The results/consequences were almost immediate. It was even obviously spiritual. Pharmaceuticals have a spiritual side, just like God’s healing. Only it’s dark.

Then I came across this verse and it all came together. So I don’t care what kind of illness comes on me, I’m actually afraid to ever put another pharmaceutical product in my body again. They all come with consequences, even if they are only mild ones. And the mild ones will never remain mild. They bypass your God given system, which was actually created to run in a certain and particular way. So when we start interring by eating wrong, not taking care of ourselves, putting chemicals in, etc., bad things happen.

Sometimes we get to a point where those bad things get so bad that we get desperate and grab for any relief we can get. But truly the only thing we can do is repent, and ask God to undo what we have done and ask Him to lead us in such a way that we can heal and remove all of this from our body and spirit.

That healing will look different for different people. Some of us can jump cold Turkey from pharmaceuticals and bad eating to an all natural and healthy life - when some of us may be led in a more round about way of gradually getting there - but He has a perfect plan that we can all trust Him with. Some things need medical attention for some people in some circumstances, and if we ask God to lead us in the best way - and ask Him to protect us from deception - He will. He gave us His Word to protect us, but when we have not listened and we end up in a mess, He is still loving us and waiting to show us the way that He intended.

In the book of revelations God is warning us about pharmaceuticals when He is speaking about Babylon and those who took part in her sorcery (Rev 18:23), which is where my eyes first began to be opened. I began to pray about that verse because the word that “sorcery” comes from is the same word as pharmaceutical. I personally cannot say whether this means that taking medication is a sin - that is between each individual and God and not for me to judge. All I know is that for Him to bring me this far, to turn back now - for me it would be. It would be sin for me to turn back because He has given me light on it. (Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is sin.” James‬ ‭4:17‬)

So I’m going to continue going in the opposite direction of man-made solutions and chemicals with God’s help forevermore. Amen.

I am sharing this in hopes that it we’ll help someone - even one person - to avoid the pain and suffering I have endured.

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flyinghome-againstthewind · 4 years

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the best by far is you: chapter 8

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held The best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Special thank you to @let-the-dream-begin for the beautiful moodboard for this chapter!

Chapter 8

Late August 1745

Jacobite army encampment, near Kingussie

“Mo nighean donn?”

It was his voice that yanked her sharply back to him. He could see it in her eyes, how they went from vacant and far away to truly seeing him for the first time. He’d watched her crumble beside the wagon, out in the open here where the men were training, but her mind hadn’t been here. For several days now, he hadn’t known what it was to have his wife present with him.

“Claire.” He pulled her up into a sitting position from where she still laid on the damp, cold ground and wrapped her in his arms. His heart ached for how he couldn’t seem to reach her, even now as he held her. When the distance in her eyes appeared, he thought at first that it must be Faith ‒ that missing their baby was taking its toll.

She had assured him she was fine, brushed off his concerns the handful of times he brought it up. Kept moving, as was expected in this place.

But seeing her sink to the ground and curl in on herself for no visible reason made him damn sure that she wasn’t fine.

“Tell me,” he uttered hoarsely. Her hands grasped tightly to him, holding his arms about her. And it was like this, with her back pressed to his chest and the wind whipping around them, that she started to tell him about the war she’d already fought in France, the men she’d met as eager young soldiers, and the ways she saw so many of them lost to the world.

At some point, he brought both of them to their feet, not wanting the dampness of the ground to sink into them. And she started to tell him about two American soldiers in particular, about one night that she could never forget, as hard as she tried.

When it was over, the haunted look in her eyes still lingered. He tried to assure her it wasn’t her fault, but he watched her carry on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“I should have tried to get him.”

“If you had, you would be dead,” he said firmly. His hands squeezed at her upper arms subconsciously to feel her very much alive and real under his palms.

“I know that. Because I told myself the same thing right after it happened. And I just… closed the door on that night and walked away. I haven’t looked back ever since until now.” Her eyes were seeing him again, but the darkness of that night was still trying to push in on her, he could see. Christ, he hated that such darkness had ever touched the pure light of her. “Now I look at Ross and Kincaid and all the others… being turned into soldiers, being trained, putting up a brave front. All I can hear is Max Lucas crying out for his mother in the dead of night. And for two years, I’ve tried to stop this war from coming. Now that it’s here, I’m not sure I’m ready to go to war again.”

“You don’t have to.” His words came swiftly in a response that had been building since she started to describe that night on the side of the road. Since she first started to withdraw from him, if he was being honest. Shame sank heavy in his gut that he had brought her here, that because of him she was reliving the horrors of another war. “You fought your war. We’ll fight this one without you. I’ll have Ross and Fergus take you home to Lallybroch.”

“No.”

“Claire‒”

“I can’t do that either. Listen to me, if I‒ if I go back, then it will just be like lying in that ditch again, helpless and powerless to move like a dragonfly in amber, except this time it will be worse. Because I’ll know that the people out there dying alone are people I know. People I love. I can’t do that, Jamie. I won’t lie in that ditch again. I can’t be helpless and alone ever again. Do you hear me?”

“I hear ye.” He breathed out, slow and steady. His fierce lass... “I promise, whatever happens, you’ll never be alone again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, James Fraser.”

Despite it all, he felt the tug of a small smile at his lips. “You have my word, Claire Fraser.” He kissed her then, soft and with the promise of his words, and he held her tight, too, not caring if his men were watching.

“Jamie,” she said so quietly, he almost didn’t catch it. He felt her straighten up in his arms, steeling herself, but as she drew back to look at him, her hands came to rest gently on his chest. His hold on her lower back never loosened. After all she’d just said, he couldn’t possibly let go of her.

She kept her gaze on the collar of his coat where her fingers were worrying the fabric between them, smoothing it out, tugging it into place. Buying time while her head sorted out the right words. He could see it all there in her face.

“Don’t offer me the chance to go home again. Not even one more time. I meant what I said… I can’t be helpless like that again. But I‒” Her lip trembled and she tucked it between her teeth.

“I won’t,” he promised. His hands slid up her spine and pressed her close, meeting no resistance as she burrowed back into his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

He felt the shudder of her cry against him and bent to kiss her neck. The temptation ‒ the physical ache in his chest ‒ to abandon all this and to hold Faith again was overwhelming for him. He couldn’t imagine how it was for Claire. No, he wouldn’t dangle that in front of her. It had been cruel of him in the first place to offer that.

“What d’ye think she’s doing right now?”

She eased back only enough so she could look at him. Her eyes were watery with unshed tears and the depth of longing there was almost enough to bring him to his knees. This was killing her, this time apart. Out of instinct, he kissed her forehead and felt her lean into it, taking his comfort to soothe the empty arms where their baby should be.

“I’ve been trying to imagine how she spends her days at home.” He nuzzled in against her temple. “I ken she misses us, but I like tae think she’s still happy wi’ Jenny and Ian and her cousins.”

They hadn’t talked like this, not in the past several weeks since they left Lallybroch. The subject of Faith was a wound too raw and exposed to touch at first, but she’d never been far from either of their minds. And as soon as Jamie had broached the subject, he felt the sharp jab to the open wound, still too tender, but he needed to speak of her, and with the only other person who loved Faith as much as he did.

“It’s mid-day,” Claire surprised him by uttering softly, opening herself up to a conversation. “And it’s gorgeous out, even with the wind. I bet she’s outside with Maggie. They’d be… well, it’s almost harvest season. I’m sure the girls would try and get involved somehow, though it would probably result in them getting in the way and needing to be removed.”

“She is a verra curious lass.” He chuckled lightly. “Aye, I can see it plain as day. Our stubborn wee thing. Mind the time she was starting to pull herself up and stand, and she saw the basket of clean laundry that Jenny had just pulled off the line?”

He couldn’t see her face still, but he felt the soft exhale of what he knew to be a laugh, pained though it was. “She didn’t know that the basket wouldn’t hold her weight,” Claire replied. “She and the fresh linens tumbled over into the dirt when the basket tipped. She was so quick, I didn’t notice until it was happening.”

The memory was so achingly normal and he clung to it. They’d lived the life of their dreams once and if they could make it through this war, Jamie knew what would be waiting for them when they returned.

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September 21, 1745

Jacobite army encampment, near Prestonpans

Claire never knew a greater feeling of relief than she did that day, watching Jamie burst into the cottage where they’d set up a field hospital. He’d never looked more alive to her in that moment, never felt stronger or steadier under her touch than when he wrapped her up in a tight hug. They’d won ‒ as she knew they would ‒ but that fixed number of 30 casualties had hung over her head like a dark cloud. They had won, but more importantly to her, this battle hadn’t claimed her husband or Murtagh or‒

Fergus.

She slipped out his grasp when he told her to look outside. Squinting against the sudden light, it took her a moment to find him. Sitting there, still as a statue, he looked perfectly fine.

“Fergus! Oh, you wretch!” She pulled him into her arms, relief and concern and disappointment all coursing through her. “What do you mean by sneaking off like that? I should box your ears until your head rattles,” she threatened, but only held him tighter.

“Milady,” he said very softly while she eased back to look at him. She cupped his face gently in her hands, fighting back tears at how close she’d come to losing him, unable to put to bed the worst thoughts that kept her company while she waited for news.

“Do you have any idea‒” She broke off abruptly to stop the cry that threatened to break loose. “I’m already separated from one child, you can’t just risk your life like that, Fergus!” She held his face a little firmer, gave it the slightest shake as though it might allow him to absorb her words better, to understand what he’d put her through. “I can’t lose you!”

Her chest was heaving from her outburst and Fergus only stared down at her, completely dazed and teary-eyed. The relief of finding him alive was short-lived as alarm over his appearance and demeanor quickly took over. “Say something. Are you alright?”

“I… I killed an English soldier, Milady.”

Her eyes went wide with horror at his revelation. “Don’t tell me that.”

“I think I killed him,” he amended, rather calmly. Shock, she noted in some part of her brain. “He-he fell down. I had a knife. I struck him.”

“Oh, god, Fergus.” She clutched his head against her, wanting to erase that moment for him. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sorry for the memory that would surely stay with him for his whole life. Sorry that he was anywhere near this hell of a war at all.

She jumped suddenly, realizing she hadn’t actually checked him for injuries yet. “You aren’t injured, are you?”

“No,” he said softly but she ignored him, turning him by the shoulders and looking him over for any apparent wounds. “I’m just… tired. Very, very tired.”

She felt the pressure of tears building up in her eyes and pulled Fergus’s head back under her chin, tucked safely against her. The fear that had gnawed away at her all evening and into the morning finally began to dissipate. He was here. He was safe. They’d deal with the rest later. “Come with me. I’ll get you some food and somewhere to sleep.”

It felt as natural as breathing for Claire as she fell into the fast-paced rigor of triaging in a war zone. She was proud of her small band of women, all of them mothers or wives who had followed their men and refused to sit by the wayside. None of them had major experience in dealing with the casualties of war, but they’d followed her lead and when the injured came streaming into their small cottage-turned-field-hospital, they’d risen to the challenge.

By late-afternoon, they’d cleared out those with minor injuries who had been properly tended to. Though after Angus, Claire had insisted on personally giving each man a thorough physical exam before letting them exit, which had left some of them waiting if a more serious patient took a turn for the worse.

When her mind finally swam to the surface, escaping the chaos of hemorrhaging wounds and shredded limbs, it was growing dark outside. Jamie, whose urine had come back clean and who was thus allowed to leave the cottage, had returned to her. She wasn’t sure how long he had waited, sitting patiently near the front door and keeping an eye on her, but when she finally had a moment to breathe, she found his tired gaze and ached to leave all this behind and be with him, to have the comfort of his warm embrace.

Instead, she sequestered Jamie to a quiet corner of their field hospital and sat him down next to the pallet where Fergus slept. She brought a basin of warm water and a clean cloth and after wetting it, she proceeded to wipe at the blood and dirt caked to his face. Blood that had been there since the early morning.

“Can’t believe you were stepped on by a fucking horse today and you’re just fine, bruises not withstanding. Do you know how lucky you are?”

He chuckled mirthlessly at this and watched her carefully. “It wasna a very pleasant experience, all the same.”

“Yes, well, next time… try not to throw yourself into the path of a trampling horse, thank you very much. I’d like to avoid tempting fate again.”

“I’ll do my best, Sassenach.”

She sighed and swiped at his cheek, a little softer this time.

“Have ye had anything tae eat?” He asked.

“Oh, um…” Her brows wrinkled together as she thought about it. “Not since you brought me some bannocks and fruit earlier, whenever that was.”

He looked displeased with that answer and she knew a proper meal was in her near future, however it could be scrounged up within their camp. She wouldn’t turn it away, not with how she suddenly felt her stomach’s empty quaking at the mention of food. “Bring something for Fergus, too. He’s slept the day away and I’m sure he’ll be hungry when he wakes.”

At the mention of their boy, Jamie’s gaze flicked down to the sleeping ten-year-old. His jaw clenched under her fingers as she finished wiping his face clean. After the relief of finding Fergus just outside, physically unharmed, she hadn’t let herself dwell on the horror of his words ‒ hadn’t had the time to dwell on them, honestly. But now, each word felt like a punch in the gut as they ran through her mind once more.

He fell down… I had a knife… I struck him.

She breathed in sharply and blinked quickly, trying to stave off the rush of tears she felt building behind her eyes. “What are we going to do about Fergus?” She whispered in a tight voice. “Do you think he’ll try to fight again?”

He stole the wet cloth from her and dipped it into the bowl of water. With one hand holding her chin steady, he brushed at the skin of her forehead just below her hairline. From her fingertips up to her elbows, she had scrubbed herself clean several times today, but she hadn’t looked at her reflection once since well before the battle and wondered now just how much blood was there.

“The only reason I let him come along is because I knew if we told him tae stay and he didna want to, he would’ve tried to find his way to us on his own, stubborn wee fool that he is.” She had wondered… from the moment he had allowed Fergus to join them, she had wondered why. Jamie was seldom careless and certainly never in regards to those he loved. But his assessment of Fergus rang true, especially with the day’s events in mind. “I thought if we brought him along on our terms, we could keep him safe.” His jaw clenched again and he didn’t continue right away. He tilted her chin to the side as he found a spot just below her ear that needed cleaning.

“No, I dinna think he’ll fight again, Claire,” he said at last. “He’s had his taste of war and the romance of it always dies once ye’ve had to see it up close. I’ll talk wi’ him tomorrow.” His gaze swung back to her and he smiled gently, though it was tinged with sadness. “Make sure he kens I dinna appreciate how he made us worry.”

He then dabbed gently at a spot on her neck and she realized she knew when that one had occurred. It was Angus’s blood on her neck.

Thirty casualties sounded like nothing when only focusing on the number. She knew it was an impressive feat, an unlikely victory that stunned and impressed even in her time. But of those thirty had been Angus and Kincaid, men that she knew well. Of those thirty, she’d been at the sides of more than half of them as they slipped from this world. She could put names and faces to that number now and when she thought of the possibility of facing Culloden, of the thousands of losses—

“Dinna go there, Sassenach,” Jamie said softly.

She blinked slowly, puzzled.

“Whatever dark thought ye’re havin’...” His thumb brushed over her wrinkled brow, trying to smooth out the worry there. “Dinna let it linger.”

Despite his attempt to soothe her, she felt the toll of the day finally catching up. Her brave front was beginning to crumble and without any resistance, she found herself gathered into Jamie’s lap like a child. He tucked her head under his chin and murmured a soft string of Gaelic words, as comforting to her as his touch was, even if she didn’t understand it all.

“What do you think she’s doing right now?” Her voice wobbled as she asked the question that had become something of game between them, a way to escape from the horrors around them if only for a moment, and think about one of the very best things to ever happen to them, tucked away safely at Lallybroch. But it was a stupid time to ask, she realized, because it was night and there was only one answer. Still, Jamie hummed softly and rested his head against hers.

“I think she’s dreaming of our family, Sassenach, and she kens that she is loved.”

----------------------------------

January 1, 1746

In retreat, near the Scottish Border

The Prince’s army had been encamped in the north of England when their wave of victory finally crested and broke. Retreat would be their next step. For Jamie, that moment also marked the first buckle of doubt in his previously unflagging belief that he and Claire would be successful in their own cause.

That string of victories followed by the decision to retreat had happened exactly as Claire had recounted to him. His strongest chance at changing the outcome slipped right through his fingers when he was unsuccessful in rousing the others to join the Prince’s call and march on London.

As punishment for his insubordination, a new directive was issued to him: to lead his men ahead of Charles’ retreating army and prepare provisions for them in Inverness.

They left within a day of the order, their small band of Lallybroch men skirting quickly but carefully back toward Scotland with no small amount of fear that they would encounter English forces on their way. No one spoke of it. But it wasn’t far from anyone’s mind, on enemy soil and woefully outnumbered in most encounters with the British so far.

That encounter with the British came about a week later. The first of their journey’s delays started with Claire being taken to Belmont by British forces. And with Jamie and Murtagh’s retrieval of Claire came the second delay: returning Mary Hawkins to her family’s estate. They had decided altogether to set Mary up in the nearest town to her estate and hire a lady’s maid there to return with her in the morning to her family and avoid causing any further scandal for poor Mary by being escorted home by none other than Red Jamie.

By the time they reunited with their men in Keswick and marched for the border, Dougal greeted them with news that they had actually fallen behind the rest of their retreating army.

Claire lost track of their days by the second week. There was nothing to mark where one week ended and the next began. Not for a while at least. But because she was traveling with Scotsmen, it didn’t escape any of their notice when Hogmanay arrived while they were still on the road, back on Scottish soil at last.

It was nothing like the way that Claire and Jamie had marked the holiday just one year prior, in the comfort of their home, alight with a naive hopefulness for what was ahead and an appreciation for what the year prior had given them.

Instead, there was the passing of whisky around an open fire in the woods. Rupert’s long-winding stories told in his lilting, pleasant voice. A few toasts to the new year, led by one James Fraser after a small amount of cajoling. The small party stayed together well into the night, though no one could say with exact certainty when one year bled into the next.

But the feelings of joy and expectation never quite saturated the group as it had for many in every year prior.

In the harsh light of the morning on the first of January, nothing about the year felt shiny and new, brimming with hope.

Despite the ruckus that was made around the fire the night before, nobody made a sound at daybreak, lest it draw unwanted attention from possible nearby soldiers.

Jamie built a small fire near their tent for warmth and Claire and Fergus flocked to it, pressed so close together that Fergus was practically in her lap. They waited for their breakfast while rubbing the sleep from their eyes and stifling yawns. It was cold enough to see their breath linger in the air, but they created their own pocket of warmth between them and the fire.

She turned and pressed a kiss into Fergus’s curls, her heart a bit heavy. “Happy birthday, Fergus dear.”

“You remembered?” He sounded delighted by this and she felt a wave of tenderness and protectiveness for him. He deserved so much more than whatever they could give him today.

“What would you like for your birthday?” She asked. “Keep in mind this will have to wait until we return home.”

Jamie added a log to the fire and caught her eye, a curious glance there for her to see. Yes, they never did plan for themselves past this bloody war, but Fergus was only a boy ‒ he was their boy ‒ and he deserved the hope of something on the horizon. She shrugged one shoulder at Jamie. He gave her a tight-lipped smile in return. They’d make it work, somehow.

Fergus, on the other hand, pondered Claire’s question very seriously, oblivious to their nonverbal back-and-forth. “A horse,” he said at last.

“What?”

“My own horse. To have at Lallybroch when we return. I want Milord to pick it, though.” His gaze flew to Jamie and to his credit, there was nothing amiss in Jamie’s expression as those words landed.

“A horse, ye say?” A teasing glint shone in Jamie’s eyes as he moved toward them to squat down on the other side of Fergus. “Rather stubborn creatures sometimes and an awful lot o’ work. Ye sure ye dinna want something more manageable, like a pig? Or mebbe a dog?”

“No,” Fergus laughed and Claire wanted to bottle the sound, save it for later. “I want a horse. I’m certain, Milord. And you will pick the best one for me.”

Jamie grinned broadly at him and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Aye, I ken ye’re sure, mon fils. And ye’ll get yer own horse someday, I promise.”

Murtagh appeared, moving quietly through the trees, and walked toward their small campfire. He held something behind his back and as he reached them, he stopped in front of Fergus and dangled a fresh-caught rabbit. “How’s that for a breakfast feast, hmm?”

“Thank you, Murtagh.” Fergus beamed up at him.

“Well done, Murtagh,” Claire added. Jamie stood and clapped him on the back. To all of this, Murtagh grunted softly and moved off to skin and cook the rabbit, apparently flustered from all the praise.

They fed him rabbit for his birthday, which he relished, and never once acted as though there should’ve been a better alternative. As they packed up camp and headed out, Jamie made a show of telling all of the men during the march that the day was Fergus’s eleventh birthday.

His very presence created a lightness among them. But it wasn’t until that day, trudging against the bitter January wind with hardly anything in their bellies, that she saw how beloved he was by the men. How they welcomed the chance to return that joy to him for his birthday.

When everything else felt cold and hopeless, Fergus had helped to ease the burden of war just by being present with them, a child who was still brave enough to wish for better things despite their dire circumstances.

And at the same time, it was its own kind of torture for Claire to have Fergus there. While she ached to see Faith again and hold her, she knew in her very marrow that her daughter was safe from the dangers they faced. And though Fergus had never again stepped onto a battlefield since Prestonpans, there had still been a number of close calls during the war, not to mention the very real risks of starvation and sickness. The fear that something should happen to him… that he might be taken from them…

“Sassenach?”

She startled out of her reverie and forced a tight smile ‒ for no one’s benefit. Jamie always saw right through that. “Don’t mind me. It seems I can’t help but think about the worst, even on a good day. I’m fine, Jamie.”

“We’ll reach Edinburgh in a few days. It’ll be easier once ye’ve had a night’s rest in a real bed and have eaten to yer heart’s content.” He smiled at her, a touch sadly, and she knew he didn’t believe that to be a balm for her heartache, but it was all he had to offer.

“I’m sure you’re right.” It was all she could offer in return, to pretend that if her basic human needs were met, then surely the slow and painful breaking of her soul would stop.

----------------------------------

February 15, 1746

In retreat, north of Edinburgh

They’d reunited with the rest of the Jacobite army in Edinburgh and it was there that they held their claim over the city until Cumberland and his men laid siege on Edinburgh. From there, the Jacobite army pushed further north, eyeing Inverness once more as refuge. But for Claire and Jamie, it felt like surrendering themselves to the verdict of history, for every step toward Inverness in the name of retreat felt like a step toward the Battle of Culloden, powerless to stop the trajectory of events.

“What d’ye think she’s doing right now?”

Claire’s footsteps faltered in their pace against Jamie’s. “I don’t know.” Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the rustle of movement around them and the clomping of horse hooves. “It’s been months, Jamie… maybe she’s running to meet her cousins for breakfast instead of walking, talking to them in short sentences with words she didn’t know before we left.” She stopped in her tracks, causing Jamie to cease as well. “I know she’s safe. But I can’t picture how she spends her days anymore, because I can hardly picture her. Has she changed so much since we left? She’s growing every day and we’re‒ we’re missing it.” She swallowed roughly, heart in her eyes. “So I don’t know what she’s doing right now. I can’t even guess.”

It was the last time the question was asked by either of them.

They stopped at the nearest tavern for the night, the temperature too cold to brave making camp under the stars. They had scraps for their dinner, for it was all they could afford with dwindling supplies and funds. Six months at war was taking its toll in more ways than one, but the most pressing to Jamie was the gaunt frames of Claire and Fergus.

“Come warm me up,” Claire called to him from under a pile of threadbare blankets as he built up the fire in their room. “And where did Fergus run off to?” She asked suddenly.

“The lad wanted tae stay up wi’ the men a little longer.” He caught her soft snort as he moved toward the bed.

“Are you sure he’s alright in their company?”

“Aye, he’s Murtagh’s charge for tonight. If they get too rowdy, Murtagh will send him up to bed.” He crawled under the covers and gasped suddenly when Claire’s icy hands slipped under his nightshirt and pressed against his back, trying to draw him in towards her. “Christ, ye’re freezing, lass.”

“Mhmm.”

He sank down beside her and felt the tip of her cold nose nuzzling in at his neck. “My puir lass,” he started to tease her, only to gasp again at her cold hands drifting lower on his back. “I ken what ye have in mind. Ye better warm those wandering hands first or it willna have the effect ye’re hoping for.”

“Oh really?”

Christ, the teasing lilt of her voice already had his blood rushing south. He yelped and jerked away from her when he felt those icy fingers wrapped around his cock.

Claire laughed and withdrew her hand from him. “See? That was exactly the effect I was hoping for.”

“Ye’re a wicked woman, Claire Fraser,” he growled at her, though his own smile peeked through.

“What are you going to do about it?” She murmured, looking up at him through hooded eyes. He drew himself up over her, seeing the look of pleased anticipation cross her face. She tugged the blankets back up over his shoulders, keeping them cocooned with what warmth they’d managed to create.

“Well,” he dipped down and stole a kiss from her. “I dinna see that I have any other choice but tae warm ye up myself.”

She sighed happily at the prospect, her mouth chasing up after his. “I think that’s a very wise choice.”

She was light and warmth for him in the middle of a godforsaken war. And for as much as he wanted to lose himself in her, the reminders of their circumstances were never-ending, constantly plucking at their shared joy. The bed that was not their own, the raucous sounds of the tavern below them, the hunger pangs in their bellies from never quite having their fill to eat… small as they were, those things chipped away at him.

“Jamie,” she called to him, in the midst of their lovemaking, when she must’ve felt the change in him, the drift of his mind away from their connection. Her voice was the only siren song that could reach him. “Come back to me. Back to us.”

He dropped his head to the juncture between her neck and shoulder and shuddered a sigh there. Her fingers curled into his hair at the nape of his neck, held him there.

He wanted more for her. He wanted her to have plenty where everything was sparse ‒ food, warmth, shelter, safety, love. Instead, she was half-starved of all of those. She was his light when everything else was darkness ‒ his sorcha ‒ and he couldn’t even feed her well enough that the notch of each of her ribs wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Seemingly all he could do for her was to love her, keep her warm, keep her safe… and even that didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t feel like enough.

In the afterglow, he held her, their foreheads touching, their exhales mingling. She curled into him, still seeking his heat. “Are ye warm enough, mo ghraidh?”

She hummed an affirmative and her fingers came to rest alongside his jaw, gently framing his face. They were warm to the touch. He turned his head into the heat of her palm and kissed her there.

“Good,” he sighed.

At some point in the night, he fell asleep curled around her, his knees following the bend of hers, his arm holding her protectively. His body was so entwined with hers that he woke promptly from the slight shake of her shoulders.

“Mo nighean donn?”

The room had grown dark and the sounds below them had fallen to a dull rumble. So even though Claire tried to muffle her cries, the stillness of the room gave her away.

“Claire,” he whispered tightly, trying to sit up, to see her better, but she held fast to his arm that wrapped around her, keeping him in place. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t…” she cried. “Just hold me.”

He was powerless to deny her that one simple request and settled back in behind her, holding tight. “Was it a dream?”

Claire shook her head. “No… I just‒” He felt the sharp, shuddering breath she drew in. “I miss her.”

With that, her stronghold broke and the tears came, after months of quietly grieving the separation.

“I’m sorry I took ye from her.” He said softly into the stillness of the night, when her tears had ceased and the room had grown quiet again. He wasn’t even sure if she was still awake until she tilted her head back to look at him.

“You didn’t.” She said firmly, though there were still tears in her voice. “If I blame anyone, it’s Prince Charles. Not you.”

He huffed a cheerless laugh and fell silent, his thumb wiping at her tears. “Still. Ye are a brave wee thing. My Sassenach.” His inhale was sharp and bracing for the words he knew he needed to get out. “You could’ve stayed. At Lallybroch. Would ye? If I had insisted, would ye have stayed with Faith?”

“No.” Claire whispered hoarsely. Her arms tightened around him reflexively. “My place is here with you. I couldn’t have stayed, knowing what I know of the rising. And knowing what I know of war from a healer’s perspective.” She rolled onto her back so she could look up at him. “And I couldn’t have lived with not being with you. Never knowing if you were safe… it would’ve eaten me alive.” She snuffled quietly. “It does all make me sound like a rather terrible mother, though, doesn’t it?” She tried to pass it off with a laugh, but her lip quivered and Jamie was quick to cover her body with his own.

“No, Claire, never. I’m sorry I posed the question. ‘Twas foolish of me. I’m sorry.” He kissed her hair and felt her clinging to him. “My place is with you, too, and I couldna be where you aren’t,” he assured her. “But I promise ye, Claire, I’ll see you and our lass safe and back together. No matter what comes.”

She turned back on her side and he curled around her, his body again molded to the slope of hers, engulfing her. His arms stayed secure around her and she sighed and relaxed back against him.

“I’ll see ye safe.” He repeated, holding tight to Claire and, unknowingly, the small spark of life they’d created between them.

#outlander #outlander fic #OL fic #Jamie x Claire #Faith Fraser #my fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you

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stevesnailbat · 4 years

Text

hawkins nights | steve harrington x hargrove!reader

summary: Steve can’t get over the girl who left him behind for her hometown, so he listens to messages from her constantly.

warnings: mentions of death, violence and abuse, tipsy driving, literally just ANGST

word count: 1.9K

a/n: this is based off of Malibu Nights by LANY, which is one of my favorite songs at the moment. I hope I did this wonderful song justice with this sad piece, enjoy!

It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be in this situation. In his bed, staring at the ceiling with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to him. Nights like this were becoming too common for him, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. He wanted to feel again, and it was the only way he could.

He was numb to the pain, but the thought of Y/N still left a constantly dull sting on his heart. All he really wanted was to go back to a time when things were alright, a time when he could see her smile again. But her smile faded long ago, and so did her presence. He missed her more than he though she could comprehend, but still, he gave her space.

Steve got his voicemail recorder not long before everything that happened. Before Starcourt, he had vowed to keep all of her messages to him, just to hear her voice when he missed her. Little did he know, that would be every day soon after.

So there he was, listening to the last five messages she sent him on repeat, just to hear her voice again.

03 JULY 1985: Hi Stevie! It’s Y/N. I—uh—hadn’t heard from you in the last day or so, so I was just calling to see if you still wanted to go to the festival tomorrow night? Just...Just give me a call when you get this...I love you.

Nights like this were almost routine to him. He always started in order, listening to the only one from before made his pain dissipate for a millisecond. When he heard her cheery and hopeful voice on the tape, his heart fluttered. It brought him back to the way she’d react every time she would see him while they were together.

The smile that would grow on her face when she realized Steve was near was something that he never got tired of. It was like the first time they met every time she would see him, like she fell in love with him all over again when looking at him every time. Her excited voice in the message brought him back to the way she would talk to him like he hung the moon every damn day.

14 JULY 1985: Steve, it’s me. I know you aren’t home right now but I wanted you to know that I’m—fuck—I’m not going today. I just can’t, I can’t see him like that. My dad, he’s really mad. He thinks I’m the ungrateful and disrespectful one. Ironic, right? Anyways, you don’t have to go, I don’t expect you to. I love you.

She told him all the time that he was his true escape from reality, that he was what she looked forward to every day, and it meant the world to Steve. He would have given anything in these moments to hear her say that to him one last time.

As he listened to this message, a pang of guilt always hit his stomach. Steve wished that he could have been there to save her from her family sooner. Any animosity towards Billy had dissipated long ago, leaving after Y/N revealed the secrets of her family to Steve. He realized that they both were playing characters, trying to seem confident and tough was the only way they knew how to fit in.

This message always brought images of Neil’s stone-cold face when he heard it. He saw that look many times over the months they were dating, but one time stuck out in his mind and never went away. The one time Neil’s face changed was when he saw Steve comforting his hysterical daughter, but only for a sliver of a moment. There was a certain sadness in that moment that went away so quickly, that turned right back into an emotionless expression.

That was the only day Steve had ever seen Y/N scream at her dad. It was the first time Steve had ever seen Neil let her do it, only because he knew she was inconsolable. As Steve held her in his arms in that parking lot, all he could think about was the way she was so afraid of her house before and how her fears were probably growing exponentially now that her only protector was gone.

Steve would usually feel a tear slip down his cheek at this point, hearing Y/N’s broken voice making him think about all the times she would use him as her escape from the hell that was the Hargrove residence. He thought about what probably ensued after she told Neil that she wasn’t going to the funeral. He remembered seeing the bruised on her chin the next day and she just brushed off his questions, telling him that it was nothing.

Steve always worried, though. But she insisted over and over again that she was fine, that she was strong and could handle him, that she had to protect Max now, that she had to protect Max now. He’d never forgive himself for letting her go through those times for so goddamn long; he wished he could’ve helped sooner.

20 JULY 1985: Hey, me again. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being there for me through this, I know I’m a piece of work. B always said whoever ended up with me would have their work cut out for them. And you really worked your ass off to help me. That’s all I really wanted to say, thank you. I love you.

Steve heart ached at the thought of Y/N and Billy’s small moments together, the small moments where they were just brother and sister instead of protector and protected. She would talk about those times with Steve like they were the most treasured moments of her life, along with the times she spent alone with Max.

He knew she wanted nothing but to be normal for once, she craved the bliss that came from family time she hadn’t gotten for the first eighteen years of her life. More than anyone else, Steve understood. So, he tried his hardest to get along with Billy, for her sake. He wanted her to feel like they could possibly be civil, like she could feel happy again with someone who at least one person in her family approved of.

It took Billy a while to accept the fact that Steve was around for the long run, but he finally did. Steve could remember exactly what Billy told him when he accepted it; Y/N was asleep with her head in Steve’s lap as he stroked her hair on her couch. Billy walked through the living room to go outside for a smoke, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the couple sitting in the dark room as the credits for Flashdance rolled on the TV screen.

“You really love her, don’t ya, Harrington?” Billy asked that night, seeing the smile that was on Steve’s face as he quietly adored her sleeping on him “You don’t look at people you just like in that way.”

“Yeah, I guess I really do.” he replied, feeling a bit uneasy about the question coming from the normally abrasive boy.

“She’s a handful, but you already know that.” Billy chuckled, digging for his lighter in his pocket. “Just—Just take care of her, will ya? If not, I’ll be obligated to fuck you up.”

04 AUGUST 1985: Hi. It’s been a month since he’s been gone now I’m having a really hard time today and I don’t know what to do. I thought about coming to see you but it’s so early and I’m a mess. I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this godforsaken town. I don’t know what else to say, but please just call me when you see this, I love you.

That message in particular was when usually he found himself tempted to turn the tape off, but he never would. He wanted nothing more to be there for her again, to hold her through the pain she was still in. The pain he was in from her leaving was substantial, but he knew it pales in comparison to hers.

The first time he heard that message, he dropped everything he was doing to call her. She had been crying for hours by that time and was near inconsolable. The ache he felt in his heart was the same every time he heard her voice on that fourth message, the ache he felt in his heart was ever-present after that day and he knew it would go away.

After that day, she was different. She had a revelation of her own on that day, but didn’t talk about it with him. She knew that he would try to talk her out of whatever it was that she wanted to do, and he knew she didn’t want him to. He tried to keep her close, not letting her push him away as much as she wanted to. He didn’t understand why he did it at first, but soon realized it was because he knew what was coming soon.

Steve knew in the back of his mind that she would leave, he always knew.

He knew what came after that dreadful fourth tape, but he always found himself with tear-brimmed eyes. It was his only weakness, listening to the last tape, but he knew he had to see it through every time.

12 AUGUST 1985: Steve, I’m sorry. I really am...I just can’t do this anymore, I have to leave Hawkins. I can’t stand to be in the town that he died in anymore, I have to go home. I need to go back to California. I wish things were different and you could come with me, but please. For me, just move on. You deserve the world, I love you.

The last message played over in his mind even after it stopped playing every time, he had every word, every hitch of her breath, every pause memorized. Every time it would play over in his mind, he’d take another swig of the Jack to forget, to get the thoughts to dissipate.

It was around this time that he’d usually get into his car and drive around to distract himself further, it never worked for too long, though. He didn’t care that he was tipsy or even drunk, his cares were out the window as his heart shattered every time. The only thing on his mind was the fact that she wasn’t there anymore, and he wanted to think about anything else.

He couldn’t move on, he just couldn’t make himself find someone new. Steve thought she was the one he’d be with for the rest of his life. He even promised her that he’d marry her someday. She was too heartbroken to see that she needed him as much as he needed her when she left, though. The only thing on her mind was finding home once again, and he understood.

This time was different that usual, though. Something had switched in his mind and he was no longer satisfied by listening to her voice or by driving around aimlessly for hours. He wanted to hold her again, even if it was the last time he ever saw her.

So, he set out to do just that. He wanted to find her in California and tell her he loved her or even see her face, even if it was the last time he ever saw her.

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habibialkaysani · 3 years

Text

The Old Guard (Laurel/Nyssa; M) - Part II

Ships: Laurel/Nyssa

Summary: Laurel Lance and Nyssa Raatko are happily married - and have been for centuries. Along with Helena Bertinelli, this immortal army follows their equally immortal leader, Dina Drake, in the fights that they think are right.

But after one of their comrades makes a fatal lapse in judgement, Laurel and Nyssa find themselves trapped in their very worst nightmare - captured, as nothing more than lab rats. Luckily, the team has also just found its newest member, Sarah Diggle, so maybe all isn’t lost.

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Gonna start out 2021 with a new chapter of this, and then all that will be left is a bit of smut :D

Read at AO3

At Fuller Pharmaceuticals, Laurel breathed a sigh of relief when the scientist finally walked away, frowning at his clipboard and adjusting his glasses with one gloved hand. Turning a little on her side, she looked across her to the bed next to hers, and even though Nyssa was hooked up to a million machines just like Laurel, it was a relief to see her awake again.

"Hey," Laurel said softly.

"Are you okay, hayati?" Nyssa asked with concern in her eyes. "Laurel? What are you thinking about?"

"Honestly, I was, uh, thinking about - simpler times. When it was just the two of us, and the biggest thing we had to worry about was reconciling being from wildly different worlds yet still finding each other…"

"Dearest," Nyssa said with a smile, "it is like I told Ms Diggle. Some people are just meant to find each other. One way or another. And I realise, Laurel, that we are in hellish circumstances right now. But you have to know - I made you a promise, to spend however many centuries, or decades, or weeks, or days, or hours or even seconds I have left in my life with you. I swore an oath to you that I don't plan on breaking. Not now. Not ever."

Laurel smiled back, revelling in how Nyssa’s face lit up as she did so. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do, my love, but I will never tire of hearing it.”

“Remember Malta, habibti?”

“What time in Malta?” Nyssa asked, and Laurel met her gaze and arched her eyebrow. Laurel couldn’t help but chuckle because she could pinpoint the exact point when it dawned on Nyssa what she meant. A faint rosy blush coloured Nyssa’s cheeks and Laurel sighed - because even where they were, with the flecks of blood scattered on her forehead and her mussed up hair there was no doubt that Nyssa Raatko was the most beautiful woman Laurel had ever seen. “Ah. That time in Malta.”

“I could really use that Hilton honeymoon suite right about now.”

“That would be nice. What was it you said? Or did I say it - that we weren’t gonna stop till we passed out?”

Laurel laughed. "It was me, definitely. I think we must have lasted… sixteen hours, if I recall correctly.” Nyssa smiled, shrugging nonchalantly. “What if… what if we said that - if we get out of here -”

“When we get out of here,” Nyssa said firmly.

“When we get out of here,” Laurel said softly, “we… try breaking that record?”

“You promise?”

“You want me to cross my heart?” Laurel was probably deflecting a bit now, to fight off the emotion that threatened to break over her at any moment with a shaky smile that she knew Nyssa could see right through.

“I love you,” Nyssa whispered, “and we will be fine. I promise.”

Laurel held onto that confession from her beloved as tightly as she could in her mind, as the scientist returned with even more invasive and painful tests. She kept in her screams for as long as she could, not because she was afraid of showing weakness but rather because she knew Nyssa couldn't bear to hear them - only after the fifth extraction, this one from Laurel's brain, there was nothing she could do to curb her agony as the needle pierced her temple. Laurel's screams prompted Nyssa's, prolonged when the scientist kept the needle in long after she had collected the tissue she needed.

It was only when Laurel's lungs felt like they were being rubbed raw from the inside that the scientist finally seemed done with her. But then Laurel was filled with horror at the sight of the scientist raising a fresh needle and looking for the right spot on Nyssa.

Desperately, Laurel wanted to tell the evil woman to fucking take her again, not to touch Nyssa, not to lay a hand on her or so help her God - but nothing came out of Laurel's mouth except for a strangled croaky sound.

Suddenly the double doors nearest them burst open, and Laurel was shocked to see Dina, a gunshot wound at her side, unconscious, and Helena, who looked shaken but otherwise unhurt.

"Shit," Laurel croaked.

"Dina!" Nyssa shouted.

Ignoring both of them, the soldiers manhandling Dina and Helena strapped them into the beds next to Laurel and Nyssa. The scientist was at Dina's side in an instant.

"I want her alive," said another voice, and Laurel squinted as Max Fuller stepped into her line of sight.

"I'll need an IV in her, and some antibiotics," the scientist said.

"Good," Fuller said, clapping his hands together like he was a child. "Good. Work fast - I expect results. Even from the dying one. Even if you have to carve slices from these fuckers to do it."

"This is not what was agreed," Helena said hotly. "None of this is -"

Laurel was sure in that moment that her heart thudded to a complete halt. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"I can explain," Helena said, but the pieces were already falling into place in Laurel's brain, and clearly in Nyssa's too.

"Oh, Helena," Nyssa said in a hushed tone. "Helena. What have you done?"

"I'll let you ladies talk this out while you still can," Fuller said with a smirk. "As for what was agreed - even if it wasn’t between you and Ms Waller, do I really strike you as a man to keep to my word?"

With that, Fuller sauntered out of the lab, and Nyssa struggled against her restraints. "You selfish piece of garbage, Helena!"

"Nyssa," Laurel said, "don't."

"No, Laurel - I will not sit here and watch you be tortured because our friend decided to betray us!"

"They tortured you?" Helena said, and while she spoke, Dina began to stir. The scientist was still in the midst of changing Dina's bandage, before hooking her up to an IV bag.

"Did you think Doctor Evil over here would make me a cup of tea?"

To her credit, the scientist did not comment on this, instead pulling off his gloves and walking away. Helena grunted and tried to sit up. "I'm sorry, okay? This wasn't how it was supposed to go -"

"Damn right it wasn't," Nyssa said. "I thought we were your family."

"I just wanted a way out, okay?"

"And in the process," Laurel said bitterly, "you found the boss's instead."

"I didn't know she wasn't healing," Helena said. "I wouldn't have shot her if I knew that -"

"You shot her? As if being a traitor isn't enough on its own?"

"Stop it," Dina said weakly, and she was clearly groggy and not fully lucid, but it was enough to quieten everyone for a moment.

"Boss, you still with us?" Laurel said. "Boss?"

"Still kicking," Dina said faintly. "But everything really fucking hurts."

"You're going to be okay," Nyssa said, as she always did - but Laurel wondered if that was possible given their circumstances.

"Oh, Nyssa," Dina said with the tiniest trace of a smile on her dull lips. "I say this with love, but you are a really shitty liar."

"I'm sorry, boss," Helena said. "If I knew -"

"- it wouldn't have changed a goddamn thing," Dina panted. "We both know that. More than anyone in this room."

Laurel took this in in silence. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You and Nyssa always had each other," Helena said. "From the beginning it was you and her. Always and forever. But me - all I had was my grief. And Dina too -"

"Don't you fucking dare bring her into this," Laurel snarled.

"I did want a way out," Dina admitted. "I was tired too. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this, Helena. Not with people who see us as nothing but lab rats. Just because I wanted an end doesn't mean I wanted it to be this messy. Or that you’d get our family involved. I can't believe you came to these people for answers."

"I made a mistake." Helena looked at Laurel pleadingly, but Laurel had no sympathy now towards the woman she would have died for mere hours earlier.

"Quelle fucking surprise."

“It just got out of hand. Waller didn't say anything about anyone getting hurt. And it was just meant to be me. None of you.”

“Shut up, Helena,” Dina said tiredly.

“Hear, hear,” Nyssa said.

“No, all of you, shut up! Listen!”

When they all quietened, Laurel could just about make out the sound of a scuffle in the next room, and it was only then she realised who was missing.

“Where’s Sarah?” Laurel said.

“She wanted out, got cold feet, so I gave her the car,” Dina said, panting and struggling to catch her breath as she groaned in pain. “But now I’m thinking -”

She was interrupted, though, when the double doors burst open and the soldiers guarding them fell on their faces in a haze of bullets - and in their wake was Sarah fucking Diggle.

Laurel was so grateful to see Sarah that her face broke into a smile, to the point that she practically forgot she had been scowling two seconds earlier.

“What are you doing here?” Nyssa said.

“Not that we’re not thrilled to see you, of course -” Laurel interjected.

“I figured we’re not gonna be family until I get to save your asses, right?” Sarah said with a grin, putting a gun in Dina’s hand. “You don’t look so good, Dina.”

“No shit,” Dina said, deadpan, but then she raised her gun and fired two rounds at the soldier that was about to run inside the room.

“You’ve still got it, boss,” Nyssa said with a wink.

“How did you find us?” Helena asked, with something of a pained expression on her face.

“Someone called Waller,” Sarah answered. “She said she’d made a huge mistake.”

“Seems to be going around,” Laurel muttered.

Sarah just shrugged. “Anyway. She helped me get in here.” Then, as she unstrapped Dina’s other wrist, Sarah asked, “You okay to move?”

“I was ready yesterday, kid.”

Next to Dina was Laurel, who Sarah freed from her restraints, and then Laurel jumped up to do the same for Nyssa. The two of them found their shirts underneath their beds, hastily pulling them on and buttoning them up.

When Sarah started to undo Helena’s restraints, though, Helena shook her head. “Just leave me here, Sarah.”

“I’m not leaving anyone behind,” Sarah said firmly.

“First time for everything,” Nyssa said, but Dina held up her hand.

“No. She’s coming. We’re gonna end Fuller and then will all walk out of here in one piece. Same as always.”

“She sold us out, boss!”

“I’m aware,” Dina said, grimacing in pain and scrunching her eyes shut as she got to her feet. “But she’s still one of us. Just like I am. Even though both of us have lost our way a bit.”

“Boss -”

“You and me, Helena, we’re still in this shitty game together, all right? Maybe I believed you all the times that you said that all we had was our own grief -”

“What are you talking about?” Nyssa demanded sharply.

Dina didn’t answer, though - Helena did. “You wouldn’t understand, Nyssa. Sometimes I wonder if you even see anyone in the world beside your wife -”

“Don’t you fucking dare start on her,” Laurel warned, but Dina held up her hand in finality.

“You’re gonna have her back and she’ll have yours, Laurel, Nyssa, and that’s an order,” Dina interrupted, and after glancing at Nyssa, Laurel nodded resignedly, accepting the handgun Sarah handed to her.

“Copy that.”

“All ready to roll?”

They moved out, and despite their fractured state as a team they still worked well together - they fought using the muscle memory that came with decades and centuries of being on the front lines flanking and protecting one another.

But this time one of their number was injured, and that slowed them in a way they weren’t used to. Sarah took three bullets for Dina, shielding her, and Nyssa, getting the same idea, followed her lead, doing the same by covering Dina on her left. Laurel brought up the rear, following the team into the reception area of Fuller Incorporated - but they were then hit by tear gas, making their formation scatter.

Faintly, Laurel could hear Helena saying that they were moving out, and Laurel reached around blindly in the gas clouding the air, searching increasingly desperately for her beloved’s wrist. When she found it she breathed a sigh of relief, but she then had the wind knocked out of her as two soldiers wrestled her to the floor and the bang of bullets sounded. Laurel felt a surge of adrenaline, white-hot with rage, as she kicked her assailants with such force that they were knocked off their feet; for good measure Laurel stamped on their throats, before the gas cleared and she could just make out Nyssa lying on the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Laurel whispered. Nyssa was motionless, a bloodied wound on her head where she’d been shot, and all of a sudden and all at once, it hit her: she started to understand Helena’s forlorn expression as she spoke of loneliness and grief. “Nyssa. NYSSA! Awaken, my love. Please. Please don’t leave me. Not now. I can’t. I can’t do this without you, habibti. Habibti, please wake up. Habibti -”

With a gasp, Nyssa came back to life, and in a way so did Laurel, her intake of breath so sharp it was like Nyssa had breathed life into them both. Tears dripping down her cheeks, Laurel cradled Nyssa’s face, her jaw, her fingers meeting blood and dirt.

“Nyssa,” Laurel said reverently, and her love’s name tasted like a prayer on her tongue. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m okay, ya Laurel. Let’s go - Dina needs us.”

In the end, their day only took one more strange turn, when Sarah defeated their enemy by running him out of a sixty-seventh storey window, crashing into a car. Nyssa helped Sarah to her feet, along with Helena, and they piled into a car and drove away.

So much went on in such a short period of time that Laurel, in the passenger seat beside Nyssa, only realised her legs were shaking when her wife's hand found her knee to still it.

#laurel x nyssa #lauryssa #femslashrevolution #scififemslash #laurel lance #nyssa al ghul #mine #my fic

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could pls write about Shouto telling his s/o about Endeavor & everything that happened? Maybe it happens after his fight with Midoriya or he just wanted to tell them about it? It can be headcanons or anything else. Whatever is easier for you :-) thank you!

todoroki shouto x reader

word count: 1156

warnings: some little sadness, fluff, small Endeavor hate, a tiny splash of NSFW (blink and you’ll miss it)

A/N: omg, this is actually something I kinda wanted to do?? or realized I wanted to do after reading this LOL so thank you genius anon!!!! okay, I’m going to tweak when it in time it happens because I just don’t see todoroki having an s/o until waaay past the sports festival arc (personally), other than that you got it!!!!!!!!!! requests are open :)

You were in the bathroom, humming along to whatever music was blasting through your speakers, making sure the water was warm, you added a few drops of lavender and eucalyptus oils into the water and sighed contentedly at the pleasant aroma that drafted through the bathroom. Grabbing the bouquet of roses that your loving boyfriend had given you a few weeks ago, you took one flower out and let the petals fall into the water.

You beamed, feeling thrilled at the thought of being able to soak in a bathtub for a few good hours before bed. You worked over at Uravity’s Hero Agency, head of Public Relations, and quite honestly it was a very simple and straightforward job. Uraraka just was such a charming woman that her having an immeasurable face in the limelight was never impossible, but it was still a demanding job that required you to be on your feet all day.

With the water-filled to the max amount, you sighed stripping off your robe and slipping one foot in. You just about moaned when the warm water seeped in your skin and you slowly got in, picking up your hair so it wouldn’t get wet.

You tilted your head back as you soaked in the warm water, feeling blissful.

The front door opened, and you cracked a closed eye open as you heard it shut.

“I’m home.” A voice called out sounding drained.

You trained your eyes on the closed bathroom doors until Shouto opened it, and stepped into the bathroom. “Welcome home, love!” You greeted him as he walked to your resting form and pressed a kiss on your lips delicately. “Wanna join me?” You ask, motioning down to the tub you were in.

“I need to talk to you,” Shouto says, ignoring your offer, as he puts the toilet seat cover down and sat down next to you, his head drooping instead of looking at you. “About Endeavor–my father.”

Your eyes widen slowly at this revelation, you had been dating a little more than a year, but in terms of familial relationships, you had only met and heard stories about his older sister, brother, and his mom. You knew that Endeavor was a sensitive spot in his life but you didn’t grasp as to why.

You nod your head, sitting up from your relaxed position to one of attentiveness and care, your hands folded over your knees, “Okay, Shouto, whenever you’re ready.”

You two sat there in silence, the only sound being the acoustic songs still playing calmingly through the speaker, and at this point, you were too afraid to turn it off. Shouto while no longer the reserved teenager his fellow Pro-Heroes claimed he was, his ability to open up and let people in, was still an issue he had, even with you.

“Endeavor was someone I despised, so much.” Shouto began, his eyes locking on yours and it almost took your breath away with how much sorrow and anger were swirling in his tremors. “As a kid, he wanted me to be number one, and he trained me diligently to be number one. It didn’t matter that I was only four years old, I was drilled to the bone to be a warrior.”

You nod, listening quietly as he continues talking. Shouto continues to open up about how Endeavor abused him as a child, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He quietly continued on how Endeavor even made Rei breakdown one day, hence the permanent reminder of that fatal night scarred on his face. At some point, you grab his hand and hold on reassuringly as he continues talking about some of his lowest memories that all seemed to involve Endeavor.

“He has been trying; however, for the past several years to make things better with me, and the rest of my family, but I can’t excuse him,” Shouto whispers as you press a delicate kiss on his fingers to remind you that you’re here for him. “He made me the worst version of myself, and suddenly switches to forgiveness, and everyone in my family has finally accepted his apologies. B-But I just can’t forgive him, and I won’t forgive him.”

You don’t blame him in the slightest for that opinion.

“At the same time, what if something bad happens and I can’t ever forgive him?”

You’re silent, you haven’t spoken the entire time he was letting you in on his worst memories, so instead, you help him to his feet while you stand as well.

Disregarding your slight embarrassment of being naked and dripping wet from the now cold bathtub water, you undo his costume, stripping him completely and letting him in the water with you. He stands in front of you, just gazing as you hug him close and returns the action. “Sit down, Shoucchan.” You murmur in his ear, sitting down on the tub again, and let him relax between your legs.

You smile affectionately as you feel the water heating up, along with the left side of his body. You brush Shouto’s hair with your fingers, gently massaging his scalp as you go. Slowly, Shouto molds to your will and is now putting his weight on you as you sit in silence, the aroma of the oils once again picking up.

“You don’t have to forgive him, you have never been obligated to forgive him.” You start after a bit, finally gathering the words to say. “Endeavor was your childhood oppressor, and not until you’re completely unhesitant should he ever deserve forgiveness. It’s difficult, I know because he is still your father despite his horrible decisions, but this is about you not him.”

“I feel like I should have an answer by now, y/n,” Shouto sighs as you press a kiss underneath his ear.

“Nah, you don’t.” You disagree wrapping your arms around him loosely, “If it takes you until your deathbed to decide, it’s perfectly okay, love. It’s about your forgiveness, feelings, and willingness, not Endeavors feelings.”

You watch him weakly nod, his head now resting on your collarbone.

“I’m not ready to forgive him…”

“Then I’ll support you, whatever you’re feeling at any moment, I will support how you feel.”

Shouto chuckles, pressing a kiss on your neck.

“Thank you, beautiful, I’m grateful that I have you.”

“I am, too.”

There we go!!!!!!!!!!!!!! that’s all I could think of, and I skipped over the majority of shouto letting you in on the deepness of his terrors because that would make me cry, so instead of pain take the comforting part of a relationship! plus by now I feel like everyone knows the entire story by heart.

bonus!

“What oils did you use, y/n, they smell really good?” Shouto asks as you both were now resting in the bath, eyes closed, humming along to the acoustic music.

“Lavender and eucalyptus, I’m glad I used them too, they’re apparently super helpful when you’re stressed, anxious, and need to vent.” You giggled, cracking open an eye to see Shouto smiling over at you.

“You really are the best,” Shouto states before sealing a kiss over your lips as his hand slips to the back of your neck. Safe to say you two found another way to vent out some pent up emotions: cuddling.

#todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki angst #todoroki fluff #bnha writing blog #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines

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wunderlass · 4 years

Text

Max Evans, King of Consent

For some reason, within the fandom, Max has got a bit of a reputation as a weird, creepy stalker when it comes to Liz. And I really don’t understand where this came from, because that is not what was presented to us on screen. At all.

Let’s examine the evidence, shall we?

tl;dr: He isn’t, you didn’t pay attention to the show and leapt to conclusions

The teen years:

The little we see of Echo growing up, we know Max and Liz have some level of friendship. Max plays a supportive role to her, especially in their senior year. But Liz was with Kyle, and there’s no evidence Max ever bad-mouthed Kyle or tried to get in their way, despite the fact that Kyle was an obnoxious jerk at that point.

Max makes plans for the future that don’t involve Liz. Only after their “moment” at the prom, when Liz is single, does Max make a move. By this point we know Liz is beginning to reciprocate his feelings. Their desert date is sweet, and almost ends in a kiss--but when Liz pulls away, Max’s first instinct is to apologise. He doesn’t push Liz to kiss him when she explains why she won’t, or argue with her plans. Instead, he only expresses regret--as does Liz. It’s clear that she thinks a kiss between them is a significant event and that how she feels may be as intense as how he does.

At this point, Max has everything he’s ever wanted (with regards to Liz) at his fingertips. But he respects Liz’s choices and boundaries. Everything we see of him suggests that if Liz was with Kyle until the end of high school and left Roswell without anything ever happening between them, he’d be okay with that. All he wants, all he has ever wanted, is for Liz to be happy--and if that’s with another man, then so be it.

Then he suggests, tentatively, that he come along on the roadtrip, and Liz is overjoyed at the idea. They make plans. Everything goes to shit, and Liz leaves. Max gives her the space to say goodbye to her family without seeking out one of his own, understanding that if she hasn’t sought him out, she has no intention of doing so. He lets her go and takes the emotional hit in silence. He doesn’t follow her. His reasons for this are complex--he has to stay for his siblings, and he feels guilty over his involvement in Rosa’s death--but it’s clear he doesn’t expect anything further from Liz at this point.

Present time in the season:

In 2018, Max’s understanding of consent has only improved. He refuses to kiss her in the pilot while assuming his feelings are having an impact on her ability to agree to it. He repeats that refusal in episode two for the same reason. Liz is the one in pursuit here, and Max is arguably trying to give her space until any influence he’s having on her has passed.

Also in episode two, she tells him she’s leaving Roswell. He accepts this. He was expecting it, even if he’s not happy about it. At the end of the episode, he’s gutted when she tells him that she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he doesn’t argue with her about it. He accepts it before she’s even finished telling him there will be no kiss. Liz is the one who manipulates him to spend more time together, and when he realises he’s being manipulated, he makes plans to try and move forward with somebody else, under the impression that Liz will be leaving town soon and he can lick his wounds when she’s gone.

Arguably in these early episodes Liz seeks out Max more than the other way around. She goes looking for him to collect his DNA in the pilot (which, let’s face it, is ethically ambiguous at best). She’s going to confront him when he comes to find her and confess his secret. She summons him to the church, and also to the turquoise mines. At the end of episode three they have a big confrontation over Max’s love letter, and he finally confesses the depths of his feelings. He does this to try and answer some of her questions, and because she’s pushing him to explain himself, not because he’s expecting reciprocation. Liz is the one who started this confrontation, not Max, and he walks away from it.

Not all of Max’s reactions are healthy--he blows up the town after this confrontation. Yet this seems to be as much a side effect of healing Liz as it is his emotions. He’s calmer in the next episode, and turns his attention to what he believes will be a strategy to ensure Liz leaves town.

That’s right. He’s so entitled to Liz that he plans to make sure she leaves Roswell. What a foolproof plan to win the girl, right?

There is another Echo confrontation at the end of episode four, where Max asks Liz to tell him how she feels. The question may come across as demanding, but by this point he knows she’s been playing with his feelings. He also knows she’s spilled the secret she promised to keep. His anger here is quiet and non-threatening. He’s asking for the truth, not demanding that she return his feelings. He wants closure but he expects to never see her again after this confrontation: his final words to her are a goodbye.

When he finds out in episode five that Michael and Isobel sent her away in 2008, he does demand to know where she is, because he wants to give her this truth. However, that revelation is interrupted by her being in danger, and he rushes to her rescue. He never does tell her about that himself. Liz comes to his house to make sure he’s okay, and from there the secrets from ten years ago come spilling out. Liz tells Max to stay away from her--and he does. He doesn’t plead with her or try to justify himself. He lets her go, again.

(He is hurt and angry, and that spills out around him in episode seven, but it is not directed at Liz, who he recognises deserves her own anger).

In fact he abides by this so well over the next couple of episodes that at the beginning of episode nine things are noticeably awkward between them. Liz has been working to save Isobel, and realistically this is only because of her own unvoiced feelings for Max, but he continues to give her space. We’ve seen him avoiding her in episodes seven and eight, and now Max is so careful of her boundaries that he misses all the signals she’s giving him. When she’s cold, he asks if he can give her his jacket, rather than assuming she wants it. She approaches him several times over the course of the episode (outside the tents, in the bar), and in the end, she’s the one who initiates the kiss. This is after he has made a grand speech about how he loves her despite her flaws--then turned his back to walk away because he still assumes her feelings towards him have not changed.

The entire season shows that Max is so careful of how he approaches Liz. Consent matters to him (and yes, the healing scene with Michael in the finale is deliberately out of character) and he never expects Liz to return his feelings. Any time she hints that she doesn’t return them, he blindly accepts this because he’s working under the assumption she could never love him. Similarly, he misses the obvious signs that she does have feelings for him. He prioritises what she says over her body language and behaviours, making no presumptions until she literally reels him in for a kiss. His self-esteem is somewhere in the depths of the desert outside of Roswell, and it’s going to take a lot of work to unearth it.

So where has this collective fanon come from? If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of a few things.

Max is a big guy. I’ve talked about this elsewhere, but I think his size and his anger issues in the early episodes (which the show went to great pains to explain were out of character) had people deciding he was some kind of alphahole trope. And once they’d decided that, it didn’t matter what actually happened on the show, they were going to see Max’s feelings for Liz as selfish, his pining as something he was trying to make her problem, her love something he felt entitled to. I also believe there’s a certain amount of “straight white man, let’s hate him because he isn’t oppressed” going on, which completely misunderstands what privilege is. (I believe that because I’ve seen it expressed that way, I’m not pulling that out of nothing).

Also, throughout the season Max and Michael have a slightly adversarial relationship. Michael is something of a fan-favourite and that has led to people siding with him over Max, even where Michael was wrong (see: the end of episode 12/beginning of episode 13, where Michael got himself killed by Noah because he refused to listen to Max).

You don’t have to love or even like Max. But if any of your critique of him as a character starts from a place of “he felt entitled to Liz” or “he was a stalker”, then I’m going to dismiss you out of hand, because you haven’t been paying attention to what was actually happening in the show.

Let’s give the last word to our leading lady:

“I love him--and he loves me. I wish you had the chance to have someone love you, Rosa. Purely. Without expectation or entitlement.”

See? Liz gets it.

(Also, just in case any of this seems anti-Liz, it’s not. Liz was justified in all of her actions during the show).

#roswell new mexico #meta #rnm echo #max evans #liz ortecho

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Four: Lies

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: brief mention of blood, allusions to an abusive household/family, mention of child custody battle, 80s typical misogyny, cursing.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Four - Next

-—-—-—-

He'd lied. You read the name over and over again, the crumpled letter shaking in your hands. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. He wasn't Max Lord, he was Maxwell Lorenzano and you had no idea how he could lie to you - or better yet, why he would lie to you? There was a reason for everything. You might’ve been new to the world of man, and you might not yet understand their conditions and way of life, but it didn’t change the fact that this hurt. He was your first friend - your first real friend who wasn’t a child. He accepted you into his home, and he even believed you when you told him who you are. You had opened up about being a literal goddess from the secret haven Themyscira, and he hadn’t even told you his real name.

And then, your visions of him… memories and dreams… they hit you one by one. Now you could finally put a face to the voice that had been haunting you. He was the child you saw when you had fallen asleep in Black Gold Cooperative, the child who was getting bullied for the clothes he wore, and his shoes. You felt foolish not realising it sooner. The image of ‘Little Lorenzano’ getting tormented perfectly paralleled the way Alistair had gotten cornered in the park earlier today. Your heart ached for them both.

Max Lord was clearly putting on a brave face in front of you. But now that you knew who he really was, you knew that he was deeply hurting, and he needed your help. He might not realise it, but this is why you were here. You’d come to the world of man to fulfil your duty as the Goddess of Home and Hearth for a reason and Zeus had deliberately connected you with Alistair and Maxwell. This was your purpose. They were your purpose.

You smoothed out the letter to the best of your ability, deciding that if you were to help him, you should probably read it. You had hope that it would help you understand things and allow you to piece together the puzzle. You glanced back at the speckles of his blood in the sink, and the smashed vase on the floor. Whatever was in this letter had clearly angered him.

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

A bond. You were quickly able to identify that Julianna Grey was the mother of Alistiar, although the bond between she and Theodore Thomas IV had not yet become clear to you. Your heart would usually find warmth in the revelation that Julianna was, in fact a ‘caring and devoted’ mother, but instead it grew cold. As the goddess of home and hearth, you could sense the lie in his words. You wanted to believe that Julianna was a good mother, but your intuition said otherwise. These were your powers - and there was no way you were wrong about this. Despite the immediate concern you had for Allistair, you pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and forced yourself to continue reading the letter.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

Marriage - Max and Julianna were married. It was something you had read about back on Themyscira when you had spent time educating yourself on the ‘way of man’. Marriage was, supposedly, a sacred ritual that joined together the spirits of two people in the name of love. And love was the fundamental principle that would create a family. At the core of a family, was love, and that was the most important thing. Your eyes flicked back up the final sentence of the first paragraph; “We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.” You couldn’t help but shake your head profusely. These people wanted to take Alistair away from Max? There was no way. Theodore may think that Julianna deserves Alisitair, but it was never going to be about ‘deserve’. It could only be about love. And you knew for certain that Maxwell loved Alistair with his whole heart.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano’s divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

Divorce was something you weren’t so familiar with, and you figured it should be something you ask Maxwell about at a later date. It was at this moment you learned that Theodore was Julianna’s partner, lover, even. No wonder he thought so highly of her. There was no question about it. You knew you had to pay Julianna and Theodore a visit to see for yourself. You had to see the truth.

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Banishment? The thought of splitting up Max and Alistair filled you with the most excruciating pain. You couldn’t let this happen. You wouldn’t let this happen.

Sincerely,

Ted

So Theodore was Ted and Maxwell was Max. If you had known that names in the world of man could fluctuate so much, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten mad so mad at Max for lying about his name. After catching the address on the envelope, you engrained it in your memory and carefully folded up the letter and placed it in the pocket of the Maxwell’s pinstripe shirt that he had given you to wear. Now you just had to figure out a way to get to the address on the letter.

You spent some time sweeping up the shattered glass on the floor, and cleaned up the sink before padding back into the living room and sliding your feet back into your gladiator sandals, buckling them up. You even picked up the lasso of truth and tied it around your waist so it acted like a makeshift belt on you. There was no way you were going to leave it behind. You took another look at the photo frame that was on the small table next to the couch and picked it up. You smiled as you felt the exact same love that Maxwell felt when he was in the photo, holding baby Alistair. Just looking at the family portrait filled you with so much joy. You knew that Max’s love for his son was genuine.

Turning the frame over, you opened it up and took the glossy polaroid out, placing it in the same pocket of your shirt. You loved the photo and you wanted to take it wherever you went.

It was cold outside, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. There was definitely a draft, and you wondered if you should’ve changed back into your Amazonian warrior gear. The oversized shirt that Maxwell had given you, as well as the gladiator sandals, didn’t really provide you with the greatest amount of warmth. You weren’t even wearing anything on your legs.

A small old lady with a zimmer frame was walking down the street. “Oh wow!” she exclaimed, looking you up and down, presumably judging your outfit of choice. “You have very nice legs, but aren’t you cold?”

You looked down at your legs, noticing the goose pimples, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes, but I’ll be okay. Do you think you could help me with something?” you asked curiously, watching as she raised her eyebrows.

“Me? Help you? What could little old me-”

You took the letter out of your pocket and pointed to the address. “How do I get here?”

She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “Thomas Family Lawyers,” she read out loud, before turning back to you. “Honey, this law firm is on the other side of Georgetown. You best call a cabbie, especially this late in the evening.”

“A cabbie?” you asked, shivering in the cold. “I’m sorry… I’m not from round here.” you shrugged helplessly.

“Let me help you.” the old lady said, reaching into her purse and bringing out an enormous 1984 brick-like cell phone. The contraption shocked you, and you even wondered how she had fit it in her bag. She pulled out the antenna and began to dial a number. “Hi, could I get a pre-paid taxi to Thomas Family Law Firm, Georgetown? Thank you,” She put the phone back in her purse and offered you a smile. “A cab won’t be long. I’m Mrs Stagg, by the way. Might I enquire… why are you going to a family law firm when you’re not even from the area?”

“To help a friend.” you returned the smile.

“Does your friend live in this neighbourhood?”

“He does. Um… his name is Max Lord?” you explained but the way it left your lips made it sound more like a question. Lord? Lorenzano? What difference did it make?

“Ah,” was the small sound that emitted from Mrs Stagg’s throat. “Max Lord, the oil guy. My son Simon is- was an investor for Maxwell’s company. From what I heard, the company is bust. A joke. Max Lord has been scamming the entire nation for years.”

“Scamming?” you asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Black Gold Cooperative have shares in oil fields all around the world, only, the oil fields have completely dried up, you know - with the Cold War and all. But he kept going… kept making those silly infomercials and selling his dream. ‘Anything you want, you can have it.’ or something like that.” Mrs Stagg scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. You recognised the quote from when you had seen him all suited up on the television.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why would he lie to the whole country?” you beckoned further, despite the conversation bringing you some uncomfort. Max had seemed like a genuinely good guy and a loving father up until this point.

“For money, I suppose. That’s all it’s ever about with folk like him. Money. I chastise my son for it too. He’s the CEO of Stagg Industries and the only reason I could live in such a beautiful neighbourhood like this one. He bought my home here,” she beamed proudly. “But, I don’t know much about Max Lord. Don’t really see him around on the streets either. He must be cooped up in his office most of the time. Hey, you’re his friend. Maybe you should ask him why he’s nothing but a low-life conman.”

Her words stung, and they weren’t even about you. You were completely lost for words, and surprised that she had so much hate in her heart for Max. Granted, if he was rivals with her son, it would make sense, but she did raise many questions that concerned you greatly. When the taxi pulled up, she paid the driver and helped you into the passenger seat. “I don’t know Max Lord,” she whispered from the other side of the car door. “But please darling, be careful.” She warned you before the cabbie whisked you away.

Your concept of time was slightly askew, but you figured the journey to the law firm lasted twice as long as the journey from Black Gold to Max’s home. You looked out the window taking in the stunning city at night. The buildings were all lit up and reflected against the windows, creating a glitter in your eye. There was nothing like this on Themyscira. No tall skyscrapers, no enormous shopping malls or company buildings. D.C. was booming, and it was beautiful. The journey allowed you to process Mrs Stagg’s words and think even more about Max. Clearly, both Julianna and Theodore had their reasons not to like Maxwell, and now, so did Mrs Stagg and her son Simon. You had to speak to Max and confront him. You knew there was more to him than what meets the eye.

Thomas Family Lawyer’s was a big building, not as big as Black Gold Cooperative, but it was still big. Just as you went through the revolving doors (which you had now grown accustomed to, due to your time spent and Max’s office) a group of girls began to file out. Whilst Raquel had been somewhat confused by your presence, these girls shot you the most evil of stares.

“Do you know what time it is? Office hours are closed. Why are you here?” One girl with sleek black hair spat coldly. You practically winced at the malice in her voice.

“Oh, I’m here to see Theodore Thomas?” you said slowly, nervously biting your lip.

“Who are you?” quizzed the same ebony haired girl.

“I’m a friend of Max Lord.” was the only thing you could come out with. Maxwell had warned you to refrain from identifying yourself as the ‘goddess of home and hearth’ in front of the public. He told you that people won’t believe him like he does, and that they’ll think you’re crazy. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Max Lord!” a red haired girl gasped, and a shorter blonde girl slapped her hand over the redhead’s mouth. “Sorry,” the redhead muffled as the blonde girl removed her hand. “He’s just so sexy.”

“But you know we’re not supposed to like him.” The blonde girl hissed.

“Huh?” you asked, knotting your eyebrows together. “Not supposed to?”

The ebony haired girl let out a longing groan. “Will the both of you just shut up?” she grimaced, glaring at the other two girls before looking back at you with that same mean stare. “Turn left, his office is the big one at the bottom of the corridor. You’re lucky he’s working late tonight.”

“Yeah, on his girlfriend’s case.” The redhead said weakly.

“Can you not keep your mouth shut?” Snapped the black haired girl. “Why would you say that in front of this hobo stranger when she’s just said she’s Max Lord’s friend. She doesn’t need to know that Mr Thomas is working on the custody case! It’s a wonder he hasn’t fired you yet for being so stupid.”

You had zoned out of the pointless conversation about mid-way through anyway. Those girls were nothing but rude to each other anyway. You slipped past them and down the corridor until you reached two double doors, not hesitating for a second to open them up.

There, with his head buried down into a pile of papers, was a dark haired man in a tight fitted suit. He abruptly looked up when you had entered his office, his mustache wavering in bewilderment as he took in the appearance of a girl who was wearing nothing but an oversized button up shirt and brown strapped gladiator sandals. “C-can I help you?” he gulped, relishing the sight of his body like it was the sweetest view he’d ever come across. You crossed your bare legs together awkwardly, feeling slightly vulnerable by the way he was staring at you.

“Are you Theodore Thomas IV?” you asked.

“I am.” the dark haired man confirmed, shuffling around in his leather seat.

You nodded, turning around to close the double doors behind you and walking over to his desk. You took out the crumpled up letter that had been addressed to Maxwell Lorenzano and slid it over the expensive oak wood. “What is this?” you questioned. Theodore took out his reading glasses before analysing it.

“Where did you get this letter?”

“Max Lord is my friend.” you gulped, folding your arms over your chest. “And this letter…”

“You mean Maxwell Lorenzano?” Theodore scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m not here to discuss that low-life loser, okay? I have more pressing matters to deal with.”

“So do I.” you persisted. “This letter…”

“Unless you’re his lawyer, and I doubt you are,” he snarled, looking at you up and down with the utmost disdain. “I will not be discussing the letter with you. Friend or not, it’s confidential.”

“I’m here to help him.” you gritted out, unable to believe the anger that dripped from your own tongue. It was true, you were angry. You were angry at the way everyone was so against Maxwell Lord, and you were angry at the fact the reason remained so unclear. Every new person you met didn’t like him, and you just wanted to know why.

Your words did pique the curiosity of Theodore, however. He raised an eyebrow and leaned over his desk, his gaze not breaking from you once. “Help him? You mean, you’ll be representing him in court?” You weren’t sure what that meant, but you nodded your head. If this was the only way you could get information out of Theodore Thomas IV, then so be it. “Do you even have any legal experience?”

“What? No. I told you, I’m just his friend.”

Theodore let out a boisterous laugh, the level of volume making you flinch. “Shit, he can’t even afford his own lawyer. I didn’t realise it was that bad,” he assumed. “Excuse me for one second.” he pointed a finger and dialled a number on the telephone.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was Julianna’s home. When Alistair heard his dad’s voice, he came running downstairs to greet him. “Daddy!” he called excitedly, running into his father’s arms. “You came back!” Maxwell picked up Alistair and spun him around, pressing a loving kiss to his son’s forehead.

“What do you want Maxwell?” Julianna sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the marble floor of the lobby.

“To talk,” Max answered, placing Alistair back down on the floor. “Just us two. Uh- is Ted here?”

“Lucky for you he’s working late at the firm. Working on our damn case,” Julianna shook her head before turning to face her son. “Alistair, go to your room.” she commanded.

“But I want to see daddy!” Alistair cried, tears pricking his dark brown eyes.

“He can stay.” Maxwell negotiated but the comment was completely lost on Julianna.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Julianna barked angrily, which sent a frightened Alistair running back to his bedroom.

“Shit Julianna, he’s just a kid. No need to talk to him like that.” Maxwell frowned, his ex-wife’s tone reminding him of his own father’s.

“Now Maxwell, I know you’re not giving me parenting advice, are you?” she asked sarcastically. Maxwell noted how bitter she had become, or perhaps, how bitter she always was. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk about the case. Try and change my mind. Well, you can’t.”

“Julianna, I know things have been rough between us since the divorce but I just want what’s best for Alistair. I love him so much.” Maxwell revealed.

“Bullshit!” Julianna scowled. “All you do, Max, is speak bullshit. You want what’s best for him? You’ll allow me and Ted to have full custody of Alistair. You’re a shit father and you know it.”

“I know- I know I’m messed up. I mean, I’ve messed up in the past but, something happened. Something inside me woke up and I’m ready to step up Julianna. I’ve changed, please just believe me. I love Ali-”

“You don’t deserve him,” Julianna growled. “You know what Maxwell? You’re nothing but a deadbeat. Just like your father was.”

Maxwell felt his face turn red with rage at his ex-wife's comment. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles had even turned white. “I am nothing like my father!” Maxwell yelled defensively as the anger bubbled within him. He wanted to cry. Every time a memory of his own abusive father came up, it made Max want to curl up into a whole and cry. It broke him.

Before Julianna could reply, the phone on the wall began to ring. Julianna answered it.

“Hey, Julie?” Theodore was on the line, still laughing from his talk with you. “Baby, you won’t believe this.”

“What is it?” Julianna asked hesitantly, twirling the wire of the phone around her finger.

“Some girl- some half naked girl is here- in my office claiming to be a friend of Maxwell,” Theodore spluttered. You frowned at his tone of voice as he talked about you, right in front of you. Julianna turned to Maxwell in bewilderment, who was just standing there and had no idea what was going on. “She’s saying she’s going to represent him during the custody trial.”

“What?” Julianna spat. ��Who the fuck is she?”

“I don’t know! Never seen her in my life. Pretty little thing though, I guessed maybe he’s fucking her? Not sure. She says she’s living with him.”

“Living-” Julianna couldn’t help but repeat her boyfriend’s words. “Teddy, Maxwell is here. Right now. Can you come home and… bring her with you? I want to have words with her.”

“Got it. See you soon sweetie.” Theodore finished before hanging up the phone.

Julianna turned to Max. “That was Theodore. He says some half naked girl has shown up to his office claiming to be a friend of yours.”

Maxwell’s eyes went comically wide as his greatest fears became realised. “What? No, no- there’s no way. That’s impossible. I told her to stay at home- how the hell did she get to Thomas Family Lawyer’s?”

“You’re asking me?” Julianna gasped in disbelief. “Who the hell is she, Max?”

Max was so confused and shocked, he couldn’t even find words. If you had found your way to Theodore’s office, that meant you had read the letter. It also meant that you knew his name. And finally, it meant that you had completely invaded your privacy. Part of Maxwell was mad, but an even bigger part of him was confused as to how you ended up on the other side of Georgetown in the office of his ex-wife’s current boyfriend. You weren’t even from round here, hell, you’d only gotten into a car for the first time today. Julianna and Theodore weren’t the only ones who had a thousand questions. Maxwell did too.

When you arrived at the Thomas family home, you looked at it with complete adoration, just like how you looked at Maxwell’s home. It was extensive in size, with beautiful pillars and adorned with flowers on every corner. Maxwell and Julianna were waiting for you and Ted in the dining room. Ted hung up his suit jacket on the coat peg in the lobby and you slowly followed him into the dining room. Unlike Maxwell’s home, which was covered with photographs of Alistair, you couldn’t spot a single picture of the bright eyed child in any of the rooms you passed. You wondered why.

When you entered the room, Julianna’s and Maxwell’s jaws both dropped in unison. “She’s wearing your shirt!” Julianna screeched, pointing her finger accusingly at you.

“Yeah? So fucking what?” Maxwell shot back. “I didn’t realise you can police my wardrobe now!”

Your gaze flicked between Maxwell and Julianna who were already arguing with each other. "Can we settle down?" Theodore intervened, placing his briefcase down on the table.

Maxwell turned to you and took a deep breath. "Why- why didn't you put on some clothes before you left the house?" he sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his composure.

"I- I didn't have any clothes and. I didn't know if it was normal to dress like this in the world of man." you admitted sheepishly, feeling embarrassed that you'd made a fool of yourself and seemingly Maxwell too.

"The world of what?" Julianna scrunched up her nose. "She has no clothes? Maxwell, where did you pick this whore up?"

You stiffened up at her harsh words and Maxwell's dark eyes snapped open. "Don't call her that," he warned. "She's… different. Look, I can't explain now but-"

Julianna turned to Theodore. "I want her out of my house. She's a fucking prostitute."

"She's not a prostitute," Maxwell sighed, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair as the stress engulfed him. "She's just a friend."

"I want her out." Julianna reiterated, her voice like venom.

"I- I can wait by the car," you told Maxwell timidly. He didn't reply, instead just putting his head in his hands. You turned to Julianna and Theodore. "I apologise for any intrusion I may have brought upon you both." you said before walking away.

Even before you got to the front door, you'd heard them start fighting again. Maxwell wasn't yelling, but Julianna was so loud and accusing. You couldn't help but feel like she brought around such a toxic environment.

As you leaned against Maxwell's car, you looked up at the upstairs window. It was illuminated, signifying that the light was on. It was so cold and you couldn't help but sigh as you waited for your friend to return and take you home— if he still liked you, that is. After everything that had gone on, you wouldn't be surprised if he just left you on a street corner to fend for yourself.

You were delighted when you saw Alistair in the illuminated window. He poked his head around the curtains, smiling and waving immediately when he saw you. You grinned back, thankful to see the sweet boy and to know that he was okay. The smile on his face dropped and although you couldn't hear what was going on back in the house, you could tell by his expression that there was something wrong. Alistair disappeared from the curtains and you began to untie the lasso of Hestia from your waist. Swinging the rope around in the air, you attached it to Alistair's balcony and swung yourself up to the third storey of the Thomas family home. You quietly tapped on his window. After only a few seconds Alistair returned and let you in.

You clambered back into the house, finding yourself in the little boys bedroom. "Hey Alistair, how you doing?" you smiled, kneeling down and giving your friend a hug.

"I'm good, I'm so glad to see you again!" Alistair confessed with a toothy grin. "How did you get up here?" Alistair asked curiously, stepping out onto the balcony and looking at the long way down from where you had been standing by his father's car.

You gulped. "Can you keep a secret?" you whispered. Alistair nodded enthusiastically. "Okay." you showed Alistair your lasso, and he watched it with bright eyes as it glowed gold. If you could trust Max, you knew for a fact you could certainly trust Alistair. After all, they were your purpose. They were the reason you had found yourself in the world of man.

"Whoa, what is it?" Alistair asked, pointing his finger hesitantly, as if he wanted to touch it but not sure if it would hurt him.

"It's magical," you revealed. "My mother Hestia gave me it. It lets people see the truth, and speak the truth. It knows when you're lying."

"...And it helps you climb up really tall buildings? Like Spiderman?" Alistair asked with wide eyes.

You giggled. "Yes."

"Can I try?" Alistair beckoned further.

"Maybe one day," you promised him. "It can be difficult to learn, but I'd love to teach you."

You and Alistair both gasped as you listened in on what was going downstairs. You heard footsteps, and it sounded like Max was leaving. You rose to your feet and approached the window again, unravelling your lasso. "Hey, I have to go now. Listen, you can't tell Julianna or Ted that I was up here, okay? I don't think they like me."

"Oh, they don't like anyone who's associated with daddy." Alistair frowned, but nodded understandingly. "Are you going home with daddy?"

"I hope so." you replied, because there was really no way of telling where you stood with Maxwell at this point in time.

"Good," Alistair beamed, and in that moment, you recognised his smile to be the spitting double of his father's. "Because I like it when you're around daddy. He's not as miserable."

You tilted your head but had no time to question Alistair because you heard the front door open. Swinging back on your lasso, you attached it to the branch of a tree and dropped back down to the front of the porch where Maxwell's car was parked. Wrapping your lasso back around your waist, you pretended like you hadn't moved from the car— like you had been waiting for him this entire time.

"Good night!" Maxwell called but earned no response, only the slam of the front door. He sighed deeply and slumped his shoulders in defeat before turning to face you. His lips were curled into a frown and he shook his head as he approached you, sliding past you and unlocking the car door. "Get in." he told you, to which you obliged and slipped into the passenger seat.

Maxwell dropped his head to the wheel of the car in frustration. He wanted to scream. Cry. Yell. Curse. He hated this. He hated having to fight for what was already his. He needed Alistair— his life would be empty without his son. There was no question about it. And unfortunately for Max, he was beginning to lose all hope.

"Are you okay?" You asked, feeling as though the question was a stupid one considering the disheveled look on Maxwell's face. You placed a hand on his back with full intention to be comforting. He didn't reply. After a few seconds of silence, you heard his sobs. You heard his whimpers and chokes. "Oh Max." you whispered quietly, rubbing his back.

"I can't— I can't fucking do this," Maxwell cried, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling onto the steering wheel. "They're right— what they say about me— they're all right. I'm a monster."

You winced, shaking your head at his comment. "You are not a monster." you assured him.

"You don't even know me," Maxwell huffed before glaring at you, the tears still falling. "You're just— you're just some random girl who came into my life at the wrong fucking time and— I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?" He said your name like it was poison and the desperation in his voice was enough to make your heart ache.

You swallowed. "When I found out your name, your real name, I knew for certain… Zeus brought me to you and Alistair for a reason. Everything is so clear now. Max, I'm here to help you."

"I'm screwed— we’re screwed. It's pointless. There's nothing we can do. We can't go up against them. Julianna is a fucking psycho and Ted is one of the best family lawyers in the state—"

"And I'm the daughter of Zeus and Hestia. I'm the Goddess of Home and Hearth and I will not let them rip you away from Alistair." you promised with pure determination in your voice. The change of your tone was enough to make Maxwell stop crying and look up to you like you were his saviour. His angel. And despite everything that happened, despite the feeling of complete hopelessness, he believed you.

The war began now.

-—-—-—-

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut

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echo-bleu · 4 years

Text

New Year

Title: New Year

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1436

Characters: Alex Manes, Maria DeLuca, Rosa Ortecho

Summary: New Year's Eve at the Wild Pony is hard on Alex.

A/N: This is a little snippet of a fic that wanted to be written today. I had the first sentence, then it went wildly different from what I expected, but I like it like it is.

[PTSD flashback/panic attack, implied alcoholism]

Read on AO3

Coming to the Wild Pony's New Year's Eve party was a terrible idea, Alex decides as he squirms in his seat, nervously checking his watch. He's starting to wonder if the hand is frozen at twenty minutes to midnight. He doesn't even know why he caved in to his friends' relentless nagging. So they would leave him alone, probably. That plan failed spectacularly, since he's now stuck in a corner of the packed bar, watching Maria, Liz and Rosa dance and trying not to flinch every time someone comes within three feet of him.

He knows that Maria hoped tonight would be an opportunity to start repairing their damaged friendship. They've barely seen each other since she ended things with Michael, only days after they first hooked up, when the revelation that not only Michael was an alien but also that he helped cover up her best friend's murder proved to be too much for her.

Alex wants to forgive her. He wants to go back to their easy camaraderie, to support each other over drinks and talk about boy problems and Maria's mom's health and what Alex will do after his discharge. He doesn't want the pang in his chest every time he thinks of her and Michael, the tears he can only stop by snapping at her with a biting comment. They did nothing wrong, he tells himself. He and Michael were not together. Alex didn't tell Maria the full story. She didn't know.

“Alex,” a voice shakes him out of his thoughts, and he looks up. Maria just slid into the seat across from him, her cheeks red from dancing and drinking. Alex's hand tightens around his glass.

“Tired of dancing?” he asks with his best fake smile.

Maria clearly sees through his facade, but she plays along. “I want to dance with you,” she says.

“I don't dance anymore,” Alex says.

Not that he's danced a lot in his life. He went to prom without a date, since the whole school knew he was gay anyway. No boy offered to parade around with him. Then the military didn't offer many opportunities for dancing.

Maria's eyes flicker down to his legs. His left leg is moving quietly in rhythm with the music, but his right stays still, missing a working ankle to bounce.

“Come on. I'll go easy on you.”

Alex looks away, not letting their eyes meet. He hates himself for not being able to do something as simple as faking it. Why is it so hard tonight? He's a master at pretending he's fine. He smiled his way through his hospital stay and his rehab. He smiled his way through his abused childhood. He can do this.

“Okay,” he decides suddenly. He stands up so brutally that his chair screeches on the floor, but it's drowned out by the music. It's loud, too loud in here. Alex can't hear people approaching him. Sounds fade into each other and make his head pound. His leg aches.

Maria's small hand slips into his. Alex is briefly grateful for her not going over the top, or being too tentative. She's trying, and so is he. It's awkward and painful but they're doing their best.

She's apologized, several times, for not understanding, for breaking her promise. Alex doesn't know why it doesn't feel like enough.

Liz lightly bumps into him, as Alex starts moving his hips in rhythm with the music. His leg doesn't love it, but it's not too bad. It's a song he likes, even though the noise is hard to bear. Maria smiles, and Rosa high fives her.

They're happy together. Now Max has been resurrected, and Rosa has a new identity, the dust has settled and they have a moment of peace. Alex swallows.

They've all cheerfully abandoned the Caulfield files to him, leaving him to spend his nights watching footage of aliens being tortured−Alex can handle it, can't he? He's a soldier. He's seen worse. Hell, he's done worse.

He hasn't slept two hours in a row in months. When it's not nightmares, it's the pain. He keeps things close to heart, though. It's his own fault, he knows, for not telling anyone.

In a moment of clarity, Alex identifies the feeling that's been nagging him since that night he found Maria and Michael kissing. It's loneliness. Maria's betrayal hurt so much because she was the first person he ever told about Michael, and she treated his confession of love like a joke. Michael keeps throwing his father in his face like he's the only one who's ever been hurt by him. Kyle knows bribes, about the abuse, about Michael, but he doesn't ever ask more. No one knows about the homophobic jokes Alex smiles through at work, where he has to pretend to be someone he isn't. They don't know about the scars on his body that aren't from the war, and the ones that are. They don't know about the pain or the flashbacks or the fear that grips him sometimes. They don't know about the men who died under his command and the people who died by his hand, and how much they haunt him, every single day.

No one asks.

Feeling like he might choke, Alex steps away and escapes through the front door. Less than ten minutes to midnight, his watch tells him. He glimpses a cowboy hat, but it's not Michael. The alien siblings are here somewhere tonight, he knows, but he hasn't seen them.

He toys with the idea getting into his car and just driving home, but he resists the impulse and goes the opposite direction instead. Maria's red truck is parked at the end of the lot, closest to the bar's back door, so he lays down the back and sits on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. He's cold.

In a minute, everyone else will be heading out to see the fireworks, starting at midnight. Alex has been dreading this moment most. He braces himself, trying to take deeper breaths. The music still resounds loudly, even with the doors of the bar closed against the cold.

“What's wrong?”

Alex looks up in time to see Rosa approach. He's missed her leaving the bar. She sits down beside him, one leg tucked under her.

“Nothing,” Alex says. They haven't talked a lot since she was resurrected. Alex still isn't used to that thought, that he now has ten years on her. They used to be good friends.

“Don't give me that. I may be dead, but I'm not ignorant. I can see you're struggling.”

Alex sighs, but he doesn't answer.

“I am too, you know. It's hard to watch so many people drinking. Liz and Maria have good intentions, but they don't think sometimes.”

Neither does Alex, apparently, because he's hadn't even noticed. “It's gotta be hard,” he says.

“You know what? I'm really glad you didn't just ask me if I was thinking of having a drink. I'm not, by the way. It doesn't mean it's not hard.”

“I know,” Alex murmurs. “It's hard to be around so many people. And so much noise.”

Rosa nods. “Yeah. Let's stick together, okay?”

“Um,” Alex agrees. On an impulse, he adds, “It's five to. Fireworks soon. Can you−”

Rosa shifts and grabs his hand. “I'll be here,” she says.

“Thank you,” Alex gives her a small smile. “I've missed you.”

“Oh, mijo,” Rosa murmurs. “It wasn't long ago for me, but I thought...when I first saw you in uniform, I thought you'd changed too much. I thought you weren't you anymore. You've all...everything's so different.”

For a moment, Alex sees his own loneliness reflected in Rosa's eyes. “I'm still me,” he murmurs. “Just more...jagged. Burnt.”

“Old,” Rosa laughs quietly.

“Yeah, old. And you're a baby.”

They keep holding hands as the countdown starts, and the parking lot fills with people shouting along. At zero, Rosa leans in to press a kiss to Alex's forehead, then she wraps her arms around him as he flinches hard at the first cracks of the fireworks. He loses himself for a moment, gunshots and cries echoing in his head, but he never stops feeling her embrace.

It gets easier, progressively. He opens his eyes again, and he only sees the parking lot, and Liz and Maria looking for them among the crowd.

“You with me?” Rosa asks.

Alex nods and swallows. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, mijo. Anytime.”

Alex lays his head on Rosa's shoulder. “Happy New Year,” he murmurs.

“2020,” Rosa whispers. “What a concept.”

Alex laughs.

I couldn't resist the Russian Doll reference! :D I hope you liked it, I would love to hear your thoughts.

#roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfiction #alex manes #rosa ortecho #maria deluca #echo's fanfiction #mine

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marvel-lucy · 5 years

Text

The Fall, chapter 20 - THE END!

Yes, you read that right, I’ve only gone and flipping finished this fic! Fluff ahoy!

I’m not saying it’s any good, ‘cos it isn’t, but it’s complete, and that fills me with satisfaction anyway!

Complete story Masterlist is here

Steve just sat there. She couldn’t read his face at all; he was hiding his emotions too well. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected – anger that she was meddling, anger that Bucky was giving up perhaps? Maybe pity that Bucky couldn’t walk away, or even confusion at the idea. Then he blinked, and his face changed, and she saw… sorrow. His eyes, usually so clear, glinted with unshed tears and he looked down so that she might not see his weakness. He reached for his glass, took a drink to steady himself, then pushed the plate away and looked up.

‘He told you that? That he wants to stop?’ She nodded, unsure where this was going to end up. Steve’s shoulders suddenly dropped, as if all he’d been holding a hundred years of tension and it had been taken from him at last, and he smiled, although his mouth shook as if he was breaking. ‘I never thought he’d find it…’ he said, but he seemed to be talking to himself, his eyes unfocussed now.

‘Steve?’ Her voice broke into his thoughts and he met her eyes.

‘He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t… you’re right, he’s been trying to make amends, but he never thought he could, he never would have felt it was enough, whatever he did, until he’d given every last bit of himself. And he never had to…’ His voice was shaking now, and thick with emotion. ‘He never had anything to atone for; it wasn’t him, all those years. He never needed to…’

He dropped his head and she heard him draw in shaky breaths, trying to control himself. She reached out, gently put her hand on his where it lay, tight fist, on the table top. Another breath in, and she saw the Captain re-emerge, shoulders back, stoic and unshaken. It was his way of hiding the scared kid from Brooklyn, she knew now, always had been. For all his years, his strength, his successes and fame, inside he saw himself as Bucky’s small friend, the Captain was just a front.

‘He never had a reason to stop before, that was bigger than his reason to carry on. He’s found one now, something that matters more to him, that feels more important, that outweighs the burden he’s been carrying’. His hand relaxed, turned over and held hers softly. Her hand looked so small in his but she never felt any threat from him.

‘I think he’s just tired Steve. This last accident, he’s recovering more slowly than before, you said. Maybe he knows now that his body’s ageing, that the serums effects are petering off. He just wants to rest.’ Steve cocked his head at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘That’s what he said, he doesn’t want to fight any more, but he was afraid to tell you.’

Steve laughed at that, but there was little humour in it.

‘He was carrying on because he didn’t want to let me down?’ She nodded. ‘I kept going for him. If he was determined to save the world a hundred times, to make up for what he did when he was under Hydra control, I was going to be alongside him every single time. ‘Til the end of the line…’

‘He said that too.’ She said, and smiled at him. She felt almost dizzy with relief, that maybe Bucky could let himself be at peace, finally. She remembered a conversation they’d had, weeks before, over Bucky’s silent body in the hospital. ‘Looks like you both took the stupid with you.’

Steve laughed out loud at that, real happiness in his eyes now, then quickly closed his mouth, afraid to wake Bucky, recovering on the couch. But Bucky had been awake since they’d sat down at the table, the sound of quiet conversation, chairs scraping, plates clattering, reaching through his exhaustion. He’d enjoyed lying there, not really listening in, just revelling in the feeling of being alone with the two people he cared about the most in this world, knowing they cared for him. It wasn’t until he heard her say his name that his attention was caught. don’t know if he’ll hate me for telling you… he heard, and wondered what on earth she could be going to say if she thought he could ever hate her. He heard what she told Steve, and for a moment there was white-hot anger, but it wasn’t for her, it was for himself, for daring to dream; then fear, cold as ice in his spine, waiting for Steve’s response.

And then… and then. He squeezed his eyes closed then opened them wide to convince himself he was awake. He was, and Steve was ready to rest now too.

‘Punk’. The voice from the couch startled them both. Bucky’s hand appeared first, gripping the back of the couch to pull himself up, then his face, eyes matching Steve’s with unshed tears. ‘You punk. You really are too dumb not to run away from a fight. And you did keep the uniform too.’

She looked on confused, and then delighted, as Steve’s face broke into a smile, and he vaulted over the back of the couch to pull his oldest friend into a hug, both men slapping each other on the back repeatedly.

They talked, Steve and Bucky, perhaps more honestly than they had for years. For too long, both had tiptoed around each other, misunderstanding building on misunderstanding. Bucky, for too long, had been seeking redemption and forgiveness, always looking for the next mission he could complete, as if one day he really would be able to say ‘that’s enough, the books are balanced now’, and while Steve had kept fighting, figurehead for security across the world, he’d not dared say that he deserved to rest. And Steve, watching Bucky throwing himself without care into every fight, had determined that he had to stay alongside, reminding Bucky that he wasn’t alone. And neither had ever stopped to ask themselves if this was the right decision.

They re-hashed old missions, both slightly incredulous at each other’s takes on what had happened. I thought you were… and I was only doing it because… She leant against the wall behind them, watching them find each other again, from where they’d been hiding behind a façade of bravery and service. After a few minutes, she quietly picked up her things and left. Nodding to the security guard on the way out, a now familiar face, she hailed a cab and set off for home.

It was only a few minutes later that Bucky realised she’d gone. He spoke to the AI, asking if she was still in the building, hoping that she’d just stepped out for a second, but she wasn’t in the building.

‘It’s her isn’t it?’ Steve asked. He was looking more at ease than he had in decades, slouched low on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, burdens laid aside. ‘She thinks you’re just tired – and you are, I know – but it’s not just not wanting to die, is it? You’ve found something you want to live for.’ Bucky smiled, squeezed Steve’s shoulder.

‘She kissed me, y’know. Today. I’m not saying it’s my first kiss in 70 years, but… it is. Not that much time for romance in Hydra’. It wasn’t often that Bucky could laugh about his past, but it seemed as if she’d changed everything.

‘You’re blushing Buck. Is that what I used to look like, back in Brooklyn?’ Steve teased him gently, and Bucky smiled.

‘Like this, but much, much smaller Stevie.’

She went back to her apartment, and for a moment it felt unfamiliar, she spent so much time at the Tower now. The air was dusty and over-hot, and she felt suddenly stifled. She flung open the windows, wanting to breathe in the world, she suddenly felt so light. Unable to sit still, she paced, picking up then putting down items without paying attention. In her room, she took a moment to inspect her plant – his plant, his gift – and carried it through to the kitchen to water. With the plant in the sink, she reached into the cupboard for a glass for herself, and her hand found Max’s cup, put back away at the back of the cupboard, too painful to see. She pulled it out, ran her thumb over his teethmarks, and waited for the pain to come. It did, but it was gentler than it had been for a long time, and she had to steady herself for a moment. It would never stop hurting, but somehow she would live with it, she knew. She would look at his photos, and remember the four years before, and not that one night. She put the cup back, hands shaking slightly, found another glass and drank.

She paced a little more, unsure what to do with herself, her mind racing. She had kissed Bucky, he had fallen asleep on her. Steve had said it was time, that it was OK for them to stop now. The future suddenly lay too wide open to contemplate. She wasn’t sure where she would fit into it now.

Her doorbell buzzed. She picked up the handset, said hello? and heard the voice she’d been hoping it would be. It’s Bucky. She quickly moved to press the button, hearing the door downstairs bang open, and footsteps hurrying up the stairs. She opened her apartment door at the same time he arrived, and they stood for a second looking at each other, then she stepped back, giving him space to walk in.

She closed her door and turned slowly, suddenly awkward now they were alone, but Bucky had found his voice, felt freer than he had for so long.

‘We talked, me and Stevie. He says its time, there’s others who need to step up now, time to put down the fight, and move on. He says he’s been wanting to for a long while now. Knowing Stevie, he’s gonna do something dramatic, handing over his shield all showy, reckon I know who he’s gonna give it to too. Me, I don’t want all the show. I’m done, that’s it. Can’t say I know what I’m going to do next, how I’ll fill my time, but I don’t care. I’ve fought my last fight, picked up my last weapon. My service is over.’

He stepped forward, picked up her hands with his, felt her fingers tremble slightly. He knew she was still broken inside, but over the time he’d known her, she’d pieced much of herself back together. The joins were visible, and perhaps they’d never be as strong as she once had been, but she was tougher than she knew.

‘I’ve given enough. I’ve paid my debts. Maybe not everyone will agree I should be allowed to, but I’m choosing happiness.’

Before, she had taken the lead, reaching up and kissing him, but this time he leant down, softly holding the back of her head in his left hand. The hand that had been torn from him in the war, replaced with a machine, upgraded and improved, but so often used to kill. Now he let it hold something so precious, knew that it could be gentle as well. He lifted his right hand, used it to stroke some hair off her face, silky against his fingers. For a moment, he wish he’d shaved, wish he was the clean-cut sergeant he’d once been before shipping out, but it was too late now, and he didn’t think she’d mind.

She felt his hands moving gently on her face, but her eyes were closed. A slight rasp against her skin was his stubble, then the softest brush against her lips, gone almost before she felt it. She half-opened her eyes, reached out her hands to pull him closer towards her, mumbling more against his smile. The next kiss was firmer, and her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears as she kissed him back.

EPILOGUE

The year had turned through all its seasons, and the rain was as relentless now as it had been when they first met. Small waves lapped at the gutter as their car drove through flooded streets, the streetlights glowing orange in all the raindrops on the windshield, wipers unable to keep up with the force of the downpour.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ From the passenger seat, she turned her head towards where Bucky drove, hands resting loosely on the wheel, eyes glancing at her then back to the road. ‘It’s going to rain all night, they say.’

‘I’m sure. I’m better dressed this time.’ She smiled at him, still surprised by how much pleasure she found in his happiness. Since retiring, he’d faced criticism from some that he’d dared to allow himself to retire, but he’d ignored it and the fuss had soon died down, and the louder voices, those that spoke of his exemplary record in the war, at his actions since he left Hydra, at the experiments and torture he’d endured, those were the ones that he mostly heard now. The day an elderly man had clasped his hand, quietly said ‘thank you for your service’, pulling himself straight to salute, he had wept, but each day he believed more that he’d made the right choice.

Steve too had been questioned, some furious that their symbol had chosen humanity over sacrifice. The moment Steve chose, in front of the cameras, to hand his shield to Sam, had been hailed by many as one of the most powerful gestures ever seen. Those who griped soon learnt to keep their complaints quiet.

They drove in companionable silence, Bucky pulling up the car in an empty space at the foot of the hill. She struggled into a waterproof coat before getting out, Bucky merely pulling a cap on his head and doing up his jacket a little higher.

‘It’s Ok for you, you don’t feel the cold, some of us are mere humans’, she mock-griped, then squealing and turning away as he reached to tickle her. It felt very different from the last time they were here. Bucky opened the back door of the car, and a large dog jumped out, obediently waiting while she clipped on his lead, handing the end to Bucky to hold.

‘Why do I get the feeling I’ll be cleaning the muddy footprints out of the car, even though it was you wanted to come here?’ he said, but there was a smile in his words.

‘He’s your dog, registered and all; I couldn’t possibly take that away from you…’ She reached down and ruffled the dog’s fur, feeling the raindrops already starting to collect. Bucky had applied for a service dog a few months after standing down. His happiness at being free was still often overlaid with decades of guilt and anguish at his actions under Hydra control, and putting aside his responsibilities had made them resurface from where they lay long buried. She’d soothed him through nightmares and flashbacks, but when the press of crowds, eager to meet him, had started to cause panic, they’d retreated into the Tower, and she’d sought professional help. Therapy was helping, but the solid warmth of the dog to lean on, able to know without doubt that there was no judgement, was keeping him steady too.

He preferred times like this still though. It was evening, light dimming behind the clouds, and the rain was keeping people away. Streets had been almost deserted as they’d driven through the city, umbrellas and heads held low made the few people they passed faceless. Where they were now, outside the city, was empty, and Bucky turned his face up to the sky, letting his arms open wide now he felt he could breathe again. Raindrops caught on his lashes lit up like stars as lightning flashed above them.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the gate. The ground was already starting to soften, and their feet slipped a little, while the dog walked steadily beside them. At the top of the hill, she paused, trying to get her bearings, but he knew what she was looking for.

‘Here’, he said, pointing a little further on. It looked much like the rest of the hilltop, but it stood out for them. She stopped, much further from the edge than she had been a year ago, and he stood close behind her, arms wrapped around her, waterproof rustling as he rested his head on hers. She crossed her arms, for warmth, and for comfort, holding on to his hands, and they stood in silence.

‘It’s been three years now Buck. He’s been gone three years. It doesn’t hurt as often, but when it does hurt, it hurts so much.’ Her voice was so quiet that it was only because of their closeness that he heard. He didn’t answer, she wasn’t looking for platitudes, just tightened his grip for a moment, let her know that he was there for the pain as well as the good times.

She liked to come here, whatever the weather. From here, the city seemed far away. In the sunshine, she watched the plants grow, wild flowers reclaiming Battle-damaged wastelands, but in the rain she remembered that first night, drunk and despairing, when Bucky had saved her from the fall.

Breathing in deeply, she stepped away from Bucky and turned to face him, the dog lying resigned to the rain on the ground beside them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt him shrink away from the cold wet of her sleeves, and smiled as she pulled him closer.

‘I love you’, he said, and although the sound of the wind and the river carried the words away, she knew, and when she said it back, the rain didn’t matter any more.

---

@melconnor2007 @avengerscompound @kittyslove @badassbaker@phoenix21love@lbouvet@bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits@pineapplebooboo@feelmyroarrrr@avengerofyourheart@eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w@imhereforbvcky@shaddixlife @supernatural-girl97 @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @algud@whatsbetterthanfantasy@pixierox101 @madcheshire89 @chipilerendi @mckorni32843@amandarosemire @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611@ruinerofcheese@callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon @sassycanoodler@natcad@thisismysecrethappyplace@geeksareunique @mywinterwolf @moderapoppins@rinthehufflepuff@holyfuckloueh @onebatch--twobatch @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@patzammit@procrastinatingart1st @marvelouspottering @princess76179@fangirlanotherjust

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #marvel angst

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insanityclause · 5 years

Link

Robert (Tom Hiddleston) is married to Emma (Zawe Ashton). Emma was having an affair with Jerry (Charlie Cox), who is married to the unseen Judith. And now Emma is having an affair with Casey, also unseen, a writer for whom he is an agent and whom Robert publishes.

And, just as Lionel Stander’s Max said at the beginning of every episode of Hart To Hart, “When they met, it was moiiider.”

Betrayal, which Harold Pinter wrote in 1978, begins at the end; it is one of those stories—like Stephen Sondheim’s Merrily We Roll Along, which will soon become a film to be shot over a 20-year period by Richard Linklater—where reverse chronology is used to reveal characters and their pasts.

Everything in Jamie Lloyd’s hit London-transfer production at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, which opened tonight (to December 8) unpeels: motivations, lies, moments of revelation, passion, antipathy, lust, love, guilt, and how this trio got to where they got to.

By the end, which is the beginning, we have come an imperfect circle. And there is always the missing, unseen Judith, whose absence—to me at least—signals this is more a play about men and their relationships than with their women.

Its source is a real-life scandal involving Pinter himself, who had a years-spanning affair with Joan Bakewell, a British TV personality known in bygone years as “the thinking man’s crumpet,” on the sexist basis that she was best-known for covering high-minded topics on television while being attractive. (As the years went by, “the thinking woman’s crumpet” was coined for men of a similar ilk.)

At the time of their affair, both Pinter and Bakewell were married to other people (it was confirmed later by both parties), and while Pinter was writing the play he was having an affair with Antonia Fraser, who later became his wife. Really, it was a very high-class Young and The Restless.

Here, the end is 1977, and Emma and Jerry are meeting up, nervously, two years after their affair of seven years ended. Emma reveals she has told Robert about their affair (little knowing Robert has known for years). It’s all very polite, with an undercurrent of exhaustion: so much has happened by now they are two people who know each other too well for the pleasantries they cannot go beyond. As Jerry says: “You remember the form. I ask about your husband, you ask about my wife.”

But there are landmines in the brief pleasantries, such as the age of Emma’s 5-year-old son, Ned, the timing of whose conception caused panic at the time (as we discover later in the play). And Jerry is terrified at Robert knowing everything (even though he has for some time).

The play is full of these landmines, and slippages in what people know, and what other people think they know. The play’s few expansive speeches are few; mostly this is fast, glancing verbal tennis. The tall Hiddleston looms over both Ashton and Cox; he has both a menace and a befuddled grace.

When Robert discovers the truth about the affair, it seems as if he may commit acts of violence; first against his wife and then against his best friend. But he holds her tight, and then subjects Jerry to a fraught lunch, scything at the food on his plate—prosciutto, melon, fried scampi and spinach, and a swimming pool-quantity of white wine—in a fury which Jerry thinks is just about a frustrating boat trip.

That moment comes in a moment in Betrayal where, though the play is going backwards (here to 1973), it also goes forward in two follow-up scenes that year. So, we first see Robert discover the affair, and then two further scenes unfold with Emma and Jerry in the flat they have to meet up in; and then the weird lunch between the two men, with Robert knowing everything and Jerry not knowing he knows.

Pinter—and the brilliant trio of actors here—treat this uneasy dance as a particularly British game, where everyone is terrifically polite and sporting when they should be shouting, screaming and throwing suitcases out of windows. Instead, here a life-changing revelation is followed by a clipped inquiry into favorite books and summer holiday destinations.

There are real feelings and real peril here, but the men are more concerned about not playing squash, ever. Why can’t they? The men are competing, for what? Emma? (No, Jerry is mortified at damaging his friend’s marriage.) Literary glory, or at least cold, hard profit through Casey? To impress the other? To ace the other? Maybe all of that.

“I mean a game of squash isn’t simply a game of squash, it’s rather more than that,” says Robert. “You see, first there’s the game. And then there’s the shower. And then there’s the pint. And then there’s lunch. After all, you’ve been at it. You’ve had your battle. What you want is your pint and your lunch. You really don’t want a woman buying you lunch.”

Ashton is excellent as Emma—not willing to be any man’s adjunct, while questioning both relationships and their practiced duplicities—but Pinter does not seem as confident exploring why she does what she does, or what she feels, as he does toying with the boundaries and frailties of Jerry and Robert. The relationship-in-peril is Hiddleston and Cox’s. The squash game is their own long-deferred marital bed.

Thanks to Soutra Gilmour’s scenic design and Jon Clark’s lighting there is a beautiful play of shadows of the characters, and because those shadows of bodies have their own physicality and relationship to one another, the emotional dance gains another perspective and depth.

The ‘betrayal’ is not just between husbands and wives, but the two male best friends—and Hiddleston and Cox bring gruff, uneasy humor and a real sense of pain to the recognition of lifelong loyalties being sullied. There is a strong hint, not overplayed, of an actual attraction between these two supposedly straight men; could the real betrayal be that they are not together?

That could be over-reach, but there is a beautiful, open elegance to Jamie Lloyd’s production that echoes its three supremely fine performances and a reading of the text that pinpoints all of Pinter’s wit, wordplay, and mordancy, while leaving a lovely breadth of interpretation open to the audience. We hear of the past joy of a child being thrown in the air; later in the play we see it.

There are spinning turn-tables, which send characters backwards in time. Apart from the odd chair, there is no real furniture. If one of the actors isn’t in a scene, they stay on stage. They don’t do anything as cheesy as react to things they cannot hear, but their expressions and sense of distance add to the scene. Eddie Arnold as an Italian waiter has the toughest job on stage—to bring some familiar levity to the brooding betrayals. And he does it brilliantly, looking as askance as we do at the men he is serving.

Finally, we go back to 1968, to Jerry and Emma’s first kiss, to Robert not knowing anything, yet all three of them yoked together. Their arms knotted around each other’s shoulders, one senses—hopelessly—they will never be separated. Right at the end—really, right at the beginning—this doesn’t look like friendship or love, but a bruising, suffocating scrum.

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fiction-boys-rule · 5 years

Text

Talking In Your Sleep

Pairing: Eric/(Y/N)

Warnings: swearing, sexual references, alcohol references, Eric being an asshole, fluff

Song that inspired this fic: Talking In Your Sleep - The Romantics

Link For Song: Talking In Your Sleep

(Y/N): your name

Eric opens his eyes, glancing down to the sleeping female sprawled over his chest. He slightly flinches, stilling when the female moves. He frowns, laying his head back when he starts to recollect his knowledge of the earlier hours. As usual, he took out his stress physically, but this time is different. Way different. He never lets women sleep in his bed for the night. Never. But this woman is different. For once, a friendship formed before an actual attraction. If Eric had to describe this relationship, he would use the term friends with benefits very loosely. Yes, physical release was sought and achieved, but respect was both mutually received and given. Loyalty as friends came first before personal gain. If one of them had to cut the bullshit and deal with a problem, they dealt with it.

This relationship is very complex, something only Eric or the woman can understand. Commitment is not something that is asked for, but both follow the rules of commitment. Eric would have moved on by now, would have sought another person, would have ended whatever this relationship is. But this woman has become the exception to many rules originally held by Eric. Eric often uses excuses for these rule breakers, like they have the same schedule, the same job, nothing to lose if they decide to stop. But deep down, Eric knows his excuses are only attempts at hiding a much deeper and terrifying secret.

When you close your eyes and you go to sleep And it's down to the sound of a heartbeat I can hear the things that you're dreaming about When you open up your heart and the truth comes out

Eric sighs, looking around the dimly lit room towards the clock; 3:00 a.m. A few more hours of sleep will help to relieve the pounding pain in his head. His thumb absentmindedly rubs the woman's arm. Eric frowns, stopping the action and contemplating pushing the woman off of him. But he decides against it, finding a small amount of comfort in her warmth and the content look on her face, something he will never admit to anyone.

"Eric…"

Opening his eyes, Eric looks at the woman, seeing her eyes closed and body still. Eric starts wracking his brain for any memory of how much alcohol he could have consumed to possibly explain a chance of him hallucinating.

"Fuck, Eric….I need you."

Eric realizes she is talking, but he doesn't believe what he is hearing. He has never heard her talk in her sleep, although she has fallen asleep shortly with him before many times.

"No, Eric…" the woman mumbles, followed by other undecipherable words.

Eric doesn't move, straining to keep listening. His curiosity has been spiked, and now the pain in his head doesn't bother him as much.

"I need you, don't leave me. I want you," the woman whimpers, slightly moving.

Eric hesitantly rubs her arm, careful to not wake her.

She stills, and Eric pulls away, coming to the conclusion that she has settled down. He sighs, laying back down and closing his eyes.

"I love you Eric, don't leave me. I love you."

Eric jumps up, staring at her. She turns around, sighing and settling back into a deep slumber. He is speechless, wanting to believe that he has heard her wrong, but he knows he's wrong. She loves him, and he loves her too. Eric gets out of bed, going into the kitchen and grabbing some pain pills. He downs them, standing tensely at the counter. He looks towards the bedroom door, tapping his foot. Grunting, he walks back into the bedroom and slowly gets back into bed. Back facing her, he struggles to fall asleep before dozing off.

You tell me that you want me You tell me that you need me You tell me that you love me And I know that I'm right 'Cause I hear it in the night

Eric wakes to the sound of footsteps quickly scuttling around the room.

"Eric…?"

Eric groans, peeking his head up from the covers.

"We're late. You should get dressed. Unless you want Max to yell at us for being late to a meeting for the fourth time this month."

Eric sits up, watching closely as she pulls her clothes over her body, every inch of her mesmerizing him. Suddenly, the revelation of last night settles on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. He is slowly losing control, knowing that he is going to have to make a decision. They perform their usual morning-after routine, navigating through each other to prepare for their days. Eric likes her here, the scent of her in his bed, her clothes all over his bedroom floor, the memories from their late nights out and their times together, not only as his sexual partner, but his friend.

But Eric knows he will never be good enough for her, and she deserves better. Their relationship will never work and he should stop delaying the inevitable; breaking her heart. She loves him and he loves her, but love isn't enough. Love scares him, love isn't meant for the bad guy. Good girls like her belong with Prince Charmings, and he is no prince.

They walk out of his apartment, Eric closing the door. Walking in silence, Eric is filled with hate for himself, and confusion as to what he is supposed to do next. Even if she did love him back, he would just end up breaking her heart. She could have been dreaming for all he knows. Maybe she doesn't even feel anything but sexual attraction for him; and even then, that attraction will die out eventually. The confusion leads him to one conclusion; one that he never thought would come this soon and in this way.

He stops her in front of the office doors, gaze turned cold and unmerciful, the switch for his usual persona turned on.

"What?"

"(Y/N), we have to end this."

"End…what?" "The whole fucking each other and using each other."

"I was never using you, Eric. I told you this was going to be a respectful thing for both of us. Wait, where you using me this whole time?"

"It ends now." Eric glares down at her, his heart guarded by a thick wall of thorns.

"Is this because I slept over last night?"

"Just stop, okay? Stop being this way. It needs to end. It was never going to last. I used you, you used me. It was fun while it lasted, yeah. But that is all it was. Fun. I'm tired of it now. You were a good fuck, but that's all you ever were."

(Y/N) blinks, stepping back. Eric knows he has gone too far, and he has lost his only true friend. But at this point, he isn't taking anything back. He is going to die alone, anyway. Might as well get used to no one caring about him.

She frowns, "I don't…"

"You don't have to get it. It's over. That's it. Don't make this more complicated than it is."

"You're just going to end it like that? What did I do to-"

"Stop! Just fucking accept it and move on. You were just someone stupid enough to think that I would keep you around. Well guess what? That's it. I'll find a replacement for you. You think you're special? You're not. You just had a good body, and you were a good bitch to fuck. I'm bored of you now, so fuck off."

A sting on his left cheek makes him touch his face, realizing that (Y/N) has slapped him. She has tears falling from her eyes, a furious look on her face, something Eric has never seen, and that makes something in him break slightly.

"Fuck you, Eric Coulter. You lying son of a bitch. I hate you, I hate you!" she yells, punching his chest.

Max walks out, frowning at the pair.

"You're late again.." he mumbles uncertainly.

(Y/N) glares at Eric, turning away and wiping her face. Eric stares at her, something in him making him unable to move.

"Eric. Get inside. Start the overview for the reports. Now."

Eric silently walks in, seeing the leaders around the table looking curiously at him.

"(Y/N), let's take a walk." he hears Max say before he slams the door shut.

"Grab your reports and let’s begin." he snaps.

I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep

Eric pauses his punching when he hears Max walk into the room, eyeing him curiously.

"What?" Eric snaps, stopping the bag.

"You're an asshole, Eric. I'll give you that. But you don't just break good people's hearts for nothing."

Eric scoffs, continuing, "I got tired of her. I did her a favor by-"

"Shut up!"

Eric stills, frowning incredulously at Max, who has never raised his voice at Eric in such a way.

"Only an idiot would believe that lie. I know you're scared for what you feel for her, and that's why you're pushing her away. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care and I wouldn't make it my business. But I am good friends with (Y/N)'s father and she has been like a daughter for me ever since she became a leader. She deserves better from you. You didn't need to hurt her like that. Unless you want to be fired and expulsed to become a Factionless, I suggest you apologize and try to make things right."

"Max, you're fucking-"

"I'm serious, Eric." Max says lowly, pacing around the room.

"I'm not going to-"

"Well then, you can pack your things and go." Max says pointedly, walking away.

Eric yells, accelerating his assault on the bag.

Later that night, with a preposterous amount of alcohol in his system, Eric drunkenly finds himself in front of the door to (Y/N)'s apartment at an outrageous hour.

He raises his hand to knock, but stumbles and ends up falling back against the door. He groans, attempting to stand back up. Before he can right himself, the door opens and he half falls back.

"Fucking great…" (Y/N) mumbles, stepping back.

Eric groans, still attempting to sit up right. (Y/N) sighs, grabbing him and dragging him into the apartment.

"You are so stupid, Eric Coulter. You get drunk, you decide I'm too nice to not leave you alone and you come here to take advantage of how I am," she roughly pushes him in a sitting position against the couch, "just like when you decided to end our friendship and anything good that we had going for each other, you prick."

Eric grimaces, head pounding at her loud tone. His drunken state makes him more vulnerable, and right now, he doesn't have the heart or mindset to treat her badly. So he takes the hits, and hopes to not mess this up again.

She shoves a glass of water in his hands, glaring at him.

"Drink."

Her eyes soften, "It'll sober you up, make you feel better."

Eric slowly takes the glass, staring up at her.

"Max sent you here, didn't he? I wonder what he threatened you with to make you swallow your pride and come here. Got to say though, even drunk you have some nerve showing up here. Fuck you for knowing I wouldn't have the heart to turn you away," she sighs, leaning on the kitchen sink, "God damn it, why did I let myself get close to you?"

She is crying now, Eric is staring at the floor, feeling like more of an asshole than usual. He curses himself in his head, over and over, wishing he could say something, anything, to make her stop crying.

Eric sets the glass down, closing his eyes. They fall into a long silence, neither daring to speak. She is quietly sniffling, head in her hands.

"Fuck, I think I need a drink now too."

She grabs a bottle and glass, walking to the couch. Sitting, she pours a drink and sighs heavily.

"What the hell am I doing?"

"Giving an asshole a second chance."

"Who said anything about a second chance?" Eric sighs, "I came here for one."

She stares, confusion written clearly over her face.

"Max is going to kick me out if I don't apologize. Or at least make my life a living hell. Not like it isn't already."

"So you came here to keep your job? Is that it?" "I came here to keep my job and get a friend back that I never deserved."

Eric looks away, running a hand through his hair.

When I hold you in my arms at night Don't you know you're sleeping in the spotlight And all your dreams that you keep inside You're telling me the secrets that you just can't hide

"Damn right you never deserved me." she takes another drink, setting the glass down forcefully.

"I don't even know why I should forgive you. All those things you said about me, you used me, you led me on, you…"

She sighs, starting to cry again.

Eric glances at her, rubbing his hands together.

"You don't have to. You probably shouldn't." "I just-"

"You hate me, I know. A lot of people do."

"I don't. That's the thing, Eric. Even after all this, I can’t hate you. I-I can't. I wish I could, but I can't. I forgive you. If that's what it takes for Max to let you stay, then so be it."

"Okay then-"

"I want you to say it."

"What? Say what?" "Apologize. I-I want to hear it. I think it's the least you could do."

Eric sighs, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

"What? You want me to say I'm sorry?"

"Fine then, don't." she stands abruptly, heading to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry!"

She stops, slowly turning.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, "I was an asshole, but I took it too far. If you give me a second chance, I can't guarantee that it won't happen again, but I'll try harder to keep myself in line. After all, I don't want Max coming after me again."

She laughs lightly, throwing a pillow at him.

"You're such an ass."

"I can be your ass."

She frowns, slowly sitting again, "What?" "I heard you talking in your sleep last night. It’s why I said what I said."

"What, did you hear me talking about another hot guy in my sleep?" she smirks.

"You said you loved me."

She scoffs, "What?"

"You said other stuff too, but I'll spare your pride."

She smacks him lightly, laughing.

"Did I really say that?" she whispers.

"Yeah."

"So what, you got scared of being in love and decided to completely cut me out of your life?"

"That was the idea."

"Never took you for a coward."

He rolls his eyes, making her smile.

"It's true, just so you know."

"What?" "I do love you, Eric. I have for a while now. But I knew you wouldn't want something serious and I was scared of telling you. I didn't want to get hurt. Everyone said girls like me aren't meant for guys like you."

"They were wrong."

"Why do you say that?"

He stares at her, his mouth unable to form the words. She smiles at him, a look of understanding on her face.

"I'm not going to make you say it, Eric. I kind of figured it out when you showed up at my door with your tail tucked between your legs. The only way to get through to you is when you're drunk."

"Not going to argue with that." he mumbles.

You tell me that you want me You tell me that you need me You tell me that you love me And I know that I'm right 'Cause I hear it in the night

"Are you willing to give us a try, Eric?"

Eric clenches his jaw, closing his eyes. He feels like passing out and never waking up again.

"I am."

He opens his eyes and sees her smile, making his heart jump.

"But for now," she stands, "you are sleeping on the couch and we are starting from scratch. So don't start anything and don't do anything sneaky, asshole. I'll bring you a blanket and you can stay the night but only tonight."

"Fair enough." he grumbles, struggling to stand.

She rolls her eyes and helps him up, leading him to the bathroom.

"Shower, and be careful. Don't want you falling and splitting your skull open."

"Yes, that would be unfortunate."

He strips, (Y/N) standing in the doorway.

"What? I don't get a show, but you get all the entertainment?" he grumbles.

"You are on probation and you owe me big time. So I get to admire you while all you have is your imagination. You're not getting any action for another few weeks, mister."

"We'll see about that. I heard I'm very hard to resist." Eric mumbles, reaching out to grab her arm. She maneuvers out of the way, shaking her head, "No way, no how. You smell like whiskey and regret and that is very resistible at the moment."

She quickly closes the door, making Eric groan. After showering, he walks out naked into her bedroom.

"Eric, what the hell? Put on some clothes!"

"Well you're forgetting that my clothes are on those drawers and you didn't give me anything new to change into. Call that a coincidence, I call it temptation."

"Trust me, your drunk mind is making you hallucinate. Here, change into this. No more walking around naked!"

"You didn't mind before." he grumbles lowly, walking away.

She rolls her eyes, walking back into the room.

He plops down on the couch, sighing heavily. He is physically and mentally exhausted, not used to being so open emotionally. Something in him tells him that Max was bluffing when he threatened to throw Eric out; he is too much of an asset to dispose of. Or maybe he doesn't know Max as well as he thinks he does.

Stirring slightly, he finds a comfortable position and soon dozes off, the day's exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks.

I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep I hear the secrets that you keep When you're talking in your sleep

The next day, Eric jumps up, gasping for air. (Y/N) laughs, holding the empty bowl in her hands. He looks down, most of his upper body soaked with water. (Y/N) is on the floor now, holding her stomach and rolling with laughter.

"What a fucking wake up call." Eric mumbles, sighing.

"You-you should have seen the-" she laughs, "the look-on your face!"

Eric rolls his eyes, standing up and dripping water into the floor.

"You're such a child." Eric grumbles, walking into the bedroom to change.

(Y/N) is still on the floor, gasping for air amid her cackles.

A few minutes later, Eric walks out, completely dry in a new outfit. (Y/N) smirks at him from her place at the sink, biting her lip to keep from laughing more.

"Yeah, yeah, keep laughing. You're lucky I like you, or else you would have been dead." "Hey, did you ever catch those kids from my initiation class that put a bucket of blue paint over your office door and you got soaked with paint when you opened the door?"

He mumbles, "No."

She snickers, "Guess some people get away with doing some things to Big Bad Eric, huh?"

"Some idiots." he clarifies.

"Alright, what do you want for breakfast?" "Something that isn't poisoned." he sits.

"Nothing is poisoned, Eric. My cooking has gotten much better, no thanks to you. I could make you an omelet, pancakes, anything you desire."

"Anything?" he asks, a mischievous smirk on his face.

She is turned away from him, and doesn't notice his facial expression.

"Sure." she chirps.

He stands and quietly walks behind her, hands greedily grasping her hips.

"Eric!" she reprimands, attempting to push his hands off of her.

"I think I know what I want for breakfast." he whispers in her ear, running his hands under her shirt.

"I told you, you're not getting any action from me! Fresh start, remember?" "Oh, I remember. But it just doesn't seem fair to me."

"Fair? What would you know about fair?" He fakes offense, "Whatever do you mean? I'm fair, when I want to be."

"Not how that works. Eric, get off."

He sighs, slightly releasing her. His hands lean on the counter, caging her in. She turns, glaring up at him.

"You really just care about sex, don't you?" she snaps, eyes ablaze.

"Who said anything about that?" he asks, hooking a finger on her pants, pulling her closer.

"Eric, come on." she whispers.

"Come on, what?" he mumbles, leaning down.

"Eric…" she whispers.

"Hm?"

"Get. Off." she snaps.

He rolls his eyes, pulling back. She moves past his body, walking into her bedroom.

Eventually, they both get ready, (Y/N) avoiding Eric while she gets ready for her day. Exiting the apartment, they walk in silence. Reaching the office, (Y/N) curses herself for having chosen to share an office with Eric while hers gets repaired.

When you close your eyes and you fall asleep Everything about you is a mystery

"Ladies first," Eric chimes, extending an arm inside.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, walking inside reluctantly.

"Today just had to be paperwork day." she grumbles.

"Every day is paperwork day, you just don't do it."

She glares at Eric, sitting at her chair.

Eric sits across from her, organizing his papers, "Well then, let's get started."

A few hours later, the amount of work has fried (Y/N)'s brain, making her tired. She looks up from her work, seeing Eric's face in a focused trance as he reads a paper. She smiles softly, admiring his facial features. The way his eyebrows furrow, or how his hands play with the pen he is holding when he is frustrated.

"You're welcome to look and touch, you know." Eric suddenly remarks.

(Y/N) blinks, blushing.

"I wasn't looking at you." she snaps.

"Didn't say you were." he smirks, looking up at her with a glint in his eyes, "Just saying you're welcome to look and touch."

She rolls her eyes, quickly looking back down.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

She looks up, widening her eyes and frowning.

"You never want to leave early."

He shrugs, "I'm still hung-over and you look tired."

She narrows her eyes, "Okay?"

He stands, walking next to her. He grabs the papers and throws them to the floor, looking down at her with a grin, "Let's go, then."

He extends his hand and surprisingly, she takes it. They both walk together to her apartment, stopping when they reach the door.

"Well then, thanks for the early leave then." she smiles.

"I can be fair."

She laughs lightly, "Yeah, you can."

He walks away, leaving (Y/N) with a longing feeling in her heart. She shakes her head, entering her apartment. A few minutes later, a knock on the door sounds loudly.

Opening it, (Y/N) is met with Eric's face, a welcome sight for her heart.

"I'm not trying to do anything, just so you know. I left my keys here."

"Oh, uh-come in, then." she stutters.

He strolls in, walking into the bedroom.

She stands in the middle of her living room, debating with her heart and her mind. He walks out, holding up the keys for her to see.

"See you tomorrow. Early meeting."

"Yeah.." she breathes, following him out.

As he walks away, an impulsive feeling overtakes her.

"Hey!" Eric turns, frowning.

"Um, do you want to-I don't know, hang out or something?" she asks.

Eric turns, walking back to her. He stops in front of her, looking down at her with a peculiar expression.

"What’s with the change of heart?" he asks.

She shrugs, pulling him inside.

"You're right," she whispers, gently grabbing his hands.

"About what?" he mumbles.

"I want to take up on your offer to being welcome to look and touch." she whispers, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Oh?" he asks, slowly moving his hands up her body.

"Guess you're not as resistible as I thought." she says as she leans up and gently kisses him.

Expecting a rough response, she braces her body to be picked up. Eric surprises her though, as he responds with a slow and sensual kiss, something that is not usual for him; at all. Her hands caress his face, enjoying the feeling of his face in her hands.

"Guess I made you a softie," she whispers, giggling.

Eric smirks, running his hands over her hips.

"Tell anyone, and you're dead." he whispers.

You tell me that you want me You tell me that you need me You tell me that you love me And I know that I'm right 'Cause I hear it in the night

They soon find themselves lying on the bed next to each other in silence. Eric in his boxers and (Y/N) in a shirt and underwear.

"Maybe I can forgive you sooner if you keep this good behavior up." she whispers.

"Don't count on it."

They laugh, finding comfort in each other's company.

"I would have never imagined this."

"What?" "Big Bad Eric Coulter sleeping in my bed without us both being naked."

"We can still make that happen, you know." he says.

(Y/N) smacks him, making him smirk.

"I'm serious. I thought you didn't want anything serious. I was trying to hide my feelings by accepting the fact that it was just for sex."

"Glad it isn't." Eric whispers.

"Me too. I love you, Eric Coulter."

Eric stares at her, a loving look in his eyes.

"It's okay, you don't have to-" "I love you." Eric says, smiling.

"Wow, I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that coming out of your mouth." "Well, don't get used to it. Because I'm not going to say it often."

They laugh, moving into each other. (Y/N) lays her head on his chest and sighs, the silence providing her with a sense of tranquility and happiness in knowing that although many challenged may lie ahead, Eric will always be there for her, by her side no matter what. Maybe some things aren't better left unsaid after all.

#Eric Coulter #Divergent

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