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neptunetheplanet7 · 3 years

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

DM ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE PUT ON THE TAGLIST!!

;mikasa ackerman x fem!lesbian!reader

;modern au, band au

word count: 2.0k

warnings: swearing, fluff if you squint, deep talk with jean

listen to the music masterlist

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Hitch dropped you off at home with a loud "Au revoir!" and sped off in her black car while you waved silently.

You couldn't shake the nervous feeling Hitch had left you with. It was reasonable to feel uneasy after a strange encounter like that, but nevertheless, you plastered on a fake smile when you walked inside and saw Eren sprawled on the couch.

He lifted his head from his phone when he noticed your presence. "Y/n, you're back. What did Hitch want?"

Admittedly, you felt bad about never telling your best friend, but it was too late now.

"Nothing much, she just wanted to catch up. Haven't seen her since college," You lied easily as you plopped down in the chair next to the couch. "What's new with you?"

Eren shrugged and looked at his phone. "Just trying to pass the time. Jean's headed to the airport at eight tonight. Hope you're ready to see your girlfriend." He tilted his head back while laughing.

You smacked his forehead and he recoiled in pain. "Ah! What's your problem?" Eren rubbed his forehead with a hard glare aimed at you.

"I don't have a problem, you're just being freakish."

Eren gawked. "No, I'm not! You're the real freak, being you and whatever."

"Oh, good one." You snorted. "Hey, speaking of, where is Jean, anyways?" You furrowed your eyebrows as you glanced around the house.

"You tell me." Eren repeatedly clicked his tongue while turning his attention back on his phone.

"I'll go find him then," you decided. Eren just grunted in response, too immersed with the JAEGER BOMB fan pages he was scrolling through.

You got up from the comfy chair and starting looking around the house for Jean. After your talk with Hitch, you were feeling even more nervous about Mikasa coming home. You desperately needed to talk to someone, even if it wasn't about Hitch. You just needed a good distraction from tonight.

Jean was nowhere to be found on the first floor, so you trudged upstairs in hopes of finding him. You rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, passing Mikasa's dark room, stopping when you heard a quiet string of curses from the hallway bathroom.

"Jean?" You called out hesitantly. Lightly knocking on the bathroom door, you pressed your ear to the wood in hopes of figuring out what the issue was.

"Come in," came Jean's strained voice from the small room. You peeked your head in the doorframe and took note of his frustrated figure.

"What's going on?"

"Who decided it would be a good idea to grow my hair out?" He made furious hand motions at his head.

You let out a chuckle as he angrily tried to comb his hair back. "You did."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. I think I might have to go back in time and slap myself for that one."

Shrugging, you sat on the counter next to the agitated male and crossed your arms. "Just cut it then."

"It's not as simple as that," he sighed. "I like the way it looks long, Marco likes it too. And the fans, you know. Besides, I can't cut it in a fit of rage. I'll end up like you." He snorted after his snide comment.

"That was one time! Besides, that was high school. We all did stupid things back then." You grimaced at the memory.

"Yeah, you were the stupidest. You chopped off all your hair because of something that aggravated you." He pointed his comb at you in a teasing manner.

"A little thing called feelings were aggravating me. At least I can control myself more now." You pushed the comb back at him and poked his shoulder.

"Speaking of which, I'm surprised you didn't lose your shit when I told you guys Mikasa was coming home." He went back to working on his hair.

"Seriously? I made you all clean the whole house. I could barely get through her room yesterday. Wasn't that enough of a reaction?" Your head fell onto the mirror against your back while you laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, I guess it was. I don't know what I expected honestly. I assume you aren't over her?"

"Definitely not." You sighed. "Because it's been two years since I last had any contact with her, you'd honestly think I would've moved on by now."

Jean set his comb at the side of the counter and faced you. "Did you want to move on?"

You fidgeted and looked away from his hard gaze. "It would be best if I did. I had my chance and I never took it. There was always a part of me that knew she'd come back. I had always hoped that she would, I never got to tell her how I felt, but now that it's actually happening it feels almost unreal." You met Jean's eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched up.

"Are you going to confess when she's back?" he inquired.

Your thoughts circled back to Hitch. Her threats were powerful. She knew what she was doing. Maybe you could confess to Mikasa in secret and she would never know. However, she somehow knew about Mikasa's future arrival, so you should play it safe. Plus, you hadn't seen the Mikasa you knew in two years.

"No, I don't think I will. There's so much to know about her now. She could be a completely different person." You pulled your knees to your chest.

Jean put his hands on your shoulders which made you look back up at him. "Y/n, you've been putting this off far too long. She's proven to us that she's not always going to be here. If there's ever a time to tell her, it would be now."

You stared at each other for a few moments before you pursed your lips and looked away. Jean was right. The perfect chance was right in front of you but just out of your reach. There was always an unspoken obstacle when it came to your feelings for Mikasa. Whether it was another person or yourself blocking the way. "I just need some time to think."

Jean took his hands off your shoulders and shook his head. "You, my friend, are what people call hopeless." He picked up the comb again, about to run it through his hair once more, but sighed and placed it in a drawer. "Fuck it, ponytail it is." You found it funny how often he would end up tying his hair in a low ponytail. His hair was long, but it wasn't close to the length Eren's was. Whenever Jean did his hair like that little tufts would stick out at the top of his neck and loose strands would curl around his ears.

"How long are you growing it?" You asked as you let your legs dangle over the countertop.

"I'll grow it until it becomes seriously unmanageable. It's already getting unruly." Jean softly kicked open the door and gestured to the hallway. "After you."

You hopped off the counter and gladly took his offer, sliding your arm along the balcony railing before folding your arms over the wood and resting your head on them. The hallway was only lit up by the orange light from the sunset beyond the large living room windows above the glass doors.

Jean passed by you swiftly, making cool air hit your neck. He loudly trudged down the wooden stairs and you saw him walk into the living room from your view.

Armin was sitting cross legged in the cushy rocking chair and Eren was still taking up the space of the long couch. Their eyes were trained on an ocean documentary, Armin occasionally commenting on the sea life while Eren nodded at him.

Jean sat on the loveseat under the balcony, now hidden from your view. Armin noticed your content gaze and beckoned for you to join them.

You followed Jean's path to the living room and put your hands on the back of the couch he was sitting on.

"What do you guys want for dinner? It's nearly seven o'clock." You asked the seated boys.

"Can we just get Burger King or something again?" Eren tore his eyes away from the screen to look at you pleadingly.

"Eren, we had that yesterday. I don't want it two nights in a row. That's just gross." Armin frowned at his request.

Jean placed his hands behind his head and on top of your hands. "Eat whatever you like. I have to drive to the airport soon." He patted your hands and stood from the couch.

Once Jean left the room you continued your survey. "We could have spaghetti?" You offered.

"That sounds good. I'll help you." Armin started toward the kitchen with you before tugging on Eren's sleeve. "You come too. You've been sitting on that couch all day, you lazy bum."

Eren groaned like a child being asked to do the dishes. "Fine, if I have to."

The three of you started preparing the meal in the kitchen with Armin getting the noodles out and making the meatballs, you making the sauce, and Eren filling the pot with water then leaving the rest to you and Armin.

Eren sat on a kitchen stool and pulled his phone out. You and Armin both gave him an eye roll before continuing your cooking.

It was around seven-thirty when the food was done. There were a few mishaps along the way since Jean wasn't around to help and neither you or Armin were very skilled in culinary practices. But the final product looked edible and that's all that matters.

Eren and Armin got their servings and sat down on the kitchen island stools while you went to close the curtains in living room and the dining area. You then pulled out a stool next to Armin.

The three of you ate in silence for a while before you spoke up. "Jean should be back soon."

Eren perked his head up. "Really? He said he'd get her at eight. He left an hour ago but we all know he likes to be early so who knows," He said.

"I'd give it maybe twenty minutes. Why? You nervous?" Armin twirled the pasta around their fork.

"Incredibly," you exhaled.

Eren snorted. "As expected from you. But if you're nervous, imagine how Jean feels right now. That should perk you right up." he laughed to himself while imagining Jean waiting for Mikasa, a nervous wreck.

"Are you not nervous?" You asked timidly.

Armin shrugged. "I guess I am. We've known her forever. It'll be just like seeing an old college friend. It'll be refreshing to see her after all this time. I'm more worried about how ready the house is," they explained while folding their arms.

"I'm a little nervous. You think she'll like my hair?" Eren gestured to his bun.

"No, you're ugly." Armin commented. You laughed so hard at Eren's shocked face that you didn't hear the door unlocking behind you.

Armin stopped laughing with you and stared at the door. "Mikasa," He whispered.

"Mikasa?" You questioned and looked back at the door. "Mikasa."

Sure enough, Mikasa was at the door with Jean lurking behind her.

She was wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants with dark green sneakers. Her hair was cut much shorter now. It was slightly fluffed up and messy from the plane ride. She had a few rings decorating her fingers and a small tattoo on her middle finger on her right hand. In that hand, she carried a navy blue suitcase. In the other, gripped the same scarf Eren gave her years before. She held a tired expression but you thought she looked beautiful as ever.

Your eyes widened and you parted your lips to say something but nothing would come out. Instead, you opted for a hug. You wrapped your arms around her waist, your head just peeking over her shoulder, earning a surprised noise from her. Her arms made their way around your frame as she held you close.

"Mikasa," you could only manage to squeak out her name.

posted: 8/27/21

no reposts, edits, or modification to my work by anyone other than me.

#aot fanfiction #band au #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #modern au #snk fanfiction #attack on titan

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crystxlclear · 4 years

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sudden desire

chapter two: coffee times ten

part three of sudden desire

prologue / one / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

summary: coffee, coffee and more coffee. coraline ropes marcus into babysitting duties.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: the slightest smidge of angst? boyfriend material marcus (needs his own warning because he’s soft af), mentions of divorce? mentions of pregnancy? two idiots being domestic af without realising it. honestly i’m just pulling these warnings out of my ass idk what counts anymore

author’s note: sorry if there’s any errors, i’m honestly the world’s worst proofreader (last time i went to post this, there were still passages from when this wasn’t fanfiction and marcus was an actor like cora, cause that would have made total sense!) but also i get super hypercritical so it’s best if i just don’t read and reread my work oops... anyway, enjoy!

Monday morning comes and she’s wearing the dress that he likes. It's the yellow one she wore the day they met, the reason he calls her sunshine, and she smiles as she sweeps effortlessly into the coffee shop. Coraline pushes the sunglasses she's wearing up onto her head and greets him with a hug and a small 'hello' muffled against his shoulder.

It's only January but the sun still seeps in too brightly through the shop's thatched windows; it casts her in a halo of gold as she sits in the armchair across from him. Even despite the warmth pooling in the air, he can tell she's still cold, from the way her shoulders shrink inwards and she wraps her arms around herself. If she is cold, she doesn't let him know, just takes a moment to run her hands up her arms before wrapping them around the mug of coffee he'd ordered her. He'd told her to go see someone about it — constant chills aren't exactly normal — but she'd refused, brushing off his concern with a simple shrug of her shoulders and an insistence that she'd be fine. She'd also pointed out that it was, in fact, January and it was meant to be cold, even if it wasn't. It still hasn't stopped him from worrying, though.

"You left early last night." He points out. Last night, some high-end gallery opening in downtown D.C., too many cameras and far too many people. He’d invited her as his plus one, purely platonically, of course, and because he knew she was the only friend he had that liked art just as much as he did, though she hadn't wanted to go. He hadn't blamed her, especially when they’d got there; Coraline's ex, Scott, and his new girlfriend had shown up, apparently friends with the gallery owner, their hands a little too wandering. If his ex and their new partner showed up, flouting their relationship in front of him, he'd be pretty upset and reluctant to go, too. He’d managed to persuade her to come the night before, albeit through incessant nagging, so much so that he thinks she probably only relented to shut him up. Though, looking back at it now, he wishes they had just stayed at home.

Coraline hums into her coffee cup. Her brown hair still falls in loose, half-styled curls around her face; she tucks a little behind her ear. "I was tired. My bed was calling," she insists with a bright smile.

He doesn't entirely believe her, even though she's a pretty great actress and, consequently, just as good at hiding how she really feels. Because he knows she saw them last night. It was hard not to; a cramped room like that gave you no place to hide, and they weren't exactly being subtle. He saw the way she'd shuffle uncomfortably then their laughter would filter through the quiet space, soft but still piercing. Marcus was convinced that they were doing it on purpose, especially when he caught Scott stealing glances from across the room whenever he thought no one was looking. He was trying to get a reaction and, being as graceful as she was, she hadn't given him that, even if she had spent the entire night with her brows furrowed and wearing a smile he could tell was fake.

He watches her curiously; the way she sips her coffee slowly, how her hair curls softly against her neck, the gentle curve of her pink lips that seems permenant around him. But he’s never been the most subtle, at least, not around her. She notices him staring, gaze lingering for far too long over the gentle contours of her face, and their eyes meet for a second; they're immediately lit by another even brighter smile that pulls across her glossed lips. "What?" She questions. Her cheeks always flush pink whenever he looks at her for longer than a moment.

He shakes his head, returning her smile, perhaps a little too enthusiastically when his teeth peak through a little. "Nothing, I just-" I just want you to be happy, he thinks. But he doesn't say it, because she must know that already, and just shakes his head. "Nothing." He repeats.

"You're staring."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are." She chuckles, poking his leg with the toe of her boot. “Why are you staring?”

"Cora, I'm not staring."

He is staring. He can't help it. Especially when she smiles.

She regards him for a second. Sometimes, he wonders if she can read his mind, given the way her eyes trace over his face like she's reading a book. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind if she did read his mind. "I'm fine." She answers the unspoken question lingering thick in the air. The real reason he's looking at her like he is. A laugh lilts at the edges of her insistence and he can tell that she's lying; there's a furrow pulling at her eyebrows that gives her away. He’s learned to look for it. "Why wouldn't I be?" She knows exactly why. But it seems like that's all they talk about, how she is. And she doesn't want to anymore. She's fine.

Because your ex-husband spent the entire night trying to make you jealous, he wants to say. But he doesn't. He leaves it alone.

Marcus leant back in his chair. He doesn't push it. "No reason."

Coraline peers at him over the top of her coffee cup — it's almost too big for her hands — but she doesn't press it further, even if she does raise her eyebrows a little. Or, at least, she doesn't get a chance too, because someone is calling out to her from across the coffee shop. "No reason." She repeats with a soft hum.

She peels her eyes away from Marcus, almost like it's some great hardship to stop looking at him, and turns her smile towards whoever had called her name. He recognises her as Loren Hull, Coraline's childhood best friend, struggling to push through the door with a stroller, even as someone holds the door open for her and another helps her inside.

Coraline watches with amusement as Loren teeters towards them. "How are you?" She asks as she hugs her. Her attention switches towards the gurgling baby in the stroller; she was chewing on a toy, far too preoccupied to pay attention to anything that was going on around her. That was until she catches sight of Coraline and cries out with glee. "And how's my favourite goddaughter?" She coos.

Loren huffs out a groan. Her blonde hair is tied haphazardly on top of her head, curls spilling out at either side, falling into her face. There are dark circles beneath her green eyes. "She's great-" She grins down at her daughter for a moment before her head throws back. "But I'm exhausted." She's talking far too fast, the words falling from her mouth, in the same way, an almost nonsensical rambling might. It's almost like she thinks that, if she doesn't talk fast, she'll never be able to get the words out. "I can't stay long- oh, hey, Marcus-" It's like in her hurry and she hasn't noticed he's there until now. He doesn't blame her; Coraline has mentioned that she's still getting to grips with being a single mom. "-but I need coffee otherwise I'm going to pass out."

Coraline is grinning down at Loren's daughter, Maisie, whispering soft 'hello's at her, completely distracted by the baby who seemed just as captivated. The baby giggles and reaches for Cora's fingers, kicking her legs excitedly under the pink blanket. "I could look after her tonight if you need some rest." Her eyes don't leave Maisie, who's tiny fingers wrap tightly around Coraline's pointer finger. Half of him wonders if she'd actually meant to offer her help or if the whispers had come out before she had chance to think them through.

"You could?" Loren's face lights up with relief.

"Of course!" Cora's eyes come to rest on Marcus. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He shoots her a smile. They're meant to be seeing a movie. It's some horror film he's never heard of; he isn't a massive fan of horror but Coraline had wanted to see it — it had something to do with her and her father watching horror films together when she was younger, even if they were terrible and laughably cheesy — and had managed to persuade him the night before at the gala, when they were both a little too tipsy and he was trying his best to distract her as Scott's lips dragged over his new girlfriend's neck. He'd glanced up every now and then, just to see if she was watching them. Luckily, she never was.

"Oh, you're a lifesaver." Loren exhales, like she's been underwater for months and her head has only just poked above the surface. "Both of you." She turns to Marcus and flashes him a bright but exhausted smile.

"What are best friend's for?" Cora chuckles as Loren pulls away to order her drink. "Drop her off later."

"I'll be by at seven," she announces as she grabs her drink, backing the stroller out of the coffee shop with decidedly more grace than when she'd entered. Patrons part the way for her and she murmurs a 'sorry' at everyone she passes or accidentally whacks with her nappy bag.

Coraline's eyes linger on the baby for a few moments longer as they leave; her expression flickers, softening, like she's considering something, like she's plagued by conflict. Coraline taps her fingers on the table, perfect pale pink nails rapping a steady beat against the wood. Eventually, her eyebrows furrow and she draws back into herself, like realisation has hit and she's snapped herself back to reality.

"Are you sure you don't mind? You can find something else to do, you don't have to become a pro bono babysitter with me." She wants him to help her out. She really does. She tries not to let the hopeful glint reach her eyes.

But she feels especially bad because Marcus rarely has days off. It's a rare Sunday when he's in between cases and hasn’t been dragged in on a weekend. And she's dragging him along to look after a baby he's never even met before.

He shakes his head. "Why would I mind?" He gets to spend time with her. He enjoys her company too much to turn her down.

She shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. He can tell by the way that she scowls that it's gone a little cold. He doesn't know how she drinks it, anyway. There's too much caramel — it was far too sweet — but she seemed to like it and he'd seen her tired self go through three in an hour before. "Changing diapers isn't exactly a thrilling pastime."

"I'm sure I'll live."

Coraline pushes herself to her feet. A breeze ruffles the skirt of her dress, billowing the pale yellow fabric against her knees like it had a mind of its own. She finishes off the last drops of her drink and sighs. "Well, then, we’re going to need some more coffee."

...

Coraline has been rushing around her apartment for most of the day. She isn't sure if she's nervous or if she just has too much caffeine buzzing through her veins. Perhaps it's both. She's not even aware of her surroundings, only that Marcus has been sitting on the couch trying to get her to relax for the past hour and she's fussed meticulously over every square inch of her apartment at least three times. She just needs to keep her hands busy.

"Cora, she's a baby." He chuckles as Coraline scowls at the magazines on the coffee table. She bends down to straighten them, huffing out an inpatient breath as she does so. "She's not going to care what your apartment looks like."

She ignores him, turning swiftly on her heels to straighten out the woollen throw draping over her couch. "Relax," Marcus insists. He watches her with concern as she pauses, sucks in a shallow breath and turns to slump down against the opposite end of the couch. Her head falls back against the cushions. "What's wrong?"

"It's just-" She doesn't even know what she means to say. She doesn't really have an explanation for it — why she's frantically rushing around her apartment trying to keep her mind off Maisie and the babysitting job she'd found herself — so she doesn't bother offering one. Maybe it's because all she can think about is how much she'd wanted a baby when she was with Scott and how she has no idea what she wants anymore, now that he's gone and she's alone again. Everything's so confusing now; she can barely bring herself to think about it. It just doesn't make sense. Coraline tells Marcus a lot of things (he probably knows more about her than Loren does, and they'd been best friends since they were six) but some things just weren't for sharing. Maybe he already knows. She hopes he does, it would make things much easier, and then she doesn’t have to bite back pointless tears when she eventually tells him.

Coraline lets out an overly-dramatic sigh and turns her head towards Marcus. He's still watching her, brown eyes softer now. He smiles and she shakes her head to clear away the thoughts. "I'm glad you're here, you know," she admits. Her eyes drag back up to the ceiling.

"Of course you are. You'd never survive without me." He quips.

"Oh, sure. How I ever managed to live twenty-eight years without you, I'll never know."

Marcus' eyes crease at the corner as he laughs a little at his joke. "I know you'll be good at this whole baby thing." She lulls her head to the side to watch him; she shuffles against her hip, resting her cheek against the dimpled green couch cushion and watches him as his dark eyes light up. In the time that she's known him, barely even six months, though it seems like far longer, she can only think of a handful of times when she'd seen him without a smile. Even then, most of those were after a long day of paperwork, and she could usually make him smile after a few minutes of prodding at him to tell her what's wrong.

"I have work early tomorrow." Coraline points out. "This was a bad idea. I should be sleeping."

"Well, you did offer.”

"I know, and it was a terrible idea." She sighs. "Y’know, I think Maisie hates me."

"Maisie is a baby, Cora."

"Babies still have feelings, Marcus."

He chuckles. "She loves you, don't be ridiculous."

His words are punctuated by a knock on the door. It's almost frantic, like whoever's on the other side's intentions are urgent. Coraline groans a little as she stands up; she knows exactly who it is and she drags her feet towards the door, trying her best to push past her concern. She lowers her head to the door's peephole before yanking it open. She has a wide grin on her face when she greets Loren and Maisie. "Good evening." Her voice is lilting, soft and bright and cheerful, like Marcus is used to hearing. It makes him smile, the way she's gone from a worry that seemed to be spreading rapidly through her back to her bright self. He's never seen her so panicked, even around her ex; she's normally so laid back and relaxed.

Coraline pulls the door open a little further before sweeping Maisie and her stroller inside. Loren murmurs that she's asleep and Cora starts to rock the stroller back and forth, trying her best to keep the baby asleep for as long as she can. It gave her time to regain her scattered composure. Marcus pushes himself up from the armchair he'd been reclined in and sweeps over to take Maisie from Coraline and away from the entryway.

"Oh-" It startles her a little, when his hands reach out and fingers accidentally brush over her wrist. "Thank you." She smiles at him softly as he backs the stroller out into the living room.

"Marcus is here?" Loren's eyes light up and a grin pulls at her lips when he falls out of earshot. Her eyebrows raise playfully.

"Yes."

Her grin only widens. "Are you on a date?"

"No." Coraline scoffs.

Loren doesn't seem to be giving up and she certainly doesn't believe her. She never does, not usually. She seems to have convinced herself that Cora and Marcus are in love or secretly dating, or both. "This is a date, isn't it?"

"It's not a date, Loren." Cora rolls her eyes but she can't help but smile. She tried to conceal it but she can't stifle the way her corners quirk upwards. It's most definitely not a date — that had ever even crossed her mind — and it's just hilarious how Loren seems to be convinced that her oldest friend is harbouring a secret affection for her best friend. She looks between them both with a glint in her blue eyes, like she knows something they don't and she's just waiting for them to figure it out. Except there’s nothing to figure out. They’re friends. Just friends.

"Whatever you say.” She giggles. Loren smiles back at Marcus, who's stood back by the couch, rocking the stroller back and forth. Coraline follows her gaze and smiles fondly at him; he's not paying attention to them and he doesn't notice the way they're both watching him.

"We're just friends," Coraline insists again as she turns back to Loren.

"Sure you are." She smirks. ”I promise I won’t say ‘I told you so’.”

"Just go." Coraline takes her best friend by the shoulders and guides her back out of the door but she can't help the smile that spills onto her lips again.

"Can I be your maid of honour?"

"Go home and sleep!"

"Please!"

"I'm shutting the door now, goodbye."

"There are diapers in the bag and she's already been fed," Loren adds hastily as Coraline inched the door shut. "I'll be back in a few hours."

...

Maisie slept for a little while, but now she's wide awake, giggling and trying her best to grab Coraline's curls. The baby sits on Cora's lap, small fingers reaching out towards her insistently. She'd offer her one of the toys Loren had left for her but she only seems interested in them for a few seconds before Coraline's hair tumbles over her shoulder and she grows distracted again.

She's torn between tying her hair up or just letting Maisie tug on it to her heart's content. But she doesn't; she just lightly whispers no with a shake of her head, a smile and a shake of whatever toy she reaches for first. And it's a never-ending cycle until finally, Maisie decides that hair isn't for her and she prefers the blue teething ring that Coraline reaches for last.

"You really are great with her,” Marcus comments.

She chuckles, a breathy laugh through her nose. "I'm great with everyone." She pokes her tongue at the corner of her lip and grins. He notices, when she does that, says something about herself being great or that she's good at something, her cheeks flush pink a little. She only means it as a joke, he knows that, but it's almost like it embarrasses her to say or think anything like that. Her eyes betray the way she struggles with it.

"I have nephews." She shrugs. "I was a great babysitter back in the day."

Maisie makes a gleeful noise, halfway between a squeal and a laugh, and drops the teething ring to the sofa, disinterested. She makes a grab for Coraline's hair again, reaching forward to try and swipe it between her fingers. But Cora's own fingers block her clutches. "No," she whispers quietly with a smile and a chuckle. She pushes her small hand away gently but Maisie delights in it, face illuminating in a grin, and reaches out for Coraline’s curls insistently.

Marcus reaches down to pick up the toy as Coraline laughs, too distracted to even bother. His arm brushes hers as he does so. She's always struck by how warm he is. The first time she'd noticed it, the day they'd first met, she thought it was because of the sun streaming in through the briefing room’s glass windows. But she’d noticed it every single time he’d touched her since — even just the slightest touch or brush of a hand — until she thinks she’s used to it. She isn’t. His touch warms whatever bare skin it touches immediately and she shudders; Marcus doesn't seem to notice and she's glad because she doesn't want to explain that one fleeting touch from him warms up her entire, otherwise freezing, body.

It's a cliche, she knows that. The kind of cliche you read about in cheesy romance novels. It makes her cheeks burn — Coraline knows she's going bright red; she can feel it crawling slowly over her skin and she shivers like there's a cold breeze dancing it's way up the back of her neck — because she doesn't know what it means. She's never really felt it before she met him, this odd, confusing burn that started in her chest, then blooms out like flowers through her whole body. She usually just brushes it off because it happens whenever and wherever, without warning It just arrives out of the blue, triggered by a glance or a laugh or the briefest touch of a hand. It's ridiculous but she can't help but turn it over and over and over in her mind at night, when she tries to sleep, until she's restless and staring at the wooden beams that stretch across her bedroom ceiling.

"Do you want kids?" Coraline asks. It’s out of the blue. Her expression almost makes it seem like she wants him to ask her the question, like she's desperate to talk about it with someone, anyone, before it bursts from her chest. Although, he can't help but wonder if she never meant to ask, or if she regrets asking, given the way her eyes fall back to Maisie who's resumed her chewing on the teething ring again. Though, Coraline barely realises she's given anything away. Then again, she doesn't even realise that there is anything to give away. She's so enchanted by the baby and the brush of Marcus' arm against hers that she's giving away maybe a little more than she intends. It's strange to see her like this given her flustered panic of just an hour earlier.

Marcus takes a moment, a pause to figure out the right answer, then he nods a little. "I would, yes. Some day." He pauses for another second, watching the way her eyes glimmer as she looks at her goddaughter. He already knows her answer before he even asks the question. Or, at least, the real answer. "Do you?"

Coraline's eyes light up; her blue eyes look like the sky on a sunny day. "Maybe," she hums. When she looks up to meet his eyes, the small smile she gives betrays the truth. But she cuts it off like it's wrong or forbidden or downright ridiculous, like she shouldn't feel those things. He notices the way her lips falter like she's biting back the urge to say something, a secret on the tip of her tongue, and how she tugs her lower lip in between her teeth to stop her from smiling again.

He thinks he knows what makes her so unsure about that. Why she cuts herself off and seems to tell herself it's wrong. She's mentioned it once before, when she was tired — she talks a lot when she's tired, but it's mostly incoherent mumblings that he has to admit, he finds adorable — that Scott didn't want kids. Marcus has never brought up what she’d told him (if she really wants him to know, she'd have told him by now, when she's completely coherent and conscious) but it tugs at the edge of his thoughts as her sentences go quiet when she sees a mother and their baby. They make her smile fondly. It's a smile that's been all-too-lacking since her divorce.

He understands. It’s happened to him before, twice now. Twice he’s faced heartbreak, that horrible moment when things go sour. When you’re left with a million little ‘what ifs’, wondering where exactly things went so wrong. Wondering if there was anything you could have done, anything at all, to make things better. It’s a dull ache that sits deep in his chest. And it’s agonising. He hates how familiar the feeling has become.

Marcus has never told her about his past relationships - about his first marriage and eventual divorce, about his last engagement and how it had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, how he’d found himself alone in D.C. without a soul in the world to talk to - and he also hasn’t told her that meeting her was like a fresh start, like the sun had finally peaked through the rain clouds that had hung over his head for so long. She’d helped him settle, finally, even after six months struggling to feel at home in a new, lonely city. She’d welcomed him, helped him find new friends, and stuck by him the entire time. She doesn’t have to be his friend; he’s sure she has much cooler, younger friends that don’t spend most of their days hunched over an ever-growing mountain of paperwork or hidden away inside some tiny downtown art gallery. Sure, he’d be upset if their weekly meetings came to a halt, but he wouldn’t blame her if she chose someone more like herself over him.

Mostly, Marcus just hadn't wanted to dredge up old feelings, not when she was in the thick of a divorce and clearly struggling, no matter how much she pretended she was okay. So he never told her what had happened. When she'd confided in him for the first time those few short months ago, spilling her deepest secrets, staying up until 3am just pouring her heart out to him over the phone, he'd wondered if it was best to tell her. To let her know that he knew how she felt, that he understood. But he still hasn't. She’s asked about his past before, nagging until he relented and revealed things he's never really had much trouble revealing before, and he has told her parts of it. But he usually skirts around the details, like there's nothing important to reveal. He isn't sure why he does it, especially when she opens up to him so easily. He guesses that the moment has never seemed right.

Maisie's hand is twisted into the fabric of Coraline's dress. She shakes the teething ring in her hands like it's a rattle. "I've never had the chance," she admits, suddenly. "To have kids."

"You've still got time."

"Barely." She sighs. He raises an eyebrow, like he's asking her what she means, but she doesn't continue. She waves a hand and brushes off his concern. "It's not important," she insists.

But it is important. He knows it is. And, if it matters to her, it matters to him.

#sudden desire #marcus pike x female character #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike

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mo-mo-and-porkchop · 5 years

Text

Freedom is a state of mind

Vikings Fan Fiction

Chapter 7 (Chapter 6 here)

*I do not own any part of the Canon Vikings characters. It is simply my interpretation. I make no profit off of this.

**I do own the original characters and everything associated with them.

((This is my first attempt at this. Hope you enjoy. A special thanks to @ragnarsscn for help with the inspiration for this work.))

Tagging for updates: @whenimaunicorn , @captstefanbrandt , @kenzieam , @mblaqgi , @wish-i-was-a-mermaid , @microsmacrosandneedles , @babeyouareenough

He pushed the extra bowl of food her way and went back to his own food. He wasn't naive to the amount of sustenance thralls were allowed to enjoy and she would be no good to him if she starved to death before their first lesson.

Her cheeks warmed to a soft, rosy flush and she hesitated slightly before pulling the bowl the rest of the way toward her.

She didn't mind the kindness. In fact she welcomed it to his usual irritability. It just felt a little odd being treated so nicely by him. Until now Ivar hardly paid her any attention, and it admittedly unnerved her, but her stomach hadn't been full since her capture and the stew smelled delicious.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Ivar paused, his spoon idly stirring the contents of his bowl. He was unfamiliar with the gratitude, but it felt good. He smirked to himself and savored the feeling a moment longer.

"Now," he said returning his behavior to normal. "Tell me what you know already."

-------

As she lay in bed that night, the day's events ran through her mind. Everything had been so...unexpected. Ehrlana knew Ivar must have an ulterior motive for his sudden interest in her, but nothing he had done pointed to a reason. She was nothing than a slave. No one to him. He'd made that point clear to her more than once.

So why was she now?

Her mind raced as she tried to figure out his game; coming up empty each time.

"....meet me," a voice drifted to her ears.

"Hmm?" she asked as she sat up, a small shiver running up her spine as she was brought back to reality.

"You did not meet me," he restated.

"I'm sorry," she apologized when she saw it had been Declan who'd interrupted her thoughts. After Ivar's request her mind had been in a fog the rest of the day. She had complete forgotten the two shared plans.

"It has been an odd day," she admitted freely.

"What happened?" he asked concerned.

She looked at him sympathetically. Telling him was going to difficult. The two had grown close since her arrival; a welcome side effect to their enslavement. He would be devastated and she could see no way around hurting him.

"I do not need your help anymore," she said with a sorrowful sigh. "At least not with their tongue."

"What?" Declan replied quietly. He did his best to hide the sudden surge of fear coursing through him. "What do you mean you do not need me?"

"Ivar has taken notice of my new ability to speak and has decided he is better suited to be my teacher," she explained, still not yet over her own surprise.

"What?! What do you mean Ivar wants to teach you?! You are a slave!" he exclaimed defensively before he could stop himself.

He rose and began to pace the floor; his mind already assuming the unknown details. It was evident his argument was with Ivar, not Ehrlana. And even though his misguided words showed he cared for her, she was still offended that he believed no one other than Declan would see her worth here.

"Only here am I just a slave," she reminded him firmly.

"You are right," he replied realizing his misstep. "But you can not trust him. Ivar never does anything out of kindness. He always has a reason," he continued much more calmly, though she could hear the pleading in his voice.

"I am not a fool. Save for you I trust no one here," she replied. His relief was obvious.

"Then why has he decided he is better suited to teach you than me?" he asked defeated.

Declan had been doing his best to hide his hurt, but his last remark couldn't contain it. At the very least it felt good to have someone other than her brothers become attached to her. Ehrlana managed a small smirk, enjoying the moment before her caught sight of it.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But he owns me..."

"Only because you allow it," Declan cut in.

"He owns me and I can not deny him. Doing so will only anger him and nothing good will come of it."

He hated to admit it, but she was right. He knew if Ivar gave her an order, as a slave, she was expected to follow it. No matter how opposed to it she was. This was not home and she was afforded no protection from the young prince's wrath should she disobey. The only way around it was to reveal her true identity and that would only lead to worse; for both Ehrlana and the people she worked to protect.

Declan looked to her, full of worry - his eyes still silently pleading for her to reconsider. "I will be fine," she tried to reassure him.

He risked reaching out and gently held her cheek, his thumb caressing the scar just beneath her eye. The scar she still vehemently denied had been given to her purposefully. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, his implications understood.

She thought back to the day's events and the way Ivar had been with her upon realizing her growing fluency. How he hadn't immediately lashed out or grew angry. How he had actually shown some form of kindness sharing his meal with her. This was not the Ivar she or anyone had grown to know, but oddly she wished for more. Her curiosity was winning out on this.

Gently removing his hand and holding it she gave him a soft smile. "I just am." Her brow furrowed in slight surprise at her steadfast belief that no harm was going to befall her during her time with Ivar. "You must trust me," she said with a squeeze of his hand. "Should anything happen or my beliefs change, you will be the first to know," she continued in offerance when she saw he was still undecided about things.

"The absolute first," he agreed, returning the squeeze.

"I swear it. And do not worry," she added, letting go of his hand and laying back down on her bed. "Spending my time with Ivar does not mean I will abandon you. You are my only friend and not even Ivar the Boneless can take that away."

He tried to share in her resolution, but he couldn't help but feel this was it for them. Even though she was no one's wife and had no intimate ties to Ivar, the young prince was not accustomed to sharing. He'd killed another when he was young over play and rumor had it he had attempted to kill Margrethe when their shared evening didn't go as planned. No matter how sure she was of her safety Declan would continue to keep an eye out. There was no telling what would come of this unexpected alliance.

---------

Sleep had done little to calm her nerves and she rose just before the sun. Ehrlana was a mix of emotion as she made her way to the great hall. Her feet were heavy with doubt, trying their best to stop her from moving. Her skin crawled with chills as the spring breeze blew across her, forcing her to hug herself for warmth. Her heart raced with excitement the closer she got. Her mind raced with the possible meaning behind his sudden interest, but she soon brought herself back to reality when her steps finally made it to her destination.

The hall was largely empty; slaves always the first to arrive. The smell of food drifted through the air and slowly the King's family emerged from their slumber. They shuffled to the main table. First Ubbe. Then Sigurd. The Queen trailed behind the two, followed by Hvitserk - the least awake of the three.

She wondered if any of then knew of her arrangement with Ivar.

Before she could speculate further a sleepy voice broke through the silence. "Ivar is enn að sofa," Hvitserk said yawning widely and stretching. He hugged himself against the cool morning air blowing through the hall. "You ættir að vekja him áður he missir dagbók. He is miklu angrier if he borðar eat," he chuckled halfheartedly as one more yawn escaped him.

Ehrlana smiled in return, still only understanding some of his words. He laughed slightly and returned the smile, catching her confusion.

"Ivar..." He rested his hands against his face and closed his eyes momentarily. "You," he said pointing at her. "Go..." he added mimicking walking with his fingers. He mocked sleep again before opening his eyes as if being woken.

Ehrlana let the sma laugh fall freely from her. "I will go to Ivar and...." she replied before copying his sign for awake.

Hvitserk watched her leave, leaning against the doorway and thinking this girl was too good for Ivar; even as a slave. He pushed off the wall and joined the rest of his family for breakfast.

-----

She quietly crossed the room toward Ivar's sleeping body. She watched as his chest fell in steady breaths. He wasn't full of rage. His defenses were down. Ivar was completely oblivious to the world around him. He was so at peace and in that moment Ehrlana saw what no one else had - the human within the beast.

Kneeling by his bedside she held her hand just above his face a moment, momentarily debating herself over waking him or letting him sleep. "Ivar," she began quietly, her fingers still hovering above him.

No response.

Her heart began to beat faster as she readied herself to try and more. "Ivar," she gently cooed, gently grazing his cheek.

A soft groan fell from him as he shifted in his sleep. She snapped her hand away, fearful of his reaction should he actually wake. Fortunately he fell silent once more.

-------

The air was cool against his face. Waves crashed softly in the distance. Tress rustled. People slowly roamed through town as the day began From his perch he could see all of Kattegat. He shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and savored his contentment.

This was his Kingdom.

The laughter of children drifted to his ears and a hand slid over his shoulder gently. The touch sent chills through his spine. He wrapped his fingers around it and gently moved it further across his chest. He hugged her hand against hisself and enjoyed the calm washing over him. Even though it was a stranger's hand he held, she felt familiar.

Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered his name. "Ivar," her voice cooed, fading just as quickly with the wind.

He hmm'd in reply, but was met with nothing more than a repetition of his name. Two small bodies, a boy and girl, ran past in a blur calling for him to follow. As he moved the woman from round him everything melted around them.

He was now in a hall. Much smaller than his, but ornate just the same. The smell of fire and earth tinged his nostrils. A long table sat in the center of the room. People surrounded the far end, eating, unaware of Ivar's presence. Their faces all a blur and indistinguishable.

Still holding onto the mystery woman he slowly moved her to face him. Her raven hair flowed weightlessly as if underwater, covering her face.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What is this place?"

His name her only reply. When he let go to reveal her identity whe began drifting further away. Desperately he tried to grab hold of her once more, but failed, dropping to the ground once again immobile - his braces and crutch vanished.

"Stop!" he shouted as fear crawled through his veins. Further away she drifted. "Come back!"

Darkness crept in around him, swallowing everything in its path. He crawled furiously forward and gave one last panicked grab for the woman. Victoriously he felt the fabric of her dress between his fingers. With a triumphant grin he held tighter and yanked her back.

Immediately he dropped the clothing and scurried backward. The seer rushed forward and grabbed hold of Ivar's shirt. His face was mangled. Blood poured from his eyes. Ivar fiercely tried to escape the seer's grasp unsuccessfully. "Let! Me! Go!"

Nothing more than a gargle escaped him as he tried to speak.

A wave of hot air rushed past. The seer rose from the ground where they struggled, lifting Ivar until his feet dangled above the floor. He floated toward the nearby fire. A low growl began to eminate from his chest.

"What do you want?!" Ivar asked, the fear evident in his voice.

"Wake up!" he bellowed just before tossing Ivar into the nearby fire.

-----

"Ivar, wake up," Ehrlana tried once more.

He shot up, grabbing her wrist tightly and pushing her aside. Fear spiked in her veins. "I am sorry," she stammered. "Food is ready. Hvitserk..."

He glared over at her, his heart still pounding from the dream. "So you hlusta to Hvisterk now?" he grumbled sarcastically.

"I am sorry," she repeated avoiding his gaze.

His anger was slowly fading taking his fear along with it. The calm still lingered enough to keep him civil enough to wave off her apology.

"Hvað veistu samt? Þú ert bara heimskur þræll," he mumbled to himself. "Do not láta it gerast aftur."

She let her eyes find his with his last statement. He knew she did not understand his warning. He slid to the edge of the bed and motioned for her to help him dress.

He hung his head still reeling from the dream. Ivar found no rhyme or reason behind his dream. He'd recognized no faces. Aside from Kattegat, he'd been in unfamiliar territory. He assumed then that had been nothing more than an odd dream.

Ehrlana quietly gathered his clothing and began dressing him. Her fingers were nimble and effortless as she tied the straps around his legs, tucking the knots in between them snugly. She handed him his shirt followed by his gloves.

"Go and serve my food," he said pulling the tunic over his head. "Mid day you will hittast me rétt fyrir utan skóginn. Handan hreinsun," he continued putting one glove than the other. "Do not be late."

#ivar the boneless #ivar's heathen army #ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #ivar x oc #vikings #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic #original characters #canon characters #indie #writing #fiction

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