#fitz is only good at lying to himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aphelea · 1 year

Text

my eclipsed sun

Ao3

the quinlin & tiergan arguing fic!

Summary: Tiergan and Quinlin, in the wake of Alden's mind break, and the guilt and anger that lingers.

Tags: @cogaytes @lgbtqforeverything @give-me-caffeine @gay-otlc @bookwyrminspiration @winterfireice @arsonistblue @moonelight

“No.”

Quinlin’s shimmering form glares at Tiergan through the hologram screen of his Imparter. His hair—usually gelled back into a smooth ponytail—is haphazardly tied up into a loose bun, the shorter pieces falling wildly around his ashen face.

Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I can guess,” Quinlin replies, rolling his eyes. “It isn’t like you have a habit of hailing me for social calls.”

“No, I suppose not,” Tiergan muses. “Still, you can’t possibly know—”

Quinlin laughs dryly, effectively ending Tiergan’s statement halfway. “You’re going to ask if I want to see him,” he says, scowling at the screen. “I don’t.”

“Fine,” Tiergan says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t care what Quinlin does with his time. Even when he firmly believes that Quinlin’s decision is entirely ridiculous. “Though, you knew him best—”

“And what good does that do me?” Quinlin snaps. “He’s gone already; there’s nothing I can do to save him. You know as well as I do that it’s pointless to try and reverse a break.”

Tiergan sighs. “It’s not about reversing it. The healers simply said it may be useful to try and understand what’s happening inside his mind while the pieces are still large enough to do so.” He’s completely bullshitting at this point. But Fitz, Biana, and Alvar need someone who can actually help them at Everglen, right now, and there’s no chance that either Tiergan or Della will be able to fulfill that role.

Quinlin’s lips curl at the statement. “And, what, you think I would be better suited to the task than you?” It’s about as close to a compliment as Quinlin has ever offered him.

“It’s certainly no secret that you and he were…close,” Tiergan replies, with a slight chuckle. “I seem to recall that day in school, when we found you—”

“ Shockingly , the things a person does at seventeen are not exactly relevant for the rest of their life,” Quinlin interrupts, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “And, regardless, the only reason I’ve survived being inside a broken mind before is that I had my Cognate by my side.”

Tiergan pointedly decides to avoid thinking about the owner of the broken mind that Quinlin refers to.

“You know the situation I’m referring to, of course,” Quinlin continues.

Ah, but Tiergan should have realised that Quinlin is incapable of leaving well enough alone.

“Don’t bring Prentice into this.”

“And here I thought you had begun the discussion of our shattered ex-lovers,” Quinlin replies. Somehow, amidst everything, the man has the audacity to look smug as he speaks, as if it isn’t his ex-lover, his best friend lying half-conscious in the bed beside Tiergan.

Tiergan’s patience is wearing thin; of course, he knows every conversation with Quinlin is like this, the two searching for any way to get under the other’s skin, tossing blades with every scathing remark thrown. “There is no our, Quinlin. I’m nothing like you. And Alden could have only dreamt of being as good a man as Prentice.”

Quinlin raises an eyebrow. “Speaking ill of the dead, are we?”

“Is it really speaking ill if the man wholly deserves it?” Tiergan replies. He can match the fire in Quinlin’s eyes easily; they’ve been playing this game for decades. “And he’s hardly dead, yet, Quinlin. Have some faith, at least.”

Quinlin scoffs. “Faith?” he repeats. “What faith can I have? The moment Alden laid eyes on Prentice in that godforsaken cell, he was already beyond saving. I’m not foolish enough to believe that a miracle will occur.”

Tiergan is about to return with another scathing remark, when Quinlin’s words process fully in his mind. “How did you know he saw Prentice?” he asks, low and careful. There’s no way Quinlin could possibly know; Tiergan himself had only just gleaned the information from Sophie yesterday morning. (He almost wishes he hadn’t asked her—he can’t quite make sense of the mix of satisfaction and guilt curling in his gut, yet, at the thought that the mere sight of Prentice could have caused this mess.)

Quinlin stutters and stumbles over his next few words, which itself offers Tiergan all the answers he needs. “It wasn’t hard to infer,” he says, but his eyes are shifting and somehow, Tiergan can’t quite believe him.

“He visited you,” Tiergan guesses, and the situation feels achingly familiar. “He knew what was coming, and he wanted you to hear it all from him.”

Quinlin looks away with a haunted expression. “I told him—” He pauses, then seems to remember who he’s speaking to. “Well. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You know that’s classified Council information, what he told you,” Tiergan notes, and there’s something strangely satisfying about being on this end of the conversation, for once. “Technically, you should both be arrested for that.”

Quinlin rolls his eyes. “As if you’re any paragon of law-abiding citizenship.”

“And yet, you still can’t prove enough to arrest me.”

“I certainly could, if I wanted to,” Quinlin counters. “But have you considered that I simply don’t want you Exiled?”

Tiergan…isn’t sure what to say to that. Of course, it’s a preposterous idea—why wouldn’t Quinlin want him Exiled, a two-for-two completion of his mission from long ago?

“Though I suppose you must think I deserve this,” Quinlin says, with a dry chuckle. “Equal pain for pain I delivered you.”

“ Equal ?” Tiergan scoffs. “In what universe? Alden is only facing the consequences of his own rash actions. Prentice was innocent.”

He expects Quinlin to take the bait once more, to snap back and continue the never-ending cycle of insults that has followed both of them since their Foxfire days But instead he quietly looks away, a pained expression on his face, and asks, “Was he really, though?”

Tiergan frowns. “What?”

“Prentice,” he repeats. “Was he really as innocent as you claim?”

Tiergan stays carefully silent, at that. It’s too early to give away anything, not with Sophie as weak as she is. And this is information Quinlin is already well aware of, anyway—anyone could have seen how secretive Tiergan and Prentice were, all those years ago. And Quinlin and Alden had seen through them far too well.

Quinlin laughs dryly, ending a long moment of shared, tense silence. “Of course. The same answer as always. Because you know as well as I do—”

“Fuck off.”

Quinlin pauses, and raises an eyebrow. “You know, you’re really doing a horrible job of convincing me to come see him.”

Oh. Right.

“You’ve given me your answer. I don’t care enough about either of your lives to bother arguing about it.” It’s a blatant lie, and Tiergan hopes that Quinlin won’t call his bluff. But, alas, he is not so lucky.

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be calling. You wouldn’t even be at Everglen,” Quinlin counters, with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose I should be grateful that you’re taking care of him, even after everything.” Tiergan takes an absurd amount of joy in the fact that Quinlin squirms at the attempt at gratitude—although it’s entirely unfounded.

“Don’t invent kindness that isn’t there, Quinlin. I’m here for Sophie, and for Fitz, Biana, and Alvar—the children you’ve left behind.”

Quinlin steps away, as if taken aback. “Well, we can’t all take in every lost child that shows up at our doorstep. They’re not my responsibility.”

“Not your responsibility?” Tiergan scoffs. “All you do is break minds and break families and leave destruction in your wake, and somehow, I’m always the one to pick up the pieces. I don’t recall you being any help when I took in Wylie—when I could barely muster up the energy to leave my bedroom in the mornings, and then suddenly I had an entire child to take care of all alone —”

“I understand your frustration, Tiergan, but I really think you should blame Prentice for your son’s plight, not Alden and I. After all, I certainly didn’t make the decision to put allegiance to a group of rebels above my love for my family. Mr. Endal’s situation is, unfortunately, the natural consequence of poor decision-making.”

Tiergan itches to lunge for the hologram and strangle the man, but for civility’s sake he settles for a sharp glare and a scowl. “I could say the same about Alden.”

A long beat follows, in which Quinlin appears to cycle through every possible emotion at once. “Yes,” he agrees, though his lips seem to recoil at the words. “I suppose you could.”

And then a tense silence hangs over then—a rare sight, after years and years of endless quips and muttered insults, a constant stream of petty noise directed toward one another. Tiergan opens his mouth to speak—but before he can do so, Quinlin leans over and shuts the call with a scowl.

And suddenly the room is empty, save for Tiergan and the man he’d once declared his enemy, drooling on the sheets. “Well?” Tiergan asks, partly to Alden, and partly to the memory of a lover, long-gone. “Was it worth it? Was it worth ruining him? Do you know how much I—” He forces himself to stop, because this isn’tPrentice, this is ten years later, with old wounds reopened. “Thank you for giving him a proper goodbye, at least. It’s more than I ever had.”

Alden, predictably, stays silent, and Tiergan wants to scream—but he settles instead for throwing his imparter at the wall, imagining all of his grief in holograms of silver mist, dissolving in the air. Quinlin’s taunts. Wylie’s missed hails. Leto’s face, revealing the news.

As the device lands, it cracks into hundreds of glistening shards, and Tiergan can’t help but smile.

#kotlc #tiertice #qualden #august's writing!#this fic has been sitting in my drive forever i’m so glad its finally done

22 notes · View notes

synonymroll648 · 1 year

Note

500 words written!!!

Fitz shakes his head. “You’re not an empath.”

“I’m your Cognate,” Sophie says. “You love him.”

“I love—” His tongue stops working before he can say anything stupid, anything like you.

“I want it to be you.” Words delicately placed on a pedestal, spooned into a crystal bowl with a silver spoon. And relief (the worst part, relief) at the interruption, because it wasn’t the right moment yet. Because it was too good to be true. Because the world was finally being fixed, reset, healed. Because he doesn’t trust luck, and he doesn’t trust goodness. Umber leeched that out of him with her shadows. "The only person I want to see on my match list... is you."

He hadn't thought he was lying. He still doesn’t. Vackers aren’t supposed to tell lies.

OH MY FUCKING. S U M M E R AWSRGDTGHDGERHFGRYJHR- HELLO????? THIS IS???? DEVASTATING?????? /POS

“Keefe,”

Fitz isn’t angry. Keefe knows he’s not angry. Because Angry Fitz isn’t something he’s ever seen for himself, but he’s heard enough from Fitz and Biana respectively to know that Fitz’s anger is a force of nature. It’s not subtle, it’s not stealthy poison like his mother’s anger- it’s blunt, brute force. Ruthless enough that it leaves plenty of destruction in its wake, according to the two of them, and easy to see coming from a mile away.

But Keefe gets defensive anyway, out of reflex. “I got sand in my hair and wasn’t thinking straight!”

“1. You’re literally bisexual, of course you can’t think straight. 2-” Fitz carries on even as Keefe chokes on startled laughter, “I am going to refrain from lecturing you and instead focus on how hilarious it is that you threw all caution to the wind over your hair. Incredibly Keefe of you. 10/10, this is the exact kind of bullshit I signed up for when fighting with my parents at thirteen to please come back to the same vacation spot as many times as possible so I could see you regularly. 3. I am going to periodically tease you until the end of time about how you were so worried about sand in your hair, that you forgot to put your phone somewhere safe, lost your phone, and still emerged with sand all over you, especially in your hair.”

#giving you big big biiiiiig snippet because you gave me big snippet <3 #even if it. spoils. a lot of the intro to this fic #which is currently longer than the fic i'm writing this as a sequel to #which. um. damn. avery is so much better at being concise than me #ask #when-wax-wings-melt #thinking of you (every time summer says goodbye) sequel fic

14 notes · View notes

gay-otlc · 2 years

Text

And They Were Roommates- 3

Gay people finally communicate! By a gay person who does not communicate.

No content warnings that I can think of, but let me know if I should add any.

AO3

@synonymroll648 @rainbow-frog-earrings @an-ungraceful-swan @aphelea @rusted-phone-calls @solreefs @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @squishmallow36 @silveredviolets @bookwyrminspiration

The good thing about being in close proximity to Keefe is, well, getting to enjoy Keefe's presence. Getting to live with him. Sharing meals and seeing his face right after waking up. When he first moved in, his only goal had been to avoid Alvar, but living with Keefe was... surprisingly domestic. And sweet. And Fitz is finding it increasingly hard to hear him say something endearingly stupid and not think I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

The unfortunate thing is that Keefe is now significantly more difficult to avoid. And uncomfortable conversations with him are also more difficult to avoid.

It's not that Fitz doesn't like talking to him. He does. He really, really does. He likes Keefe a little too much. Maybe if he liked him less, he would be less terrified of saying or doing anything to risk disturbing their shaky friendship. And that makes every conversation seem almost like a minefield.

But he still likes Keefe too much. So he can't stand silence between them for too long, even if talking is... potentially dangerous.

"Do you think he'll seriously still be there? The whole six months?"

He's clearly talking about Alvar, even if Keefe has refused to say that name the two weeks Fitz had been staying with him. Like just the mention of his name would be the thing to break Fitz. As if he wasn't long past broken. He snorts. "At least six months. My parents will probably just let him stay forever. I've called them a few times, and it's been full of, oh, Alvar seems so nice now, I think you'd like the new him, he took Biana out for ice cream in Atlantis, we wish you were here to spend time with your brother. Bullshit. As if they've just forgotten about all of the, I don't know, kidnapping and torturing and murdering. Just because he seems nice now doesn't mean he didn't spend years in the Neverseen. That's not exactly something to just forgive like that!"

He stops yelling, and the room comes back into some clarity after blurring into red fury. He sees Keefe, hugging himself and taking several steps back from Fitz. "Sorry. Sorry, I- I'll just go. I'll give you some space. Sorry."

Stay.

"Wait, it's- it's not your fault my brother's awful."

Keefe scratches his arm, leaving long red marks along his skin. "No, but you said being in the Neverseen wasn't something to- to forgive easily. And I get that. You have every right to feel that way. So I will... leave you alone."

Realization dawns on him; he's disturbed their shaky friendship. Badly.

"No, I didn't- Keefe, I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't talking about you."

Keefe laughs. Most of the time, Fitz would kill to hear another second of that laugh. This time it's cold, humorless. "No. You were thinking it, though. You're still upset. I understand. But please don't... lie to me and tell me it's okay when it's not."

He's right. Fitz can't fully reassure Keefe in a way that's honest.

So he lets Keefe leave.

That night, Keefe sleeps on the couch.

In the morning, there's a sheet of paper lying on the dresser. Fitz looks at it, and his face stares back. A drawing of Fitz mid sentence, gazing off at something- or someone- with affection in his eyes. It looks like he's in love.

Probably because he is.

There's a note attached, in Keefe's terrible handwriting.

Fitz,

That's the drawing I was working on. You can finally see it, congratulations I guess. I hope it lived up to all your expectations.

So we should

We need to

I think it's time we got over ourselves and actually talked about the problems in our relationship rather than just pretending they don't exist. But if you're not ready to talk, that's okay. Just let me know when you are.

Love,

Keefe

Fitz clutches the paper so tightly it crumples. Keefe wrote love. He crossed it out. But he wrote it.

And, annoying as it is, he's right. They do need to get over themselves and talk.

That was, quite frankly, homophobic.

"You saw the drawing?" is the first thing Keefe says when Fitz sits on the arm of the couch.

Fitz nods. Words don't seem to be moving past his tongue for a moment, and then he says "It was really good. The note, not so much."

"It's much easier to not acknowledge things, but that didn't seem to be working great." Keefe looks down and pulls a loose thread out of the couch. "I'm sorry. I've said that already, but I'm sorry. Running away was stupid and it hurt a lot of people and I just- I'm sorry."

"For what it's worth, I don't hate you like I hate Alvar. He joined the Neverseen to hurt people. You joined to help people, in your idiotic messed up way."

Keefe slowly moves his hand across the distance between him and Fitz, but waits for Fitz to make the decision. He rests his hand on Keefe's. "I'm glad you don't hate me."

"I'm not sure I could hate you." He moves down from the arm of the couch, sitting so close to Keefe their shoulders nearly touch. "I l- I care about you, a lot. That hasn't changed. But trust is important to me, and it's... it's hard for me to trust you, now. I'm trying, but it... it's going to take time."

Keefe lifted their tangled hands and softly pressed a kiss to Fitz's. Fitz tries very, very hard not to explode. "I'll wait. As much time as you need."

"And you won't run away from me again?"

"No. Never again. I thought it was the right decision, I thought you would be better off without me, but then it was-" his voice breaks. "It was awful. For both of us. So no, I won't run away. You're stuck with me."

Fitz rests his head on Keefe's shoulder. "Hmm. I can think of worse fates."

Keefe puts an arm around him. "So, if we're stuck together, do you think we can try to actually communicate about... whatever mess we want to call our relationship?"

"Ugh. Fiiiine. As for what we want to call this mess, how does boyfriends sound?" That was... surprisingly smooth for him.

"Yeah. Yeah, boyfriends sounds good."

"Well, that's settled, so... may I kiss my boyfriend?"

Keefe turns bright red. I did that. I made him flustered. "Yeah," he chokes out. "Yeah, I might like that."

Fitz turns his head, and-

Wow.

Yeah. Yeah. He might have liked that.

---

"You kissed him!?" Biana screams.

Fitz blushes furiously. "Not so loud, Bee! I don't exactly need Mom and Dad to know about this!"

"Actually, I forgot to tell you- I'm staying with Linh now."

"Okay, well, shut up anyway so Tiergan doesn't hear. I really don't need my telepathy mentor hearing all about my love live from my annoying little sister."

"Fine, fine, whatever. You kissed him. I owe Linh five dollars-"

"You were betting?"

"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't get over yourselves until at least next month."

"I hate you so much."

"Love you too, Fitz."

Fitz sighs heavily. "Anyway. Fine. Yes. We kissed. We're boyfriends now. This did not magically make our relationship great and uncomplicated but we're working on it."

"Keep me updated!" She waves enthusiastically before hanging up.

Keefe laughs. "She seems happy about this."

"Ugh. Yeah."

"Hey, I'm happy about this too."

Fitz kisses his boyfriend's cheek. "Yeah. So am I."

#THEY DID IT THEY KISSED #linh and biana are totally dating btw #keefitz roommate au #finished within pride month who's impressed with me #reblogs are great! ao3 comments are even better if you can :D #keefitz

22 notes · View notes

here-be-dragons-and-hyperspace · 2 years

Note

Do you have any thoughts about the parallel between Fitz hiding parts of himself from Molly that he doesn't think she will accept, and Beloved doing the same thing for Fitz, with Fitz being upset when he learns about Amber and other things? The recent post made me think about it

Hi anon,

That's a very good question, I haven't really thought about it before. I think there is indeed a parallel, and for quite a long time Fitz is truely struggling to accept all aspects of Beloved. But at the same time I think there are differences between these two relationships. Fitz is aware that Beloved is keeping parts of his life secret, and he knows not to bother Beloved about it or not to feel hurt. Exept when he feels his trust has been broken in Golden Fool, and we got to read that disastrous confrontation. But I think Molly doesn't know that Fitz is keeping secrets, she definitely didn't in the Farseer trilogy. I believe Fitz were given the chance to know Beloved better than anyone and to learn to accept who he is, but Molly didn't get that chance or not as much.

I wonder if Beloved should have been more forthcoming with Fitz, since Fitz certainly should have been that with Molly. But if I take two examples, the answer is maybe no, Fitz was lying about stuff that could impact Molly's life (assassin, royal bastard), and Beloved secrets about his feelings and past gender representations shouldn't impact Fitz that much.

Okay, at this point I'm only rambling and thinking out loud. I'm sure the answer could be exanded more, but I rather cut it short now :)

#rote spoilers #farseer trilogy spoilers #tawny man spoilers #realm of the elderlings spoilers #tawny man trilogy spoilers #rote #realm of the elderlings #tawny man #tawny man trilogy #farseer trilogy #fitzchivalry farseeer

3 notes · View notes

lindsaywesker · 5 months

Text

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

Russia’s second most popular flavour of crisps is crab.

About a third of British adults still sleep with a cuddly toy.

In 2006, a robot taste-taster confirmed humans taste like bacon.

In 1992, there was a bank robbery every 45 minutes in Los Angeles.

Studies have found that being a ‘bad boy’ is no longer perceived as ‘cool’.

The nickname for Crystal Palace and QPR footballer Fitz Hall was ‘One Size’.

Three-quarters of the murders in Chicago are caused by arguments gone too far.

There is a plan to heat 1600 Dutch homes with the heat emanating from sewers.

“Science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.” (Isaac Asimov)

MTV's show ‘16 And Pregnant’ caused a 4.3% reduction in teen births in the US.

There is a library in San Diego, California where you can borrow taxidermied animals.

J. R. R. Tolkien started writing ‘The Hobbit’ on a student’s exam paper he was marking.

The area of the Pacific where great white sharks hang out is known as the White Shark Cafe.

A city council candidate in Washington lost his election by one vote. He didn’t vote for himself.

There are 93 penises on The Bayeux Tapestry. Five of those belong to men and the other 88 to horses.

People think about you more than you think they do but they also like you more than you think they do.

New research shows that placebos are effective in reducing feelings of guilt, but they work less well on shame.

Some corrupt Mexican police are now using card terminals to make collecting bribes at traffic stops more convenient.

The Pogues were originally called ‘Pogue Mahone’, which was from the Gaelic phrase ‘póg mo thóin’ meaning ‘kiss my arse’.

Scientists in Singapore have developed a tiny flexible battery, powered by the salt in human tears, designed for smart contact lenses.

The British royal family has an estimated net worth of $88 billion. Saudi Arabia's royal family has an estimated net worth of $1.4 trillion.

In 1991, Swedish firm locum sent out Christmas cards to customers but substituted the ‘o’ in their name with a heart symbol. (Think about it.)

Earlier this month in Halifax, Canada, a 220-tonne house built in 1826 was moved over 9 metres from its site using a steel frame and 700 bars of soap.

In 1921, Wisconsin became the first state in the USA to officially give women equal rights with men, including the right ‘to wear trousers and chew tobacco’.

Apple have been granted a new patent for a smart ring that can be worn on a user's "wrist, arm, leg, ankle, neck, head, and/or other body parts."

The Great Male Renunciation is the term historians use to refer to the period at the end of the 18th century when men stopped wearing bright colours.

In the latest Ridley Scott film, Napoleon is played by Joaquin Phoenix who is a vegan. Because of that, all the Napoleon’s hats shown in the film are plant-based, made from tree bark.

The record for the most Big Macs consumed in a lifetime is held by Donald A. Gorske, who ate his 27,000th Big Mac in 2019. He has been documenting his Big Mac consumption since 1972.

There’s a village in Montenegro that holds both the World Championships Of Laziness (lying on a mattress for the longest time) and a slow bicycle race where the winner is the last to finish.

In the 1980s, the transit agency in the San Francisco Bay Area awarded a contract to repair vandalised seats to one company. That company then started paying people to vandalise more seats.

40% of people shown a photoshopped image of themselves riding in a Viking ship as a child claimed to remember the (fictional) incident. This replicates a similar experiment from 2002 involving a fictional balloon ride.

In a 1960 Danish football game, the ref was about to blow the whistle when his teeth fell out. While looking for them, the trailing team equalised. Once he found his teeth, he cancelled the goal and blew for full time.

When Lawrence Sperry crashed his plane in 1916, he was found naked by duck hunters alongside an also nude Mrs. Polk. They claimed that the force of the crash had stripped them of their clothes. (Really, mate?)

The UK government recently changed the law to ban company names containing computer code, after Michael Tandy of Hatfield registered a company called “; DROP TABLE “COMPANIES”; — LTD,” which could theoretically erase the Companies House database.

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #new blog #lockdown #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy

0 notes

ava-kedavra · 2 years

Text

Wayward Devotion part twelve: resent

Pairing: Ikaris x Reader

Summary: who knows? Wanda is my hero, that's really all there is to say.

Words: 2074

Warning: swearing, horribly slow burn, violence and probably other shit

link to park eleven

“I just wanted to say sorry,” Fitz states solemnly, “it really was the only choice.”

“What was?” You tilt your head at the man.

“Erasing your memory,” he states, as if it’s obvious.

“You erased my memory?” you ask, baffled.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam storms into the cell, looking over to you. You can tell he’s angry, and don’t exactly blame him.

You put your hands up slowly, looking to make sure Ikaris does the same. Begrudgingly, he does.

“Yeah Y/N this is wrong,” Bucky agrees sarcastically in a monotone voice, “Sam is totally right.” He adds on boredly, not moving from the doorway.

“Radio silence for-”

“Sam pleas-” You try to cut him off.

“Fourteen hours!” He raises his voice to end the sentence.

“No messages,” he continues, “no phone calls, nothing. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I get you’re upset-” You try to make your case, but he cuts you off again, actually angry, “Explain. Now.”

“We didn’t do anything unjustifiable,” you point to the couple, keeping your voice steady, “they erased my memory. I swear.”

“She’s right,” Ikaris agrees, arms now crossed and standing behind you, as if on his toes for an attack.

“So you kidnapped them?” Sam asks.

“I wouldn’t consider it a kidnapping,” you argue, “they are adults.”

“Then you abducted them!” He throws his hands out, before pointing to them, “this isn’t a good look Y/N. They’ll be agents on the way soon.”

In your defense, you didn’t really have time to let the Avengers know about your plan. Things happened too fast.

“We don’t need much time,” Ikaris offers, “let them confess.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Sam replies, slightly cooled down, “there are technicalities.”

“I don’t give a shit about technicalities,” you nearly whine, putting your hands down, “we need a team meeting. Now.”

“I agree,” Bucky calls out from the doorway.

You turn to Sam and give him a look. He meets your stare and puts his hands up, “conference room,” he concedes, “I’ll deal with them.” He looks over to the cell and back to you.

You thank him before leading Ikaris out of the jail cell, your hand in his. You make your way into the conference room to see Phastos, Bruce, Kingo, Ajak and Sprite already there.

“It’s good to see you’re okay,” Bruce greets and you manage a small smile.

“I don’t know if I’m okay,” you admit, “but I think things will start to make sense soon.”

You feel Ikaris squeeze his hand on your thigh, so you place your hand on top of his, squeezing back gently.

Ikaris could tell you were tired, but he felt exhausted. Whatever contraption Fitz had put him in took a toll.

It’s almost as if he was electrocuted from the inside out, leaving his bones aching and frail. He’s been down in fights before against deviants, but this? This made him want to lay in bed for twenty hours.

More specifically with you in that bed with him.

Ikaris’ mind feels foggy, almost disconnected as he comes to. He tries to lift his neck, but it’s restrained against the bed, and all of his limbs are too.

Fuck.

He tries to channel his energy, but it dissipates quickly, as if it’s fizzling out.

“A modified version of my quantum field disruptors,” he hears Fitz’ voice call out and he shifts his eyes to see the man at a table filled with different tools.

“Let me out of here,” Ikaris grits out between his teeth, “now.”

“We’re alike, you and I,” Fitz snaps the latex of his glove against his hand, ignoring Ikaris.

Ikaris fumes, but chooses to stay silent. Instead, he watches as Fitz picks up a marker and makes his way back over to Ikaris lying on the gurney.

“You’d do anything for Y/N,” he continues, speaking quieter as he marks lines on Ikaris’ forehead, “and I’d do anything for Jemma.”

“I��ve killed for her,” he seems to be talking more to himself as he tightens the bounds on Ikaris, “I’ve traveled through time for her. I’ve died for her,” he gives Ikaris a look, “and yet here you are trying to threaten me.”

Ikaris’ muscles strain against the bands, but as soon as he forces the material away, it shocks him, causing him to groan out. It wasn’t just electricity, it felt like a poison was flowing through his veins.

“That’ll be the gamma hydroxybutane,” Fitz explains, hearing the pain in Ikaris’ voice, “slowly subduing you.”

Ikaris stays still, trying to navigate the feeling of the drug inside his veins. He was surprised he could even feel it in the first place.

“Had to use a lot,” Fitz casually brings up, “it’ll burn through you quick, but I don’t need a lot of time.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ikaris finally speaks, glancing over to Fitz who seemed to be programming something.

“I knew I should’ve erased your memory of her, but I thought I was being kind by faking her death,” he admits, “I’m fixing my mistake.”

He was going to erase Ikaris’s memory of you. Maybe even his whole memory.

All seven thousand years.

The thought of all the memories the two of you shared being wiped from existence left Ikaris feeling like a stone had dropped in his stomach.

It also didn’t help that he felt like the room was spinning slightly.

“Let hell you are,” he nearly growls before pushing fully against the restraints and tries to break free, despite the pain.

It’s a losing game though.

Ikaris can feel the little energy he had left leaving his body and he stops pushing. Stars spot his vision and he focuses on his breath as he tries to not fall asleep.

He’s barely coherent, which makes him even more confused when the door to the room is busted open.

You stroll inside, but a wisp of red follows you, promptly making Fitz fall onto the floor.

You ignore Fitz though and head straight to Ikaris, and work on dismantling the bounds around him.

“Are you alright?” You ask, helping him off the dais carefully with your arm around his shoulder, ignoring the unconscious Jemma being carried into the room with a red mist. Wanda comes in after casually and works on tying the two up.

“How’d you know we’d be here?” Ikaris asks Wanda, but she ignores him.

“Are you okay?” You place your hands on Ikaris’ cheeks, making him face you.

“I’m okay,” he assures and you nod slowly.

“Good,” you say before you’re throwing your arms around him tightly.

“It’s okay,” he comforts, wrapping his arms around you, “are you okay?”

You nod into his neck and he breathes out, “I’m glad.”

“You were apart for an hour,” Wanda calls out from the other side of the lab, “get a grip.”

“I’m grateful,” you walk over and take her hands in yours, “but I don’t know if that was the best way to handle the situation.”

You look over to the two unconscious bodies on the floor next to you.

“They were gonna erase our memory,” Ikaris defends.

You sigh, “I know, I just wish we could’ve been civil, and you,” you turn to Wanda, “were never here. We don’t need another Westview.”

She nods, “I agree.”

“We’ll take them back to the compound and question them,” you plan, “and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

You give Ikaris another squeeze before letting go. He takes your hand in his and you don’t stop him, “we need to go.”

Wanda nods, “you do.”

Your touch brings Ikaris back to reality. He looks around the table to see it full, even notices Pepper next to you.

“You with me?” You whisper into his ear, your hands intertwined on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just tired.”

“Me too,” you agree, “we should sleep for a year after this.”

He goes to reply, but Sam stands at the head of the table, directing everyone’s attention.

His hands rest against the wood, and you can see him visibly sigh.

“Explain everything,” he’s blunt and to the point, “now.”

You’re sitting in your jail cell.

You can see Ikaris pacing in his, but you’re trying to come up with a logical reason as to why Jemma and Fitz erased your memory.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” you mumble, more to yourself.

“We need to get out of here,” Ikaris calls out, punching the wall.

“We’re not getting out of these,” you turn to look at him, “they’re containment modules. Meant for inhumans, but are perfect for restraining powers like yours too.”

“Can’t you hack into it somehow?” Ikaris offers, “you did say you liked being in the lab more.”

“Where did they go?” You ask out loud, “I want answers.”

Suddenly a hose in Ikaris’s cell opens up, causing the container to be filled with a fog-like substance.

“Ikaris?” You call out, standing up, “Ikaris!”

He doesn’t respond though and when the fog clears you see him knocked out on the ground. You begin to pound against the glass, even though you know it’s futile.

Suddenly a hose in your cell opens as well, and before you know it your vision goes black.

You wake up strapped to an upright stretcher. Your head aches and you feel discombobulated.

You look around the room and notice you’re in a lab, and see Jemma facing away from you in a corner.

“Jemma,” you call out, voice hoarse from yelling.

“Jemma please just explain,” you try to reason, but she ignores you.

“Wow,” you rest your head on the stretcher, “this fucking sucks.”

There’s got to be a way out of this.

You check the tightness of your bindings.

They’re really fucking tight. You try to wiggle around, but you hear Jemma call out, “I’m not opposed to knocking you out again.”

“You need me awake for brain surgery,” you retort dryly.

“How did we get here?” You call out as you survey the room, looking for any nearby things that could be used like a weapon.

“We were friends,” you continue, spotting exactly what you needed in the lab coat of Jemma walking towards you.

A pen.

It’ll do.

You’ll provoke her, cause her to get close and steal it.

Easy.

Before you can even speak, you hear the tell tale sound of a portal opening.

“Step away from Y/N,” Wanda commands through her accent, red wisps around her fingers.

Jemma puts her hands up and Wanda claps, causing Jemma to fall to the floor.

You feel your binds loosen as Wanda helps you to stand.

“You okay?” You lean into her and give a small nod.

“Good,” she begins to walk with you, “let’s go get Ikaris.”

Your retelling of your alleged abduction left out the fact that Wanda was there.

At all.

As far as anyone in the conference room was concerned, she hasn’t left the Sanctum. Ikaris didn’t need an explanation of why you wanted that information to not be public, and you were thankful.

After your explanation, Sam seemed to have calmed down considerably.

Everyone around the table was silent, you felt Ikaris squeeze your hand under the table.

You power down the quinjet, but don’t make a move to get up. You see Ikaris eyes on you, but he lets you sit in silence for a moment.

“We did what we had to,” he reminds you gently, before standing up.

You stay silent, but get up as well.

“I know,” you finally speak, grabbing his hand as you make your way down the ramp.

“I just want to know why,” you say, more quiet as you start to see the team approach you.

“So,” Bucky lifts his handgun, pointing it at Fitzs’ head boredly, “spill why you stole Y/N’s memories,” he cocks the gun, “now.”

“No,” Fitz says immediately, “so shoot.”

“We can’t,” Jemma whispers, a small tear leaking out of her eye, “I’m sorry.”

You look to Ikaris, and then to Bucky, who’s already looking at you with a raised eyebrow. With a small shake of your head, he’s lowering the gun.

“They’ll reconsider,” You assure the group, “they’ll have to.”

“Let’s go,” Ikaris’ hand gently grabs your shoulder.

You slowly stand, letting Ikaris guide you out of the room.

“No torture Barnes,” you call out, before turning the corner towards your room.

yeaaah that took a bit

just a reminder that I don't have a schedule I post when I want

I do however hope to finish up this fanfic soon because I have new ideas I wanna try out!

thank you for all of the support much love

#marvel fic #eternals #eternals fanfiction #ikaris fanfiction #waywarddevotion #ikaris x reader #marvel x reader #ikaris angst #ikaris imagine #ikaris x you #richard madden x y/n #richard madden fanfiction #richard madden imagine #richard madden x reader

198 notes · View notes

bees--in-my--bones · 3 years

Text

Mission: New Asgard

Character: Loki x reader (completely gender neutral. There are zero indications of the readers gender, no pronouns at all. Note that this is written from the perspective of a woman, though, so if something is too biased, please let me know!)

Summary: You are assigned to help integrate the Asgardians to Midgardian society, but your mission ends a whole lot different than you expect.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 5,493

A/N: My second fic! The title is supposed to be a play on the Mission: Impossible movies, but I've never actually seen one, so sorry if it's wrong lol. Now that I officially have more than one fic, I'm gonna make a masterlist, so that will be coming soon. I hope you like the story!

You rapped your knuckles on the office door that had been left slightly ajar. “Director Mackenzie? You asked to see me?”

“Come on in, Y/N. Elena was just leaving.”

You opened the door and nodded at Agent Rodriguez as she made her way out. She gave you a curt nod in return.

Alphonso Mackenzie, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., leaned back into the chair behind his desk and gestured for you to have a seat. “And for the last time, Y/N, you are one of my most trusted operatives. Call me Mack, please.”

You sat down. “Sorry, Mack.”

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a file folder stuffed to the brim with documents, which he dropped onto the desk between you, the loud thwap resounding in the small office.

“I have a mission for you, Agent. A few days ago, the planet Asgard was completely destroyed.”

“Asgard?” you interjected. “Like where Thor is from?”

He nodded. “You’ll find all of that and more in these files. Thor and his brother Loki have set up a colony in a small town in Norway. We need you to supervise the integration of the Asgardian people onto Earth. This is the first known mass migration of aliens that our planet has ever seen, and we need to be keeping a close eye on this, or it could go sideways real fast.”

You pulled the files closer and began to flip through a few pages. “I thought Loki was a bad guy. What was it? 80 people in 2 days? Plus the invasion of New York. Why are we letting him back here?”

Mack sighed and rubbed his temple. “I can’t personally vouch for the man, but Thor claims he was being mind controlled. According to Thor, Loki eventually broke free of the control and killed the guy who was behind the whole thing. Some alien named Thanos? Tony Stark himself seems okay with this New Asgard business, and you know how paranoid he gets. So for now, we observe, not attack.”

“Gotcha,” you said. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you can get your stuff together and get out of here. Say the word and we'll start prepping a Quinjet.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you said, standing up and grabbing the files. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get an idea of my timeline.”

“Thank you Agent L/N, and good luck.”

------

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, barely making a rather sharp turn. When you finished this assignment, you were going to have to have a talk with whoever designed these roads. Despite the unsafe driving conditions, though, you sighed in contentment. You were back in the field, this is where you belonged.

You pulled a van loaded to the brim with various tech items mixed in with your personal possessions down a bumpy road, coming to a stop before a small, rustic-looking, seaside town, where two men and a woman stood for you. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. You turned the key and shut off the van, trying to get a read on each of the people standing before you.

The buff blond man was clearly Thor. You recognized him from the news and the files you had read. Next to him was a tall woman with dark hair who had wan air of confidence about her. You had never seen her, nor did S.H.I.E.L.D. have any data on her. The third man was lanky, but clearly still fit, with dark hair that fell just past his shoulders. He was clad in green and had a demeanor that made you shiver. This was Loki, scourge of New York and would-be king of Midgard. But Thor and Tony Stark had vouched for him, and that would have to be enough for Y/N L/N, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

You exited the van and heard Thor call to you. “Welcome, newcomer! Our scouts observed your vehicle approaching our home!”

You walked briskly towards the group. Game time. Put on the 'no time for your shit' face and get to business. Coming to a stop in front of them, you began to speak. “My name is Y/N L/N and I am here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division of the American government. We have been granted permission from the government of Norway to oversee this colony's development. This is an unprecedented situation on Earth, and as such, we have written new protocols. I am the agent assigned to this case, and I will be supervising the construction of New Asgard and its integration into Midgardian society.”

Thor furrowed his brow. “I was under the impression that S.H.I.E.L.D. was controlled by Hydra.”

You nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. The previous incarnation of S.H.I.E.L.D. was corrupt, but we are a hardy breed, so to speak. A much smaller branch has survived, and deals with various situations across the world, aliens being one of them.”

Thor nodded. “Then we welcome your presence here with open arms.”

Loki scoffed. “You are too trusting, brother. This so-called agent could be anyone. What cause do we have to believe this story?”

You turned to him. “Loki, God of Mischief, Chaos, and Lies, correct? You of all people should know, am I lying?”

He stared at you, long and hard, before shaking his head. “No, I suppose you aren’t,” he admitted.

“There’s that then,” you said. “Now, I will need to ask the three of you some questions regarding yourselves, if you don’t mind.”

-----

The strange woman was first. You had been given a small shack to conduct your interviews out of, the woman stared at you from across the table, looking for all the world like she had somewhere better to be.

“Name?”

“Brunnhilde.”

“No family name?”

“I am a Valkyrie. I have no blood other than my sisters.”

“Right,” you said, “You lived on Asgard then?”

Her face took on a sour look. “A long time ago. I’ve spent the last few centuries on a different planet, Sakaar.”

You scribbled the information into your notepad. “What do you do then? If you were gone so long, why are you back with the Asgardians?”

Her chest puffed with pride. “I am to be the new King of Asgard. On the Summer Solstice we will hold a coronation. It will give the people enough time to accept the transfer of power from Odin’s bloodline to me, and for me to learn how to lead.”

You nodded and took note of it. “Congratulations,Your Majesty-to-be. I believe that’s all I need for now, but I expect we will see a lot of each other over the months.”

-----

Thor. The large man sat across from you, seemingly happy to be there.

“Thor Odinson, correct?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

“And I hear you're passing on the title of King to Brunnhilde?”

A dark look came over his face. “I have learned recently that my family has done many wrongs by Asgard. As long as I breathe, I will fight for Asgard and her people, but I do not believe it is my place to rule. Brunnhilde loves the people and has a talent for leadership. She will be a much better King than I.”

“A very noble decision, Thor. Thank you very much, and please send your brother in on your way out.”

-----

“Name?”

“I believe you know who I am.”

You sighed. “It's a formality, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Friggason.”

“What?”

“I prefer Loki Friggason.”

You nodded, and made the necessary changes to his file. “Noted. Anything else I should know about?”

“Just a warning,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dangerously low. “I am the God of Lies. The truth is a luxury I will afford no one, especially your little government. The God of Chaos is an enemy you do not want to have.”

You raised an eyebrow, and wrote a single word in your file, exaggerating each syllable as you wrote it out. “Dra. Ma. Tic.”

Truth be told, you were a little scared, given this guy’s reputation, but you would be damned before you let your exterior crack.

Loki scowled. He seemed to do that a lot. “You mortals think you are so funny, do you not?”

You shrugged. “I’m delightful.” You slipped your papers into your file folder and stood up. “See you around, Friggason.”

You left, leaving Loki slightly aghast that you had managed to get the last word in.

-----

You walked calmly out of the hut, then quickened your pace as you made your way back to your van. Loki, as much as it pained you to say, had been intimidating, and your heart was beating a mile a minute.

You opened the door and climbed inside, shoving your paperwork into a filing cabinet, which you promptly locked. You turned to your computers, fiddling with the buttons, atttempting to establish your connection back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.

"It's quite rude to walk out on a prince, you know."

You jumped and whipped around to see Loki standing outside your van.

"What the hell!"

"I said-"

"I know what you said, Your Highness," you interrupted. "But you scared the shit out of me. “

"Many apologies," he said as he hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the van, his insincerity clear. "And I grant you permission to refer to me as Loki."

"How generous," you muttered, before going back to your instruction manual. Technology had never been your forte. You chose being a field agent over a scientist for a reason.

The both of you sat in silence for a while, you working slowly through the instructions that Fitz, a S.H.I.E.L.D agent much more qualified in machinery than you, had given you.

You glanced up at Loki, half expecting to see him sleeping against the van's frame, only to find his gaze resting on you.

"Can I help you?" you asked.

He just laughed a bit, like staring at you had been the most normal thing in the world. "I am watching you, Midgardian, lest you sabotage the society my brother is trying to build."

"I never took you for the loyal type," you said, putting away your things. "I'm gonna have to ask you to get outta here though."

“Why?”

You gestured to the twilight outside. “It’s late. I’ve had a long day. I’m going to bed.”

Loki strained his head slightly, attempting to peek into the van. “Where do you plan on sleeping?”

Not breaking eye contact, you grabbed a cord on the wall and yanked, and the rusty old pull-down bed flopped out with a loud groan. The rickety old thing was probably going to give you back problems by the time you were done here, but such was life. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s money was usually spent on more pressing things than upgrading amenities for field agents.

Loki’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “You are not sleeping in that. We’ve built a larger house for Thor, Brunnhilde, and I. You’ll stay in one of the guest rooms there.”

You shrugged. “It’s not too bad out here.”

“Mortals,” he said under his breath, almost indecipherably, before speaking again, at a normal volume this time. “I insist. Whether I like it or not, you are a guest of Asgard, and you will be treated as such. Besides, that bed looks seconds away from collapsing.”

You nodded, trying not to betray your confusion at the combination of his kindness and rudeness. “Thank you, just give me a second to lock up.” You grabbed the pieces you had been fiddling with, then paused, your hand hovering over the satellite dish. “Actually, if you’re just gonna sit there, you may as well make yourself useful. You can teleport right?”

Suspicion crossed his face. “Yes?”

You held out the device. “Hop up to the top of the van, there should be a little cord. It’ll fit into this port here,” you said gesturing. “Plug it in for me, please?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You ask a god to do your bidding?”

You scoffed. “You’re not a god, you're an alien. And I just asked for a favor. You’re free to say no, but I’m exhausted, and as much as I would like to put off climbing on the roof off until tomorrow, I need to send a check in to headquarters ASAP.”

He begrudgingly reached out and took the dish and you watched as his form rippled green and faded away. You heard shuffling on the roof for a moment, then silence, before the Asgardian reappeared in front of you.

“If that’s all, Midgardian?” he said.

“Thank you, Highness,” you said, ignoring his tone. “And thank you for offering the room.” The monitor beeped a confirmation that your signal had connected and you punched in a code to let S.H.I.E.L.D. know you had made it to New Asgard. You grabbed the bag you had packed and hopped out of the van, waiting for Loki to follow suit before closing the doors and locking the vehicle.

You offered him your arm. “Shall we?”

He brushed past you, rolling his eyes at your mock-politeness.

“Alright then,” you muttered, “This is gonna be fun, isn’t it?” Taking one last look at the van behind you, you moved to catch up with the Asgardian walking briskly away from you.

-----

Loki had not been talkative on the way to the house, and after being curtly shown to your room, he quickly left. You had settled into a decently sized room complete with a desk and a small bathroom attached. Undoubtedly, the house was a far cry from an Asgardian palace, but it was much larger than needed for three, even four, people. Surprisingly, you got a sound night’s sleep.

You woke to rambunctious laughter, and, wiping bleariness from your eyes, got out of bed. You stood in front of a small mirror on the wall and attempted to make yourself look slightly less like you had just woken up. Moving to your bag, you put on clothes that were much more professional than the old sweatshirt you were currently wearing.

Finally satisfied, you stepped out of your room and followed the sounds of conversation into the kitchen, where you found Brunnhilde and Thor joking at the counter while Loki sat at a dining room table, reading a book.

Seeing you, Thor broke into a smile. “Y/N! Loki had told us you would be staying here!”

You returned the smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here, Thor. I really appreciate this.”

The large man set a plate heaping with food on the table and gestured for you to sit. You did, glancing at Loki as you took the seat across from him, but he made no move to acknowledge that you were there. Brunnhidle began to speak. “We will be building fishing boats today down at the docks today. Will you be joining us, Y/N? We could use an extra set of hands.”

You nodded. “I don’t mind helping out. I have a few things to take care of first, though, so I’ll meet you all down there.”

Thor clapped. “Excellent! We’ll make an Asgardian out of you yet!”

You laughed softly and finished your meal as Thor and Brunnhilde began to tell you the plans for the day.

------

After breakfast, you ran up to your room to grab your laptop and then met the rest of the group on the stairs of the house. “I’ll see you guys in a little while,” you said, waving while walking in the opposite direction.

Thor and Brunnhidle branched off from you, but Loki, still silent, walked beside you towards your van.

You looked at him quizzically, but he seemed to have no intention of indicating why he was with you, and not with Thor and Brunnhilde.

Finally, as you approached your van, you caved and asked. “Why are you with me instead of your brother?”

“I’ve consulted with Thor. I will be supervising you for the remainder of your stay here.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “I’m supposed to be supervising you guys!”

“You are a stranger,” he replied, “and there’s something about you that I don’t trust. I have harmed Asgard many times over, and I don’t intend to let you get away with hurting these people any more.” There was an edge to his voice, that you had to admit, scared you.

After a long moment, you sighed. “Fine. I could use an assistant, I guess.” Which was apparently the right thing to say, because it made him clearly flustered.

“I am no one’s assistant, I am a prince of Asgard,” he argued as you turned away from him, partially to unlock your van and partially to hide your laughter.

You hopped up into the vehicle and grabbed a folder and tossed it to Loki, who was still sputtering about his status behind you. “Scan those in, would you?” you said gesturing at a machine in the back corner of the van.

He huffed but snatched the folder from your hand and went to fiddle with the machine.

You glanced over. “Do you know how to use that?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “This is primitive technology compared to what I have seen in my travels.”

You shrugged. “Okay.” You turned to your computer and queued up a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. “I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second,” you said, right before Mack’s face popped onto the screen.

“Y/N! How’s Norway treating you?” he said with a smile.

“Colder than I thought, but not too bad. They’ve given me an actual bed to sleep in. You really need to update the beds in these vans,” you joked.

“I’ll let the budget committee know,” he replied. “I trust Thor and Loki are being cooperative, then?”

“More or less,” you said before stepping to the side, putting Loki in full view of your webcam.

Mack’s eyes widened. The change was subtle, but you could tell he was surprised. “That’s Loki.”

“Yup.”

“In your van.”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“His Highness has deemed me untrustworthy, and decided I need a chaperone.”

“Right,” said Mack, suspicion in his voice. “Well you know the drill. Weekly check-ins, and don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any problems,” he said, looking at Loki.

“Gotcha, Mack. Talk to you next week,” you said, turning off the call. You turned to Loki, who had yet to even turn the scanner on. “You don’t know how to work that, do you?”

He glared at you and did not reply.

“Come here, Your Highness, I’ll show you. It really isn’t that hard.”

“You know the honorific loses its value when you say it so sarcastically,” he said, while watching your motions intensely, memorizing the steps to work the machine.

“Sorry, Highness.”

-----

The two of you walked down to the beach shortly after, meeting Brunnhilde and Thor at the docks. You were allotted supplies and miraculously, you and Loki ended up caulking the same boat.

Great.

The silence was deafening at first, until you decided to break it.

“You know I never would have assumed that someone of such status would be out here doing the dirty work,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

He grimaced. “I owe Asgard a debt. I intend to repay it, however I can offer service.”

“A very noble stance from Loki, God of Mischief.”

He grinned and looked up, meeting your eyes. “I find that one can be noble while still being quite mischievous.”

You felt your face heat up, and ducked your head, looking down at your work. He had smiled at you, for the first time, and what he had said had sounded almost like flirting. Why had that made your stomach turn in such a strange way?

“Oh my,” he laughed. “Seems that the Midgardian is finally speechless.”

“Just trying to hold my tongue around my betters, Highness,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Now let’s get to work before Brunnhilde has our heads.”

-----

Finally, late that afternoon, the work was done, and the New Asgard armada of fishing boats was ready for a celebratory launch. You and Loki stood in the crowd, watching Brunnhilde give a speech in front of the flagship, which really wasn’t much larger than the rest of the fleet. Loki leaned over and whispered to you, “You know, back in the day, the Norse would give a human sacrifice to the sea god to ensure safe passage.”

You wrinkled your nose, put off by the suggestion. “I think I prefer the more English tradition,” you replied, watching as Brunnhilde smashed a bottle of champagne against the hull of the ship.

Loki sighed. “Such a waste of perfectly good champagne.”

“I’m sure there's plenty more alcohol around here somewhere,” you said as you walked over to your boat, preparing for her maiden voyage. You hopped in and offered Loki your hand to help him in. He hesitated, but he took it.

“What should we name her?” you asked.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, “We have to give our ship a name.”

Loki seemed to ponder it a moment before deciding. “How about The Midgardian?”

You put your hand on your chest in mock flattery. “Aww, you named her after me, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “It’s a fitting name. She’s lackluster and hardly even worthy of being called a boat.” His words were biting, and maybe you were imagining things, but you could have sworn you heard the playfulness in his voice.

You laughed and tossed him an oar. “For you, Highness.”

“Many thanks, Midgardian.”

The two of you followed the rest of New Asgard, rowing out to sea. Suddenly, you noticed a small sprig of water in the bottom of the boat. “Loki,” you said, the fear dawning on you, “I think the boat is leaking.”

He turned to see the small leak coming through the floorboards. “Okay,” he said, suddenly serious, “Don’t panic. Let’s turn around.”

You switched the side you were paddling on, beginning to move the boat in a circle. Before you could completely orient yourselves, the floorboards cracked, and a large chunk of wood detached from the boat. You yelped as the water came flooding in.

Loki swore. “Can you swim?” he asked you, speaking quickly.

You nodded. All S.H.I.E.L.D. agents knew how to swim.

“Then jump!” he said, and you did, without a second thought. Your boat was sinking fast, and there was no way you were going to make it back to shore dry.

You hit the water, and a second later, heard Loki behind you.

“Swim towards Thor’s boat, he can get us-”

You missed the rest of his sentence as you were pulled away from him.

You fought the current that had taken hold of you, but your panic was making things worse. In the confusion, you lost control, and dipped under water. The ocean filled your mouth. Breaking the surface again, you choked out most of the water, trying to stay calm and find a way out, but every second you were being pulled further out to sea. Falling under once again, you were prepared to accept your fate when a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around you and pulled you into calmer waters.

You gasped for air as Loki held you against himself, allowing you time to recover.

“Wha- How did-” you began, once you could speak.

“Don’t talk, just breathe,” he said. “I am a god, I can overpower currents much easier than your mortal bodies can.”

“Thank you, Loki,” you said.

“You are welcome, Y/N.”

A larger boat pulled up next to you, Thor leaning over the side. “Brother, Agent Y/N! Take my hand!”

Loki helped you onto the deck of the boat before climbing over the side himself.

You flopped onto the deck, panting. “Rest in peace, SS Midgardian.”

-----

Later that night, you and Loki sat together watching the fire crackle. Thor had brought you a hot drink, and after plenty of fussing ensuring that you were okay, had left to do something leader-ish with Brunnhilde.

Suddenly, a loud scuffling at the door broke the silence and a series of thudding footsteps made their way toward you. Upon seeing your company, Loki sighed, exasperated. You turned and saw a large figure that appeared to be made out of rock alongside a smaller, insect-looking creature.

The large one began to speak, his gentle tone in contrast with his threatening form. “Hello. Um, I’m Korg and this is my friend Meik. We came to apologize for the whole boat thing. Thor put us in charge of wood collection, so it’s our bad, really. Sorry.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright,” you said, still processing the fact that there were two very large, very strange-looking, aliens in the living room. “You couldn’t have known the wood was rotting, and no one’s dead, so we’re good.”

“Alright, cool,” said Korg. “No harm, no foul, yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right then,” he said, scooping up Miek. “We’ve gotta get going. Thor put us on clean up duty for the next week.”

“Thank you, Korg!” you called, but he was already out the door.

Loki let out another sigh. “Idiots.”

You turned back to him. “I had no idea there were other aliens here! How many species came with you?”

“Just Korg and Meik. And unfortunately, they are around a lot.”

You settled into your armchair. “I’m gonna have to document this.” But even as you said it, you could feel yourself drifting off.

-----

The next day you woke in your own bed, slightly embarrassed at the implication that Loki had carried you there, but he never brought it up, so neither did you.

The next few weeks were filled with collecting information and helping with the construction of New Asgard to fill the rest of your time. Always, of course, accompanied by Loki. In a strange way, you were becoming friends. The two of you never exchanged a single kind word, but your actions said otherwise. Before long, it seemed less like Loki was breathing down your neck and more like he was genuinely relaxing around you.

“Hey, Mack,” you said, beginning your weekly call-in, Loki now sitting beside you instead of hiding in the background.

“Hey there, Y/N. How’s it going, Loki?”

“Quite well, thank you, Director Mackenzie.”

You stared at him in shock. You had never heard Loki use honorifics for a Midgardian.

The rest of the call was uneventful, and as soon as you hung up, you whirled toward Loki.

“You were polite!” you said, your tone accusatory.

Loki sniffed. “I do have manners, you know.”

“You called him Director Mackenzie.”

“And?”

“And I can count the number of times you’ve used my real name on one hand. It’s always ‘Midgardian’ this ‘Midgardian’ that. You know Mack’s a Midgardian too, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “And you call me ‘Highness’ in that terrible mocking tone of yours. The disrespect is mutual.”

You sighed. “Fine, we’ll call a truce. I’ll call you Loki, you call me Y/N, deal?” You stuck out your hand, waiting for his response.

He seemed to be considering his options, before he settled on his choice. “Deal.” He grasped your hand firmly within his and shook it.

“Glad we’re on the same page, Loki,” you said, leaning back into your chair.

“What now, Y/N?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno. Brunnhilde and Thor don’t have anything going on, and I’m done with what I need to do.” You started clicking around on your computer. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“I’ve heard of movies, but never seen one.”

“You’ve never seen a movie?” you asked. “I guess that makes sense. It’s basically just a recorded play. You’ll love it.” You pulled up a movie. One of the lesser known perks of working for S.H.I.E.L.D.: free Netflix. “This is one of my favorites,” you said as the opening credits rolled.

“I suppose you aren’t giving me a choice then?” he asked.

“Nope,” you replied. “Now be quiet and watch.”

-----

Later that night, you were in the kitchen with Thor, cleaning up after dinner. The two of you worked in comfortable silence until suddenly-

“Are you and my brother involved romantically?”

The plate you were washing fell into the soapy water with a splash.

“What?”

“I have never seen him willingly be around a person as he is you,” Thor explained. “And he has changed. He is happier than he was before Midgard.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t- I thought he was just ‘supervising’ in case I tried to kill you all.”

“Hardly. The man just has no clue how to adjust to a more… domestic lifestyle. He wants to be around you, he just does not know how to express that.”

“Huh,” was all you managed to say, not looking up from the dishes.

Thor let out a small chuckle. “One day you two will figure it out,” he said so quietly you weren’t even sure he said it.

-----

More time passed, you and Loki still spending your days together. Before you knew it, the Summer Solstice was here, and you spent the morning preparing.

Rushing around your van, alone for once, you scrambled to get your work done quickly before Brunnhidle’s coronation began.

Finishing up you glanced at your monitor when you saw a message pop up.

Alphonso Mackenzie: I forgot to mention it in our call this week, but you’re coming up on the six month mark, and there seems to be no complications with Asgard’s transition, so we’ll be pulling you back to HQ. We’ll sort out the details in next week’s meeting.

You felt a sinking feeling in your chest, which was quickly replaced by determination as you began to type your response.

-----

You hurried to Loki’s side, panting slightly, making it to the coronation just in time for Brunnhidle to make her entrance.

“You’re late,” he whispered.

“Shh,” you said. “They’re starting.”

-----

After every great coronation comes an even greater feast, and the Asgardians spent the rest of the day revealing and celebrating their new leader.

Surprisingly, you had seen very little of Loki. That wouldn’t last long though, because as the sun dipped below the horizon, your closest friend in New Asgard appeared from the crowd and said nothing as he led you to a private space away from the partygoers.

“I’ve hardly seen you all night,” he said, as soon as the two of you had a moment of relative silence.

“I know,” you laughed softly. “It’s been strange to not be around you.”

Your smile fell and you looked up at him. “Look, Loki, I have some news, and I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it.”

His expression turned serious and he led you to a small bench, where the both of you sat. He stayed silent, waiting for you to speak.

“I got a message from Mack today. They want me back in America.”

Loki’s entire demeanor changed. “What? You can’t go back. There’s still so much I- so much supervising to be done here.”

“That’s where the part I’m unsure of comes in,” you said. “I talked to Mack, and the specifics still need to be discussed, but if we can get agreement from all parties, he wants to create a new position at S.H.I.E.L.D. I’d be the first permanent Asgardian-Midgardian liaison that S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever had.”

His face broke into a grin and he clasped your hands into his. “That’s wonderful! Why would I have any problems with that?”

“You haven’t always been my biggest fan,” you said, nudging his arm gently.

He was silent for a moment, looking for the words. “Maybe not at first,” he began slowly, looking you directly in your eyes, “but now, I’d argue that you are closer to me than anyone else.”

You suddenly became all too aware of his hands resting on yours, and the closeness of his face to yours. “Loki…”

“I hate to admit it, but after a long talk with Thor, I’ve realized that I’ve grown quite fond of you, Y/N.”

“I guess I’ve grown fond of you too, Your Highness,” you said, smiling softly.

“Oh, Midgardian,” he said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice as his face drew nearer.

You didn’t remember which of you closed the gap, only that it was the most magical kiss you had ever had.

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki x male reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki imagine #loki friggason x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki friggason x you #loki friggason imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #x reader

166 notes · View notes

laurensprentiss · 3 years

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 13:

Gif credit: @hqtchner

A/N: I toyed with several ideas for this one, but I wanted the reader to be strong in her own right which is why this takes the direction it does.

Warnings: Strong depictions of violence, assault, blood, vomiting. Graphic injury, choking, gun violence.

———

“What you remember saves you.” - W.S Merwin

———

“You don’t like what I’ve done with the place?”

“Jordan.” You breathe. “What did you do?”

His jaw sets. His expression goes from glee to fury and he’s next to you in a flash, nose to nose, dragging your head back by the hair on the nape of your neck. A wince escapes your mouth when the pulling sends a sting up your scalp.

“What do you mean, what did I do? Isn’t it obvious?” He sneers, punctuating his words with another pull of your hair.

You cry out in pain, your neck straining. The rabid look in his eyes and his bared teeth send shivers down your spine.

He continues, “I made sure you were going to stay all...mine.” He whispers, releasing his grip, smoothing the top of your head. “Isn’t it sweet? I did it all so I could have you all to myself… and instead of thanking me, you’re acting like you’re above me. Like you always do. Maybe I need to teach you how to be grateful-”

“I’ll be grateful.” You offer in a quick breath. “I mean- I am. I am grateful. I was just so…” You swallow thickly, tearing your eyes away from the pictures, “Surprised that you did all this. For me.” You fight the tears pricking your eyes.

“You mean that?”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “Yes. I do.”

“Good. Y’know all I ever wanted was us to be together? When you broke up with me, I admit, I was angry. I thought you were fucking somebody else.” He paces the length of the room and that’s when your gaze falls to the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “But I realised you couldn’t possibly.”

You brace yourself when his gaze falls to his handiwork on the walls.

“But then…” He inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I saw you with him.” His volume rises steadily. “I send you gifts, I send you letters, I give you clues, I even draw blood for you and you repay me by parading around another man?!”

You cry out when he delivers a blow to the left side of your face, a crack resounding in the room. Your skin blisters red hot where he strikes you, you swear he’s torn open some skin on your cheek. It sends your head spinning, you figure you’re already nursing a concussion, this just makes it worse.

“That’s not-”

“Don’t you interrupt me.” He spits, his face close enough for you to smell the bourbon on his breath. “You had him come to my house today, try to scare me? He thinks he’s a big powerful man, FBI… that badge doesn’t mean shit, he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Jordan-”

“What was it about him anyway? You could’ve had me, you know, we could’ve been a dynasty.” He’s grandstanding. Always did have a problem with his fragile ego. He turns his back to you, scanning the pictures on the wall. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’m having it taken care of.” He mutters.

Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not stupid, you couldn’t possible have thought that I’d let him live?”

Your heart skips. The ‘other guy’ that was to be taken care of - Hotch.

“Jordan, no. It wasn’t like that, I swear.” He turns slowly, rage behind his eyes that’s only thinly veiled by a psychotic smile. “There’s nothing between us! Please don’t do this. I’m begging you, don’t do this.” You plead.

“Why do you care?”

“-What?”

“Why… do you… care?” His eyes are fanatical, nostrils flared. “If nothing happened between you, why do you care what happens to him?”

You know why now.

“Because I don’t want anyone to die! Him, Emily, anybody! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You stutter through your sobs. “Please don’t do this.”

“You don’t want him to die? How stupid do you think I am?” He grabs the back of your head and directs you to a picture of you and Hotch on the gazebo - the day you’d met. “You look at him like that because he’s a friend?” He spits.

He’s right, though - that’s the thing.

You don’t know how you didn’t realise sooner, how you didn’t see it sooner. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t see your own face when you were around him, but the way you look at him, your smile.

You don’t think you’ve looked at anybody like that before.

Tears roll down your cheeks now, eyes welling over.

He smooths over your hair, straightening out his own shirt. “I will make it quick though. Humane. I owe him that much.”

“What?”

“I owe him. How do you think you got here?” When you can’t formulate the words he continues, “Hm, let me spell it out for you.” He continues his rapid pacing, fingers compulsively scratching his neck. “We break up, you betray me, so I leave the country. I come back, try to get you back, you betray me, again. FBI man comes into the picture, his girlfriend feels neglected, said girlfriend then conveniently runs into me at a bar after an argument, confides in me and starts sleeping with me. She’s a real peach, though. Total Type-A, wouldn’t let me fuck her raw.” He adds, rolling his eyes.

You feel nauseous.

You wonder if Hotch knows.

He goes on, “I fuck her, she tells me everything I want to know. Including the fact that she thought he was cheating on her.” He laughs bitterly. “I thought we might have had something when you called me a few months ago, remember that? That was a good time.” Your stomach turns when you think back to the worst mistake you’d ever made. “But then you stopped taking my calls, I put two together from there, figured you were fucking him. I knew then that he had to die.” He rolls his eyes.

His smile reveals a row of eerily straight teeth but there’s nothing behind his eyes except a sick kind of glee.

“It wasn’t like that, I swear to you, he never touched me.” You plead with him, desperately. You reckon with the fact that if you couldn’t regain control of this situation, Hotch would die. “Look, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“I swear. Anything. Just call it off, please.” He considers your statement for a moment, kneeling down between your knees again. He makes a point to flash you his gun, the silver glinting, before reaching for a switchblade that’s tucked into his back pocket. You flinch when he brings it purposely closer to you but he cuts you free.

“I’m going to test you. Stay here with me. You run, I kill him.” He lays the knife flat against your bruised cheek, “Then I kill you.” He whispers. You wince when the sharp edge breaks a thin layer of skin and you feel a warm trail of blood on your cheek.

You nod desperately, agreeing. “I swear. I’ll do anything, just call it off.”

Just as he finishes cutting you free, his phone vibrates against the wooden table under the window. He excuses himself, face lighting up for a moment. You try your best to hear, but the voice on the other end is indistinguishable.

Jordan’s responses are short.

“Fitz.”

“Hello?” He presses the phone closer to his ear. “Lawrence? It’s done?” He smiles at the response from the other side.

“30 minutes.” He hangs up and rattles off a quick text message before setting the phone down again.

He sighs, concealing his unhinged glee when he turns to look at you. “Bad news babe.” He says tutting, knowingly with a disturbing smile. “I know I said I’d call it off but,” he waves the phone in the air, “it’s already done. Your friend, Aaron?”

Oh please, no. Don’t say it.

“He’s dead.”

———

Once the first bang reverberates in the nurses’ station, time seems to move in slow motion. McCall yells for everybody to get down, cocking his gun. Panic erupts for a moment before everybody falls to the ground, the first shot already fired.

Where it comes from, who fires first, it isn’t clear, the whole thing in reality is over in a matter of seconds but time still seems to stop.

Now, McCall kneels over a dead body, hyper-aware of eyes on him, “He’s gone.” He whispers.

A hand grips his shoulder from behind as he stares down at the corpse in front of him laying in a pool of blood, three bullet holes in the chest.

His ears still ring.

“Hey. Emily’s fine. I had two cops posted outside her door.” He turns to find Hotch, who can’t tear his eyes away from Officer Lawrence’s dead body in front of them.

They’re about to let medical personnel clear out the area and wheel him away in a body bag when Hotch spots something in Lawrence’s scrub pockets.

“Wait! Hold it a sec?” He asks, retrieving a piece of paper and cellphone from Lawrence. They make their way back to Emily’s hospital room in unison.

McCall looks at him, puzzled. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That was the first person you ever shot, right? He’s dead. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

“I’m fine - I need to focus. I need to get her back.” He’d be lying if he said his hands weren’t trembling but he has more pressing matters on his hand. The need to get you back safe and sound outweighs any personal conflict for him. He unfolds the piece of paper, muttering aloud a series of numbers. “It’s a phone number. What’d you wanna bet it’s Jordan?” He does a double take when he sees his own name written in capital letters on the other side of the paper, passing it to McCall.

“Some vendetta, hm? He was sent to kill you.” McCall takes the phone from Hotch and starts to dial when Hotch places a stalling arm on his.

“Wait.”

He dials Garcia’s number deftly, asks her to search for a location on the number before they call it, but to his disappointment, it’s a prepaid. He then has Garcia set up a track and trace before he lets McCall dial the number.

“Ready, Garcia?”

The phone rings three times before it’s answered, Jordan’s voice curt and straight to the point, assuming it’s Lawrence. Hotch can hear Garcia’s typing and beeping but when McCall doesn’t say anything, Jordan takes matters into his own hands.

“It’s done?” Jordan asks outright.

“Yes.” McCall replies with little inflection, keeping his voice even so as to not arouse suspicion. Jordan gives McCall a time - 30 minutes, before snapping the phone shut.

McCall tries the number again, but it’s dead. Destroyed.

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch asks desperately.

“No, sir, it was barely long enough to triangulate the call, I’m sorry.”

“Keep searching, Garcia, we need this address. Look for something in isolation, out of the way. It’s gotta mean something to him.”

“Yes, sir. Typing as we speak.”

Hotch rubs an exasperated hand over his beard, “Y’know the media can’t get wind of this, if he has access to a TV or radio and sees I’m alive? He’ll kill her.” He shudders as the words leave his mouth, making way for the possibility that he does not want to reckon with.

You might already be dead.

He dials quickly “Chief Barnes? I need a favour.”

———

He’s been pacing the length of Emily’s hospital room for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Chief Barnes to call in every favour he can to keep the media at bay so they can keep up the charade. He increases the TV volume opposite Emily’s bed when he sees a news report flash across the scene.

“Good evening, everybody. We come to you live tonight with some breaking news.”

He braces himself. Did Barnes manage to cover the hit on him?

“The daughters of two US Ambassadors have reportedly been involved in what appears to be a multi-car collision in the Virginia countryside, earlier tonight.”

Two pictures appear side by side of you and Emily.

“The daughter of Ambassador Prentiss was rushed to hospital earlier tonight and remains in critical condition at Bridgepoint Hospital after sustaining multiple injuries. The daughter of the US Ambassador to France however, is reported to be missing. The Ambassador himself is reportedly unaware of his daughter’s condition, presumed to be en-route to Paris tonight. Three people were pronounced dead at the scene, including Metro PD officers Evan Matthews and Howard Denton.”

He waits anxiously for any mention of his own name or Jordan, Lawrence, but the anchor passes over to the correspondent.

He sighs in relief, just as his phone rings.

“Garcia?”

“I think I finally have a location on Fitzgerald. I checked for any and all properties under Senator Fitzgerald’s name, his second and third wives, his spawn’s name, even the Fitzgerald Family Trust. Nada.” She pauses for breath. “So. I dug down deeper. I searched instead for any properties under Sloan Marie Fitzgerald - still nothing. But then I chanced a search under her maiden name, Hamilton, and wouldn’t you know - the Hamilton family had a cabin between Rock Creek Park and Montgomery County. The late Mrs. Fitzgerald would take him to said cabin most summers before she died.”

“Alright, good work. Send us-”

“I'm not even going to let you finish that sentence, because it’s quite frankly insulting. Coordinates are on their way to you now, Sirs.”

Hotch huffs a laugh, it’s the most he can muster right now. He knows he owes Garcia a massive bouquet of flowers after all this is over.

He grabs McCall by his jacket. “Suit up. We’ve got an address.”

———

‘He’s dead.’

The onset of shock and unmistakable rise of nausea had caused you to retch violently and empty the contents of your stomach into the nearest toilet.

Your legs had given out then, and you’re now planted on a dusty armchair, finding yourself staring into nothingness, your body still stinging with the shock and injuries you’d sustained.

It’s all you’ve done for the past fourty something minutes. The blood stays rushing in your ears, and the pounding in your head is unrelenting. You haven’t said a word since, your body’s energy drained. You’re almost catatonic, unable to even shed a few tears for Hotch’s death.

He’s dead. He’s dead because of you.

You think back to the first time you met, he’d been so bright eyed and optimistic. Disarming. You think about the way he’d told you about his hopes and dreams, his plans for the future as a profiler. He’d had so much to live for. All of that had been ripped away from him because he’d gotten involved in your case. It was your fault he was dead.

And you didn’t know how you were going to make it out of this. Your limbs feel like concrete - fatigue, shock and grief make it hard to formulate any kind of rational thought. Jordan’s hand comes to smooth the top of your head once again, but the gesture is far from comforting or loving.

“It’s okay. You’ll see in time, this was for the best. This way, there aren’t any distractions.” He whispers. He’s been pacing the length of the cabin, repeatedly checking his second burner as though he’s awaiting some news.

He resumes his pacing when you finally break your silence, your voice hoarse.

“You killed a man.” You whisper.

“What’s that?”

“You killed a man.” You sob quietly. “You had someone killed, that doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Oh I did more than just have your little lover killed. I made sure your father and that Prentiss bitch were taken care of too.”

Your vision tunnels, a high-pitched whine penetrating your skull. You feel like the ground has just been ripped from under you, like you’re falling. You can feel your heart shatter, the splintering fragments of your life piercing your skin.

“My father? He’s not here. He’s-”

He glances at his watch. “-On his way to Paris?” You feel the bile rising again. “I know. Like I said, I’m having it all taken care of. They’re all dead, babe - or will be, soon.” He brings a hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your cut. “Don’t you see? I did it so I could have you all to myself.”

The glee in his voice provokes something in you, a rage you’ve never felt before. You figure you have nothing else to lose, everything and everyone you ever loved is dead, you’d either fight and die quicker, or you’d stay and die slowly.

In a move that stuns even you, you spit on Jordan’s face and bring your hand up to strike him notwithstanding the piercing pain in your ribs. The flat of your palm makes sharp contact with his bearded cheek. The sound echoes in the room, and your own hand stings from the force, but a minute satisfaction settles into your bones.

He takes a minute to steady himself, but when he turns to look at you, his eyes flash with something you’ve never seen in a person before. In one fell swoop, he drags you to stand by your hair, pushing you into a glass frame against the wall.

The glass shatters, puncturing the skin on your cheek and forearm where you bear the brunt of the impact. He lands two blows to your stomach, causing you to keel over, winding you. The pain blooms to your already bruised ribs, your breaths ragged. He grabs you then by the throat, pinning you against the wall, your breaths coming short and constricted.

He shakes you against the wall, his hand tight around your throat, cutting off your air. “You ever pull something like that again, I’ll kill you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.” He growls in a low voice. “Do you understand me?” You can feel the blood pumping in your face, your eyes starting to bulge.

You drive your knee into his crotch with all the force you can muster, exactly like Hotch had taught you. You then go for his shin that only gives you mere seconds to grab your breath when he lets you go in pain.

You fall with him, knees giving out when you gasp for breath, and when you see him charging towards you again, you reach to your right for a dusty glass vase that sits on a single table. You manage to get yourself back on your feet right as he’s about to make contact with you again, the butt of the vase smashing into his skull.

He cries out in pain as he falls to the ground again on all fours, blood streaming down his face. A gash on his forehead seeps blood and several pieces of glass are embedded in his face.

You’re still trying to catch your own breath when you spot the silver glint of his 9mm catch the light in his back pocket.

This is your chance.

You half-crawl, half-run to him, landing a violent kick to his stomach to strike him down. You grab the gun from his back pocket, stumbling a little from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hands trembling. You check the magazine and load it as fast as your hands will allow.

You grip the Beretta just as Hotch had taught you, wrapping your dominant hand around the magazine, your index finger parallel to the chamber. Your other hand wraps around your dominant, as you stand over him.

“Get up.” You snarl. “Get up, NOW!” You order him through your coughs.

He turns around slowly, slipping twice on his way up, groaning with the exertion. His face mirrors your own, a gash on his lip and forehead, blood streaming down his cheek.

He chuckles darkly, revealing a set of shark-like teeth that are covered in his blood. “Oh… you think you’re hot shit. You even know how to use that thing? Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Your body aches feverishly and you swear you could pass out at any minute, vision blurry. You can feel your grip loosening and you’re trying to centre yourself when Jordan takes advantage of your momentary slip.

He lunges for you in a flash, knife in hand.

———

“We’re about a mile out, I want sirens and lights off. He can’t know we’re coming.” Hotch says into his radio. He’s watching the road ahead as they get deeper into the woods, the off-road terrain making it hard to keep control of the SUV.

They’re backed up at rear by three MPD police cars, Chief Fuller’s attempt at making nice with Hotch after their earlier altercation.

He swallows thickly, his mouth like cotton. He knows he can’t afford one wrong move, not here. Not with you. He needs to get you back. He made a promise to Emily.

He’ll die trying.

He keeps a firm grip on your chain, rubbing it one last time for steady luck before tucking it into his shirt pocket.

A clearing of trees reveals another path to them. It leads off into the distance, to a small wooden cabin around 80 feet away. It’s illuminated by amber light emanating from a single window.

“Alright, guys. Nice and slow, headlights off, we’re gonna dismount now. Everybody out.” He whispers into the comms once they clear another 50 feet.

Leaves rustle underneath their feet as they stealthily approach the cabin, guns cocked. Hotch has three cops flanking him and McCall brings up the rear, covering the back exit.

They’re almost at the entrance when a loud bang resounds from inside, and Hotch short circuits, his knuckles white around his glock.

Inside the cabin, you send Jordan flying with a shot to his shoulder, the smell of gun smoke burning your nostrils. Your hands tremble violently, your mind temporarily blanking - you feel like you’re swimming. Your ears ring from the noise, a high-pitched whine piercing your brain.

There’s another bang almost immediately after Jordan stumbles backwards but you’re sure you only fired one shot.

Jordan’s body in front of you is your only focal point, so much so that it’s only when you see McCall and two cops approach him writhing on the floor that you come back into your body.

You realise the second bang had been them kicking down the front door. Your hands on the Beretta loosen just slightly and you let out a deep exhale. The voices in the room are still swimming as your brain slowly catches up.

“Grab her.” McCall’s voice calls out. He shouts into the comms that he needs medics, and suddenly there’s a distinct feeling of a hand on your wrist and a body next to you. You reassure yourself that Jordan is on the ground so you let your hands fall limp, dropping the gun and it falls to the ground with a sharp clack. Your eyes are still trained on McCall pressing on Jordan’s wound.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” The voice cuts through your still-ringing ears.

You know that voice.

You’d know that voice anywhere.

Your heart thunders, and your lips start to tremble as you try to reconcile everything you thought was reality with what’s really in front of you.

You turn slowly to find an achingly familiar pair of warm hazel eyes.

He’s alive.

“Aaron?” You sob. You reach out for him but he catches you before you can stumble, his arms steady around your waist. He whispers into your hair, bringing a protective hand up to cradle your head as you sob into his chest.

“It’s okay. I got you. I told you I’d come for you.”

His voice is the last thing you hear before you black out, your body finally offering you some well-earned reprieve.

———

Tags: @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams @slxtherinchxser

< Prev | Next >

#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch smut #hotch fluff #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #criminal minds

95 notes · View notes

ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years

Text

The Art Teacher and The English Teacher

A/N: I got this idea like I do most of mine: absolutely randomly, but I knew I needed to write this. I think it’s just so cute, pretty straight to the point, and relatively short. I hope you all enjoy! Pairing: Teacher!Gerard x F!Teacher!Reader Word count: 2,106 words Warnings: None I’m pretty sure.

(This photo screams “I’m an art teacher” energy so obviously this is the Gerard we’re talking about. Credit to the owner, here’s the link I got it from off of Google: https://bennett.photoshelter.com/image/I0000kVoJ7sa0bqo)

You had to admit... you had it good good.

Being a high school English teacher for most entailed tiny paychecks, lack of appreciation, and difficult kids to work with. But oh no, working at a private boarding school in upstate New York filled with gifted kids? It was perfect for you.

Class sizes we small, all of your students were engaged, and most importantly they were respectful. You had built individual relationships, each one of them being like another child to you. And they knew just as much about you.

And let’s not forget... they let your slightly obese and elderly black lab, Fitz the English dog, hand around your classroom, gaining attention and pets from students every turn he took.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How kids are just so engaged with teachers and their lives, genuinely caring about them? Every kid in that school had managed pretty easily to find out that you and the art teacher were dating. And two years in, you two were the couple of the school.

Despite being teachers, students would coo over how amazing you two were for each other. And you couldn’t blame them, you had literally met the perfect man.

And due to the similar demographic of students you had, AKA English and art, these students were constantly begging you two to get married. It was honestly pretty funny, how they were more desperate to see your happy ending than either your or Gerard.

“So,” You heard one of your favorite groups of students from the front row ask you, sitting at their desks grouped together while discussing the Catcher and the Rye for their upcoming book report, “How are things with Gerard?” Carly asked. The smart girl with black hair and glasses smiled over at you, so did the other four in the group. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a small smile.

“You mean Mr. Way?” You corrected her, resorting back to your computer to finish writing an email, “As always.”

“So heaven?” You couldn’t help but choke on air.

“When did all of you begin describing my personal relationship?”

“Since it started,” The junior stated, “Like two years ago.” You rolled your eyes. “Also when we started created a Pinterest board for your wedding.” She smirked.

“For real?” You asked not even offended as confused you were, “No, you’re lying.” She nodded her head. “At least share it with me.”

Speak of the devil, a knock came ringing at your door, and there walked in the love of your life. Dressed in his black blazer with a white button-up and black tie under it, his hair messy as ever with a smile on his face, walked in Gerard. The entire classroom buzzed with excitement as each individual student said hi to him completely out of sync. He just smiled back, “Hey guys.” He waved, placing a cup of coffee on your desk. “I thought I would bring you some on my free period.” He said barely above a whisper to you.

You lightly laughed, picking it up and sipping it, “That’s very sweet of you, thank you.”

A huge eruption of “awws” came from the students as Gerard blushed and you rolled your eyes brushing it off. “Oh hush.” You sarcastically spoke a few chuckles could be heard.

Fitz came trotting over to Gerard, possibly his favorite person on planet earth and the man he got to bed hog at night. Giving him a good scratch on the head and a few coos, plus waving goodbye to the kids, Gerard removed himself from the class to go back to the art wing.

You continued about your day with no interruptions, only lectures and Socratic seminars could be found in your class. Once the final bell rang, your students rushed out getting ready to either head back to their dorms or to after-school activities.

You sat silently in your now empty classroom besides the canine that resided in his dog bed next to your desk, reading and grading some more papers. You preferred the classroom to grade work, it was far more of a professional environment. And the small cottage home you and Gerard had recently bought right off campus hosted a joint art studio/office, which as much as you loved your boyfriend, his painting habits could get on your nerves. So you gave it all to him, resulting in the small living room across from the fireplace as your office. A nice cozy area.

A soft knock came from your door, to which you looked up, and standing there was Gerard, a soft smile on his face. You smiled back, as he walked over, giving you a peck on the lips. “Need another moment?” He asked, hovering above you to which you shook your head, closing your laptop and placing that along with some papers in your tote bag.

The two of you walked out, Gerard walking Fitz on his leash, locking the door to your classroom as your keys clashed together, and threw those in your bag as you walked side by side. You let out a loud, unintentional yawn, to which Gerard slightly smiled. “Long day?” You nodded. “Sorry, love.” He sighed.

“Just tired, that’s all.” You half-smiled.

Walking to the back parking lot, you had to pass through the main courtyard where lots of students were mingling about with their social lives. A few of them waved and said hello to you too, which you did back with smiles, and got into Gerard’s car to head to your bungalow.

Almost immediately you crashed on the couch, slipping off your shoes and almost removing your bra. Laying down you took a deep breath, your legs hurting. You felt Gerard’s soft lips on the top of your forehead, giving you a feather kiss in sympathy.

You could hear him move to the kitchen, grabbing a few things and presumably making something. You closed your eyes, soaking in the comforting smell and atmosphere of your home. Your leather couch was incredibly comfortable, Fitz’s panting providing a relaxing rhythm to your ears.

It didn’t take but a few minutes for Gerard to come back with some fresh tea in a mug, placing it down on a coaster on the coffee table. “Here ya go, sugar.” He kindly smiled as you sat up, to hold the warm mug in your hands, and taking in the aroma of black tea with honey.

He carefully sat down next to you, your body having fell almost completely limp against the chestnut-colored material. You couldn’t help but stretch your neck a bit, your hair now falling loose and in light waves due to the harsh nature of the ponytail, it was in, your fingers caressing over the ceramic cup that glowed with welcoming warmth. Your lover beside you began taking small strands of your hair in his fingers, brushing them through. Not hard enough to tug, but at least detangling some of the mess.

The mixed scent of his cologne and body wash was enough to calm your senses and slow your breath. You could feel his eyes gaze upon you, always in adoration you knew, despite the fact you had closed your own in hope of relaxing a bit. You loved your job, but the more respected you became at it, the more work you had to do.

“I’ll be right back,” He whispered delicately into your ear, the warmth of his breath causing goosebumps along your skin. Only your vocal cords responded with a mere hum, your body not shifting or moving.

He came back just a few minutes later, giving tiny kisses on your cheeks, barely enough to qualify as a touch, awaking you. His light hazel eyes stared into yours, a small smile painting itself on his face. “C’mon, love,” He said, taking your hand and helping you up.

Through the wood and arts and crafts corridors of your home, up the small staircase, he led you to your bathroom where a bubble bath was running. You took a sigh of relief, the edges of your lips being drawn into a smile of their own. “Thank you.” You looked up at him, his eyes still meeting yours.

“Alright, kiddos,” You smiled as you stood up, “Now as many of you may know, summer break is coming up in just about a week. While I’m sure everyone is excited, we need to go over the summer assignment for Mrs. Harris’ class next year, and college essay writing. You’re all going to be seniors, your abilities to write an essay need to be on point, alright?” Everyone nodded. “Now if everyone would open your laptops and open up a new document so we can start our brainstorming activity-”

You got a call on your phone, picking it up. “Hello?” You asked, looking around. The kids were all smiling, which made you a little bit suspicious right off the bat, but maybe it was just due to the delay in the activity, you thought.

“Ms. Y/L/N, if you and your students could please come down to the central courtyard that would great. Thank you.” The principal, or your boss, Mr. Jenkins spoke, hanging up promptly after. You put your phone down, brows furrowed in confusion, but choosing to comply.

“Alright everyone,” You said, “Let’s head on down to the courtyard, apparently.” They all nodded and got up, you noticed a few smirks on their faces and you hoped this wasn’t a stupid late senior prank or something, despite the fact the seniors were all gone. “Where’s Fitz?” You asked, turning off the lights and looking around the room.

“Mr. Way took him today,” Lily, one of your students spoke up, “I had him in art, third period, and he had Fitz with him in the class.” You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“He tried to take my dog all the time.” A few of the students chuckled, “Alright guys, let’s go.”

You led everyone down a couple of hallways, down the stairs, where you were met with Mrs. Harris, who held you back for a moment. Or Heather, which was her first name. “Where are they going-” You couldn’t finish.

“Just wait.” She smiled. You weren’t sure what was happening as you stood inside the hall with her until all the students had filed out, leaving just the two of you.

“What’s going on?” You asked next, extremely unsure.

“Go on out and see.” She now smiled. You hesitantly walked to the door, pushing it open only to be met with a line of students. Certain ones were sticking out of the line, all holding roses, your eyes going wide.

“Ms. Y/N.” One of the boys, who you knew was James, one of your younger students held a rose. You walked over to him, taking it and offering him a smile and a thank you.

Repeating the process almost ten more times, you were finally met with an area where the line of students going down either side of the sidewalk turned. You did the same only to be met with Gerard standing at the far end in his typical suit, Fitz sitting proudly next to him. Your mouth went wide as you now realized what was happening.

A smile erupted on your face as you walked over to your lover who was smiling as well. “Gee,” You muttered approaching him, “What’s all this?” He lightly chuckled.

“You know I love you right?” He asked, and you nodded. Almost immediately he got down on one knee, and just like that all of those stories you read as a little girl about finding that true love came crashing down becoming reality. “Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” It was simple, quick, concise. But you almost immediately said yes. He got up, giving you a kiss as everyone began cheering, helping you slide the ring on your finger. It was gorgeous, you had to admit, every girl’s dream of the perfect diamond sitting comfortably on top.

The two of you walked through the crowds, your students screaming more hysterically, potentially even more excited than you were. You couldn’t help but feel his hand squeeze yours a little more as you squeezed it back, looking up at him. The smile on his face made you smile, too, “We’re getting married.” You said out loud, quietly in complete amusement as the cheers still rang on behind you.

“We’re getting married.” He affirmed, a small chuckle escaping his lips right after. “We’re actually going to get married.”

#gerard way #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way x reader #mcr gerard #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

124 notes · View notes

hiswhiteknight · 3 years

Text

Unbelievably Outlandish– Part 9

Summary: Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 1900

Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start, obviously fighting and such

You heard Jamie’s word after he left, ‘You should go up and spend some time with the clan, it might be worth learning a bit more.’ He wasn’t wrong, though it was hard for you to admit it. You took a deep sigh, fixed your hair, and went back up the stairs. You found Mrs. Fitz, who passed you a drink. “Lovely you joined us again Y/N. Everything prepped for the hunt?”

“Sure is, Mrs. Fitz, sure is, which means I can drink and be merry,” you watched as the line started to dwindle down as the men took their oaths to Colum. “Anything happen after the oath taking, like that musician, will he be playing today. Love that guy,” you smile down at her.

She looked at you bemused and shook her head, “No, he won’t be playing this evening. There will be dancing later, I’m sure quite a few men would be interested in dancing with you.”

You shook your head at her, “You are not a match maker Mrs. Fitz. I would not dare to go out on that floor. I would insult the good Mackenzie clan with my lack of grace.” A man tripped over his feet in front of you and stumbled on to find his friends.

“Grace is nothing you need to worry about here dear,” she grinned at you. “Not too difficult to figure out, I’ll have Laoghaire show you later,” she tapped you. Laoghaire stood next to her, giving you a strange look, you were sure you didn’t warrant. Suddenly the room grew quiet and you looked up towards the entrance of the hall. Jamie was weaving through the crowd slowly. He had changed and making his way towards the oath taking line. And every eye was on him, except when you turned to observe everyone’s reaction Murtagh was looking at you. You gripped Mrs. Fitz’s arm and pushed towards Murtagh, there was no way you were taking credit for this.

When you made yourself up to him, he was towards the back of the room with his hand gripping the top of his sword, “Why do I have a feeling this involves you?”

“I didn’t do it,” you whispered harshly to him, sounding like a child defending their lack of innocence. He tipped his head over not believing you for a second, “I didn’t do it on purpose, and he told me he could get back just fine.”

“You don’t understand what you just did to him. You signed his death sentence,” he pulled you back further. Murtagh caught you up in the severity of Jamie’s predicament. With every word, you grew more worrisome and filled with guilt. The thought of not having Jamie to rely on as a friend tousled around in your head. You tried to find a way to free Jamie from this situation and the only thought you could manage was start a fire or faint and you didn’t believe either of those situations would help him out of this.

It was Jamie’s turn next and you didn’t acknowledge that you started to hold your breath. Suddenly without reason or thought, you grabbed Murtagh’s forearm. And without much thought, Jamie diplomatically got himself out of the situation looking like a leader. You cursed under your breath, before dusting off the front of your dress, “And you were worried Murtagh. See Jamie came out looking like a,” you paused not being able to come up with a metaphor that would make sense in the 18th century, “I don’t know. He is just fine. Now you can’t be mad at me.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes as Jamie walked up to him, “Couldn’t stay away from trouble, aye?”

Jamie looked towards you, his face grew a knowing smile I didn’t quite understand, “Sometimes trouble finds me than I’m like a moth to flame. Y/N, I see you decided to join the gathering again.”

“You made it sound so exciting and here you were not wrong. Though it doesn’t bode well that you got caught. And now Murtagh here is blaming me for your lack of discretion,” you use your thumb to point back at Murtagh, “And I was starting to win him over.”

Scratching the back of his neck, leaning in to whisper, “Not everyone can be sneaky as you and not get caught.”

“Tis right there sir,” you shoot back at him.

Hearing a big sigh come from his partner in crime, Murtagh gave Jamie an eye roll and pulled him out of the hall, “You’ve had enough of trouble this evening, let’s go.”

“Enjoy your evening, Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting back a snarky comment. You could throttle the man for making everything seem so suave and charming. As Jamie and Murtagh rounded the hall entrance, the phrase you repeated to yourself, ‘your charm doesn’t work on me Jamie.’ It was slowly hitting you that, that mantra might not be as strong as you needed it to be. You looked around, feeling someone starring at you and caught eye contact with Laoghaire. And suddenly she was storming out of your eyesight. The dancing had started and you watched the mesmerizing dance of the culture. Everyone’s laughter put you at ease for a moment. Then suddenly, you were in your head missing your home and brother. You weren’t meant to be here, everything you are is fake or reserved. You couldn’t live like this and the bought of hopelessness took over your soul. In this moment, something inside you became a little toxic.

The next morning, you were up early for the hunt. The way the night ended with the uneasiness sat on your chests as you dressed for the day. This wasn’t your place, this wasn’t your job, and it started to bother you how different the times are. You would never be respected as a woman, an unmarried woman. You tossed your hair in two French braids, per usual fashion when having a busy day. You dropped your hair piece under the bed and you ducked down to grab it to suddenly find a strange bundle. You finished with your hair and brought the bundle down to the kitchen.

You grabbed some bread and sat the bundle on the table, “Dear what are you bringing that into this kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz yelled catching you off guard and causing you to stumble backwards.

“I,” you paused to comprehend the situation, “I, I found it in my room, under my bed and I was going to ask it was some weird potpourri thing. What is it?”

“It’s an ill-wish, a witch’s making,” she tossed it into the fire.

“An ill-wish, what?”

“Someone be wishing to bring you harm dear, what have you gotten into,” she put both her hands on your face, “Try staying out of trouble, someone has an eye to hurt you.”

“I didn’t do anything, literally I have been making myself small at possible Mrs. Fitz,” your voice started to raise. You have done everything in your power to win people over, treat people with kindness, not start a stir when you found injustice to your gender and status. You didn’t believe in witchcraft, though it should cause you to question since you are living the 18th century, which is something you would never believe in.

“All due respect, Mrs. Fitz, but someone is going to get their ass beat hard,” you shot catching everyone’s attention.

“Lass, mind your tongue. That is not the language a lady speaks,” Mrs. Fitz tried to sooth you.

You pull away from her, “No,” you start to gather your things feeling the heat of this betrayal crumble the wall you built around your true self to keep you protected from these people. Every comment, action, and lie you’ve told to keep yourself from being killed, shunned, raped, or imprisoned is bubbling out of your pours. You have reached you limit, “I am not a lady Mrs. Fitz. I do not belong here. I wear pants damn it, I swear, and I could probably kick the ass of half the men here,” you paused, “At the same time,” you paused again, “Maybe not, but I sure would die trying. I do not belong here. Look at how everyone looks at me, treats me, I’m the enemy because I’m different. I’m not part of the clans, I’m an imposter. And rather than whisper about their hatred, someone wants to cause me actual pain with this bullshit. Fuck that. I’m sorry Mrs. Fitz and pardon me, but fuck that.” Your packs were hanging from my shoulder, “Let this spread around the village, anyone that can guarantee me the name of the person who put this under my bed gets all the money I have earned over the time I’ve been here.”

“Y/N,” Mrs. Fitz called after you. She clearly was not offended by your lewdness, but more she was concerned about what you were about to cause with your burst of feelings of revenge and anger.

You stomped up to Angus, “Where the necklace man, I didn’t escape or leave, now give the piece back?”

“Don’t speak to me like that lassie,” he started to feel around his body for the necklace you gave him the night before. With every pat, your already boiling anger grew. That was the only piece from your family you owned. “Might of lost-,” he started to say.

With the beginning of his sentence, you went for your dagger lying on your waistband. Before you could pull it out, Rupert pushed your hand down holding the handle down, “Settle down Y/N, Angus gave me the necklace to watch over. He noted he would lose it.” He pushed the charm in your hand, “If that would have came out, Angus would have gutted you. Does the hunt have you on edge lass?”

“Stupidity has me on edge Rupert and it’s not much of your business,” you stormed away to find your horse. Something had changed in you and you weren’t sure what to do about it.

You struggled to get on your horse, when someone came up and offered you an extra push. Jamie stood in front of you and your horse, “Mrs. Fitz asked me to check on you. She shared you were upset and threatening people. I heard you tried to pull a knife on Angus, what has gotten into you woman.”

This time you didn’t make eye contact with Jamie, “Mind your business Mister MacTavish. If I want to fight or punish someone for their actions against me, then I’ll see fit to do it. Now get out of my way, there is a boar to chase down and murdered.”

Jamie didn’t move, keeping your horse in place, “You going to get yourself killed and as your friend, that does in fact concern me. You shouldn’t be going on the hunt like this.”

You pushed forward with the horse causing Jamie to back up quickly, “I’ve seen Old Yeller, I get the dangers that come from a boar. Right now, you should be worried about the clansmen Mackenzie. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you started to move towards the field.

You were fully aware he would not get the reference from the 21st century, but you did not care. The thought of taking the horse and charging out of the village to the stones drifted to your mind. But you still cared to get back to your brother at the moment and that meant you had to have a chance to survive, “Y/N,” Jamie yelled after you.

“Leave me alone, Mister MacTavish, I have business to attend to,” you shouted back.

Part 10

Taglist: @doctorwhatwhenandwhere @damnedandbroken @blushingpogue @blancastans @slytherinambitious @kinky-asher @lovesanimals @bilesxbilinskixlahey

#Outlander #fanfiction #outlander fanfiction #outlander imagine #Jamie Fraser #jamie fraser imagine #jamie fraser imagines #jamie fraser x reader #jamie frazier x reader

152 notes · View notes

leofitzwinn · 2 years

Text

He had pulled Fitz too the site to talk to him only a few minutes before they landed in Chicago.

Fitz I have to asked you for a favour please.

Of course Sir. How can I help?

I need you to stay for a bit longer after this mission is done. I know that you have thought about leaving S.H.I.E.L.D for a long time now. And I understand. But you have to stay and make sure that they are OK and for them to make sure that you are too.

Sir?

I haven't taken the Serum Fitz. I will die.

What no no y you can still take it.

It is with Daisy on the Zephyr I can't take it anymore.

Coulson please you can't do this.

I did. And I know you don't like to hear this but this time you can't help me.

Fitz started crying and he himself could feel the tears starting to form in his eyes.

Fitz I know this is hard but please promise me you will stay and make sure everyone is ok. I know Daisy and Simmons will have eachother's back and Mack and Yoyo will make it through. But I'm worried about you and May. So please help her and let her help you.

I...I promise. But why didn't you take it you you.

Coulson lays his hand over Fitz shoulder. It was me or the world so I made a decision. I'm sorry that it is like this.

I'm going to miss you Sir. It won't be the same without you. You you.

I know Fitz. You know I never had a family on my own but if I ever had a son I wish he would have been like you.

Fitz throws his arms around him and hugged him tight. And he hugged him in return drawing small circles on Fitz back to calm him down.

They stood there for a while until it was time for Fitz to go.

I'm gonna miss you Coulson you were what I imagined a father would be like and a great boss and even better friend.

I'm going to miss you to Leo. Now go out there and save the world.

Yes Sir.

Good lucky.

Fitz smiled over his shoulder and gave him a short tums up before he left.

Phil remembers this talk vividly. He said goodbye because he thought he was going to die. Never could he have imagined that it was Fitz who wouldn't come back. He walkes over to the black body back in the middle of the room. He wasn't supposed to be up and walking around but he had to see him. He lookes so calm lying there and he hopes that were ever he was now he was as calm as he looked.

He would miss Fitz he was like the son he never had, and the heart of the team. But at least he doesn't have to wait for long until he could see him again.

#leo fitz #phil coulson #agents of shield #character death #fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

gay-otlc · 3 years

Text

I am sick.

I am trash for Sokeefitz.

Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that I should make sick Sokeefitz headcanons.

Under the cut because it ended up being really long.

When Sophie is sick:

Sophie is afraid of doctors. She is not afraid of her boyfriends 🧡

Keefe and Fitz are veryyyyy used to Sophie being in life-threatening situations

So it's honestly kind of a relief if she just has a cough or a stomach bug or something

Sophie kind of expects Fitz to be useful and Keefe to be a disaster, but it's honestly the other way around

Keefe always had to take care of himself when he got sick so he's not bad at it

And him being an Empath helps him figure out when Sophie is lying and saying she's less sick than she is

Because we know she does that

He's not good enough to be a doctor or anything but no one's dying

Fitz, on the other hand?

Useless. Absolutely useless. (No Fitz hate here, I mean this in the nicest way possible)

"sOPHIE YOU'RE S I C K WHAT DO I DO!?!?!?!!"

"Can you get me a glass of water, please?"

"BUT WHAT IF I LEAVE YOU HERE AND YOU DIE?!?!!?!?"

"It'll be fine, Fitz."

Fitz goes downstairs to get the water, proceeds to also get five different medicines and three different kinds of tea and a thermometer.

"Literally all I wanted was a drink."

Fitz really freaks out at sickness stuff

He tries to calm down because he knows it'll be better for Sophie if his brain is working

But he's still panicking and he's really guilty

So usually Keefe takes care of the more practical stuff and asks Fitz if he can get Sophie emotional support stuffed animals or something

He also gets Mr. Snuggles for himself

Despite being okay at this stuff, Keefe is horrible at understanding the concept of contagious diseases.

"NO! Keefe! You cannot kiss Sophie, she is s i c k. And if you kiss her, you will get her germs. Don't kiss Sophie, you fucking idiot!"

Keefe demands extra kisses from Fitz as compensation, and extra kisses from Sophie once she recovers

They are both happy to oblige

When Fitz is sick:

He doesn't really get sick much. Maybe he's lucky, maybe he's good at taking precautions. We'll never know.

When he is, Keefe is usually the first one to figure it out

Since Fitz definitely isn't telling them.

Either he figures it out with Empathy or he tries to kiss Fitz's forehead and Fitz is like a million degrees

As soon as Sophie learns that Fitz is sick her brain goes into an extreme analytical mode.

"This is everything I have learned about medicine from the humans and this is everything I have learned about medicine from the elves and if I combine them I think I can determine the best way to treat you!"

"Sophie please chill the hell out."

"nO!!!"

She just loves Fitz too much to take any chances with him 🧡

Sometimes Sophie can be a little

Overbearing with Fitz, so Keefe doesn't have a whole lot to do

But if Sophie is completely focused on one problem (even if it's not a huge deal) then Keefe can handle the others

Keefe also has the job of figuring out whether Fitz is lying when he says he's feeling alright

Because he would 100% be like "I'm fine!" *Collapses*

He also tries to like. Physically push Keefe away from him

Because Keefe is a dumbass (affectionate) who still tries to kiss Fitz and doesn't understand germs

When Keefe is sick:

Finally learns how germs work because he doesn't want to get Sophie or Fitz sick

So he doesn't kiss them, yay.

But he demands a lot of presents and stuff.

Fitz and Sophie are happy to oblige

He's such a fucking drama queen about it

Sophie knows he's being melodramatic but is still really sweet to him

Fitz 100% believes that it is as bad as Keefe says it is and freaks out

Then Keefe feels really bad because he was trying to get extra chocolates, he doesn't actually want to make Fitz worry, so he tries to convince Fitz that it actually isn't all that bad

It seems like Sophie and Fitz would make a terrible combination for taking care of Keefe

Because they're both panicking disasters

But somehow they do alright

I mean, Keefe's not dead, so good enough.

Fitz's mind tends to just turn to chaotic worries so Sophie helps figure out more specific tasks for what needs to be done

And Fitz helps Sophie prioritize because she's trying to do a million things at once

And Keefe is whining because it's been so long since he kissed either of his wonderful partners

Holding hands wouldn't be too bad? Right? What if they used hand sanitizer-

In conclusion: Sokeefitz supremacy

#sokeefitz supremacy #saturn's kotlc headcanons #sokeefitz #sophie foster #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #sick tw #medical tw #caps tw #cursing tw #ask to tag #long post

61 notes · View notes

artgirl130 · 3 years

Text

Long Enough

Pairing: Jason x Aria

Summary: Aria meets Jason in a bar.

----------

Aria sat alone at the bar, absently playing with her untouched pint. She thought about that everything that had happened between her and Ezra. Had they really gone through so much just to end up waking away? She couldn’t really be surprised, all of the secrets and lies were bound to destroy them at some point. They had already caused so many problems. Because of their relationship Ezra had lost his job, her parents were barely talking to her and she’d been blackmailed for most of high school. And, if she was being truthful, their relationship hadn’t been good for quite a while before they ended it, what with A and Ali and Ezra’s book and Jason.

Jason.

She felt herself redden at the thought of his name. It had been unfair to Ezra, Jason coming back to town and relighting feelings that she thought she had buried long before Ali had disappeared. Back when he’d spent most of the summer wandering around, shirtless, high and she’d had her pink hair and they were both trying to figure out who they were. Turns out that they had held each other’s answers all along.

“Aria.”

Her head snapped around at the sound of his voice, eyes drinking in the familiar form of Jason DiLaurentis. Jumping to her feet, Aria threw her arms around his broad shoulders, attempting to ignore the intoxicating smell of his cologne. “It’s so good to see you Jason. You kept the beard.” She smiled at him, “It suits you.” He played with the scruff shyly, his hand covering the smile creeping onto his face. “Thanks, you look great. I missed you.” He confessed, green eyes sparkling. Aria ducked, trying to keep Jason from seeing the red that covered her skin. “I heard about Fitz. I’m sorry.” “I’m not.” She admitted, taking a sip from her glass, cringing at the taste. “Eurgh, that’s awful.” “So why did you dump him?” Jason asked, waving over the bartender and ordering two cokes. “We just weren’t compatible anymore. I couldn’t forgive him for the book, and we wanted different things.” She paused, taking a sip of her new drink. “Different people.” “Oh?” He questioned, leaning closer to the woman. “We were fighting a lot. He wanted to move, I didn’t. I wanted to adopt, he didn’t. Kept saying that he wanted the kids to be his by blood.” Jason regarded her softly, knowing how hard not being able to have children had hit her. “And then I realised what our fights were really about.” She stopped, feeling sick to her stomach. Sliding his hand over hers, Jason felt his heart ache. In his eyes Aria deserved to have the world laid at her feet and more. More than Ezra Fitz could have ever given her. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Aria let out a soft chuckle, appraising the man next to her, his hair like a golden halo in the bar’s dim light. “It’s ok. He was having an affair with an eighteen year old barista. The second I found out I had Mrs Hastings draw up the divorce papers.” She let out a humourless laugh. “They were filed by the end of the day.” “He didn’t deserve you.” Jason stated, furious that Ezra had the nerve to treat her like that. Sensing his tension Aria began tracing her fingers over the back of his hand. Almost instantly he relaxed, leaving him amazed that, even after all the time that they had spent apart, she still had the same effect on him. “You deserve so much better Aria.”

She melted at his words, astonished that he still felt the same after everything she had put him through. Sighing she looked at Jason, “How can you do this? How can you stand to be around me after what I’ve done to you? I’m a terrible person. I threw you away over a lying, cheating piece of scum who I’m not sure I loved.” Aria choked back a sob, ashamed as she realised the extent of what she’d done to the man who’d only ever tried to make her happy.

Jason stared at stared at her confused, how could she not know? He thought that he had made the extent of his feelings perfectly clear from their first kiss. Steeling himself for rejection, Jason took Aria’s hand in his, fingers interlocking, “Aria. It’s you. It’s always been you. I hated seeing you with anyone else, but I stood back because I wanted- no needed you to be happy and I thought that were with Ezra.” Jason leaned down, pressing the most cautious kiss Aria had ever received onto her parted lips. “I love you Aria Montgomery. Always have, always will.”

Snaking her left hand up to tangle in his hair, Aria pulled Jason’s lips down to meet hers in a heated exchange, hoping to convey everything she was feeling into just one kiss. Pulling back, she had tears in her eyes, “I love you Jason. I love you and I am so sorry it took me this long to realise it.”

Jason pressed a delicate kiss to the top of her head, “Took us long enough.” “Yeah,” she giggled, cosying up to him, “It did.”

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

- Also available on my AO3 (under the same username) -

#pretty little liars #jason dilaurentis #aria montgomery #jason x aria #jaria #fanfiction #SEND ME REQUESTS

44 notes · View notes

cowboypossume · 3 years

Text

At This Moment

so! this is inspired by this post by @theunmappedstar which means we need some credit baby !! so Bon Appetit

Summary: Fitz is a model, Keefe is his makeup artist, and after a big fight Keefe still has do his makeup because it’s too late to reschedule.

Pairing: “platonic” keefitz

Trigger Warnings: cursing, and let me know if there’s anything else

AO3 Link: here <3

Fitz had been a world famous model for years now. He could have gotten anybody to do his makeup, but he always insisted that Keefe did it. Keefe knew his work was good, sure, but he never understood why the world famous Fitz Vacker insisted that he did the the makeup for all of his shoots. Of course, Keefe would never turn down the chance to get Very Close to the model’s face and notice all of the little details on it. Like the splash of green hidden in the deep blue in his eyes, the tiny freckles right below his checks, the scar hidden on the boy’s hairline from acne, and Keefe’s favorite, the tiny smile that would appear when Fitz looked in the mirror when he finished the makeup look. Obviously he knew these things because it was his job to.

At this moment however, Keefe wished nothing more than the Fitz to not have assigned him to this shoot. He wished he didn’t have to stand in front of the door that he’d just closed and face the model he’d gotten into a huge fight with. Both of them were angry and said things they didn’t mean, which only fueled that anger. He wished that he didn’t have those few minutes alone to regret everything that he said. And now, his pride didn’t want to be alone with the model and apologize, although so much of him wanted to. He wished that he could just leave, but they couldn’t reschedule this shoot. They’d been planning this one for far too long and there were far too many other people involved. Besides, they’re both legally adults, so they can put aside their personal problems for a bit and just work, right?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Fitz angrily snapped.

Keefe gestured to the bag in his hands. “I have to do your makeup, remember?”

“Is there anyone else who can do it?”

“Look I don’t want to be here either but everyone who can is on set working and it’s too last minute for us to call in someone new. Besides, they already paid me.”

“Fine just do it quick.”

Keefe walked over to the dressing room mirror and started setting up. He’d done this before, a million times before, but at this moment it felt wrong. This didn’t feel like the warm environment the two of them normally created. They didn’t create the summer day kind of warm, though. The two of them seemed to share the kind of warm that resembles a hug from the person that you’ve hugged countless times before but gets better every time you’re together. Their warm environment felt comforting to the other with the stressful environment of a set. At this moment, there was no warmth or comfort. There was only the silence that filled the air between them with anticipation.

“Well, you know the drill.” Keefe said pulling out the final set of brushes. As Fitz sat in the chair, Keefe was reminded why he absolutely despised the model in front of him: he was the definition of the media’s version of perfect. He didn’t have bags, or acne, or anything that wasn’t good enough to go on a magazine cover. It made Keefe’s his job a hell of a lot easier, but it made Keefe despise him. How did someone manage look like royalty without any help? If Keefe was honest, the boy in front of him didn’t need anything to make him look like a movie star, but Fitz always wanted to cover up the freckles, so Keefe followed the request with concealer. Also, he needed to add some designs to fit the theme of this photoshoot, floral.

Wanting to avoid Fitz’s eye for as long as possible, Keefe started to sketch the outline carnations and gladioluses across his cheeks. As he gently held the model’s chin and cheek underneath his fingers, the stiffness of Fitz’s body reminded him of their first set. When they first met, it was one of Keefe’s first sets. He tried to break the silence with a joke, which lead to conversation. By the time Keefe finished the makeup, the two boys separated, finding themselves oddly excited for the next time they’d see each other. This moment, however, felt more irksome than that first meeting. Now the two of them were, well the two of them had grown up with each other. That first set they were both so young, and as they grew into themselves, the other person was there. They felt like they had a relationship, whether it was best friends, friends, or good colleagues, they trusted each other. They felt like they knew each other inside and out. Keefe got to see the man under the model, and Fitz got to see the makeup artist without the cover up.

Fitz slightly moved his head which lead to Keefe focusing on where the flowers sat on his face. Fitz had worked as a model long enough to move without messing up the makeup despite it still being a work in progress, and it still amazed Keefe every time. Keefe grabbed the paint that wouldn’t cause Fitz’s stupidly perfect face to break out and started to fill the carnations with a coffee cream white and the gladioluses with a shades of red and orange that would make a romantic movie’s sunset look dull in comparison.

Normally Keefe and Fitz would talk about nothing and everything during this time, but they weren’t. At this moment, Keefe was left alone with his thoughts which were just screaming ‘This Was Wrong’, and they weren’t lying. This wasn’t their normal, but Keefe didn’t know how to fix it. Could he? He wanted to. He wanted to fix the relationship with the only friend he had, but words typically failed him. He wasn’t good at words. He was charming with them, but he couldn’t say what he needed to. He couldn’t make his words serious, so relationships would normally fizzle out because of that.

Keefe’s negative thought spiral went to a screeching haunt when the nearly finished gladiolus in his hand was had a streak of a tear on it. A tear from crying? Wait it was a tear from crying. Why was Fitz crying?

“Wait, why the fuck are you crying?” The fear in Keefe’s voice made that question way more concerned than the angry tone he intended.

“This feels wrong.”

Keefe handed him a tissue. “Push this under your eyes and make the tears stop while we talk through this. Bloodshot eyes will ruin the photoshoot and you better not ruin the makeup. What feels wrong?”

“This” Fitz gestured between the two of them. “Us. Being mad with you feels wrong. Because I’m not mad at you. Or maybe I am? I just-. Right now my life is completely changing and not talking you just,,, feels wrong. Not just because it feels different, it,” Fitz paused to find a way to describe the way he felt. “Do you not feel it?”

Keefe walked over and kneeled next to Fitz and looked directly into the eyes that still looked amazing despite the fact they were full of tears but not yet covered with a layer of pink. He gently took the hand that Fitz wasn’t pressing away the tears with. “Of course I feel it, but now’s really not the time Fitzy. Come find me after the shoot, ok? I need to finish the flowers and start on the eyeliner and we only have 20 minutes until the other people need you.”

Fitz looked at himself in the mirror and the stupid tiny smile -that Keefe knew would ruin the lipstick Fitz would be wearing if this shoot needed it- appeared a little wider this time.

“These are my favorite flowers.” He said, clearly wanting to touch all of them. There was a small gleam in his eyes that only showed up when he felt extremely happy. Keefe was the world famous Fitz Vacker’s makeup artist, it was his job to know the model’s face. They were friends, and Keefe didn’t need to ruin another friendship with something stupid.

So, Keefe grabbed a paintbrush as he said “I told you before Fitz, I have a really good memory, and I wouldn’t forget something about a friend.” He restarted the flowers and didn’t catch the disappointment in the model’s eyes at the lack of a nickname and the word ‘friend’.

58 notes · View notes