#(my red blood cell count & other results were fine) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oneshotnewbie · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request Spencer Hasting where she is Hella protective over Reader? Maybe Reader gets attacked by A when she is alone on the way home from the gym or so and she gets hurt and she calls Spencer for help. Spencer is all mad and angry but lovingly patching up Readers bruises and cuts while telling her that she can't get alone outside now without her because she doesn't want that Reader gets hurt otherwise and more badly? They are pretty close, closer than the other girls

Spencers cell phone rang in her normal ringtone, roused her from her thoughts and made her startle for a moment. The file that she had fed with various information from A since the second it got more dangerous, fell annoyed in front of her on the wooden table while she let herself fall back on the couch, exhausted.

She looked at the ceiling and groaned while massaging the sore spots on her temples. She took a few deep breaths to calm down before she fumbled for the cell phone on the table, thinking that you had texted her that you were coming in late from your gym session.

Broken ribs and bruised lips. My anger grows and I am always close. Tell Dr. Sullivan or anyone about me and your beloved Y/N will pay the price.

- A 💋

Skipping the lines several times, the brown-haired tried to get a meaningful result from the first lines of the repulsive text before your photo popped up on her phone screen and she answered immediately.

"Spenc?" her name echoed muffled through the receiver, the pain in your voice couldn't be overheard. The scraping of the iron carabiners from your bag and the rattling of your bracelets and rings on the cold floor gave her cause of concern and she pricked up her ears. "Y/N, are you okay?"

"Not really," you said in a whisper and dared to try to lift yourself off the ground, but in vain. Instead, you cried out and Spencer was on alert, her tiredness was gone. "What happened?"

"I was attacked by A's henchmen."

As soon as the last words left your lips, her eyes opened wide in shock and her tiredness was overtaken by anger. With a skillful push off the couch, the brunette grabbed the file and jumped up the stairs to her room where she placed the papers in her safe hiding place and rushed down to grab her car keys. "Where are you?"

"I'm down the street from your house at the intersection." you panted out as you looked around, trying to stand up again.

You definitely knew that you had at least one bruised rib.

---

After Spencer found you where you let her know beforehand, she helped you into her car and drove you to her home, but only at your request. You didn't want to go to the hospital or home for your parents to ask questions about your condition and you knew the brunettes were out and about in New York.

Tenderly and with one arm around your waist to support you, she helped you into the house and gently sat you down on the couch before taking off your jacket and ordering you to lie down. "I should drive you to the hospital to be on the safe side. I can treat scratches, a bleeding lip and bruises, but I can't X-ray your rib."

While you threw yourself agonizingly on the couch with a small scream, you waved your hand negatively and she rolled her eyes. She literally bit her teeth at cement because of your stubbornness.

"It's not broken so I am not going to die, Spenc." did you joke and you could tell by her turn from the fridge and look that she didn't like it at all. "A couple of pain pills and cool packs and I will be fine."

"It could all have turned out much worse!" she shouted from the kitchen before joining you and handing you an ice pack in a kitchen towel. "Put that on your lip, stupid." You smiled thankfully and immediately pressed it onto the wound and the cool made you moan out.

While she disappeared from your sight again to get the rest utensils to mend you from the bathroom, you heard her cursing. She hated it when you got hurt and there was nothing she could do about it except watch and fix you after. This has been the case since kindergarten; if you fell of the swing, she was angry and wouldn't let you on it. If you got your heart broken, she broke the guy in different ways.

Spencer was always protective of you and always blamed herself when she wasn't around to protect you from the pain.

"Y/N? Are you still there?" you heard her drowning out your thoughts.

You hadn't noticed that she was sitting on the small table in front of you and was already starting to soak the cotton pads with disinfectant and laying out the plasters.

With a questioning and slightly worried look that she underlined with a raised eyebrow, the brunette looked you in the eyes. She was trying to figure out what you were thinking about and where you got stuck. "Everything okay? Maybe I should call Winn."

"No, I am fine. Trust me." you tried to calm her down and Spencer knew she could trust you. You were always honest with her, no matter what, so she could count on you to let her know if you were going to feel worse.

With a nod she began to wipe the already dried blood from your chin and lip with the cotton pad and you hissed when the disinfectant hit the open wound. Your teeth clenched together, you clutched at the fabric of the couch in pain. "I don't want you to go anywhere by yourself until we know who A is or how many of them are out there."

"Why? It could have happened to any of us."

"No." she sighed and wanted to change the cotton pad but you stopped her moving with a gentle grip on her wrist as you looked at her intently. She was hiding something from you.

Reluctantly, she dropped everything on the table and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket. Without a word she opened the message she got before your call and stretched the screen in front of your face.

Confused, you took her phone in your hands and read through the lines while she silently went back to patching you up. You kept going through this rhyme and you knew what was going on in Spencer at that moment; she was terrified. She underlined her anger and fear for you by screaming at you desperately, unintentionally. "Damn, you are so stubborn! Please listen to me just once, please! You are not invulnerable!"

"Spencer, calm down." you tried to calm her down, her face was already completely red. "SPENCER!"

She interrupted her panic and looked at you with wide eyes and open mouth. "I promise I won't go out without Han, Aria, Em or you anymore. But please, calm down okay? Nothing happened."

"Listen, if anything happens to you - and we're not talking about bruises or scratches - I will go berserk."

You chuckled about that sentence and looked at her. Her gaze was serious, the brunettes cheeks flushed in only a light red. She tried to swallow her anger by watching you and your movements, looking at your smile and that shine in your eyes that despite the last few years of terror wasn't gone.

You were tough, and she had to be it too.

"I am serious, I will track down A and kill that bitch when she tears off a single hair off of you."

#prettylittleliars #pretty little liars #pll #PLL #spencer x y/n #spencerhastings #spencer hastings #spencer hastings x reader #spencer hastings x you #spencer hastings imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagine #imagines #prettylittleliars imagine #prettylittleliars imagines #pretty little liars imagine #pretty little liars imagines

349 notes · View notes

voiceswithoutlips · 4 years ago

Text

Fallen - Chapter One

— pairing: OT7 x Reader (F) — genre: Fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Eventual Smut, ANGST , Poly!BTS — word count: 2.8k — Rating: M — warnings: minor character death, slight gore — beta: Thank you so much @taegularities and @unoriginal-username15432 for all you feedback <3

Click for Tag List

— chapter summary:

The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

— A/N: It is I, your idiotic author. Welcome to my blog <3

Ch. 2

The sound of rain was like a roaring beast. It was almost midnight and the roads were lonely. You stood there in an alley facing a madman, uh, mad-vampire. His eyes were glowing red; he was wearing a dirty grey cloak on his rag like cloth. His brown hair had gotten messy when he’d run away from you but there he was, still as a dead body, waiting for you to attack. There were thick walls on both sides of the alley and behind him was a dead end. He was trapped.

“Lockham, why don’t you come back with me? That way I won’t have to kill you,” you suggested to the psycho killer vampire who stood a mere ten feet away from you. There was no way for him to run so maybe he would attack. You weighed your options - fight? That would’ve been nice; at least your body would’ve gotten some exercise.

He laughed. “You think you can win? Destiny is waiting for you Hunter,” he said in an impressive voice. Another one of those ‘destiny’ believers. Apparently the Goddess had a plan for us all, not that you had much faith in it. Gods don't care about who kills whom or who eats what, they’re more concerned about their own entertainment. You’d never put much faith in any higher power, God or not, nobody gave a shit.

“You’ve killed people Lockham, you’ve been a very naughty vampire and now it’s time for your punishment,”you said as a teacher would say to a naughty kid. He took a step back.

“Who are you to punish me?” he mocked, showing you his blood covered teeth. He was just having a meal when you found him and then you two had a nice chase. You were glad that he ran, you wanted to stretch out your legs anyway.

“Exactly, I’m no one,” you said and took a step forward; he took a step back simultaneously and vanished. What? Vanished? How? You walked forward to investigate and sighed. How careless of you. There was a hole, he fell into the sewer. He must have used cloaking so that it would look like he vanished. The only thing he forgot was to close the hole. You shook your head, you hated wet places! You jumped down and landed lightly on your feet, without making a sound, perfect.

You were getting bored of chasing him, it was almost dawn and you needed your beauty sleep. You took a deep breath and pulled out your silver dagger. It was your favorite weapon. Silver was deadly to vampires. It was very pretty with a finely carved snake on the handle with emeralds where the eyes should be; a gift from someone you had known a long time ago. You closed your eyes and let your mind wander through the tunnels. Just like your immunity to silver, your telepathy was stronger than centuries old vampires and you could perform magic. You were a half-witch after all.

You found him running through the tunnels. As soon as your mind touched him, he froze. You were inside his mind now. Reading someone’s mind was nothing like watching a movie or reading a book. It was like waking up from a dream, you don’t remember what you saw or heard but the thing that you remember is the feeling, the essence of the dream. Every being has a certain essence, unique to them. Like walls that you can’t see or touch, but you know they’re there. You could clearly see the tunnel before you, but it was like a distant memory, you were no longer there.

You were in a room, an old room with cobwebs and dust. It smelled of something rotten, like a thousand dead rats. There were worn out clothes hanging from the ceiling - correction, there was no ceiling, just clothes hanging midair and swaying with the wind, except there was no wind. At one corner sat two rusty iron chairs. The window with broken glass showed a full moon.

There was an old cupboard on the wall with the yellow wallpaper. It was white as if someone had carved it from bone. There were noises coming from the cupboard, screeching, screaming, the cry of a baby, the soothing voice of a mother, someone’s last words. A shudder ran through your body. I will never ever do this again, you promised yourself.

You heard a creak from behind and you swiftly turned back. There he was, sitting in a corner, the little boy. He held a tattered grey cloak in his hands. His body was folded at impossible angles. He was white as a sheet, there was no blood in his body. He was thin with brittle bones. Dull brown eyes in a sunken face held unimaginable terror.

He looked up at you. “I’m tired, I want to sleep,” he whispered and quickly stole a glance at the cupboard.

“Then why don’t you sleep?” you whispered back, clearly not wanting to wake anything in there. Yeah, getting into someone’s mind was a nice thing, you could get full control over them... but there was a catch. If something went wrong in that mind or if you failed to escape in time, then you’d be trapped there forever, or die. You were pretty sure that you didn’t want to be trapped in this mind, not here.

“They don’t let me sleep, they keep me awake so that I could bring more and more food for them,” he replied, pointing a finger at the cupboard. Slowly, you understood what he was saying. ‘One without a soul feeds on other’s souls,’ the thought crossed your mind, not a good one.

“What if you don’t bring them food?” You already knew the answer but you asked anyway, maybe just to confirm it.

“I’ll go mad,” he whispered back with horrified eyes.

“Come to me, I’ll help you sleep.” The words left your lips, the real ones which were still attached to your face. Lockham turned back and slowly walked towards you. You could hear his heavy footsteps in the tunnel. At last he took the last turn and there he stood right in front of you. His eyes were blank. It was like there was no soul in his body, no life. You had him entirely under your control. If you told him to do ballet, he would dance like a professional, but you weren't a sadist. Life had already tortured him enough.

“Come forward,” you said softly, the sooner it ended the better. He walked forward and your silver dagger slashed through his throat, severing his spine, killing him in a second. Blood splashed and soaked his body. It was a merciful death, you had seen worse. There are worse things than death in this world. Death was just an easy escape.

You stood there for a moment, looking at him, wishing that the outcome would’ve been different. Were you feeling sorry for him? No, you were feeling sorry for yourself. You were a fifty year old vampire and in all your years as a hunter you’d killed hundreds of criminals, but you had never been able to save one.

People knew and people talked. Some said that you were cursed; you were the representative of death, the spawn of darkness. As a result, the council only gave you high profile cases, criminals that were too far gone to be saved. It was always death. The people you killed, they haunted your dreams. They would say to you, “What you do always comes back to you, there is no escape from this miserable life.” It was true, there was no escape. In your world there was only darkness, sorrow, fear, hate and death, always death.

You pulled out your cell phone and called the police. They would take care of the body. You bent down to leave a tracker near it, so they would find it easily. Lockham’s eyes were wide open, and you closed them. “At least one of us is at peace,” you whispered.

“You’re home!!” little Lilly exclaimed happily as you walked through the door. Your family was sitting in the dining room, having supper. You were the firstborn, the eldest of your father’s children. Your father was the Duke of Serafino, the City of Snake; one of the two warrior cities in the Vampire Kingdom. He was a nice man with brown eyes and hair, fair complexion, nicely built but a little short.

Your stepmother was a beauty; she had blue eyes, fair complexion, sharp features and hair spun like gold. Her children took after her, all cream and gold. They all hated you, except for the little one, Lilly.

“Yay, I’m home,” you said sarcastically. It was hard not to be nice to the little girl who looked at you with wonder in her eyes; she was so full of life. To no one’s wonder you had blood on your clothes and your darling step mother eyed it with a look in her eyes that said filthy. For you, it was like an invitation. You were planning to have supper in your room just like any other day, but you sat down at the end of the table. Your father was seated at his normal seat which belonged to the head of the family. The chair right across from him was the place for his wife, but that was your mother’s place and now it belonged to you.

Your mother had died in childbirth, you had her amber eyes and olive skin. Her name was Katina. People told you that she’d been a beauty; you had some of her pictures and sometimes you would feel her close beside you. It was a weird feeling, but not bad, not at all. You weren't a person who put her feelings on display, heck you hadn’t even cried in like twenty years! The only permanent feeling you had left was emptiness. You felt numb, like a shell, nothing inside, no love, no hope, not even sorrow after all these years. It felt like you were dead and it was true, your heart was dead.

“I would like some blood sausages Charles and don’t forget the wine,” you said cheerfully to the butler. He was a nice guy, always talked politely. You suspected that he was in love with the cook, Ms. Glen; it would be nice to have some love in this house which felt like living in a coffin.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Lilly asked, her cheerful eyes trained on you. You wondered for how long this child would be allowed to keep her innocence? When you’d been her age ...you shied away from that thought. Thoughts bring back memories and your memories were like old corpses, one would never want to dig them. Instead you took a bite of your sausage - man, they were delicious.

“It was almost nice, Bunny. I played who-can-catch-me with a friend and I won!!” Bunny was the nickname you had given her because she was never still. Everyone paused for a moment; it was really weird and funny at the same moment. You loved how all the eyes drifted to you and back to Lilly. She was beaming because you had won the game. You gave her a small smile.

“Oh that’s wonderful!! Where is your friend now?” Curious little kid, everyone paused again, including you this time.

“You see, we were playing on a bet. He lost the bet so he had to …go to another city.” You were very good at lying, but her beaming eyes and pure innocence made it hard. It was impossible to lie to that child.

“When would he come back?” she asked, and you sighed. Your plate was half empty and the looks everyone were giving you just killed the hunger inside. You stood up with the wine glass in my hand.

“Chew your food, Bunny,” you replied and left the room.

Your room was a mixture of blue and gold. The wallpapers were straight lines of different shades of blue. The furniture was of mahogany wood with fine carvings. The round rug was golden on the edge and blue in the middle, it looked like a pool of water. All the linen was blue and gold as well. Your bed was round and big with golden bedposts and curtains. You had a balcony of your own with a little fountain with a sculpture of a mother and her child. You had spent a lot of time taking care of the blue roses in your garden.

The front wall was covered with your music collection. You found peace in music, it was the only time when you could just forget everything and float. You quickly changed and crawled under the sheets, picking up the remote from the side table and pressing the play button. It was Mozart’s duo. What an amazing symphony! It helped you drift back to your happy memories.

Unlike your half brothers and sisters, you were raised in Tiria. It was a small town on the edge of Serafino. You were raised by the Countess of Tiria, a very kind woman. She had grace, beauty, and wealth but no children. She showered you with love and pretty gifts. You had excellent teachers for your education. You learned everything from crochet to fencing.

The manor there was old and beautiful. It had a beautiful garden and a whole forest around it. You would often go into the forest, just to explore it. Those were the happiest days of your life. Until your tenth birthday - the day the Countess died.

Just like the symphony, your thoughts turned darker. You’d been happy that day; the maids had told you that you were going to have a big birthday party. The Earl had been there for two weeks now. Your innocent mind had thought that he was there for your birthday. That morning you were out in the gardens, picking up some red roses for the Countess, it was something you did every day. You would just run into her room to put them on her side table, she loved that. You held the bunch of roses in your tiny hands, running through the house to her room. You were wearing a very pretty white dress with laces and pink ribbons. Your bare feet softly met the stone floor as you ran to her room and pushed the door, happily calling to her.

The Countess was there, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There were bruises on her body and a sword, stabbed right through her heart. The handle of the sword was in the hands of the Earl. He twisted the blade with a cruel smile in his eyes. Then you screamed. The flowers falling from your hands, red roses into red blood - they were the same color. Your pretty white dress was now red. You backed away still screaming, leaving little red footprints on the floor. The maids came running to you and held you tight as you screamed and screamed. You don’t remember for how long you were screaming or what happened later.

You drifted off to sleep.

It was a beautiful forest. The trees were so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground and everything was covered in moss. You were standing there in front of a giant wolf. It wasn’t a werewolf, it smelled like a regular one but just giant, like a direwolf. It was growling at you, baring his teeth. You had no weapons with you, you double checked. You looked around for an escape, you could kill him with your teeth but they weren’t as sharp as they’d used to be. You looked at your nails, they were fragile. Heck! You were human!!

“Y/N, wake up!!” the wolf suddenly spoke in a girly voice. It didn’t make sense, really.

“Are you a girl?” you asked the wolf who was ready to kill you. Talking to an animal, guess you had finally lost your sanity.

“Y/N!!” Someone was shaking you, trying to wake you up without much success. Then you realized you were sleeping under a bunch of blankets and pillows. It was three in the morning; you could tell by the smell of the air. You peeked at the person who had dared to disturbed you. It was Lily.

“What is it, Bunny?” you asked sleepily. It was good she had practice understanding you while you sleep talked, if it was anyone else, they would’ve thought you were talking gibberish.

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a puppy face. You knew what she wanted; she wanted to sleep with you.

“Me too,” you replied and ran your tongue over your teeth, yup, still vampire. “Come here you,” you said, grabbing her and stuffing her under the pile of blankets and pillows. You loved a warm cozy place to sleep. You held her like a teddy bear and dozed off again. She was so soft in your arms and she held tight onto you. Protecting someone was a good feeling. You went back to sleep as if you had never woken up.

154 notes · View notes

juliasjustanidiot · 3 years ago

Text

𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻 | bakugou

gasoline rain - bakugou x reader

synopsis: when bakugou gets swept up in business and doesn’t have time to see his partner, you get lonely.

gender neutral pronouns/none mentioned

tw: none that i’m aware of.

word count: 1.5K

somehow, you had managed to steal the heart of the fabled lord explosion murder. despite his infamous reputation, you had somehow done it. and in reality, you were proud and prideful for it.

you hadn’t been dating long, it had been for a couple of weeks, but you could never really see bakugou because of his training in ua highschool. you wished you were up to par to get into ua, but sadly you weren’t and had to support your lover from the side. but you didn’t mind all too much. what bothered you was never really being able to see bakugou a lot.

this week had been particularly long. the sky was a faint shade of gray with scattered rain. the rain pitter pattered against the window that you laid close to in your bed. with a glum look, you stared out the window, thoughts swirling around your head.

you and bakugou had been planning a lovely beach picnic, but to your dismay the weather did not seem to let up. you sighed as this was the third time you had to reschedule a date this week. despair was growing in your stomach, wondering if you and your boyfriend were really meant to be.

fate seemed to say ‘no’ when you put the numerous times you’ve had to reschedule your dates in the past month into consideration. most of them had been due to bakugou having to go back to ua for some random thing that popped up- he never really went into detail.

the pressure on bakugou had to be just as bad, you thought to yourself. you missed the spikey haired blonde boy with all your heart. you missed his loving affection and care he would give you. that affection was what you were wishing for at the current moment. to be in his arms and just held until you both fell asleep.

a small ding from your phone brought you back to the world, interrupting your thoughts. you turned to the bedside table clicking on your phone to the lock screen. your lock screen happened to be a photo of you and bakugou cuddling in your favorite soft white blanket. you slid the picture to the left, opening the message sent by bakugou.

it was a short “i love you <3” and “have a good day gorgeous!” as per every morning. a smile met your lips as you stared at the message. bakugou sending small cute messages to you made your heart flutter. it made you love being bakugou’s chosen significant other. you were glad that despite being away from him, he still reminded you of his love for you.

you decided to pop in some earbuds and play your favorite spotify playlist as you stared at the rain tapping your window. it was the little moments when you missed your bakugou the most. you missed his gravelly voice, his snarky remarks, and his small smiles he would always shoot in your direction.

you went to your home page before reluctantly tapping the gallery app on your cell phone. you tapped on the first image of bakugou running toward you with a popsicle. it had just turned autumn and you wanted to share one last taste of summer with the boy you had fallen for. the popsicle was cherry, you remembered. bakugou had shoved your popsicle in your face causing a small puddle of red to be on your cheek. he had pointed out the small mess before licking it off your cheek himself.

when you thought about it, the moment had still made you blush. you felt the blood rise up across your face all over again like it had the moment it happened, drinking it in. you covered your face with the palm of your hand to hide your blush despite being alone and let out a little lovesick breath. you took a moment to calm down.

finally, the image of the boy’s tongue on your face faded away and you felt ready to look at the next memory. taking your palm away from your face, you swiped right to the next image. it was a sleepy bakugou shooing you away. you found this image extremely hilarious as he had fallen asleep on your bed and you kept poking him to the point he was basically pushing you away. you giggled slightly before your frown returned.

you were once again filled with emptiness ironically. you felt hot tears drizzle down your face. the tears pooled at the bottom of your chin, no longer hot tears but a subtle cold. your tear hitting the phone screen alerted you to the fact you were crying. you turned off your phone not wanting to be more ludicrous and sad.

you thought it might be best to get more sleep as you didn’t have school this particular friday. you pulled out your usual white fluffy blanket and cocooned yourself turning up the music to drown out your thoughts. you closed your eyes feeling a wetness sweep into your pillow from your eyes. you didn’t mind though, all you really felt right now was cold. you huddled your body closer together hoping to retain more heat.

upon reawakening to your doorbell you checked the time on your phone. “8:30?” you mumbled hazily. you slipped out of bed looking into your full body mirror. your eyes were swollen from crying. you sighed, rubbing your eyes as a small attempt to counter the puffiness.

another ring at the doorbell. you mumbled some rather unpleasant words to yourself before heading to the apartment door. you peeped through the eye hole to see your partner himself.

what was he doing here? you thought he wouldn’t be back for another two days! he had told you before that he wouldn’t be able to make time to see you. what was going on?

you quickly stumbled to turn the door handle to welcome in your beloved. twisting quickly, the door swung open revealing the beautiful sight you’d ever seen in your lifetime. his spiky blonde hair sticking out as it pleased and his red eyes meeting your expectantly with a smile. he held a bag in his left hand and his other on the door frame, leaning into it.

his eyes immediately met yours and he stood straight, his smile fading into a frown on his face. he let himself in and made a beeline for the kitchen. the blonde immediately set his bags on the counter before turning to you and wrapping you into a firm embrace. “god dammit, y/n. i’m sorry”.

you just let out a confused noise, not fully understanding what there was to be sorry for. remembering your crying earlier snapped you back to it. he must have noticed the redness around your eyes. “no, no you're fine this is from earlier.” you stuttered out.

“earlier doesn’t make it better, you idiot.” bakugou’s embrace became tighter as he nuzzled his face into your neck. he gave you a few earnest kisses on your neck every couple seconds. you leaned into him, staying like that for a moment longer, making you immediately feel the warmth of his skin and with that his endearment.

bakugou quietly muttered an “i love you”, hugging you impossibly tighter. you quickly responded with a “no, i love you.” hesitantly, he loosened his grip and straightened up. you looked up to meet his gaze. grabbing you around the waist, he looked down at your face, reaching up with one hand to caress your cheek.

“hungry?” he asked, handing you a hot box that you assumed was filled with dinner.

“what is it?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“open it you moron.” was a reasonable response from bakugou.

rolling your eyes, you grabbed two forks from your drawer, and walked with your food and the forks to your room, bakugou following close behind. you scurried over to your bed carefully to not drop your food. you opened the box and let out a squeal of joy when you found your favorite takeout food.

you patted the space next to you as bakugou ran over basically belly-flopping on the bed. “hey! my food! you’re gonna spill it!” you lifted your food as an attempt for it not to all go over on your bed.

after a brief scolding you clicked on the tv to a random netflix show. you both sat and watched the show, bakugou occasionally grabbing a few bits of your food with his fingers when you didn’t think you’d notice- you did. you both just spent the night cuddling, watching, and telling each other sweet nothings.

you packed your food away, having some leftovers for tomorrow. after your meal, you and bakugou decided to cuddle and talk about whatever came to your mind.

after a while of cuddling, you start to feel your eyes become heavy, the conversation becoming just short responses or just humming a yes or no.

suddenly, you felt a hand take your chin and lift your face up to meet a pair of lips on your own. you kissed him back with a familiar hot feeling rushing through your cheeks. bakugou brushed a strand of hair out of your face pulling away, “you know you're the perfect idiot right?”. you nodded frantically before bringing his face up to yours, a classic table turn you thought. this resulted in bakugou bringing your body closer before pulling away. the two of you just cuddled until the all powerful force of sleep took over.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

taglist: [none yet]

#bakugou #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #mha #bakugou x y/n #gasoline rain #julia-moron

41 notes · View notes

tanyawritesstories · 4 years ago

Text

Bad Enough | Commander Fox x Reader

This sassy fucker needed a rival. A hot rival who he can't stand, but he also wants writhing underneath him. 😉

Word count: 3,530

Warnings: NSFW, smut, hate sex, arguing, dirty talk, choking, Fox is a smug bitch, brat taming?

•••

The people of Coruscant were safe, until the war started. Your job had been safe too until the Coruscant Guard was created. Now your security force was at risk of being disbanded. It was all because of him, Commander Fox.

The Commander in charge of the Coruscant Guard and your number one enemy. You weren't fond of the idea of another protective force on Coruscant when yours was perfectly fine. Your police force was made of hardworking Coruscanti citizens of numerous different species and gender orientations, all who were devoted to their job. You were willing to work with the new Guard in the beginning, that was before Commander Fox destroyed all hope of that. Dismissing your offers to work together and disregarding the existence of your police force. You despised him and he despised you. The feeling was mutual. You actually got along with his men rather well, greeting them whenever you'd see them out patrolling, and they were always nice to you back. But their leader made your blood boil. Thank the maker your offices were in different buildings, though said buildings weren't as far apart as you would like.

You both worked directly with the Chancellor and he trusted you both, calling upon each of your forces equally. Although you hated when he called you both into his office to discuss the state of the planet's inhabitants. Which is exactly the predicament you found yourself in now. Standing a few feet away from your rival in front of the Chancellor's desk. You stood as tall and straight as you could with your hands behind your back, expression stern but compliant. You were glad Fox had his helmet on as he stood not far from you.

The thing that made your relationship with Fox worse was that, under the obnoxious red and white helmet, was a very attractive man. You would never admit that though, sometimes you were mad at your own mind for letting those thoughts occupy your brain. You were just thankful when he wore his helmet and you hoped he didn’t know the effect he had on you. Other than to make you fume, that is.

“I had hoped you would both join together in bringing this citizen to justice, he is becoming a danger to the people,” the Chancellor informed. “He has been seen going between each of your separate sectors. I believe the best way to catch him would be to join forces on this assignment.”

That was the last thing you wanted to hear.

“My men will get right on it,” Fox said. You weren’t going to be outdone. “My force will have him in prison by tonight,” you assured. You could see Fox turn to look at you out of the corner of your eye. “He was last seen in my sector,” Fox said, keeping his voice level. You turned your head, looking into the black line that was his vision. “So?” You said flatly, “Doesn’t mean I cannot step foot there. Besides, I’ve dealt with this suspect before, I know all his moves. It’ll be easy for me.” Fox clenched his fists, getting angry. “My men can adapt to any situation and they’re faster, we’re far more efficient,” the frustration was clearly evident in his voice now. “Efficient at what exactly?” You snapped, crossing your arms and facing him completely. “Actually completing our assigned missions,” he hissed.

“I’m sure you can work out something, as long as it results in this man being put in a cell,” the chancellor interrupted, “you’re both dismissed.” You and Fox continued to glare at each other until you decided to leave first.

That was the issue of that week, the next was a dispute over who would escort the Chancellor to Naboo, after that it was a fiasco over the infiltration of a shady club run by wanted criminals, then it was the investigation of several robberies in the upper levels, during which you nearly socked Fox right in the face if you hadn’t have been interrupted. Currently, it was a tug of war over a new sector of the lower levels that needed patrolling. The chancellor had sent messages to both you and Fox telling you both to discuss it together, you had a feeling the Chancellor was trying to get you and Fox to get along, it was never going to happen. You immediately moved your officers into the new sector before Fox could do anything about it.

You were sat at your desk looking through files and finishing reports when there was a knock at your door. “Come in.” The door slid open to reveal your only favorite high ranking clone in the entire Guard. “Thire! Good to see you,” you got up from your desk and met him on the other side of it. “Good to see you too, Y/N,” he greeted with a half smile. “What brings you here?” You asked. “Fox wants to speak to you, he asked me to come along.”

You weren’t surprised, but you were annoyed that Fox went as far as to bring Thire with him, knowing you liked the Lieutenant and were more likely to cooperate with him. If that’s what Fox thought, he had another thing coming.

“I’ll speak to him, bring him in,” you said. Thire pressed his comm, “she’ll talk to you, Commander. You can come in.” The door opened again and Fox stepped in only far enough for the door to close behind him. Unfortunately for you he had his helmet off and tucked under one arm. You looked him up and down for a second, why did he have to be so hot! It wasn’t fair, to your womanhood or your reputation.

You were almost mad at the fact that you had had several wet dreams involving the Guard Commander. If he didn’t infuriate you so much you might be tempted to act on it.

“I think I can talk to the Commander alone, Thire. Thank you,” you said. You could see Fox watching your interaction from your peripheral vision. You kissed Thire on the cheek, “Would you mind waiting outside, Thire?” You asked sweetly. The stunned Lieutenant flushed red and subconsciously lifted his hand to where you kissed his cheek. You could see Fox, his face twisted into an angry grimace. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll uh, I’ll do that,” he stuttered making his way out of the office. Your nice demeanor fell as soon as the door closed.

“What do you want?” You snapped, going to sit back down at your desk. “I want to know why you moved your men into my sector,” he hissed, standing on the other side of your desk. You laughed out loud, “Yours? I recalled the Chancellor’s message mentioning my name in there too,” you turned your attention to your datapad. “I tend to skip over anything with your name in it,” he said. “That would explain it, you missed the important parts then,” you said flatly.

Fox slammed his hand flat on your desk, causing you to look up. “Get your men out of my sector,” he growled, leaning on your desk. Why did he have to growl like that, it wasn’t helping your secret situation. You stood up and leaned forwards on your desk, your face uncomfortably close to his. At your angle you had unknowingly put Fox in the perfect spot to see down your already low cut shirt. He stared at your cleavage for a few seconds before looking back to your face. “I suggest you deal with it, and get out before I find a reason to throw you in prison,” you said sharply. Fox shoved himself off your desk and walked to the door. “This isn’t over, you’ll regret crossing me,” he seethed, putting his helmet on. “Out!” You yelled. You could hear him huff before he exited your office.

A few days later some of your officers informed you that they had been told that your new sector was being taken over by the Coruscant Guard. They had been told that it was issued by the Chancellor but you knew that wasn’t true, the Chancellor would have told you as he usually did. You knew this was Fox just doing it to get back at you. You expected him to do something to get back at you but not something this drastic. The fact that he lied to your men, saying that it was the Chancellor’s orders, was what made you furious. You were thoroughly pissed and decided to confront Fox right then and there while you had enough anger fueled confidence to do so.

He was sitting at his desk looking through his datapad when you burst into his office without warning. “What the kriff is wrong with you?” You snarled, standing in front of his desk with your hands on your hips. He glanced up at you, not looking the slightest bit agitated. “What do you mean?” He asked, returning his attention back to his reports. “You know damn well what I mean, you took over my sector and lied to my men to get what you wanted! All because you wanted to get back at me,” you nearly shouted. He still paid you no mind and kept his eyes on his datapad. “I did warn you,” he stated. “I’m talking to you, can you at least acknowledge that?” You were tired of his disregarding you and wanted his attention so he would know you were serious. “I don’t usually acknowledge minor issues,” he said darkly.

That was it. You clenched your hand into a fist and hit his helmet with as much force as you could. It launched off his desk and hit the wall with a loud bang, that got his attention. He glared at you setting his datapad down, no doubt about to lay into you. “Now, fucking listen to me," you fumed, "I’ve had it with your shit and if you don’t move your troopers out of my area, I’ll go to the Chancellor, and if he doesn’t do anything I’ll go to-”

“You need an attitude adjustment,” Fox cut in, standing up. You were taken aback, “What?” “You need to watch your attitude,” he said again. “Oh, I need to?” “You need to be put in your place, cyare,” Fox said, his voice low. You didn’t know what that word meant but you knew his low tone of voice was making your insides stir deliciously, you tried to ignore it and form a sharp response.

“I bet you’ve never been bossed around before, have you? You’re a spoiled little brat,” Fox voiced. “What did you just call me?” You hissed. “You are, you’re a little brat,” he teased, “a brat who needs the attitude fucked out of her.”

Your tough exterior fell, was there a way he knew about the sexually charged feelings you had for him? You sighed softly, looking at the floor, desperately trying to regain your confidence after being called out. You heard footsteps and saw his boots in front of you. He took your chin in his thumb and forefinger and tilted your head up to look at him.

“You haven’t been fucked good in a long time, huh?” He said smugly. You swatted his hand away from your face. “None of your business,” you snapped, looking away. How did he know all this! “I’m right, aren’t I? I can’t be the only one who feels the sexual tension between us,” he moved closer to you. You were searching like mad for a thread of confidence or stoicism, but you weren’t finding any.

“I hate you,” was all you could muster. “And I hate you,” he responded, “I hate the way I can’t stop thinking about you, I hate how hard you make me all the time, I hate that you’re the only thing I jerk off to, I hate the powerful urge I have to bend you over my desk and fuck you till you’re screaming my name.”

Your breathing sped up with his every word, you had no idea he felt the same way you did. But you couldn’t fall to that level you just couldn’t, you hated him after all, or at least you thought you did. You slapped Fox across the face, trying to keep a shred of sanity when the object of your wet dreams was confessing he wanted you as bad as you wanted him. The look he gave you after was almost scary and you knew immediately that you were in trouble.

“Alright,” was all he said before he brought your lips to his in a bruising kiss. You were stunned out of your mind but kissed back, Fox put a strong hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place. You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed, trying to get him off you, which you weren’t sure you wanted, as you continued to kiss him back. If you weren’t wet before you certainly were now. You could feel your thighs getting sticky, shocks of pleasure going straight to your core from everywhere in your body, your mind screaming no and your cunt screaming yes.

Fox grabbed your resisting hands and slammed you into the wall, pinning your hands above your head and shoving an armored thigh between your legs. You whimpered at the friction on your heat, instinctively beginning to grind against it. He released your lips and stared at you, his dark orbs clouded with lust and frustration, a deadly attractive combination.

“Seems you don’t know what you want, little dove,” he observed, “your mind is telling you no but your sex is telling you yes, isn’t it?” You nodded frantically. Fox moved his thigh away from your legs and you whined. “You gotta tell me what you want, dove. Do you want me to pound that sweet little pussy of yours or do you want me to let you go?”

The small part of your brain that still held sanity was glad he was asking you what you wanted, but you only wanted one thing right now.

You nodded, not wanting to verbally admit that you wanted him, though with the friction on your womanhood gone you were more willing. “You gotta tell me out loud, dove,” Fox said, running his thumb over your bottom lip, his other hand firmly keeping both of yours secured. “I want you,” you said softly. “Say what I said, dove. I need you to be louder, what do you want me to do to you?”

You rolled your eyes, mind finally submitting to him. “Please ruin my pussy, Fox. I need it so badly,” you moaned out. He smirked devilishly, “that’s what I thought.”

He skillfully used one hand to yank your trousers and panties down to your knees, you kicked them off the rest of the way. You suddenly felt very vulnerable in front of the Commander, your legs closing a little. "Now you’re acting all shy, what happened to the loud mouthed little brat I was dealing with earlier?” He mocked. Fox ran his fingers teasingly over your inner thigh and that got you frustrated again. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around Fox’s waist, pulling him flush against you, making him grunt in surprise. The cold, hard material of his armor collided with your wet, warm folds, sending a pleasant sensation through your body.

“How ‘bout you just fuck me already,” you hissed with a challenging smirk. Fox’s expression turned serious again, “There she is.” He took his unoccupied hand and put his middle finger in his mouth, pulling off the glove in one fluid motion. It was one of the sexiest things you had ever seen. He stuck two fingers in your mouth and you greedily sucked on them. Fox watched you intently as you coated his fingers in saliva, audibly sighing when he pulled them out of your mouth. A string of saliva connected his fingers and your mouth, breaking and falling onto your chin and lips when he pulled his fingers far enough away. Your eyes glazed over with hunger and impatience, practically begging him to show you no mercy.

He crushed his lips with yours again, the sloppy clashing of lips and tongue as you both fought for dominance over each other’s mouths. Fox won when he brought his soaked fingers to your core, causing you to moan in his mouth. Electric like shocks going through your stomach as he rubbed your clit tortuously slow, teasing you again. He broke away from your lips and started kissing and sucking on your neck.

“Can you hurry up and get on with it, I have other things I could be doing,” you huffed impatiently. Fox bit onto your skin upon hearing your remark. “Fucking brat,” he seethed, sucking another dark mark into your neck, “you’re a pain in the ass.” You giggled, “ooh, the good kind or bad kind of pain?” You sassed. He growled and thrusted his two teasing fingers knuckle deep into your throbbing pussy. The noise you made was somewhere between a moan and a gasp in pain. He drew back from your neck, prying your legs from his waist and finally releasing your hands only to bring his now free hand to wrap around your neck in a firm hold.

He took a step back to look at you better, “You’re really asking for it with that attitude, aren’t you?” You smirked smugly, your confidence returning finally. “Hard and fast, baby,” you replied with a wink. Fox used his hand to undo the fasteners on his codpiece, maneuvering it until it fell to the floor. “You need help with the rest?” You offered. “Nope,” he answered quickly, stepping in close to you again, “because that’s all that’s coming off, dove.” You gasped, chest rising and falling slowly, turned on even more by the idea of him fucking you in his armor.

He removed his other glove and pulled his blacks down enough to free his hard and aching cock, red, swollen, and leaking precum. You stared unashamedly at his length as it rested on your stomach. He was big, not only long but thick. You reached to touch him but he batted your hand away, hoisting you into his arms and pushing you harder into the wall to make sure you wouldn’t slip. You wrapped your legs around his hips and hung onto his armored shoulders. Fox lined himself up and pushed into you surprisingly slow, a guttural groan emitting from him. You hissed in pain at the stretch until he slid all the way in, moaning out when he nestled deep inside of you. Your breathing was accelerated and your whole body was on fire with pleasure. Fox laid his head on your shoulder trying to ground himself and gain his composure.

“Kriff you’re tight, stars,” he breathed, “feel s’good around me.” You were so dazed with euphoria that you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded. “Fox,” you moaned, “please move, please!” He grasped your hip with one hand and placed the other on the back of your neck, pulling you into another heated kiss. He began thrusting, shallowly at first, gaining momentum, going slow but hard. He was teasing again.

"Fox, I swear, if you don't-"

"If I don't what, dove? You want me to go faster, want me to fuck you so hard you can barely walk tomorrow? Hmm?"

"Yes, yes please, Fox please," you whined. You wormed your fingers into his short hair, dragging your nails over his scalp. He growled and picked up his pace, slamming into you. The only thing your mind could process was how much pleasure was coursing through you. You chanted Fox's name like a plea, your moans and cries mixing with his grunts and growls.

You could feel yourself getting close to the edge, your walls contracting against his cock. "I know you're close, dove. Can feel you squeezing me-fuck, you gonna cum around my cock?" He groaned out. You were able to moan out a yes just before he hit that secret spot inside you.

"Fox!" You screamed, "oh Fox, I'm gonna cum!" He took one hand and moved it down to massage your clit, "where do you want me to cum, dove?" "Inside me, Fox. Please," you begged. He groaned, "maker, you're such a dirty little thing." He continued to work your clit with his thumb and then stuck his index finger inside, stroking your upper walls. The extra stretch was all it took. You came hard, clenching down on Fox, white hot pleasure shooting through you. Fox thrusted a few more times before spilling his seed deep within you, moaning at how hard you were clamping down on him, milking him for everything he had.

He made sure not to drop you as you both stilled and waited for your breathing and heart rate to even out. Fox stayed seated within you, he kissed you on the jaw and brought his eyes to yours.

"Do you still hate me?" He asked.

"Ask me again after round two," you replied.

#star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #commander fox #commander fox x reader

117 notes · View notes

philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Son cœur

Fandom: The Case Study of Vanitas (by Mochizuki Jun)

Pairing: Noé/Vanitas

Tags: #alternate chapter 16, #implied/referenced child abuse, #implied/referenced rape/non-con, #tragic past, #vanitas has like a bijillion problems, #and noé is one of them, #angst and feels, #blood drinking, #spoilers 4th manga

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Captured by the Chasseurs, Vanitas and Noé have to find a way out that hopefully doesn't end with Noé's head off and Vanitas's friend account of 1 being reduced by 1.

Son cœur

It was only fair to say everything was Noé’s fault.

As much as Vanitas felt content with a useful shield like him, he felt incredible irritation more than anything else, and too close to burst at the seams with searing anger. Infiltrating the place of the Chasseurs had been way too easy. Lying came as natural to Vanitas as breathing, even though he sort of wondered about the spontaneity regarding the names he came up with. Gilbert and Vincent … well, worse names existed.

In the end, Vanitas should have known. They had survived the Bal Masqué after all and even then Vanitas had been a first row spectator to the inimitable piece of art Noé Archiviste was. Noé didn’t just overthrow his principles and injure people or act ruthless. He’d rather let them crucify him if his sacrifice meant everyone's benediction, and now this very naiveté and lack of cold-heartedness caused their imprisonment.

For someone drinking as much blood as Noé undoubtedly had over the span of his life, his soul was surprisingly clean—much the opposite of Vanitas’, who imagined a black, rotting canvas with deformed moths eating black holes into its fabric sitting in a dark corner hidden from the world’s greedy eyes.

No better time for proof would occur again than this moment: Because Noé had refused to use Maria as a hostage, they had been captured and were now sitting in a bunker, surrounded by thick metal and no escape but the firmly sealed door opposite from Vanitas, waiting for their death.

In moments like these Vanitas felt a suffocating hate towards Noé; this loathing clawed as a slithering, black ruin at his chest and tried to gutter him like a pumpkin; a monster searching for a way outside to set the world in flames, burning down towns and villages, perpetrators and victims alike. This thing and Vanitas were acquainted since a long time, it always felt like a reunion with an old friend rather than the surprise of a stranger standing in front of his door. And yet, what could he do?

Physically, Vanitas was no match for Noé. Sure, he had the Book of Vanitas, but what would it use him to look for Noé’s true name and turn him into a Curse-Bearer. Both options would end in Vanitas experiencing a lot of pain he’d rather gladly pass on, so he pushed those thoughts far away and returned staring at Noé as if mere observating and a steely resolve were enough to solve why Noé acted the way he did. If there was one thing Vanitas hated more than the Vampire of the Blue Moon and questions about himself, it was questions about others he couldn’t simply answer with his observation skills only. And out of everyone, Noé ended up to be the best example.

“Mon dieu, could you please stop jumping around and sit for a moment?” Vanitas demanded; his very first words since their imprisonment, because he’d been sure the first thing to come out of his mouth were obscene insults. Noé threw him a quick glance over his shoulder, his red eyes a dim glimmer in the barely lighted room.

“If I sit, I can’t get us out of here,” Noé simply replied, then punched the metal wall again. The loud bang echoed through their cell. Somewhere at the back of Vanitas’ head a dull throbbing found its home and refused to leave.

“So far, you are doing a miserable job in trying to free us, Noé,” Vanitas remarked with a bored expression, ignoring how smooth and easy Noé’s name usually slid over his lips, but now felt like a thick layer on his tongue trying to suffocate him. Vanitas draped himself on the ground to stretch his long legs, propping his chin on a hand. He closed his eyes and counted to ten to get a hold of himself and come up with a better plan, but only managed to reach three when another bang vibrated through his body, the dull throbbing wandering to his temples.

“Noé,” he repeated, this time sharper. “Stop it. You’re wasting energy. Save it until the Chasseurs return. Until then, there is no way for us to escape.” Vanitas knew sometimes admitting defeat bore more results than clawing at impenetrable walls and ripping your fingers bloody in the process.

“What are you talking about?” Noé’s voice rang out to Vanitas, clear as a bell despite his smooth and deep voice. Vanitas looked up. “There is always a way.”

Without an immediate response, Vanitas couldn’t do anything but stare for a moment, taken aback because this was surely the third time or so Noé was able to struck Vanitas speechless. And Vanitas, usually so sure and knowing about the turmoil of his emotions (or lack thereof at times), was left with feelings he couldn’t quite place or decipher, and he wished for nothing else but to rip himself open and dissect every bit until he knew what foul play was at hand.

The audacity of Noé holding that power without even realizing was quite infuriating.

“Oh?” Vanitas didn’t even try to hide the mock in his voice. “Then please, be my guest and show me the way out.” Noé didn’t move (what else did Vanitas expect) but a familiar crease found its way between Noé’s pale eyebrows, signalling the boy’s brain at work.

“Don’t overdo yourself using that pretty head of yours,” Vanitas offered with a crooked grin, but either Noé didn’t hear him or ignored the statement (both was fine because Vanitas couldn’t explain why he felt obliged to add the unnecessary last part) because he turned away, sinking down until he was hovering above the spot on the wall where his fist had left a dent. Vanitas stared at his back, his broad shoulders, the tips of his white hair curling at the base of his neck and thought, Do not turn away from me, Noé, and then with the same breath It is better you do not look at me with those eyes begging for allowance to save me. Vanitas closed his eyes, the soft lines of Noé’s shoulder blades against the dark fabric of his jacket still on his mind.

“There is a way,” Noé repeated, and when Vanitas opened his eyes again, he met Noé’s watching him. “But you won’t like it.”

“I won’t like it,” Vanitas repeated, turning Noé’s words a little, claiming them his own. Vanitas dropped his head from his hand, lowering it until the cool, smooth stone touched his forehead, and turned to his side so he was able to look better at Noé. “What exactly won’t I like about it, pray tell, Noé.” He really should stop saying Noé’s name so much.

“I can break through this wall, but I need more strength,” Noé replied, straight to the case, (though sometimes Vanitas questioned the straight because he sure never missed how Noé’s eyes seemed to follow him a second longer than necessary; linger a little longer on the curve of his neck, the bow of his ankles and wrists, the arch of his calves). “And you can give me exactly what I need, Vanitas.”

“And I can give you exactly what you need, Noé.” He really couldn’t stop saying Noé’s name so much. But that aside, Vanitas didn’t stop the bark of laughter exploding from his lips like a gunshot— a humourless and harsh sound caught between them in their steely cage. “Isn’t this convenient? We’re trapped and the only way to get out is by you drinking my blood!”

“This isn’t convenient,” Noé objected, looking everywhere but at Vanitas. “I know you don’t want me to do it.”

“‘Don’t want to,’" Vanitas said, "seems like the understatement of this century considering I said I will kill you should you ever drink my blood, Archiviste.” He noticed the small flinch in Noé’s shoulders, the glimpse of recognition in Noé’s eyes. The memory of their talk was so visible in Noé’s expression Vanitas expected to see blood all over him with how Noé wore his heart bluntly exposed on his sleeves.

“You can do that after I get you out,” Noé said slowly. “It beats being killed by those vampire hunters.”

Now, that was something interesting. In his line of job, Vanitas always paid attention to what people said and how they said it. So much meaning was left hanging in the air, so much ammunition to benefit from. And this one clearly said one thing. I don’t mind dying if it’s you killing me.

Vanitas gifted Noé with one of his razor sharp smiles. “Oh, the things you say. Maybe I should really cut your head off once you get us out of here. I’m sure Roland will gladly lend me Durandal.”

Surprisingly, Noé didn’t flinch. He probably already knew that for all the foul things Vanitas’ mouth spouted he only turned a few of them into action. And yet, Vanitas felt the familiar itch in his fingers demanding to see blood spilled at the atrocity they were to commit, and the only way of making it bearable was to mock the situation— an ability Vanitas was unrivalled at.

He tapped a gloved index finger against his chin, not bothering to change his current position on the dirty ground. “Maybe I’ll let you if you ask nicely.”

Noé waited a moment for Vanitas to follow with a more serious statement (clearly overestimating him), but when Vanitas remained silent, save for the mysterious little smile on his thin lips, Noé grew exasperated. “This isn’t a game, Vanitas,” he said.

“Of course it isn’t.” Vanitas shrugged, playfully twirling a black strand of hair around his finger. "Doesn’t mean I don’t want to get something out of this and hear you beg for it.”

Noé possessed enough dignity to roll his eyes at that. “Please let me drink your blood, Vanitas,” he said with a blank expression.

Vanitas winked at him. “How about you invite me to dine first?”

Noé groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Never mind. I should have known you would only make light of the matter.”

“Because you know me oh so well, don’t you?” Vanitas inquired, not even trying to contain the venom dripping from his voice. Noé peeked at him from behind his long, slender fingers. He reminded Vanitas of a pet scolded by its owner and left to fend for itself.

When Noé didn’t show any sign of commitment to his proposal, Vanitas grew impatient.

“Noé,” Vanitas said. “Come here.”

He didn’t move, so Vanitas repeated, “Noé.”

Finally, he got up. His movement was careful but determined, and Vanitas wondered about the things Noé was actually afraid of and how his walk would change should he face it. He really ought to ask him about this Louis some day. It was impossible for this name to lack any significance with how often Noé claimed it in his sleep, body flinching and fingers clawing into the sheets in desperate search for hold.

When Noé finally stood in front of him, Vanitas lazily lifted a hand like a fair maiden waiting for her lover to take the delicate hand and cover it with soft, feathery kisses. Only once Noé’s fingers grazed Vanitas’, he curled them around Noé’s hand (only now Vanitas noticed Noé’s knuckles bleeding from hitting the wall) and pulled him down. It wasn’t enough for Noé to lose his balance; it seemed more like he allowed Vanitas to pull him down which struck a nerve inside Vanitas and added more fuel to his annoyance regarding this whole situation.

He propped himself on his elbows, cocking his head to the side and presenting his bare neck to Noé like a sacrificial lamb displayed for Gods to rip apart.

“Very well,” he said quietly, looking up at Noé from under his thick curtains of black lashes. “Let us begin then.”

Noé, much like a dog finally allowed to act with its master’s consent, leaned over Vanitas; a hand on his chest as Vanitas’ fingers danced over the black fabric of Noé’s uniform. The little sound escaping Noé’s lips when Vanitas flipped him over and straddled his lap was a small treasure Vanitas would wrap up and hide somewhere deep in his chest to unfold later to study.

“Do you really think I’d make it that easy for you?” Vanitas snorted, leaving the how stupid unsaid, but definitely palpable between them. He lifted his left hand and pulled the glove off with his teeth.

“There are two conditions,” Vanitas said as his glove fell off, and he fought against the shudder dancing over his arm and taking over his whole body, telling (but not able to fool) himself it was from the cold in the cell rather than feeling exposed and naked without his glove. Noé nodded, and Vanitas raised one finger. “After you have drunk, you will say nothing.” Noé nodded again, so Vanitas raised the second. “After we get out of here, you will say nothing and should you ever try and so much as hint at talking about it, I will kill you.”

Noé refused to look away, and Vanitas refused to yield to this want of stripping bare to his inner core in front of those piercing red eyes. Should Noé ever get a good look at what lurked beneath Vanitas’ smooth, alabaster white skin, he'd only find worms and cockroaches scurrying around spoiled, rotten soil Gaia herself wouldn’t even weep for.

“Tell me you understood what I just said,” Vanitas demanded, hovering over Noé’s face.

Noé exhaled slowly, the tip of his tongue darting over his lower lip. Vanitas wanted to punch him.

“I won’t talk about it,” he said, and because he was Noé of course he had to add, “Not until it is of your own accord.”

This time, Vanitas’ face lacked his usual malicious glee. Through half-lidded eyes, he considered Noé what felt like painfully slow passing minutes, though it were only a few seconds later when he said, “It won’t and you better be careful of expecting it if you value your life.”

Noé swallowed, but Vanitas couldn’t tell if it was because of his deadly promise or the hunger just before anticipating a meal, and in the end he didn’t really care.

“Well then.” Vanitas offered Noé his left bare arm. “Bon appétit.”

To his credit, Noé didn’t immediately go down on him (though Vanitas caught glimpses of wishes in his mind of Noé going down on him) and first took careful hold of Vanitas’ bony wrist as if he was allowed to carry the world’s most precious treasure between his fingers (which was just really unnecessary because Noé should know that for someone with slim wrists Vanitas was surprisingly strong). He pushed a thumb against the inside of Vanitas’ wrist and Vanitas dared ihm with his blank expression to comment on the stumble of his heartbeat before it returned to its natural rhythm, but Noé wasn’t even looking at him, focusing way too much on simply feeling Vanitas’ pulse for a moment, and surprisingly Vanitas felt himself grow impatient. He didn’t know slow or careful or soft, only hard and painful and too fast for him to accommodate to the pain, the fears, the hopelessness.

“Noé, I swear to God, if we don’t get this ov—“ The pain of teeth breaking his skin shouldn’t be that much of a foreign feeling to Vanitas, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from flinching, or gritting his teeth, or subconsciously leaning his upper body away from this vampire; no from Noé drinking blood from his wrist. But it was only the very first seconds that were uncomfortable, then the substance from Noé’s teeth lessening the pain numbed Vanitas’ skin and he closed his eyes, unable to (and he didn’t want to, really) fight against the poison now pumping through his body begging him to let himself relax and just become an animal’s meal; to surrender, and maybe if it was Noé, it would be fine.

Vanitas snickered to himself, swearing to drive his own fingers into his eyes should he continue to think ridiculous things like that. “What would Dominique think looking at you now, clinging to a filthy human, hm?” Vanitas leaned forward again, over the slightly hunched figure of Noé still drinking and sucking and licking, and he wondered which of the countless tragic pages composing Vanitas’ short, miserable life Noé flipped through right now. Did he see Vanitas’ young, small figure standing in front of his dead parents, blood all over the place but not where it was supposed to be— in his mother’s body, and in his father’s body and how could one simple man even carry so much blood inside of him—and little Vanitas not understanding what had happened. Or maybe he saw Vanitas’ early times starting as an experiment of Doctor Moreau, this time being the one bleeding all over the research table, just before Moreau started to see Vanitas in his room, undressing and examining him which he’d usually conducted at nights before starting to do so midday as well (it would certainly be entertaining to see Noé’s reaction should they manage to find the mad scientist). Maybe Noé was currently chasing Vanitas fleeing from the Vampire of the Blue Moon, the dark grimoire clutched tightly to his chest like a life line with a horrified expression Noé surely couldn’t even dream of Vanitas possessing, listening to his repeating “I abandoned him, I abandoned him, he is dead, please God forgive me” over and over again—his first and last prayer to God. “What would she think indeed, mon cheri,” Vanitas whispered. Something warm fell on his skin, and he didn’t need to see to know, because what else did he expect from someone like Noé.

“My, my.” Vanitas couldn’t help but laugh quietly, wondering if Noé in his frenzy heard the surrender in this fragile sound. He placed his free, still gloved hand on Noé’s head and combed with this fingers through Noé’s hair, patting at it and smoothing it back into straight lines falling in front of his face. “You are such a crybaby. I am quite certain de Béranger wrote his music with people like you in his mind.” Son cœur est un luth suspendu; Sitot qu’on le touche il resonne. His heart is a posed lute; as soon as it is touched, it resounds.

Just how could Noé still bring up the energy to care. His heart was open. Never closed, never locked. It needed no key, and Vanitas felt quite displeased with how easy Noé welcomed strangers to his heart.

Finally, Noé released Vanitas’ wrist, but he remained seated, his head hanging low, so Vanitas had to dip his own in search for scarlet red eyes; lacking any interest in tending his wound crying blood all over his arm and jacket. He curled his fingers around Noé’s wet cheeks and lifted his head, trying to ignore the curtain of tears in those pretty ruby mirrors, but it was hard because mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

“Now, I hope you better have learned something from this,” Vanitas said, dragging his left thumb across the corner of Noé’s lips where his blood hung still fresh, but oh so scandalously fitting against Noé’s dark skin that it was truly a piece of art. He pushed his thumb against Noé’s lips, painting them red. “Do never ask me of this again. Even in the depths of hell with you drinking my blood as our only way of salvation, do not ask me of this, Noé,” Vanitas whispered against Noé’s lips in what he clearly saw a cruel mockery and threat, when really Vanitas would rather remain with Noé in hell until the world succumbed to its own rotten core, side by side— which was ridiculous and stupid, because people like Noé didn’t end up in hell like Vanitas. They remained eternal because Gods sacrificed their immortality in show of devotion, and Vanitas would be a hypocrite to accuse them of idiocy.

But what had the Gods given to him? They’d made him a walking disaster, consisting of the lethal combination of an urge for self destruction and a preference for collateral damage, and the only thing Vanitas himself thought about this was, Then so be it, because if I cannot reach heaven, I will raise hell.

True to his word, Noé didn’t say anything.

In fact, he didn’t speak at all after tearing down the wall of their cell with one single punch and gaining Roland’s help in locating Doctor Moraeu, but just one look into his eyes was enough for Vanitas to see what sort of storm caused havoc inside him and uprooted the foundation of Noé’s innocence and benevolent beliefs, and he thought mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Gardez vos dons : je suis peureux. Mais si d’un zèle généreux Pour moi le monde vous soupçonne, Sachez bien qui vous a vendu : Mon cœur est un luth suspendu, Sitôt qu’on le touche, il résonne.

[Pierre-Jean de Béranger]

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vannoe #vanitas #noe

22 notes · View notes

kieraswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Coffin Chapter Six

Masterpost

“Oh. I see. Yes. Allow me to call you back momentarily.” Logan set the phone down.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“It was Emile. He wanted to know if we could house Remy, if only for a short time. His house is likely to be caught in the sweep this evening.”

“Who are they?” Roman asked.

“We met with them while considering what we ought to do with Virgil.” Logan explained. “Remy is a vampire, and is… at the very least, he will resort to violence to protect Emile.”

“Why would we keep him here? There’s plenty of room in the warehouse.” Roman asked.

“Roman, I am well aware of your stance on the matter, but please try to consider that others have differing positions. Emile wishes us to keep Remy and release him afterwards. To protect and hide him from the sweep.”

Roman frowned. “Why would he…?” His voice trailed off. “He wants us to keep a vampire alive, and let it go afterward. To go against the goal we’ve been working towards for years, and to do it behind the backs of the other hunters.”

“Yes. That is what he has requested. Though I am not certain that he is aware of our participation in the sweep.”

“No. I’m not doing it. It’s not—it’s just not right, Logan!”

“I am not in a position to make a moral judgement on this either way. However, I will say that I am inclined to allow him to stay.”

“Why?!”

“Because in all that I’ve seen of him, he acted to protect someone. And it is that person asking us to help him.”

“I just don’t understand. Just because Virgil is good at acting suddenly you both go and get all soft on vampires.”

“Surely you don’t entirely agree with the sweep. You seemed just as distraught as Patton the other night.”

“I don’t like how it’s playing out, but I still think that it’s the right idea. How could you not? Vampires have been hurting and killing for hundreds, probably thousands of years! If they were just gone, we could stop all that.”

“There. That is the point on which we differ.”

“What? That vampires hurt people?”

“No. I agree with you that vampires have caused pain and death, but I do not believe that it will stop if they are killed. It could just as easily be argued in the exact same way from their side. Humans have hurt and killed vampires for just as long as vampires have.”

“But if there’s a war from us to them, and from them to us, and it’s the war causing the problems, wouldn’t it be better for it to be over?”

“I do believe that there would be less pain if people didn’t hurt one another, but attempting to wipe out an entire subsection of people is not a cessation of fighting. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“But they aren’t people!” Roman insisted. “As long as there are vampires around they’ll hurt us.”

“I would have been inclined to agree with that sentiment a month or two ago, but since then I’ve opened myself to the possibility of vampires retaining their humanity. And I have found that at least 60% of them retain some aspect of the person they were before, and at least 20% of those are only marginally changed by the turning.”

Roman frowned.

“I still do not know what is the determining factor in the change,” Logan continued. “And I admit that my own experiences are much of what I can draw upon to support this hypothesis. Despite this, I intend to continue to explore this possibility and to seek out more data and obtain other people’s views on this.”

“And what is it that first made you think that vampires count as people?” Roman asked.

“It was Virgil. I believe I have recounted the result of the second test I put him through?”

Roman nodded. “So he’s a good actor. I can be a good actor. And at that point he was still under the threat of being put back in the coffin. He’d have done anything.”

“He was not under any kind of direct threat. While I could have done so, I did not, and certainly did not inform him of any consequences to failing the test. Neither did I inform him that it was a test. I believe that his decision, while possibly influenced by fear of retaliation, was mainly for the purpose of not harming another person.”

“And what, not wanting to hurt someone makes him a person? He’s dead. Or was.”

“Your position that vampires are not people seems to hinge on the fact that they invariably hurt people, so it is reasonable that a desire, and action supporting that desire, in the opposite direction would indicate the opposite.”

Patton came downstairs, walking heavily, and his eyes were red with bags underneath.

“Dad wants me to come to his house, and he wants me to bring Virgil.” Patton poured himself a coffee, something he rarely drank.

“I can come with you,” Roman offered.

“I’d appreciate that.” Patton came and sat down with his coffee. He hadn’t put anything in it other than creamer, which was even more unusual.

“Emile called,” Logan said. “He’d like if Remy can stay here for tonight.”

Patton shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Logan looked at Roman.

Roman grimaced. “Fine. But I’m not having some random vampire wandering around and trying to kill us. He has to be in the cell, and muzzled at least. Cuffed would be even better.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll remain here, and deal with that, then.”

•^*^••

Patton felt awful. If his dad hadn’t called he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. The scene from a few nights ago kept replaying in his mind. Over and over. The blood, and… and the scream. And the worst part was that it was all his fault. If he just hadn’t gone…

Virgil was following him quietly. Because they were going to be in public, and especially since they were going to his dad’s house, Virgil had on the leather muzzle and his hands were cuffed. Patton could see that Virgil was on the line between nervous and scared, but what else was he supposed to do? His dad had been very specific. He wanted Virgil there.

And both Patton and Roman would be there in case anything went wrong.

Patton walked up to the house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. After a minute he called his dad.

“Hello?”

“Hi, dad. Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m in the barn. Sorry about that, Pat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

It was fine, until they neared the barn. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away Virgil suddenly stopped, and pulled away from Roman when he tried to pull him forward.

“What’s wrong?” Patton asked.

Virgil couldn’t talk with the muzzle on, but he shook his head. His eyes were panicked, and he kept trying to pull away from Roman.

“Oh, come on. I’ve been in there loads of times. We aren’t handing you over or anything.” Roman said, pulling at Virgil’s arm again.

Patton laid a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll keep you safe.”

As soon as he opened the door Patton regretted not listening to Virgil. The sound of heavily muffled crying filled the air, not loudly at all, but all the more appalling for it. Patton looked around. Stacked five and six high, all around the barn, were coffins. His dad was standing in front of a row of cells, and in several of them were vampires, mostly laying on the ground.

“Dad. What-?”

“Patton!” His dad’s voice was far too loud, too cheerful. “Finally!”

His dad came and took him by the arm, pulling him towards the cells. The vampires inside were covered in burns.

Patton fought to breathe. His vision was swimming, and his legs threatened to buckle with every step.

“W-what..? Dad… what are you doing?” His voice only barely escaped his rapidly closing throat, and trembled the whole way out.

“Are you alright? You sound sick.”

Patton was shaking. He knew his face had to be deathly pale. The crying seemed to get louder, until it was all he could hear.

“Here, sit down, Pat.” His dad’s voice was all concern, but somehow that made it sound worse.

Patton collapsed into the cheap foldable chair. Soon Roman was there, kneeling in front of him.

“—on. Pat, come on. Talk to me.”

Patton suddenly realized that Roman had been trying to get his attention, his dad also there, but standing awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do.

Patton wasn’t sure that he could talk. He set a hand on Roman’s arm, and Roman smiled in a tight sort of way.

“Why don’t we go back to the house,” his dad suggested.

Roman picked Patton up, and Patton didn’t even have the strength to protest at all. Virgil followed, keeping himself where Roman was between him and Patton’s dad. He was shaking worse than Patton was.

It took several minutes of sitting on the couch with a cup of cold water for Patton to come back to himself. Roman was sitting next to him, and his dad was sitting in his chair just across the room. He looked around for Virgil, and found that he was sitting on the floor near the couch, his head bowed where Patton couldn’t see his face past his hair.

“Are you feeling better now?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “A bit, yeah.”

“What happened?” His dad asked. “If you were sick you could have told me. I’d never have wanted you to come all the way out here sick.”

“No, I-I’m not sick. Not that I know of.”

“Perhaps you should get checked out,” his dad suggested. “You nearly passed out back there.”

Patton nodded, still rather dizzy-feeling. “What did— what did you need me for?”

“It can wait, I have time.”

“No, I’m already out here, I can just…” Patton trailed off, but he knew his dad would understand anyway.

“Well, when I came to your house the other day, I unlocked your basement, but your vampire, instead of trying to ambush me, or trying to escape, just zipped back into the cell. I wanted you to show me how you did it. I’ve been trying on my own, but it hasn’t worked yet, and you always had a way with training vampires—“

Patton leaned over the arm of the couch, and Virgil had to scramble back to avoid getting puked on.

“Patton!” His dad came and felt his head. “You aren’t hot… I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

Roman left, and came back with a towel and a large bowl. Patton accepted the bowl and held it in his lap. He felt bad that Roman was cleaning up his puke, but he didn’t trust his legs to hold him if he tried to stand up.

“I’m gonna take him.” Roman said.

Patton’s dad nodded. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Call me when you figure out what’s wrong.” He leaned down and cupped Patton’s face. “Get better, honey, don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Patton nodded weakly, still not sure that he wasn’t going to throw up again. “Can I take the bowl with me?”

“Of course. I don’t need it.”

Roman carefully picked Patton up again. He made Virgil take the front seat to that Patton could have the whole back row of the car.

They’d been driving for several minutes before Patton spoke. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“You just threw up! And nearly passed out! What else is that supposed to be?”

“It’s just— I knew my dad didn’t like vampires, but I—I never would have thought—“ his words got cut off in a choked sob, and tears began pouring down his face. “And—and he wanted me to—“

Roman pulled over into a little side road, and stopped in an empty parking lot. He got out and came around into the back with Patton.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Roman hugged Patton as best he could with the awkward positioning.

“No, it-it isn’t! M-my dad tortures p-people!” Patton’s sobbing only got worse.

Roman just hugged him. He murmured soft things that didn’t mean anything, and stroked a hand through his hair.

•^*^••

When they got home, heh, he was thinking of it as home. Roman didn’t bother to really do anything with Virgil. Just opened the basement door, let him through, and closed and locked it.

Virgil went down the stairs, and was surprised to see a different vampire in the other cell. He was wearing the bar muzzle, but his hands were free. He only briefly glanced at Virgil before continuing his attempt at picking the lock, despite the burns he was getting.

Virgil sat down on the couch. His shoulders ached slightly from his hands being cuffed behind his back so long, but it paled in comparison to the sounds still running through his brain.

He sat there, partially drowning in his own thoughts, and partially trying desperately to escape from them.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and movement in front of him. He jerked his head up, and saw the muzzle, laying on the ground, and a dent on the coffee table from where it had hit before bouncing off.

“Hey, know where the key is?” The other vampire asked.

Virgil shook his head.

The vampire sighed, and sat down on the mattress. “Agh, Emile…”

Virgil was mildly curious, but it wasn’t like he could ask. And the vast majority of him was just tired. A bone deep tiredness he hadn’t felt in a while. He was really starting to get hungry, too, which didn’t make anything better.

The other vampire didn’t talk to him, which made sense seeing as he couldn’t answer, and after a little while, Virgil fell asleep.

#sanders sides #vampire au #vampires #blood #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #emile picani #remy sleep #my own work #coffin #violence #speciesism #vampire virgil #platonic moxiety

42 notes · View notes

terrm9 · 4 years ago

Text

In My Veins (Ethan Ramsey X MC)

The final chapter of Already Gone series is here! Thank you for everyone who decided to give the series a shot, thank you for all your likes and comments and reblogs! I have two one shot sequels planned already and then bunch of random one shots abour Ethan and Chiara, which might ot might not correspond with Already Gone storyline - but that’s not relevant now. Enjoy the chapter!

I honestly think this can be easily read even without reading previous chapters.

Words count: 3 800

Warnings: slightest hint of angst, but mostly this is just fluff

——– IN MY VEINS ——

Chiara’s day has been downright frustrating so far. She was dealing with two patients – one of them being an absolute pain in the ass and the other, on the other hand, sweet fourteen years old which she had troubles diagnosing – and besides that, Ethan has been to New York for three days and she missed his reassuring smiles while walking down the corridors.

Just get through today and you’ll be fine. He will be back by the evening and you will see him tomorrow morning.

She was tired and angry with the PITA and also angry with herself for not being able to diagnose Leah.

All of those draining emotions and thoughts made her curse under her breath when she was paged by the nurses’ station, which didn’t go unnoticed by Sienna and Jackie which were walking by at the moment.

“Uh-oh, Dr. Ray, such nasty word coming from such pretty mouth?”

“Shut up Sienna or she will find a brand new nasty word for you” Jackie stopped her, grinning. “What made you so irritated, Chiara?”

Chiara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she kept walking to the nurses’ station.

“The day has literally just began and I already feel like punching something. Or someone.”

“You resemble Ramsey too much Chiara,” Jackie chuckled. “You are even grumpier than Zaid today.”

At that, Chiara had to laugh and as she finally approached the station, she felt at least a little bit lighter.

“I’ve been paged,” she said to Danny, noticing that the station was unusually full this morning, crowded with fellow resident, interns and even few attendings.

“Yeah, this came for you. The courier just dropped it off,” he smiled as he reached for a bouquet behind the counter.

Chiara’s mouth fell wide open at the sigh of huge bouquet full of sunflowers. The air was filled with ‘oooh’s’ and ‘wooow’s’ coming from mouths of women around Chiara and there was also one ‘hmm someone’s getting laid tonight’ coming from a surgeon resident Chiara didn’t really know.

“What does the note say?” Sienna couldn’t help but ask curiously, glancing over Chiara’s shoulder.

Cheeks flushed in bright red color, Chiara opened the note with the trembling hands.

‘Vincent Van Gogh once said that he finds comfort in contemplating the sunflowers. I find comfort in contemplating you’ -J

She smiled to herself, knowing very well who the flowers came from – there was only one person knowing about her obsession with Van Gogh, just as there was only one person to sign the note with ‘J’.

Her spirits were immediately lifted, however the hot blush on her cheeks and her neck didn’t seem to be disappearing.

“Do you know who sent them?” Stephanie asked from behind the desk.

“Chiara you never told us you had a boyfriend!” Danny exclaimed brightly.

“Right, Chiara, you never told us! Who could that be?” Jackie grinned, making Chiara blush even deeper, if that was even possible.

She kept staring down at the flowers in her hands, trying to neglect the excited whispers suddenly surrounding her.

How was the whole nurses’ station talking about her secret boyfriend all at once?

“What is going on in here?” The deep voice she knew so well cut through the vibrant buzz.

Chiara’s head snapped to the direction of the voice and it took her all her acting abilities to pretend to be simply surprised and nothing else. Not happy, not excited, just surprised.

Like a deer in a spotlight, she froze on the spot and with wide eyes kept searching the familiar and oh so handsome face she missed so much.

His blue eyes found her face in the middle of the crowd and for the moment so brief she almost missed it, his stare softened the way it always did just for her and there was the tiniest hint of radiant sparks she adored so much. Before anyone else could notice the affectionate exchange of their stares, Ethan’s gaze hardened and he cleared his throat.

“Dr. Ramsey! We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow,” Stephanie smiled brightly at him.

“My job in New York was done earlier than expected,” he shrugged, oblivious to Stephanie’s attempt of flirting. “I asked what is going on in here?”

“Dr. Ray got this splendid bouquet from a secret admirer,” Sienna smiled all too knowingly at Ethan, which – far better at acting than Chiara – simply raised an eyebrow.

“Congratulations,” he replied dryly. “However the last time I checked this was a hospital, not a high-school corridor. Now quit the gossiping and get back to work.”

Chiara noticed some doctors to roll their eyes and heard one of the nurses to whisper: “And everything is back to normal now.”

She chuckled and turned around to put the flowers into the locker room, entirely aware of the fact that she would be paged into the diagnostics office within the next few minutes.

“You have really outdone yourself with the grand arrival, Dr. Ramsey,” Chiara grinned as she stepped into his office and made sure that they were alone. “How much calculating needed to be done in spite of pulling this trick?”

“Believe it or not, Rookie, it was an absolute coincidence. I have had the flowers delivery arranged even before I left to New York and I didn’t think that I would be able to come back earlier until this morning. But it indeed worked out to my satisfaction,” he laughed softly, standing up from the chair behind this desk. Quickly checking the corridor behind the glass door, he wrapped Chiara in his arms and lightly kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you for the flowers. I would never believe that you are such a romantic soul.”

As they found their way to the grey couch in the corner of the room, Ethan replied with his brows furrowed: “I prefer ‘gentleman’ over ‘romantic soul’, but whatever serves you is okay by me, I suppose.”

“Gentleman, huh?”

“Ever since I was a little kid, my father was very insisting on raising me into polite gentleman. Saying thank you, please, greeting others, that was necessary part of my childhood. And then when I got older, he has taught me everything about being a true gentleman – opening the door, kissing the back of woman’s hand when she introduced herself, bringing flowers, all those things were a natural part of growing up for me.”

“You never kissed the back of my hand when I introduced myself.”

“First, your hands were covered in blood when we introduced ourselves, if I remember it correctly. And second, I don’t do those things anymore. After several experiences when my gentleman behavior has been misread as flirting, I stopped performing it. Unless I am interested in actual flirting with the woman, of course.”

“So you are saying that you want to flirt with me?” Chiara asked with a teasing smirk on her face.

Amused, Ethan simply shook his head and as he was about to ask her if she would like some coffee, her pager’s loud beep broke the comfortable silence surrounding them.

“Oh, Leah’s results. I’ll go pick them up and I’ll be right back, I might need your opinion on this case.”

Without a second glance, she left the room. Ethan stretched his legs and rubbed his tired eyes, cursing himself for going to the hospital straight from the airport when he could be sleeping in his bed now.

But again, Chiara was at the hospital, so how could he be anywhere else?

She brought him much more comfort than his bed could ever provide, anyway.

Not wanting to waste his time, he got back to the chair and started to catch up with all the paperwork that has been loyally waiting on the desk for his return.

He got so consumed by the work that he hardly noticed Chiara’s arrival, if it wasn’t for her furious murmuring as she flipped through the pages of her patient’s file.

“There must be something missing… white cells normal… what am I not seeing… negative, negative, negative, urgh, FUCK ME!” she threw her head back as she all but shouted those last two words.

“Happily,” Ethan replied without missing a beat, now even glancing up from his paperwork. “Although I am afraid that now and here is not the right time nor the place.”

“Seriously, Ramsey?” she turned to him, fire burning in her eyes, her cheeks flushed – was it flush of frustration or the one of lust? “Now you are joking?”

“I am sorry but passing such opportunity would be a sin,” he grinned at her and waved at the file in her hand, gesturing for her to come closer. “Show me what got you so heated.”

Several days later, Chiara and Ethan were walking by the river, enjoying one of those few precious moments when they have both had their day off.

The April weather has been rather nice this year, however the water in the Charles River was still so cold that Ethan couldn’t help but mutter “those crazy idiots” every time he noticed someone in it.

Finding the spot where they could talk hidden from the curious eyes of others, they sat down and for a long moment stared at the sparkles the sun was creating at the water surface.

“I am happy, Chiara. I am happy with you,” Ethan broke the silence and wrapped his arm around Chiara’s waist, pulling her closer to him.

She nodded and smiled gently at his words without saying anything, knowing that Ethan didn’t expect her to say it back.

From time to time, he felt the urge to express how he felt at the moment and all Chiara needed to do was to listen and acknowledge his feelings. He already knew she was happy with him, because unlike him, Chiara has never had problems with expressing how she felt.

After long minutes spent in comfortable, peaceful, pleasant silence, Chiara stood up and grabbing her purse, she said: “I noticed the truck serving coffee just around here, I’ll grab us some, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll be right here.”

As he promised, Ethan didn’t even move from the place they found, waiting for Chiara to return.

However, after more than forty minutes, he became rather worried about her. It was only after he heard the sirens when he grabbed everything from the ground and decided to find her, his steps quicker than they would normally be.

The ambulance was parked near the river and he noticed paramedics examining a little boy, his mother crying next to him. And behind them, Chiara sitting in the ambulance, wrapped in the blanket.

With his breath quicker, his vision blurred and hands trembling, he ran those last few meters.

“What the fuck, Rookie?” he called as he approached her. “What happened?”

“I was about to order when I heard a woman’s scream and when I turned around, I noticed a little kid in the river,” she explained, her lower lip trembling from the cold. “I jumped into the water and pulled him out.”

“Are you crazy? You could’ve drown!”

As she opened her mouth to fight him, he was sure, the paramedic interrupted them, checking Chiara’s pressure again.

“It seems to be okay, miss, but we should still take you to the hospital. Just to be sure you will be completely okay.”

“I said I am fine, thank you. Just focus on the boy.”

“We really should take you.”

“I am a doctor at Edenbrook,” Ethan stepped in. “I will take her there and examine her.”

“I am sorry but who are you, sir? Do you know him, Ms. Ray?”

“Yeah, he is my…uh…well, we are-“

“I am her boyfriend and I am taking her to Edenbrook now. Just take care of the kid,” Ethan said with the tone that left no room for further discussion.

He grabbed Chiara’s hand, not caring about anyone seeing them and pulled her towards his building, thankful that it was so close to the park. Without giving her a chance to tell or do anything, he went straight to the parking garage of the building and into his car.

“You could’ve just checked me at your place,” Chiara shrugged as Ethan switched the engine on.

“I’ll examine you at the hospital,” Ethan replied without as much as glancing at her, his voice cold as ice.

“My boyfriend, yeah?” she smiled, hoping that it would break the tension between them.

“It’s not the right time for teasing, Chiara. What were you even thinking? You could’ve both died!”

“But we didn’t. I can swim, Ethan, I really can. Someone had to help the poor kid.”

“Yes, exactly, someone! Not you. Anyone else could have done that.”

Chiara sighed, wrapping herself tighter into the blanket, the wet, cold clothes causing her to shiver.

Ethan wanted to yell at her, to continue his monologue about how dangerous that was and irresponsible and that there was no need to pull such Aveiro stunts, but noticing how much she kept shivering, all he brought himself to do was switch the heating on.

As they parked outside the hospital, he asked: “Do you have some spare clothes in the locker?”

Chiara nodded, already getting out of the car and he told her to come to his office once she is in dry and warm clothes.

Ethan was pacing through his office when she entered, trying to scatter his anger and fear by some physical activity, which proved to be absolutely worthless when he glanced at her and saw the stubborn expression on her face.

“You acted absolutely recklessly, Chiara.”

“I couldn’t let the four year old kid drown.”

“There were other people!”

“Well, nobody else jumped into the water, so I guess it had to be me. I am absolutely fine, Ethan. This is unnecessary.”

“I will be the one to evaluate if you are or are not fine.”

Letting his emotions go for a while, so that he could do his job, he once again checked Chiara’s pressure, listened to her breathing, measured her temperature and only after he made sure that she, indeed, was absolutely fine, he let out a long breath of relief.

“You will stay at my place tonight, in case something goes wrong. I need to check on you.”

“I would stay with you tonight anyway, Dr. Ramsey. No need to cause such drama for something as stupid as me getting into the cold water.”

“Damnit Chiara,” he muttered but decided not to cause another scene at the hospital ground.

Without saying another word, they both left the office, not giving a damn about their colleagues that wondered why would they both be at work on their day off.

The car ride back to Ethan’s place was quiet and tense and so were the minutes that followed after they’ve gotten into the apartment.

Not wanting to ruin the rest of their day, Chiara approached Ethan – who has been pacing around his living room now – and said: “Okay, Ethan. I think you are overreacting, but still – I am sorry I got you worried today.”

“Worried? Worried? I was scared! When I saw you in the ambulance, I was scared to death, Chiara!”

His voice was raising, which only sparked more flames in Chiara’s eyes. She didn’t want to fight with him, but she would not let anyone shout at her, not even Ethan Ramsey.

“Okay, you really need to calm down-“

“No. No, no, no,” he interrupted her, his voice rising once again. “You don’t get to tell me to calm down, Chiara. Because it was not me in a car accident, it was you. It was not me lying on the operating table, it was you. But it was me who stared at the door to the O.R. for hours and hours, waiting for Emery to come out and tell me that you are dead. It was me who spent 40 hours sitting next to you after the surgery, afraid of closing my eyes for even a second because I believed that you would die and I would have my eyes closed at the moment! It was me who held your hand while you were in come, not the other way around. I was the one calling your mother to tell her that she should fly to Boston because you might not survive this, not you calling my father. You were never close to losing me, Chiara, you have no idea how it feels to look at your motionless body, at your closed eyes and believing that I would never see you moving again! So no, I am sorry but it’s not your place to tell me to calm down, Chiara Ray, because every time you don’t pick up your phone for a longer while, every time you leave the town with your friends, every time you attend a party or a concert now, every single time my chest literally hurts of fear. I am so fucking scared every time we are not together, because when we are not together, I can’t save you and I wouldn’t get through losing you.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down like Chiara asked him to, but the lump in his throat was too big and the anger mixed with dread made him shout even more.

"I can’t lose you, Chiara, don’t you fucking get it? I can’t live this life without you in it, because I care about you, because I need you, because goddamnit I love you and-“

He stopped abruptly, realizing what he had just said.

The silence that filled the room was heavier than all the shouts before.

Chiara and Ethan stared at each other, their eyes wide, expression shocked, Ethan’s hands trembling by his sides.

“What has just happened?” Chiara whispered at last.

“I don’t… I mean, I never… That was absolutely unintentional,” Ethan breathed out at last.

He fell on the couch behind him and with grave feeling in her chest, Chiara followed and sat down next to him.

“So you didn’t mean it? What you said?”

Ethan’s shocked expression turned into something more than just shock at that question, something resembling guilt and pain.

“No. I mean, yes, I did mean it. But meaning it and expressing it – no, saying it – are two absolutely different things.”

Chiara softly reached for his hand and a wave of relief washed over her when he interlaced their fingers together and squeezed her hand back.

“Do you remember the last time you said those words?” she asked quietly.

“I do. Very well, actually,” he let out a humorless laugh and to Chiara’s surprise decided to tell her.

“One day, I was eleven, I came home from school and my mother was home, which was surprising because usually she would come home in the evening. She hugged me as I stepped in and asked me if I needed any help with my homework. The truth was that I never really needed their help with homework, but if there is one thing I have to admit about my mother, it was the fact that she was – maybe still is – an algebra genius. Real genius, I mean. And ever since I can remember, I have always loved to watch her talk about it or explain something to me, because it would bring those beautiful sparkles into her eyes. You know, those that people only have when they talk about their deepest passions. And so I told her that I actually did need help with algebra and for the next hour, I would just observe her eyes, because they were so full of light. And after we were done with it, she asked me if I would like an ice cream and I was so happy to spend some time with her that I agreed, even though I never really liked ice cream. So we went to get the ice cream and she would tell me all the algebra jokes and we would laugh so hard the tears kept streaming down our faces. On our walk back home, I told her ‘I love you so much, mum’ and she said ‘and I love you, my little E.J., more than you could ever imagine’.”

He tried to subtly hide his face, but Chiara noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks and with all the gentleness she could find, she wiped them away.

Ethan cleared his throat to finish the story.

“The next day, she left us. And for months, maybe even years after that, I kept asking myself if she decided to spend all that time with me because she knew that she would leave us? Or maybe she wanted to spend some time with me to help herself decide if she wanted to stay with us or leave – and it that case, what should I have done better to make her believe that she wanted to stay? Or was the ‘I love you’ too much for her to hear and it scared her so much that she’d rather leave? I never found the answers. But I swore to myself back then that I would never say those words again.”

“And you never did? To anyone? Your dad, Naveen, anyone?” Chiara whispered.

Ethan simply shook his head and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her more tightly than he ever did.

“Please, tell me you won’t leave me tomorrow, Chiara,” he whispered into her hair.

“I promise I won’t leave you, Ethan.”

They hugged each other, letting their tears stream down their faces, Ethan’s into Chiara’s hair and Chiara’s into Ethan’s shirt.

At the moment, their hearts were shattered and at the same time, they were being healed.

“So you do?” Chiara asked with a light smile after a while. “You know, uhm…you do the L word me?”

“I do love you, Chiara, yes,” he chuckled at her uncertainty of using the word love. “And you? Do you ‘the L word’ me?”

“Of course I love you. I have already told you once.”

He kissed her at those words, pouring all his broken and freshly healed heart into the kiss, brushing her lips with his with such care, such softness it made her feel like if it was the first time they kissed.

“But you don’t get to scare me like this anymore, Rookie. I could’ve gone into cardiac arrest,” he said as they parted.

“You are not that old.”

“Young people can go into cardiac arrests too and I am sure that as a doctor, you know that. Promise me you won’t do anything this stupid.”

“I can promise you to try to avoid such situations, but nothing more,” she shrugged. “However, I can also promise you that you can punish me anyhow you want if I do something stupid,” she added, devilish smirk on her face.

Ethan’s eyes darkened immediately and his breath hitched in his throat before muttering into her ear: “Oh, is that so? Maybe I should start right now then.”

taglist: @maurine07 @takemyopenheart @senseofduties @mercury84choices @flightlessbirdiee (I am tagging you guys even though this is part of a series, I hope you don’t mind!)

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, just let me know please. Thank you.

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #pixelberry #play choices #fluff

49 notes · View notes

wingedquill · 4 years ago

Text

sing me something i need

@geraltwhumpweek

TITLE: sing me something i need

SHIP: Geralt/Jaskier

PROMPT DAY: Day 3: Cursed

MEDIUM: Netflix

WARNINGS: Torture, murder (of a massive dickhead)

SUMMARY: When Geralt is a young witcher, he loves to sing. Love songs and ballads and ridiculous little ditties, it doesn't matter. He delights in using his voice, in making beautiful music. But then he's given the "gift" of jewels falling from his mouth whenever he speaks. A gift that kings would kill for. Would certainly hurt a lowly mutant for. He doesn't much like to sing, after that.

WORD COUNT: 4,962

AUTHOR’S NOTES: You can also find this on AO3!

“You know what I’m curious about, jewel?”

The king is here. Geralt shrinks back into the corner of his cell, wrapping his arms around his knees, because things are never good when the king is here. The last time he was curious, it was to see what kind of gems fell from Geralt’s mouth when he screamed.

Obsidian. Pretty and shiny but ultimately not as valuable as gold and jewels. And thank the gods for that.

“I wonder,” the king murmurs, tapping his jewel-coated scepter against the ground, “if you can sing.”

His heart drops into his stomach.

He loves to sing. He always has. In a world of blood and monster guts, he thinks sometimes that his voice is the only beautiful thing about him. He adores the wild freedom of belting out his sorrows and joys to the world, the way that his brothers grin fondly at him as he start

s up a jaunty drinking tune, the way he can weave a tragedy into something low and somber and perfect for murmuring around a campfire.

And he hoped—he hoped he could keep that love. That the king, with all his demands for his words and his whispers and his screams of agony, wouldn’t think to take this too.

But of course he did.

Geralt lifts his head and glares at him and wishes, not for the first time, that the fae who did this to him had given him the power to kill with a word. Or the power to fly, to soar far, far away from here.

“Don’t be shy.” The king steps forward into the cell, looming above Geralt. “I’m sure you sound lovely.”

“I—I can’t—”

His voice sounds like the rasp of sand sliding together. Two tiny pearls clatter to the floor, rolling across the rough stone. The king bats them aside with his scepter. He doesn’t have the patience for small offerings anymore.

“Sure you can,” he says. He lifts up the scepter and spins it around in his hand so that the bottom is facing Geralt. Its point gleams in the low light of the cell. Dull, but still sharp enough to pierce skin with the right amount of force. Geralt’s shoulder throbs at the reminder.

“Sing, my jewel.”

Geralt closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Pretends that he’s not here, that he’s back within the walls of Kaer Morhen, safe and whole. That his throat isn’t as tattered as a white flag fluttering in the air over a battlefield. That his voice doesn’t betray him with every word he speaks.

And then he starts to sing. A lullaby he remembers Vesemir humming to him on the road to Kaer Morhen, when he was a child still afraid of the dark. A song that he’s come back to, time and time again, whenever he feels like that scared little kid.

His throat cracks and burns around the words, and he practically chokes halfway through the first line. Something knocks against the back of his teeth, and when he opens his mouth to sing the next word, a massive ruby falls from his lips.

It’s bigger than any jewel he’s ever spoken, and the king’s eyes light up as he waves at Geralt to keep singing. He bends down and plucks the ruby from the cold stone floor, even as a sapphire clatters down to take its place. He twirls the gem back and forth in his fingers, examining its facets, far more precise and numerous than any jeweler could hope to obtain. Even in the low light of the cell, it sparkles like it’s full of trapped fire.

It’s beautiful. Far more beautiful than his speech, his whispers, his screams.

Oh gods, no. No no no.

“I think we’ve found your greatest talent, my jewel,” the king says, even as Geralt coughs up the next gem, his throat heaving with the effort. Emerald.

“Hurts—” he croaks. A sapphire the size of his thumbnail clicks against the ground. The king rolls his eyes.

“When have I ever cared about that?” he says, sounding almost bored. “We’ve done this dance before, treasure. The beauty outweighs the cost.”

You don’t have to bear the cost.

He keeps those words to himself. His back still stings from the king’s last punishment for “mouthing off.”

The king presses the point of his scepter into Geralt’s shoulder.

“Keep singing.”

He keeps singing.

Gem after gem falls to the flagstones, and each one rubs his throat just a bit rawer, tears at his tongue and his lips and the roof of his mouth. He tries to sing softer, make the jewels a bit smaller, but the king digs the scepter in whenever the results are unsatisfactory.

The song drags on and on and on and not for the first time he wonders if he’ll ever burn through this curse, if the magic the fae had breathed into him would ever be depleted.

When it’s over, there are enough jewels on the ground to keep a man for several lifetimes. The king smiles as he gathers them in his hands, staring down at Geralt’s song like he’s picturing what he can make of it. A crown, perhaps. A throne. Another scepter, grander and richer and sharper.

“Again,” he says. “Higher this time. I want to see if range affects it.”

A sob tears itself from Geralt’s throat. He’s going to die like this. Suffocated by the thing he used to love, by the beauty of his own voice, his songs crushing him from the inside out.

“You can cry later, little songbird,” the king growls. “Don’t waste my time now.”

Songbird. The same teasing nickname that Eskel had given him, all those years ago. It doesn’t belong in this bastard’s mouth, no more than Geralt’s words belong in his hands, but he can’t take any of it back.

He gathers himself. He’s still a witcher, despite everything this man has done to him. He’s still a wolf, still a protector, a warrior, a strong and shining thing. The king can’t take that away from him.

He starts to sing a love song, a fluttery high thing that he used to tease the older witchers with when they started talking about their beloveds. It’s sweeping and triumphant, playful and joyous, but in his shattered throat, it sounds more appropriate for a funeral.

The jewels that pour from his mouth glitter like broken glass, and the king makes an almost disappointed sound as he reaches down to examine them. Then he pauses. Picks up one of the gems with a look of awe. They’re not as big as the rubies and sapphires, but they’re brilliantly cut and polished, and as clear as the cleanest water.

He holds it up to one of the rubies with a shaking hand, and scratches it across the other jewel’s surface.

“Diamond,” he whispered. “The most perfect diamond I’ve ever seen.”

He looks at Geralt, and his face doesn’t look like a human’s anymore. It’s twisted and sharp and glinting with malice, and if Geralt had his swords, he’d raise the silver one against this man.

“Keep singing,” the man orders. “Don’t stop until your voice gives out.”

By the time Geralt is allowed to stop, the diamonds that fall from his mouth are painted red with blood.

***

The king calls him songbirdlike he’s a harmless thing, a pretty, fragile creature trapped in a cage, nice to listen to but with nothing important to say.

“You really ought to look as valuable as you are,” he says one day, when Geralt is past the point of bleeding, emeralds spilled across the floor, his whole body twitching with pain. “Next time, treasure.” Another one of his favorites. Songbird. Treasure. Jewel. Pretty, desirable things. Nothing with agency.

A few days later, he has his servants bring in golden jewelry dripping with Geralt’s words, switching out the heavy iron manacles for diamond-studded ones, pressing a collar dripping with rubies around Geralt’s throat. He holds up a dangling sapphire earring with a wicked grin, and Geralt doesn’t even have a chance to protest before he’s shoving it through his earlobe. He yelps from the sudden shock of it, and a chunk of obsidian falls from his mouth. The king kicks it aside.

“Don’t waste your voice,” he says sternly, picking up the second earring. “Don’t scream unless I want you to. You know the rules, songbird.”

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut as the king pokes a hole in his other earlobe, as he pushes more and more earrings into his skin and cartilage, following the delicate shells of his ears. Anywhere but here, he thinks, as stubby fingers grab at his nose. I’m anywhere but here.

There’s a burst of pain in his septum and his breath stutters in his throat. The king laughs softly, and moves away. Something cool and metallic touches his neck, winds up his arms, slithers smoothly against his ankles. Jewelry or chains or both, his doesn’t know and his doesn’t think it matters. His fingers are forced out of their fists and rings are slid over them. They skip his left ring finger. No need to look like he’s anything so important as someone’s husband.

“Perfect,” the king says when he’s done. “So perfect. Let me show you just how much.”

Geralt opens his eyes and the servants hold up a mirror.

A terrified young man looks back at him. His eyes are wide, red with unshed tears. His face is thin from starvation, his arms and legs bare of muscle. His clothes are practically rags, and were clearly meant for a far larger frame, hanging off his shoulders and slipping off his waist. Their poor condition is a sharp contrast to the fine golden chains draped over his collarbone, the delicate piercings forced into his ears and nose, the jewel studded manacles locked to the heavy wall chains with gold padlocks. The collar pressed flush against his throat makes it clear how the king sees him. An exotic pet.

I’m a witcher, Geralt tells himself, as the king preens over his creation. I’m a witcher. I’m not meant for this.

But as the king blusters away, leaving Geralt shivering in his cell, ears throbbing and collar exacerbating the pain in his throat, he finds it difficult to believe that. Difficult to believe that he’ll ever be able to get out of here.

That’s dangerous thinking. That’s deadly thinking, that’s the kind of thinking that will leave him trapped here for years, missing possible escape attempt after possible escape attempt.

I’m a witcher. I’m a witcher. I’m made for something more.

***

He doesn’t know how long he’s trapped in that tower, singing and bleeding and singing and bleeding, over and over again. He does know there’s a point that he can’t sing the love song anymore, no matter how hard the king presses the scepter into his shoulder. His voice just doesn’t go that high anymore.

It never will again.

Something’s broken in his throat.

The king glares down at him with pursed lips, and fear curls in Geralt’s chest. That’s the look of someone looking down at a disappointing, disposable thing. He doesn’t know what will happen if the king decides he isn’t worth the jewels he speaks. If the novelty of having a broken bird wears off.

***

He starts speaking when the king isn’t there. It’s difficult. Bloody. Awful. His words rasp together like broken bits of rock, and he can feel himself grinding his throat into useless dust. But this is his only chance, and if a broken voice is the price he must pay for freedom, he will gladly make that trade.

***

Whispering makes glass.

The shard in his hand is as dull as if it had spent years in the sea, but he can work with this.

***

He toys with his whispers, changing the words, the tone, the pitch and volume and feeling. Slowly, he makes his words sharper and sharper, settling on a high, thin, furious whisper. The inside of his mouth is bleeding badly by the time he gets a satisfactory result, a knife-sharp shard as long as his finger. He tucks it into his sleeve, positions himself as close to the door as possible, and waits.

***

It’s simple to pounce when the king steps into the room, simple to jam the glass into his carotid artery, simple to extract little golden key from his robes as he chokes to death on his own blood. There’s betrayal in his eyes, when he looks at Geralt, and Geralt laughs, thin and broken, sending amethyst scattering over the king’s twitching body. The isn’t betrayal. The king doesn’t deserve betrayal. That would imply he was treating Geralt with kindness in the first place. It isn’t even revenge, not really. It’s self-defense, a desperate animal clawing its way to freedom.

Geralt never wanted to think of himself as an animal, as the wolf he used to wear around his neck, before he was brought here. He wanted to be a hero, a knight, something out of a fairytale. Something good and strong and pure.

But he isn’t that.

He’s a bird with sharp talons and tattered wings, and he won’t sing for this man ever again.

***

The guards don’t even try to stop him. He must look a fright, with bloody lips and bloodier hands, holding the kings sharp scepter like a sword, jaw set and eyes burning with furious desperation.

Or maybe they just can’t be bothered to capture him. It’s not like the king ever gave them any of his jewels. It’s not like they stand to gain anything by keeping him here.

Either way, he walks out of the castle that he’s spent the past—two years? He thinks?—of his life in on trembling legs, and he doesn’t look back.

***

Word will spread soon that the witcher with a gilded tongue is back in the wild, free for the taking. He needs to kill this curse before that happens.

He makes his way to the nearest town, half delirious with hunger and exhaustion and the stabbing pain in his throat, scrounging for berries as he goes. They taste like summer on his torn tongue, sun-warmed and juicy, washing away the taste of glass and blood. A reminder that he’s free, at least for now.

There’s a mage living in an elegant cottage at the edge of the town, and he stumbles through her door to a yelp of surprise. She puts her hand on his shoulder and leads him inside, her wide purple eyes taking in the thinness of his face, his bloody hands, the collar still glinting around his throat.

“The white-haired witcher,” she breathes in awe. “You’re the jewel-speaker.”

His legs tense, ready to run.

“I thought, when I heard of you, that it was a cruel curse,” she says, brow furrowing. “I can see I was right.”

“Was supposed to be a gift,” he rasps. Three tiny opals clatter to the ground. “Saved a fae.”

“The fae know shit all about gifts,” she says. She reaches up, hands glowing with magic, and pulls the collar off his throat. He swallows reflexively, relishing in the feeling of unconstrained skin.

“Thank you.” An emerald joins the opals.

“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see if we can return this gift, hmm?”

She rests her hand against his throat and closes her eyes.

“It’s powerful,” she says, her forehead twitching. “I can’t—I can’t get rid of it completely.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. So this is his life forever then? Hiding out in the woods, desperately trying to avoid soldiers sent to hunt him down for his voice. Being forced to sing, and speak, and scream until his voice vanishes for good, until there’s nothing left the world can take from him.

“But,” she continues, pulling him out of his spiral of panic. “I should be able to contain it. It’s—from the shape of the curse, it seems to be most powerful when you sing, right?”

He nods.

“Okay. I should be able to lock it away so that it only triggers when you sing. Is that okay?”

It’s not.

It’s really, really not.

But it’s his only option.

“Yes,” he says. A ruby falls into his hand. It’s the last jewel he’ll ever speak.

***

He doesn’t like to use his gift.

It reminds him too much of a cold stone cell, of bloody diamonds and whips and learning to hone his words sharper, sharper, sharper, until he was carefully coughing up knives. It reminds him of pain and hunger and the cold feeling of golden jewelry against his throat, wrists, ears, as the king gilded him in his own stolen words.

And, listening to his rough, growly voice, unable to reach the same soaring heights that it used to—it reminds him that he’ll never be able to sing without pain again, that this thing he loved for so long has been taken from him, dashed to the ground like a cascade of shattered obsidian.

So he doesn’t sing often, even when he’s alone. He only does it when the pain in his chest gets too much to hold silently, or express with words alone. When that happens, he sings to Roach, low and soft, sad, ancient ballads that tug at his soul in the way only music can.

He takes the jewels and tucks them away in Roach’s saddlebag until they reach the next river, and then he throws his songs into the depths and feels a weight peel off his shoulders.

He doesn’t exist for anyone, anymore. He isn’t a source of riches. He’s just a witcher that likes—no, needs—to sing sometimes.

***

Years pass. His brothers grieve with him, when he finally makes it back to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir gives him a hug that lasts at least an hour. They ask him if he wants to sing, but back off when he shakes his head frantically.

The keep feels a lot quieter, these days.

His life feels a lot quieter, these days.

***

Jaskier reminds him a bit too much of himself. Or himself as he used to be, anyway.

He’s bright and cheery and always, always singing. There’s a song for every occasion, somber ones, delightful ones, inappropriately horny ones. Even idle moments, while he’s gathering berries for their dinner or arranging their campfire or polishing his lute, he’s coming up with little ditties to describe what he’s doing. It’s endearing. It’s sweet.

It’s painful.

He remembers when he did the same, humming to his swords as he cleaned them, idly improvising an ode to a dear carcass, coming up with tunes to remember the ingredients for each of his potions (he still sings those in his head, even now, when he’s been making them for decades. Old habits die hard).

There are long stretches, over the first few years of their friendship, where he aches to send Jaskier away. Get him out of his life. Get rid of the reminder of what it was like to sing, painless and clear-voiced and free.

But, for every way Jaskier is like his younger self, there are so many ways that he is different. His compositions are complex, way more complex than anything Geralt ever came up with, and his skill with a lute leaves Geralt breathless every time he hears it. More than that, he is brash and reckless and demanding, where Geralt has always made himself accept what he is given. Jaskier wants everything from the world, expects everything from the world, greats humanity with a fierce grin and a set jaw and a stubbornness that Geralt finds shocking and awe-inspiring in turn.

After five years with Jaskier, five years of watching him swear at people that treat him and Geralt like they are lesser, five years of letting him talk Geralt into hot, sweet-smelling baths and comfortable sheets and warm clothes, five years of watching him dive headfirst into whatever life throws at him, Geralt thinks he might be in love with him.

Just a little bit.

Maybe a lot.

He really wishes he could still sing that love song.

***

Over the years, the decades, since Geralt’s imprisonment, the story of the jewel-speaker has faded from fact to legend. The story has shifted too, over the years. The protagonist is no longer a witcher, beaten and broken and locked in a tower. Instead, she’s a sweet peasant girl, rewarded for her kindness with the ability to speak flowers and jewels alike, no pain or cruelty mentioned at all. She also has a cruel sister who coughs up snails and frogs. Lambert likes to joke that that’s supposed to be him.

There are quite a few ballads about her, this pretty, happy version of Geralt. They’re jaunty, cheerful tunes, made for entertaining children mostly, and Geralt’s chest aches whenever he hears them. His story, twisted so badly that the jewel-speaker was thankfulfor her gift, helped by it. Never mind the fact that his throat still aches whenever he speaks too much, never mind the fact that he misses singing so badly, never mind the fear that prickles up his spine whenever he sees a shop owner hawking golden jewelry.

The ballads are pretty popular, right up there with the tales of the sleeping princess, and the mermaid princess, and the princess who danced on glass shoes until midnight came. He wonders if any of these heroines are people like him, if any of their stories actually got happy endings. Regardless, they’re well-liked and well-received, so it’s no surprise that Geralt eventually hears Jaskier singing one.

They’ve stopped to camp for the night, and Jaskier is fiddling around with his lute while Geralt sorts out Roach. Jaskier starts plucking out a few opening chords that sends goosebumps prickling over Geralt’s neck, and Geralt fists his hand in Roach’s mane.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not personal. Jaskier doesn’t know what this song means to Geralt, because Geralt hasn’t fucking toldhim, even after all these years. Because he’s a thrice-damned coward.

But it still feels like he’s been stabbed, like a piece of glass has gotten caught halfway up his throat and lodged itself there, slicing him to death from the inside.

Jaskier pauses, right after the first chorus. Geralt can feel his eyes burning into the back of his skull.

“Geralt?” he asks. “You okay?”

“Can you play something else?” Geralt says, and hates how weak he sounds.

“Okay,” Jaskier says. “Alright. No problem.”

He starts plucking out Fishmonger’s Daughter and Geralt lets himself relax, lets himself laugh at Jaskier’s exaggerated bleating. It’s okay. He’s okay. He’d asked Jaskier to back off, and he had. Simple as that.

Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering what he did to deserve a friend like Jaskier.

***

The secret comes out eventually. Of course it does. Geralt is a dreadful liar. All it takes is a few songs to Roach, and a saddlebag full of rubies that have not yet been dumped in the river. All it takes is Jaskier coming across them at exactly the wrong time, chattering away about his latest exploits as he walks around Roach’s side with a small bundle of spare clothes.

“So, since Marx obviouslycheated at that competition, I couldn’t let his victory slide, and—”

As engrossed as Geralt is in Jaskier’s ridiculous story, it takes him too long to realize in which bag Jaskier is aiming to deposit his bundle, too long to protest.

“Wait—”

“—so I snuck a live chicken into….his….”

Jaskier trails off, staring into the saddlebag with a dropped jaw.

“Um. Geralt?”

Geralt closes his eyes.

“What are you doing with a royal treasury’s worth of rubies?”

He considers lying. Considers saying it was a contract payment from a very grateful, very rich king. Jaskier’s trade is spreading stories after all, and if this particular one gets around, Geralt’s life will be ruined. Forever. He’ll spend the rest of his days in chains, singing around a shattered throat.

But this is Jaskier. And Geralt knows that, if there’s one thing Jaskier values more than his fame and fortune, it’s his friendships. His friendship with Geralt especially, hard-won and strong as it is. There aren’t many people Geralt could trust with his life. With his freedom. Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert. Yennefer, the one to set him free of this thing in the first place.

And Jaskier.

“I’m throwing them in the nearest river,” he says, truthfully, taking Jaskier’s clothes to put in a different saddlebag.

Jaskier blinks rapidly.

“Why?”

Geralt sighs, and walks back over to his nearly-packed-up campsite. He was just planning on heading out when Jaskier found him.

“Sit down,” he says, settling himself onto a log. Jaskier follows, steps hesitant. “It’s gonna be a long story.”

***

It feels like setting some part of himself free. Some part of himself he never realized was still caged.

***

When the story is over, when Geralt has given up the gift that became a curse, the tower that became a prison, the king that became a corpse, they’re both crying. Sobs hitch from Jaskier’s chest as he reaches for Geralt, his hands trembling.

“Fuck,” he gasps as he tugs Geralt into a hug. “Just…fuck,Geralt, people are the fucking worst.”

“I know,” Geralt laughs weakly.

“I can’t even imagine how hard it was to tell me about that,” Jaskier says. Geralt blinks.

“Wasn’t hard,” he mumbles against Jaskier’s doublet. “I trust you.”

Jaskier tenses in his grip. Geralt feels tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt. He holds Jaskier tighter, closer, letting him shudder and shake against him. Despite himself, a warmth whispers through his chest, a feeling of safety, friendship, love. Jaskier cares about him enough to weep for his long-ago pain.

“I trust you,” he repeats. “There’s no one else I’d rather share this with.”

“Gods,” Jaskier says. “Gods. Thank you, then. Just…thank you.”

Geralt isn’t quite sure what he’s being thanked for.

“You’re welcome,” he says anyway. They cling to each other until Jaskier’s sobs quiet, and then Jaskier pulls back with a watery grin.

“Well,” he says. “There’s monsters to fight and rubies to send to their watery grave. Shall we?”

He doesn’t ask to keep the gems. He doesn’t point out that Geralt could give up the path forever if he wanted, that he’d never need to go hungry again. He doesn’t try to insist that Geralt’s curse is a gift.

The warmth doubles in Geralt’s chest.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “We shall.”

***

Two weeks later, they’re sitting around yet another campfire, under yet another grove of trees. Geralt loves nights like this, under the stars, far away from the noise and smells of civilization. Just the two of them.

Jaskier is plucking idly at his lute, but he isn’t singing. His eyes are half-lidded, sleepy. Content.

Geralt thinks of the love song, thinks of how impossibly high it is. Mentally shifts it lower. Lower. Down an octave. He opens his mouth.

For the first time in seventy years, he sings in front of another person.

Jaskier’s fingers stutter on the lute, but he quickly picks his tune back up again, shifting the chords to match Geralt’s voice. His eyes are no longer drooping, but wide open, staring at Geralt with unabashed wonder.

At Geralt. Not at the gems collecting at his feet. He’s watching Geralt. Listening to Geralt’s voice, cracked and raw as it is. A smile spreads across his face, soft and awed, like he’s watching a particularly beautiful sunset.

The last note of the song leaves Geralt’s lips along with a ruby, and Jaskier trails his fingers over the last chord, plucking out the notes one by one, leaving them to shiver in the air. He sets the lute aside and gets to his feet.

“Your voice is beautiful,” he says. “So fucking gorgeous Geralt, I—that was wonderful.”

“It’s not,” Geralt mutters. “It’s all rough and broken and—”

“Warm,” Jaskier says, stepping forward. He kicks aside a sapphire and jumps, looking down in surprise.

“Huh. Forgot that was there.”

A laugh curls in Geralt’s throat. Only Jaskier would forget a priceless treasure beneath his feet to compliment Geralt’s ruined voice.

“Don’t laugh!” Jaskier says, his indignation betrayed by his grin. “It’s easy to forget silly things like that when listening to you sing, it’s all—it’s warm and crackly and rich, like a campfire. Like…like home. It’s beautiful.”

He hesitates, eyes darting back and forth over Geralt’s face.

“You’re beautiful,” he says at last.

Hope whispers through Geralt’s heart. Does he mean….does he want….?

“I love you,” Geralt says, before he can lose his nerve. Jaskier’s breath hitches in his throat.

“I love you too,” he says, voice cracking almost as badly as Geralt’s. “Gods above, I’ve loved you for years.”

He puts his hand on Geralt’s cheek.

“Can I—”

“Yeah,” Geralt says, before he can even finish the question.

And then Jaskier’s lips are on his, gentle, slow, savoring him. Savoring Geralt as a person. Not as a treasure, a jewel, a thing to own.

Geralt closes his eyes and kisses him back.

His voice will never work quite right. There will always be bad days, days where his throat burns and burns and nothing he does can stop it. He’ll never be able to sing like he had before, high and clear and unimpeded.

But Jaskier loves him anyway.

Jaskier grabs a handful of Geralt’s shirt and pulls him backward, towards Jaskier’s bedroll. Geralt goes with him gladly.

They leave the jewels in the dirt.

#geraltwhumpweek #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #My writing #cw torture #cw death

38 notes · View notes

yangyeet · 5 years ago

Text

Is This Heaven (pt. 2)

Pairing: Jaemin x Reader (ft. friends!Jisung & Donghyuck)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Status: Finished. Preview Here! Part 1 Here! Part 3 Here!

Prompt: In a world where people have their soulmate’s name on their body somewhere, you find yourself caught in a dilemma that would result in a whirlwind of events. Are you ready to face this challenge in a world known to be cruel? Will you find your heaven in a place where people refuse to follow their hearts? Or will you fall as a victim to the legend?

Word Count: 3.4K

There was no use. No matter how much you tried, how much you strained your voice, there was no one to hear you. You were alone in your cell - screaming, shouting, shaking - but there wasn’t a soul who could console your cries.

You fought hard against the metal shackles binding your legs, but there was no sign of the chain loosening. Feeling hopeless, you gave up on freeing your feet and chose to focus on your hands. Thankfully, they had only wrapped your hands with an annoying itchy rope. It was a nuisance, but it seemed pretty useless in terms of functionality. Thinking about ways you could free yourself, you tried to rub your hands against each other. That only resulted in small scratches on your wrist.

Suddenly, you remembered the ring on your finger that Jaemin had given you not too long ago. He had instructed for you to use it when you found yourself in a sticky situation. Initially at that time, you weren’t really sure what he had meant and assumed it was his quirky way of presenting you a promise ring. Now, you were more than grateful that he had the hindsight.

Swirling your hand, you flipped the mini ring and revealed a blade that was easily concealed in the metal. You cut through the ropes in a few seconds. Hissing at the slight sting and redness the rope left behind, you massaged your hands to ease the pain. Finally having some freedom in your limbs, you stretched and groaned, remembering how you got into this mess in the first place.

“Baby, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Jaemin.”

It took you a couple of seconds to realize that the boy was speaking to you. You were fixated on the arm wrapped around his waist, splattered with little specks of red. “You’re bleeding,” was all you could muster yourself to let out in response.

“Oh this? It’s nothing,” he dismissed, continuing to smile brightly as if the injury was nothing and the three of you were hanging out leisurely.

Haechan walked in at that moment. “Little?” He was practically seething, but he chose not to burst out in fear of frightening you more than you already were. Jaemin gave him a side glance, signaling him to drop the subject.

There was no doubt that you were curious at the exchange, but you knew when to drop the subject. Instead, you chose to focus on your friend dipping a cloth into alcohol and gesturing for the wounded boy to take his shirt off.

You decided to give a helping hand and set down a dry towel to soak up the small puddles Haechan had made while bringing over the antiseptic. Jaemin threw his shirt to the laundry basket on the other side of the room and earned an offended hey from Haechan.

Although you really didn’t mean to peek at him, you couldn’t help yourself. His body was well defined. Hard, lean muscles decorated his body, showing you that he clearly worked out vigorously in his free time. His chest was shuddering up and down, straining from the pain he was experiencing. There was a small gash in his abdomen, not deep enough to cause alarm, but enough for him to bleed out if you two didn’t help him out. Luckily, there was no apparent internal injury. You unintentionally let out a sigh of relief, not even realizing that you had been holding your breath while ogling at the boy.

“It isn’t polite to stare, you know,” Jaemin joked. “If you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Okay, Romeo. Hold your breath,” Haechan interrupted, annoyed at the interaction. He took the towel and began wiping delicately at the skin. ��(Y/n), bring the bowl over here, can you clean his back? I got another towel?”

You nodded and cautiously walked over to the pink-haired boy who was eyeing you intensely. Grabbing the towel that was lying on the table, you dipped the cloth in the alcohol before wringing out the excess liquid. This was honestly the first time you had tended to an injury like this, but you did know how to clean a wound from your basic first aid classes. You found a small space that was just enough for you to squeeze in and slide behind him. Chuckling at the odd situation, you honestly thought the situation you found yourself in wasn’t too bad.

His back had slight scratches on it, but thankfully, it was nothing like the wound on the other side. However, you realized something strange. Jaemin didn’t have any marks on him. He was wearing shorts in the cold for some odd reason and sneakers, but the rest of his body was bare. You still found nothing - no sign of a soulmate tattoo that would indicate anything. The only thing you could see was a scar on his left shoulder blade. That wasn’t indicative of anything as far as you knew.

Shaking your head at the random thought, you moved back to concentrate on cleaning his back until Jaemin let out a hiss. Immediately thinking that you pressed too hard, you pulled back to apologize. “Oh sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, it was Haechan. Your hands feel nice princess. Keep rubbing.”

You felt blood rush to your cheeks and slapped him lightly on the back. Haechan, on the other hand, was glaring so hard at Jaemin that his eyes were practically bulging out..

“That scar...how long have you had it?” Haechan asked him suspiciously. Jaemin shuddered before looking down at the carpet.

“Not too long,” he answered. “It’s nothing.”

Haechan ignored his brief answer and proceeded to interrogate him. “How many leads?” He questioned.

“None,” Jaemin replied. “It was smooth.”

You tapped Jaemin’s shoulders and he hummed. “I’m not gonna force you guys to tell me anything. But why?” You had so many questions swirling through your mind at this point, so you just blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. Why was he bleeding? Why couldn’t he, or Haechan and Jisung for that matter, tell you what was going on? Why was he so mysterious? There just weren’t enough ways for you to express what you were thrown into.

The boy looked down for a second before turning back to you. “Do you really want to know?” You nodded in response. He turned back around and looked at Haechan, as if asking for permission. The boy simply shook his head, signaling a no. Jaemin just shrugged and let out a big sigh.

“He says no. I’ll let you know after a couple of dates.” He let out a wink.

“I think not.” The boy who was doing his work chimed in, expertly finishing up with the towel and setting it down as he grabbed the antibiotic cream. “Hit on my friend, and I’ll make sure I’m the last person you see,” he threatened. Haechan was getting defensive at this point and you were frustrated.

“I’m grown enough to make my own decisions,” you snapped back.

“You don’t know him,” he shouted back.

“And you do?”

“Wait, stop it,” Jaemin intervened, looking between the two of you. “Haechan, the gauze.” The boy sighed loudly and proceeded with the final details, pressing down hard on purpose. The boy flinched and you glared at Haechan.

“Fine. If you want to know so bad, Jaemin, why don’t you tell her now? Let her know what she just got involved in? She already helped clean up your mess. Tell her.”

You perked your ears. What mess? Were they finally about to reveal their secret? You were practically itching to know what was going on. Were you being nosy? Yes. Curious? Also yes. Curiosity killed the cat, that was true, but satisfaction would always bring her back.

The injured boy turned to you. “Anything we say stays between us. Alright? Although I trust you, sweetheart...gotta tell you.” You hummed and leaned comfortably next to him as you watched Haechan wrap the gauze.

“So basically, we’re not the good guys you’d expect.”

You nodded at the obvious. “Well, that’s pretty apparent. What do you guys do though?”

“Well...we’re a part of a gang.” He took a deep breath. “Haechannie here...he’s the gun and drug supplier. I’m the sweet face. The guy who talks to everyone and gets those deals, gets the girls at the club, drives over the speed limit on a high speed cop chase. Of course, I'm careful so the last part never happens.”

Glancing at the boy in front of you, you had no doubt that of his position. Charming was practically his middle name and his godlike visuals were his poison. You weren’t surprised at all that he was the face of the operations. You nodded, letting him know that you were listening.

“Jisungie, who’ll forever be our baby by the way-” Jaemin earned a groan from Haechan, “-he’s a hacker who does the cybercrime. Hacks CCTVs, intercepts enemy signals, the cool stuff.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Baby...Jisung? Hacker? What?” Both boys chuckled at your shock.

“So you aren’t surprised I supply illegal materials?” Haechan asked, finding the situation so ironic. His job seemed so much more dangerous than the younger’s.

“No, I just always thought he had the 10 monitors for video games.” It would take time for you to process the latter. Jisung had kept such a huge secret from you regardless of that fact that you went over to his place practically every week. You were skirting on the edge of something much more dangerous than you had expected for a long time and this was exciting. It gave you a rush, knowing the guys who you thought were innocent, were actually a part of something much bigger. It was a change from the mundane lives they’d presented in the public eye.

“Anything else I should know?” You asked.

“Uh, I just got wounded from a busted deal. They hid a mole. Now, I’m here. Didn’t leave a trail though, so it should be okay for a while,” Jaemin responded. “Just don’t know where I should go tonight. My place isn’t safe now.”

“You can’t stay here tonight. They might know you’re here. You have to go somewhere else,” Haechan stated with finality, crossing his arms.

Jaemin huffed and pulled his phone out. A throwaway phone, you noted. “Jisungie has his girl over and Jeno and Injun are having their annual boys date. Can’t crash that. I’m stuck.” He was frustrated, despite his calm demeanor.

You walked up to his sitting form on the sofa, grabbing his attention. “You’re not stuck. My place is open?” Of course, you had an alternative motive to this, but you wouldn’t reveal it that quickly.

Jaemin turned to you, flabbergasted that you would offer. “No, I-I can’t.” He turned to look at Haechan, who looked split.

“As much as I hate you, (Y/n) is the only option right now.” Your mouth almost opened, surprised at how easily he accepted your proposal even though he was adamant about not letting the two of you associate a few moments ago. “I gave her your socials too and she’s friends with Jisung.”

The boy nodded and looked at you for confirmation that you were serious. “I am,” you responded, firmly putting your foot on the ground. You didn’t know if you would regret this decision, but you would be damned if you didn’t try.

Jaemin seemed to like your response and got up, wincing and limping slightly as he walked towards the door. “Let’s leave now then. Haechannie, clean up well! Give my shirt back tomorrow.”

You followed him and hugged Haechan. He gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead and pulled you a little closer. “If he does anything suspicious, ring me.” You nodded at his protectiveness and jogged to the waiting boy.

“Did he give you a warning,” he joked.

“Yeah. He’ll kick your ass if you try something,” you responded nonchalantly. “Also, my house isn’t too far from here. Is it okay if we walk?”

“Well, I clearly have an injury, but we don’t have other options, do we? If we walk in the shadows, it’ll be fine.” The two of you slowly walked under the dim light of the moon, attempting to hide in the shadows of the apartment buildings that loomed above. You felt a hand touch yours and looked down to see Jaemin lacing his fingers with yours. It felt nice. His soft hands provided warmth and reassurance, kind of like a spark. A spark that had been described to you many times in the past, but one that you never thought you’d feel. A soulmate spark. Jaemin was beaming at you, not showing any signs of him reciprocating the feeling. If he hadn’t felt that spark, you would know that fate was playing with you. That wasn’t be a good sign.

It didn’t take long for you both to reach your place and you both safely entered after looking behind you guys several times. You didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary or someone trying to follow you, so you turned the lights on in the living room. “Make yourself at home,” you commented.

“Did you have dinner?” He asked, as if the two of you were friendly roommates. You quirked an eyebrow at his casual behavior.

“Yeah, ramen. You?”

“A knife. For you.” Well that was cheesy. And weird.

“There’s a guest room, Romeo. Sleep there. It’s the first door on the right. Bathroom to the left. If you want to watch TV, I have a Netflix account that I stole from a friend.” He took an interest in your mini house tour and occasionally gazed from the direction your hands would gesture to your face, noting the way that you scrunch your nose whenever you tried to remember where exactly all your rooms were located.

“Cool. Netflix?” He asked, when you were finished with your extensive explanations.

“That’s all you got from what I said? Should I make popcorn?” You laughed before offering the snack. He nodded enthusiastically, jumping on your sofa and grabbing the remote.

“Gotta find a good show,” he responded when he was you judging him for acting childishly. It didn’t take long for you to pop a bag out of the cabinet and insert it into the microwave, giving you a minute to relax. The first thing you noticed was the way that his arms flexed as he melted into the sofa and let out a groan. He looked stressed and on edge, but was acting calm around you. With the lighting in your living room, you could clearly see that he didn’t have a soulmate mark for sure.

“What’s on your mind, princess?” He asked.

You choked at the nickname. “Nothing, baby. It isn’t an everyday thing to find out your friends are part of a gang,” you replied. He hummed.

“Fair enough.” The smell of fresh popcorn permeated through the air and you took out the bag, momentarily forgetting it was hot and burning your hand. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Taking a kitchen towel, you carefully opened the bag this time and poured the contents out into the bowl.

“Smells so good,” he commented. Jaemin took the bowl from your hand and placed it in his lap as you glared at him. Feeling a little salty, you plopped down right next to him and scooped up a handful of popcorn.

Looking at the TV screen, you almost snorted at the cheesy movie he put on. “Really? Dirty Dancing? You really are a Casanova, aren’t you?”

He smiled widely and ruffled your hair. “To be fair, the boys did warn you.” All you could do was roll your eyes in response and face the rolling movie. The plot wasn’t too bad and you found yourself being drawn into the fascinating world. You hadn’t noticed that the bowl of popcorn had moved to the middle, almost empty. Wanting some more popcorn, you absentmindedly moved your hand towards the assumed position of the bowl, but you were met with a warm thigh instead. Widening your eyes, you pulled back immediately.

Jaemin chuckled and reached for your hand, dragging it back to the prior position. “Didn’t know you were that whipped for me. Should’ve just mentioned it.”

You gulped nervously and licked your lips. This was moving way too fast. Time of my life was playing in the background, providing ambient music to your ironic situation. Jaemin gazed from your eyes to your lips and leaned forward and you found yourself closing that gap.

It was the classic kiss that everyone would describe. Soft, plush lips moving against your own, lightly at first in hesitation and then diving in. It felt amazing, as if a part of you had been completed. If you could fly, you probably would’ve soared to the heavens at this point. The hand that wasn’t holding yours came up to tilt your jaw and you felt yourself softening into his touch.

That is, until you realized something. This feeling was the exact feeling that Jisung had described to you years ago. What you were feeling was love. Intense love that could only be associated with a soulmate, which you clearly did not have.

Jaemin pulled back when you stopped kissing him back. “Did I do something wrong, princess?” He asked, backing off and giving you space. His eyes held a fearful look as if he had committed a crime by touching you.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not you. It’s just...d-do you have a mark?”

He looked back down to his scarred arm. “No. No I don’t. I don’t believe in that stuff anyway.” Jaemin was being defensive about something, but you couldn’t discern what.

“But the stories…”

“Who cares? If you like someone, why should you have fate tell you what to do?” His dark brown eyes peered into yours as the credits rolled in the background.

“We’ll get hurt. I don’t want us to end before we even begin,” you commented, getting up and turning on your heel to put the discarded bowl in the sink. “Now, I suggest we get some sleep.”

Awkward tension loomed in the air and Jaemin found himself listening to you, immediately going to the guest bedroom. Silence ensued.

You finished cleaning up and got ready for bed, feeling the weight of the day settling down. It had been a hectic day for you, but you finally found someone to give you some spice in your life. Jaemin didn’t seem ordinary and you were sure life would be a lot more interesting with him around. You had no idea how true that statement would become.

That night, you had the most vivid dream in a while. There was a red string leading you to a person. As you moved closer in the direction of the individual, you could see more details appearing. Pink hair adorned the person who was hunched over, sitting on a pedestal. There was a dragon adorning the beautiful, shining seat that was practically begging for you to approach. You called out to the figure, but he wouldn’t turn around.

Reaching your hand out, you grasped the familiar boy’s shoulder and saw the rope on your hand flickering intermittently. Unexpectedly, a sudden whirl whizzed grazed past your ears and broke the delicate rope, causing you to enter a freefall in the dark. There was the sound of a gunshot. Then you woke up.

You noticed that you were sweating from the intense feeling and saw that you were not falling, but safely wrapped in your bed. In your sleep, you hadn’t noticed that Jaemin creeped into your room and laid beside you, snoring gently. Your bed was big enough that he wasn’t cuddling you, but you were still in shock from your dream.

The innocent boy stirred in his dream and then gasped sharply, sitting upright. He frantically waved his arms before noticing that he was in your bed. “I-sorry, did I wake you up?” His voice was dusted with traces of sleep and panic.

“No. You good?”

“Thought I was falling. Red string…”

Your eyes widened. The two of you had the same dream. As you explained to him about your revelation, he tilted his head back and let out a sad chuckle.

“I didn’t think it’d be like this.”

You looked at him. “Um, fill me in. What do you mean?”

“Do you...do you perhaps know what The Dragon is?”

61 notes · View notes

inosuketingz · 5 years ago

Text

the sheets are stained with blood [p.1]

( gif not mine )

[ PART ONE ] PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR Victor Zsasz x fem!Reader Warning: Some swearing and mentions of violence. Spoilers for Birds of Prey Word Count: 1482 Summary: Zsasz survives the ending of BoP and somehow snaps even further after finding out what happened to Roman. Desperate to find a new obsession, he latches on to the reader while meeting her on a heist. A/N; Thought about this after watching BoP and decided to write it for my new tumblr acc. Also posted on my Ao3. Its gonna get smutty in future parts of course but this first part is quite mundane lol. Future parts will also feature some Helena x reader bc I’m a whore for Helena Bertinelli. Reader is a witch-y metahuman and is a part of Wonder Woman’s rogue gallery.

The TV plays the latest news report as you stuff a spoon of cereal into your mouth. The reporter stands in front of some nightclub near the city reporting on yet another death by stabbing.

"... she was found in the back alley of the nightclub last night, her body purposefully positioned in a life-like stance. Due to CCTV evidence from the previous stabbing murder, the Gotham police are suspecting ex-businessman Victor Zsasz to be the wicked man behind these crimes..." An image transitions onto the screen, showing a low quality image of a man with almost paper white hair and dark bags under his eyes. The reporter continues to drone on about the twisted results from the autopsy report.

"Yikes," you say to yourself before you grab the remote from the coffee table and switch to another channel playing reruns of Martin

You came to Gotham a few months back since Wonder Woman never let you have any fun in Boston, even though she's currently stationed all the way in London. You assume you’ll be able to keep away from the Bat's radar while he’s busy dealing with psycho clowns and knife-wielding serial killers.

A soft ping rings from your phone and you glance at the screen. Shipment's called off is all the text on your lockscreen reads. It's from an unknown number, but you know that it's another henchmen of the crime boss you’re working with for the time being. Putting down the bowl of cereal, you pick the cell up and tap in three letters before pressing send: Why.

It only takes a moment for you to get a reply. Got reports of the Birds of Prey being in the area. Better safe than sorry.

“Fuck,” you curse and throw your head back in anguish. You were relying on the cash you’d get from the heist for rent.

The phone dinged again. Meeting at the mansion to re-work the plan. In an hour, be there on time bruja, the new message reads.

Great. You thought all you were going to to tonight was show up at the docks, use your powers a bit, and run off with your share of the money. But no. God forbid you get your way for once.

With an annoyed groan, you force yourself off the couch and into your bedroom. You kick off your plaid pajama jogger as you push open the door. Your closet is over piled with clothes and you immediately regret not picking out an outfit earlier. You are a strong believer of wearing revealing outfits for yourself, and the amount of bodycon dresses you want to wear was overwhelming. Then you remember it’s winter and inches of snow are already forming outside.

To be a hoe or to care about your well-being. It is a conflicting life that you live.

~ ~ ~

You decided to go for a pair of black cargo pants and a turtleneck. The weather won this round. The mansion’s already filled as you park your car based on the amount of luxury vehicles filling the house's driveway. You hated working in big groups- it only led to problems. But, you’re down to do anything for the amount of checks you would be cashing with this entire heist.

Two burly men guard the front door of the mansion. One of them smirks as he watches you approach.

“Look, it’s the witch,” he tells the other and you roll your eyes. “Where’s your flying broom?” He teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter as you pass the two, pushing the heavy doors with a grunt.

The other guard laughs at your reply. “Careful, Hermione. It’s all fun and games until Wonder Woman comes and drags you out of Gotham.”

You don’t bother to look back as you retort “It’s all fun and games ‘til I cast a spell that leaves you two without your dicks tomorrow morning.” The silence as you continue down the dark hallway tells you they stopped smiling.

Are you actually going to bewitch their genitals away? No. But most people knew better than to assume you wouldn’t.

The corridor is dark, tinted red by the only source of light- an open set of doors leading into a grand meeting room. Expensive pottery and paintings lined against the walls of the mansion, all what you’d expect from Hernando del Rey.

Originally, you actually meant it when you decided to lay low in Gotham. You’d find a nice apartment, steal from the rich, and stay off the news until the end of time.

Then, you were contacted by Hernando del Rey, a Venezuelan crime boss straight out of a mob movie. Though you’re not necessarily a bad person- you define yourself as a chaotic neutral- you are dangerous. Del Rey wanted your powers, and you wanted the money- so here you are now.

You shove your hands into your pockets and swagger into the open doors. A group of about 20 people, men, women, and all those in between, sit at a long table. Some of the faces you recognize, either from previous meetings you’ve had with del Rey or from news reports.

One such face belongs to none other than Victor Zsasz. He immediately stands out from the others with his snowy hair and scruffy beard. He also looks like he hadn’t slept in days, so there’s that. Plus, ever since the CCTV recording of him at the last stabbing was leaked, his face is all you saw on the news.

His tired eyes watch you as you enter the room. You can’t tell if he’s giving you bedroom eyes or staring you down like a predator does a prey. Quite frankly, you aren’t in the mood to find out.

“My bruja!” del Rey, who made his seat at the end of the table, cheers when he sees your face. “The most important member of my team!”

You stretch your lips into an awkward smile “Hi.”

“Please take a seat.” Hernando motion towards the table. “Then we’ll begin.” You glance over in the direction of all the seated guests. Powers or not, way too many of them look like they wouldn’t mind killing you.

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

Hernando shrugs and begins lecturing about the game plan with the new threat of the Birds of Prey. You only pay half of your attention, catching a few words here and there. You never listen carefully at times like this, since your job is usually to just show up, cast some hexes and head out.

“I didn’t know they let witches in on heists.” You look down and see Victor Zsasz in front of you. His head is leaning back, since he sits facing away from you. Now that you are closer to him, you can see his features more clearly. From the silver teen in his mouth, to his token scars that cover his body- the nastiest being one on his neck that you assume wasn’t given to him voluntarily.

You bend down slightly so you can whisper in his ear, “I didn’t know they let mass murderers in on them, either.” He scoffs and straightens his neck and you straighten your back.

“-Y/N and Victor Zsasz will be the ones going to Hyunwoo Kim’s estate tomorrow.”

Yikes.

“I’m sorry, why do I get put with him?” You confront the boss. “I don’t think our attributes really compliment each other, to be honest.”

Hernando del Rey sighs, like an annoyed parent dealing with a bratty child. “Zsasz will be doing all the work, Y/N. You’re only there to make sure he doesn’t act out. If he does, just use your brujeria to kill him.”

The inside of your cheek starts to bleed due to how hard you bite it to refrain from arguing any further. You’ve never seen del Rey angry and you want to make sure to keep it that way.

From the corner of your eye you see Zsasz is back to looking at you. The wicked smile he wears tells you that this wouldn’t be any good.

~ ~ ~

A tired sigh leaves your mouth as you enter your apartment. The lights are off, just like you left it. It’s pitch black, leaving you blind against the darkness.

You begin to take off your pair of pumps when you notice the energy is off in here. The voice in your head yells that you are not alone. Immediately, you begin to mumble a Haitian spell you learned while in Port-au-Prince once summer- one that allows you to find a foe before they find you.

You’re not even halfway through the first line when a strong force pushes against you and your neck is pricked by a sharp object. Using your elbow, you hit the light switch.

The lights flicker on, revealing Victor Zsasz staring at you with the same look from earlier.

“Hello, witch.”

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz x you #birds of prey #dceu

98 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 5 years ago

Text

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 54)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:2821

Warnings: Language, taking sides, arguing,mentions of casualties from past fights,Civil war major plot points, songs for this part: The afterglow, Look what you made me do- Taylor Swift, Falling Apart-Papa Roach Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once all of you returned home, Hank and Charles escorted you and Shannon to the med bay. They took a sample of Shannon’s blood and tissue and determined that after one session, she should be healed. They suggested you give her one more treatment and after that, they would anesthetize you and Shannon and remove your triggering, and remove her Red Room protocol.

Of course, you agreed eagerly and after two days you were released from the mansion. You had seen Remy once and he apologized for his actions and asked if you could stay friends. Without hesitation, you said you’d like nothing more.

Shannon returned to Stark tower with her husband, and you returned to your apartment with Loki.

Life went on… normally for a while. Loki continued his work with Stephen. In fact, most days, you met him at work when he was getting off and the three of you had tea. It was nice to have Stephen back in your life again. You worked where you could find it, whether it was with Jane, or Shannon, or even Bruce. Shannon and Tony had a blissfully happy marriage, running Stark Industries and helping to manage the Avengers.

From what you could tell, the storm had passed. Remy and you remained friends, acknowledging his feelings and he respected your wishes to stay with Loki. You still visited him, and he you. Loki wasn’t jealous any more, for he had you and he knew this. You and Tony had made complete amends. Since that night at Xavier’s mansion, you let bygones be bygones. You both loved Shannon, and you missed being friends. It wasn’t just Stpehen and Remy either. You seemed to gravitate towards the Avengers compound quite a bit, and when Shannon was busy, you spent a lot of time with Wanda, Pietro, and if Clint was around, him too.

Shannon was completely healed at this point. She could exercise her powers at will and not be drained of them.

You and Loki visited Asgard, often. Most of the time you went for a week at the end of each month. It was nice to visit the motherland and return to a familiar home. Loki finally began to accept that Earth was his home and he started to feel…. Happy here. He didn’t really care if he was on Asgard, or Voromir, or Earth, so long as he was with you.

It seemed everyone was happy, moving on, building their lives back up from the chaos that had been the last five years.

Until Secretary Ross came in and said he was introducing a new plan for the Avengers -- The Sokovian Accords. Wanda had accidentally killed some citizens, and now the government was cracking down on the team.

“Steve’s right,” Shannon suddenly said, once the debate had broken out about the accords. Sides were being taken, quickly. So far, Sam and Steve were against signing this treaty, as it were. Natasha, Vision, and Rhodey leaned on the side of complying with the government.

“What?” Tony asked, shocked. He pulled up an image of a boy, a boy who was crushed by some of the destruction caused in Sokovia. You felt a pang of guilt. “You’re telling me you’re okay with that?” Tony demanded of his wife.

“I’m saying that the Avengers should be able to go out and save the people and clear the danger from becoming worse. We shouldn’t have to wait to be called upon to save the day. That’s not what we are, that’s not why we were formed.”

“Exactly. Tony, what if there’s somewhere we need to go, and we can’t because of this?”

“The Avengers were created to save the world from whatever threat is upon the Earth. So for us to be there like sitting ducks… it’s infuriating because I could be healing people while the rest of you are handling whatever’s left,” Shannon responded.

“Y/N is awfully quiet,” Natasha remarked.

“Look, I’m not an Avenger, not official, so I--”

“Right, her vote doesn’t count,” Tony interjected with a smile at you.

“But I agree with you, Tony,” you finished.

Tony did a double take. “What?”

“What?” Shannon scoffed. “Y/N/N, what--”

“Shannon, toying with forces unknown will result in bad outcomes. Maybe it’s good you--we-- don’t go running to every fight. Look where that got me. I became a slave because I thought I could help fight them.”

“You were forced to do something you didn’t want to, Y/N. But as the Avengers it’s our duty to defend the only home we have against whatever or whoever tries to come and take over.”

“No matter the cost?” you asked incredulously.

“How would you feel if everyone on this earth became a slave because we were told we couldn’t stop the threat from doing that to us? It would mean that everything we've done would be for nothing.”

“I understand that but look at New York, look at Sokovia, look at what just happened with Wanda. If Banner had been more under control, or if we’d had the government to help extract the citizens…. Maybe we wouldn’t have as many casualties.”

“You know we wouldn’t have any casualties from New York if you and your boy toy hadn’t come in storming the place,” Sam retorted and you shot him a look of frustration.

“We’re going to get nowhere arguing like this,” Tony stated. “The accords are being signed in a week, in Vienna. I suggest you all be there, if you don’t want to be considered criminals.”

With that, he left the room, Steve got a text message, and you and Shannon stared at each other.

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

Loki said he was staying out of it, but supported your decision either way. You informed him you would sign as a symbol of good faith to the government and to show you could comply. Maybe order was a good thing.

A week later, you were in Vienna with Tony, Rhodey, Nat, and Vision. Vision complimented you for making a sound decision. Nat said she was glad to see you there. Tony was… still bitter about Shannon and didn’t talk much.

Until the next thing you knew was the signing had exploded.

From there, it was a whirlwind of fighting. Apparently, the Winter Soldier, the man who had trained Shannon, Steve’s old friend Bucky had blown the place up. Steve went after him, only to be arrested and all of them in captivity, until Bucky was reactivated.

Shannon, Steve, Bucky, and Sam were fugitives. They had escaped holding and you and Tony had figured out they were headed for the airport.

That’s when things got really hairy. When you ran into them, you were trying to stop them, just hoping they’d give themselves up. But Steve and Bucky were determined to chase down a phantom. For you, it wasn’t about the Accords or Bucky or any of it. You had made a promise to the UN, and now you had to bring the others in.

On one side, it was Steve, Sam, Bucky, Shannon, Wanda, Pietro, Scott, and Clint.

On your side, it was you, Tony, Rhodey, Vision, Nat, Peter, and T’Challa.

Utter hell broke loose between the two opposing sides. You mainly focused on fighting Wanda and Shannon, the two you could do the most damage against. Ultimately though, Steve and Bucky got away with the help of Shannon and Nat. Tony followed them.

When the fight ended though, you and Shannon made up, as did you and the rest of the group. You felt the accords were silly, and slightly unnecessary, but it seemed like a step in the right direction. You respected everyone’s choice on the matter though, and that’s what everyone said once the physical fighting was over. Everyone had civil discourse on what had happened. But ultimately, Rhodey had to make the call to Ross to ask that they all be arrested.

“No, Rhodey, you can’t do that,” you begged, turning to him. “Come on, they were just trying to help Bucky, you know this. Come on, it’s Steve. It’s Shannon,” you pleaded. “We can’t do this!”

He continued to stay on the phone as he talked to you. “It’s out of my hands, Y/N. You know as well as I do if we just let this go, we’ll all be as good felons too.”

“It’s okay,” Shannon assured. “He’s right, Y/N. It’s your duty to call this in.”

“No,” you argued. “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I signed up to stop threats. No one here is a threat,” you retorted, angry. “You didn’t get a chance to keep me from jail. You pulled strings to get me out early. I want to be better for you. You don’t belong in a jail cell. Vision, come on. You know as well as I do none of them belong in prison!” You were trying to plead with the people on your side, but their hands were tied.

“Y/N,” Shannon said softly, “it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Tony won’t let any of us stay in a cell too long. It’ll be a slap on the wrist. He’ll make sure everyone gets cut some slack and gets out. No civilians got hurt. It was just us. We’ll be alright.” She came up and rubbed your back.

You peered at her, glancing to all of your friends. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” she agreed. “It’ll be fine.”

The government showed up and all of them stood still, not fighting as handcuffs were put on them. That part killed you.Meanwhile, you tears were hot on your face as Vision wrapped you in an embrace, trying to comfort you.

You never wanted anyone locked away, especially Shannon. She didn’t deserve the same fate you had after New York. Truthfully, none of them did. Tony could be stubborn, and you knew he thought they got what they deserved except for Shan, but you couldn’t bear to see them in that prison.

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

Tony walked into the floating cell that held all of his friends, including his wife. He didn’t want her to be here, or any of them, really. But the law was the law. He walked up to her cell after he made a round to everyone else. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t bear to look at her just yet.

“Shan…” He started, his voice sounding broken. “What the hell, babe? You went against me on this? We fought? Physically. What the hell happened?”

“Tony, you know how I feel about this. As a team we were formed to save.” She turned her body to face him. She didn’t attempt to come closer to the cell wall. She didn’t want to get shocked again. “I’m sorry we fought but we needed to get Bucky out of there, you wouldn't really understand why I did it but I did and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m so glad you were concerned with getting Roger’s friend out of there,” he snapped, beyond angry and hurt. “Shannon, I needed you, beside me. I thought as my wife you’d support me, back me up. And then you just… You decided to go against not only me, but most of the global governments. Was this all to get back at me in some way or…? I gotta know.” He had that signature amused, irritated look. He was at his wits end.

“Tony, would you not make this about yourself for once? I’ve always stood by your side in everything!” she shouted and took a deep breath. “I was not about to sign something that makes me the government's pet going when they call. You would have done the same thing to save Rhodey if it had been you in Steve’s shoes.” She got up, walking a little bit close. “Just like I would have done for Y/N or you, not that it seems to matter to you.” she lowered her voice at the end.

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?” he asked, his voice low, hurt. “Shan, everything you do matters to me. That’s why it hurt so bad to know you fought me on this.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. He shook his head. “Shan, babe, I just wanted us to be on the same side. We’re not always on the same side, and it kills me when we aren’t. It surprised the hell out of me when you said you disagreed with me on this. When I found out that you weren’t going to sign, I freaked.”

She stepped as close as she could to the plexiglass. “All my life all I’ve know is following orders and being the assassin they want me to be and I finally got away from that when we created the Avengers and I met you,” the pain in her eyes was evident she hated that she hurt him like this but he didn’t want to live through another version of her past. “And now you ask me to do it all over again but as a soldier to the government? It took me years to feel comfortable in my own skin after all the atrocities I did back then I won’t start again from zero.” She wiped the few tears that had escaped. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t, not if she had the choice.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. He started nodding. “You know what? You’re right. I never thought of it that way. I saw it my way and that’s all I could see. All I saw and heard was that you weren't backing me up, and I freaked. But you’re absolutely right. You’ve never gotten autonomy and for the first time in your life, you got a chance to do that. I’m just sorry it ended in this. You gotta help me right now though. Where did they go?” he implored, staring at her. “I want to help them, but you gotta tell me where they went.”

“How do I know you're not just going to lock them in here with us?” She scrunched her eyebrows. “They should already be at the location, Tony. They need to end what Zemo started.”

He frowned. “Zemo… Where would he have gone?”

She looked at Sam who shook his head as if knowing what was going on. “ I can’t tell you Tony.” she points to the cameras with her eyes hoping he’d get why.

He sighed before pulling his watch up, running his finger over a few things. “There, audio is out. We have thirty seconds. If you ever trusted me for a moment in our life, you’ll tell me now. It’s either me or the government,” he challenged.

“It’s you Tony, it’s always. “ she stopped. “They’re in Siberia that's where all the other super soldiers are frozen.” she put her hand to the glass not caring that she’d get shocked. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he vowed, kissing his fingers and pressing them against the glass. “Gimme some time. I’m gonna go help them, and I’ll be back to get you babe. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you or on your side.” He gave her an apologetic smile.

She winced at the pain of the shock. “Just please be careful...fuck!” she pulled her hand back from the glass. “Damn you Ross!” she glared at the camera and she looked down at her hand to see that it was bleeding.

“I’ll take care of that prick,” Tony promised. “Love you. Be back in a bit.” With that, he turned and was off. He needed to get to Steve and Bucky before the UN caught on.

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

Tony arrived at the bunker, happy to help Bucky and Steve, only to have that idea shattered. The truth of his parents murder sent him reeling and he launched into a full on fight, ready to tear Bucky apart. Steve left him and his suit broken in the bunker as T’Challa had captured Zemo.

Steve and Bucky went off to God knows where, and T’Challa, Tony, and Zemo returned to the States. Tony got back and got Shannon a deal. He immediately got Shannon out of the prison as soon as possible, as he did with Clint and Scott, both who had kids. The rest stayed in the prison cell until Tony could maybe work something else out.

But by the time Tony started on the paperwork, Steve had busted everyone out of the floating prison. He sent Tony and Shannon a letter saying if anyone needed him, he’d be there for them.

As of that moment, everyone knew the Avengers were no more.

You kept in a bit of contact with Wanda, Pietro, and Steve, keeping the correspondence from Tony. Ultimately, you had to return to Asgard with Loki and Thor for Odin and you lost touch for around a year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaelingoat-blog @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo @damalseer @heyitscam99 @yknott81 @sorryimacrapwriter @glitterquadricorn @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm @alyssaj23 @sea040561 @princess76179 @thisismysecrethappyplace @sarahp879 @malfoysqueen14 @ellallheart @breezy1415 @marvelmayo @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @cocosierra94 @hardcollectionworldtrash @capsmuscles @marvelloushamilton @paintballkid711

Loki: @lostinspace33 @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @esoltis280 @tngrayson @wangdeasang @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice

UC: @lokis-high-priestess

#unforeseen chasm #loki x reader #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #tony stark #tony stark fic #tony stark x ofc #steve rogers #bucky barnes #t'challa #wanda #vision #pietro #bruce banner #rhodey #clint barton #peter parker #scott lang

21 notes · View notes

fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

Text

828. part 2

This was prompted by @thetruefor3stspirit! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

[part1]

That comment had been a weird one to hear from the human and Nines spent the remaining car ride to the precinct thinking about it. They hadn’t been working together for long, but long enough for Nines to confirm what others had told him about the man: He was rude, impolite, swore more than was good for him and still thought of androids as machines, as objects. He could play along well enough, but Nines still was met by derogatory terms and jokes about his kind. Gavin hated Connor to the bone, couldn’t care less about androids and Nines knew he was sorted in somewhere in between those two.

For this assessment the human’s words had been strangely out of character. Maybe he had misunderstood something? Maybe it was one of Gavin’s frequent self-hating jokes, telling him that no one would take him as someone as bad as himself. Yeah, that had to be it. Anything else was impossible.

They worked relentlessly on their case, Gavin checking the evidence at hand while Nines accessed public CCTV and how many TR models were currently active in Detroit. Unfortunately, none of them got any results from their research. The evidence they had wasn’t enough to find any trace of the murderer, even after a thorough autopsy of the android victim. The footage was conveniently deleted, looped or obstructed and there were far too many TRs to just go around asking for a spare, ripped out Thirium pump. If anything, that told them the TR in question wasn’t working alone as they had neither the ability nor the computing power to hack the cameras that fast and effectively. Except for if their suspect was a RK900, of course. Then all that would be possible with just one unit. Nines really wished it wasn’t the case.

‘Hey, Gavin, Nines? You’ve got a new crime-scene to look at. I would hurry, it’s still fresh.’ Gavin was immediately up and picked up his jacket from the chair. Nines followed shortly. It had been two days since the last one and everyone knew they had enough open cases already. That could only mean… ‘What’s it, Chris? Any details?’ ‘Ripped out Thirium pump.’ ‘You are shitting me’, Gavin uttered. ‘Nope. Same shit as last time.’ ‘Phck.’

‘Phck, please don’t let this be some serial killer, please!’ Nines was processing the information the DPD had already gathered, ignoring the emotional outburst from his partner. ‘Victim is another android. It looks… awfully much like our last victim. It is very much possible that they were murdered by the same person.’ ‘Shit. Detroit really doesn’t need this kind of bullshit.’ ‘Don’t worry, Detective. At least they only target androids.’ Gavin clenched his teeth. Nines had quickly lost his uncertainty around him that had clung to him the first days of them working together. Apparently, the machine had concluded his assessment of him in keeping his distance. And what was that last comment for? Phcking androids. ‘Yeah, at least they only target androids’, he hissed at the droid. What had he thought? Nines was just a prick like any other.

They arrived at the scene and as Gavin entered the kitchen of the house, he near gagged from the chemical stench. It hurt in his nose like spilled washing agent. Only then he could squint at the body. And holy shit, that was a lot of blood. The blue liquid gathered in a pool underneath the android. It was still visible though and that let his brain run at top speed. ‘This happened less than two hours ago, right? As the thirium is still liquid?’ ‘That’s right, Detective.’ ‘And the hole in his chest is the same size again?’ ‘Correct.’ ‘How long would you need to erase all camera footage?’ ‘Detective, I am not-‘ ‘How long?’ ‘If I wanted to be as thoroughly as our suspect, it really just depends on the amount of cameras.’ ‘Well, look out of the window, I immediately counted at least five in those shops.’ ‘I see thirteen.’ ‘Ugh, smartass. How long then?’ ‘More than two hours. But we would need a warrant and it could still be a TR-‘ ‘Phck warrants, if this is a serial killer, do you want to wait until the next android dies?’ ‘What is it to you, Detective.’ ‘Phcking… Would you just hack the shit? Come on, we can argue about it later and we don’t have to tell anyone. We’ll get that footage eventually anyways.’

Nines scowled at the man, who was already kneeling in front of the victim, putting on gloves to lift the android’s clothing. Then he started to find a way to access the footage. ‘No.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘The murderer is a RK900.’ ‘Shit. Where is he now? I will call in backup.’ ‘And what will you tell them how we found it out?’ ‘I’ll bullshit something for them, okay toaster? Just find him, quick!’

They had found the RK900 by hacking several surveillance cameras on their way and had to fight the android in the end to subdue him. Both had the bruises to proof just how strong a RK900 unit was and Gavin swore to never anger his partner the way he had had his fun with Connor. They interrogated the machine and tried to find out where the rest of them were hiding but were met by it stating his missions and how they were not authorised to be told the information they searched. The RK900 was stubborn in his programming and created enough problems for the police that two permanent android guards were positioned in front of his cell. Or the cell next to his first one he had smashed the reinforced glass of. The machine tried everything to get out of there, displaying his brute force and disregard of his own health. He had severed his own hand to cause an electric surge on the lock of the door and had always doubled his efforts when he sensed an android outside. He babbled on about deviancy being a plague, a malfunction and that all free androids had to be eliminated.

‘It’s a fucking Terminator’, people commented. ‘How could someone build something like that?’ ‘God, this is scary.’ No one seemed to notice how everyone subconsciously kept their distance to Nines after the day the android had freed himself a second time and not only broke the glass, but also an arm and a leg of the guards before Connor could send the android into forced stasis. No one noticed how the heart rates of everyone not over two metres away of Nines spiked. No one noticed how Nines tried to make himself smaller, to not move too much in the precinct and kept seated in front of his terminal, even during break time.

‘Hey, lighten up a little.’ Nines flinched at the sudden contact of a hand on his shoulder. Who still dared to- ‘You’ve been red all day, tin-can.’ Of course. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’, Nines grumbled, scowl deepening as the human sat himself on his desk awfully close. Yeah, we got it. You are not scared. You have a death wish anyway, thinking androids are below you. ‘I actually have, yes. But it’s time for a break and your disco-light is damn distracting.’ ‘You never take your break, Detective.’ ‘Yeah, but you do. So why is your metal ass still here and not over there with drunkard and poodle?’ ‘None of your business.’ ‘Fine. But you know, keeping your distance to them won’t solve your problem.’ ‘What problem?’, Nines asked, his question more a threat than anything. A threat the human ignored as always: ‘They are scared of you because you are the same damn model than the idiot in our holding cell. You know, it’s funny, you predicted that scenario last week and somehow missed the whole thing playing out in front of you.’

‘I saw it, Detective’, the android snarled. ‘Don’t you think I would be the first to notice?’ ‘Well, you are not doing anything about it, so… no?’ ‘What is your problem? Just lean back and enjoy the show. You might lose an android on the force over this. Thought that would be a win for you?’ ‘I think you are overexaggerating.’ ‘What? You being happy when I’m gone? I don’t think so.’ Gavin sighed and slipped from the table. ‘You are a real pain in the ass, you know? Continue like this and I really would be.’

He yawned and walked over to Connor’s desk and Nines thought that would be the end of it. Until he was surprised by two folders repeatedly being smacked together. Nines looked over to the detective, who kept on doing this with two of Connor’s open case files while marching down the bullpen. Then he let them sink to his respective sides and yelled: ‘Attention, dipshits! The android in the holding cell is the killing machine here. I thought the DPD would only hire people who had the braincells to show for it, but apparently you all cheated your end exam or something. My partner isn’t the phcking serial killer and you assholes better don’t treat him like one. I need a fully operational partner and I won’t let you all pull him down, understood?’ Gavin had all the attention of a shocked crowd screaming through the precinct loud enough the people in the lobby had to hear it and the human nodded into the silence. ‘Good.’ He had arrived at the entrance and casually threw both folders into a – thankfully empty – trashcan. The man added a ‘Phcking Kindergarten’ to his speech and exited the precinct.

Nines had been left to the attention of his co-workers after Gavin had went outside and couldn’t help but blush and turn around to his terminal. What the hell had the human thought doing this? An hour later Gavin came back, holding a coffee from a local coffeeshop. He strode through the precinct as if it was a day like any other and sat down at his table across from Nines, ignoring the whispered talks of everyone else. The android however heard them loud and clear. ‘What the hell happened to Reed?’ ‘I know right? He hates attention!’ ‘Yeah, more importantly he hates androids. Didn’t you hear what he did before the revolution?’ ‘No. What?’ ‘I heard he was one of those guys abusing thrown out androids.’ ‘Holy shit. They let someone like that work at the police?’ ‘I know, right?’

Nines shook his head trying to concentrate on the screen in front of him again.

‘I bet he did it because Nines is convenient for him. Just some android he can command around.’

‘Poor Nines, stuck with such an asshole.’

‘Must be the worst. I wouldn’t last a day partnered up to Reed.’

Nines looked over to the man silently sipping his coffee, completely focussed on the photos of the crime-scene laying before him. He really seemed as if his head was in a different world, being able to ignore all of this. He had to hear it. How could he filter it out that well? As Gavin looked up to type up the report for this case, Nines interrupted: ‘Why?’ ‘Hmm?’ The man put down his coffee and looked at him innocently as if he hadn’t just guilt-shamed all of the precinct to be nice to him. ‘Why did you do that?’ ‘What? Bought me a coffee? I had my break and well, I couldn’t exactly stay after-‘ ‘You know exactly what I mean, don’t evade it!’ ‘Why did I defend my partner, you mean? Didn’t think I had to explain that. I’m keeping my promise, tin-can. Even if not, partners are supposed to have each other’s back.’ ‘What promise?’ ‘Last week? In the car? Don’t tell me you forgot that already!’ ‘You meant that?’ ‘Did I mean tha- Of course I meant that! Why else would I say it? Did you think I was joking?’ ‘At least I didn’t think you were being serious. You hate androids.’ Gavin leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Listen, Nines. I don’t hate androids, okay? I used to demolish thrown out machines. I could as well had been vandalising bus-stops or graffiti dicks on walls. I can’t care less about androids, that’s right. I couldn’t care less for humans either. But I care about the persons around me and what is right and what is wrong. Why else should I choose to work at the police? It definitely isn’t the nice work atmosphere and the great retirement policy.’

Nines just stared at the man, who quickly evaded his eyes. That was the most honest the human had been to him so far. Or had Nines just never noticed it? He thought back to their talk in the car. Had he really meant every word he had said? In the lights of his recent actions he might have. And Nines realised the chances weren’t too bad that he had let himself become a victim of prejudice. Everyone had told him the detective was an asshole, someone who hated androids and would rather see one in a ditch than save one on the job. He had been wrong to believe them. Gavin was a good partner, caring and compassionate about his job.

‘Thank you’, Nines said in all honesty, thinking back to what he had thrown at the human back in the car.

I don’t want to be pegged as someone like you.

‘Hmm?’ The human looked up at him again and Nines couldn’t shake the feeling Gavin had already been back at thinking about their case, not even bothering what Nines’ evaluation of him was once he made clear how he thought about the android.

‘I think I would be honoured to be put in a box with people like you.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #THEY ARE FLUFFY IDIOTS #Sorry #Miscommunication + good communication is my guilty pleasure #selective attention is something I have too Gavin #Hey do you remember that one person last lab course?#Hmm u need to be more specific...#Hmm they were really interested in weird instruments #boy or girl?#I don't phcking know #Gavin banging the folders together: I aint got no functional partner because of y'all now you aint get a break cause of me #Also rip Connor having to fish his papers out of there #Gavin's just petty like this

27 notes · View notes

lokisgame · 5 years ago

Text

A Generous Donation [11]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10]

They woke up together, early, because she needed to stop by her place to change for the day. "There's a new toothbrush in the cabinet," he grinned, kissing her good morning and earning a poke under the rib, laughing. "Good, you should use it sometimes," she said, and sat up, stretching arms over her head. "I should bring something to sleep in next time." Mulder grinned and ran one hand down her bare back. "I'm not complaining." "Something silk and short, you'd love it." "More than what you're wearing now? I doubt it." "Flatterer," she teased and went for the bathroom, wearing nothing and wearing it well.

Ten minutes later she was downstairs, taking the coffee he offered. They stood next to each other, leaning against the counter, she in her yesterday's business casual, he in loose swats and a t-shirt, scratching his cheek. The day settling in. "What time do you think they'll have the results." "Sometime before lunch," she said, "they'll call." "I can't imagine you did this for weeks." "What?" "Waiting, it's killing me." He said, but then checked himself, "bad joke, sorry." "Transplant ward humour," she smiled, bumping his shoulder, "you're a natural." "Type 0 negative, take what you want." "More dad jokes?" "As long they are not dead jokes." "You're hilarious," she deadpanned making him laugh, for real this time. "I have to go, thanks for the toothbrush." She put the mug in the sink and as she looked up, he touched her chin, bringing her lips to his, kissing them softly. "What's that for?" "Luck," he said and kissed her again. He got the call around noon.

Scully stood a few feet from the door to Will's room, waiting for Walter to be done talking to the head nurse, realising, she was biting her nails. "You're a mess," she told herself under her breath, trying to calm her heart and conjure some leftover confidence. "Shall we?" Walter said and together they went in. "Will," she greeted him, crossing the room as he looked up from the book he was reading. He smiled, if faintly, his eyes fixed on the man behind her. "Hi mom," he said and nodded, "Sir." "How are you doing Will," Skinner asked, shaking his hand. "Not too bad," Will said, closing the book. "Mom? What's going on." "We found a donor." She said, moving straight to the point. "Yes," Skinner nodded, standing by the foot of his bed. "And since you're legally an adult, we need your consent to start with the treatment." "You got a pen?" Will said, turning pale but sitting straight. "It's not like I have much choice." "You always have a choice," Skinner said, resting his hands on the footboard. "Hear him out, Will." Scully said, putting her arm around him. "I'm obligated to explain to you the procedure, before you sign anything, so listen carefully." Will nodded. "Before we get you better, we will have to make you worse, a lot worse." "Chemo, I know." "You have to understand, we have to wipe out your immune system and destroy your own bone marrow, to get you ready for the donor cells. It won't be pretty, you will have to go through a very aggressive regimen of chemotherapy, during which you will remain in isolation to limit any risk of infection." "How long that will take?" "About two days, it will hurt like hell and there might be complications." "What then." "While you go through the preparations, we will take marrow from the donor and store it, until you are ready for transplant." "Then?" "Then once you're ready, you’ll receive the new, healthy marrow, and then we wait." "How will that look like?" "Like a blood transfusion, the cells are transferred into your bloodstream and through that, settle in your bones, where they'll hopefully stay and start to grow, rebuilding your blood and immune system, while you remain in observation." "And how long that might be?" "Usually around 100 days," Skinner said, "during that time we will monitor your condition, watching blood cell counts and keep an eye out for any signs of graft rejection." "So we're looking at three months." "At the hospital, after that, you will remain under supervision, but hopefully on an out-patient basis." "Alright, when do we start?" "As soon as we get you transferred to isolation." "Don't worry," Scully said, drawing him closer, "I'll be as close to you as I can." "I know you will." He said, leaning a little into her. "Okay, where do I sign?" "Here are the forms," Skinner said, handing him a stack of papers with a pen. "I'll leave you for a moment, I have to talk to the nurses." "Thanks." Will said and started scribbling his name on dotted lines, his hand shaking a little. He was almost done with the paperwork when he spoke again, careful not to look up. "Mom?" "Yes?" "Who is it?" He asked quietly, "The donor, anyone we know?" Scully took a deep breath, finding her voice, then whispered. "It's Mulder." Will nodded, writing his name one last time with a flourish.

He answered the phone on third ring. "Mulder." "Hey, it's me." Her voice on the other end sounded small. "How is he?" "It's bad, the things he went through so far, are nothing compared to this." "It's necessary." "I know," she sighed, "but it doesn't make it any easier." "You'll stay with him all night?" "I need to, I can't leave him." "Of course, but try to get some sleep, for me, please?" "I'll try, and how are you doing?" "Nervous," he said, closing his eyes, "it's not like I'll be peeing into a plastic cup." She huffed out quarter of a laugh. "No, it's not," "Good to know there's still one laughing bone left in you intact," he teased softly, "you'll be okay. Both of you will." "You want me to take you home after?" "No, you don't have to." "Someone should keep an eye on you," Mulder laughed, warmed by her concern. "Scully, baby, you can't be in all places at once, and right now, Will needs you more than I do." "But it's the least I can do." "I talked to some friends, they'll come pick me up." "But," "Relax, I'll be alright. When do you think they will," "Thursday, if there's no complications." "Thanksgiving," Mulder said. "Yeah, let's hope we'll have something to be thankful for." Silence stretched, humming with anxiety. "Does he know it's me?" Mulder asked finally and Scully sighed, he could almost hear her shoulders slump. "Yes," she said, "I'm sorry, he asked." "No, it's okay," Mulder said gently, "he would've figured it out, eventually." Someone said something in the background and Scully said she'll be right with them. "I have to go," she said to the phone, "they're starting Will on another round." "Sure, go, we'll talk tomorrow." "Wait, what time is it?" "Almost eleven, go, be with your kid." "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I," she choked on words and pain in her voice tore at his heart some more. "I know, go," he said and hung up.

The ballpark was full, Fenway Park packed to capacity with red, white and blue. Heavy clouds gathered in the east, threatening to dump their load and end the game before the Red Sox had any chance at fighting back. The score was tied and the tall, chestnut haired kid in the field already earned two strikes. Opposite him stood a giant, clad in Yankee midnight blue, his face merciless like the face of baseball God. Mulder watched the boy fix his grip on the bat. "Remember," he muttered under his voice, "hips before hands…" The ball flew, the boy swung the bat… "How are we doing, mr Mulder?" Boomed a voice, yanking him out of the dream and blowing it away in seconds, while reality rushed in. The sky outside looked painted with red and orange, sun finally peeking through to say goodnight. A tall, bald doctor was walking in, the one who was in charge of the procedure. Skinner was the name, Mulder remembered, gathering himself to sit up. "I had worse," he said while the mans' hands were on him, businesslike but not callous, checking pulse and bandages. He looked through Mulders' chart and satisfied, started making notes on some new papers he brought. "Well, you look fine enough to go home for the rest of the day. Most of the side effects should be gone by the end of the week," Skinner said, signing the release form, "but it can take up to a month for you to completely recover, so my advice is to try to take it easy." "I will," Mulder said and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you." "No, Mr Mulder, thank you. You quite possibly saved a young mans' life, and my friends' son, I'm truly grateful." "He's a great kid." "He sure is." Skinner smiled and left the room. The tv hummed in the background and Mulder glanced at the clothes laid out on the bed. His back ached and the thought of pulling on pants filled him with dread, but he bit the bullet and, perched on the edge of the mattress, gingerly started to dress. "I can do this," he said to himself, moving at a glacial pace when a voice came from the doorway. "We volunteer to pick you up and this is what we get in return?" Mulder sighed and looked at the two men standing in the doorway. Both of them were around his age, but as he aged with grace and dignity, they looked basically as they did the day they met. Basements of MIT held some pretty interesting relics. "Stop passing judgment," he said to the tall one, "it's like Arctic in here." "No it's not," the man replied and walked in. "You sure you're okay to go home?" Asked the shorter one, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. "Frohike, get that thing away from me." "Hospital policy," the tall one grinned, adding, "old man." "Blow me, Langly," Mulder said, pulling himself to his feet, but then he hissed and wobbled. Langly caught him and helped him into the chair. "Easy." "Thanks." Frohike took the bag and the jacket from the bed and glanced around the room. "You had anything else with you?" "No," Mulder said, trying to control his breathing while his stomach auditioned for Cirque du Soleil. "Hey, you sure you okay?" "Yeah," he swallowed hard and finally looked up. "I'm just worried, I can do that at home as well." "If you say so." Frohike said pulling the doors open and Langly pushed the chair, with Mulder in it, towards the elevators and the parking lot.

The Gunmen didn't try to pull him into their conversation, letting him rest, while Byers pitched his patience against late afternoon traffic. They took him straight home, arguing from where to order the pizza, and what should be on top. They made the call from the car to save time. Mulder managed the steps to his front door and headed straight for the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, barely any strength left to toe off his sneakers. "Did you talk to the good doctor today?" "Yeah, she called this morning." "Called." Langly said, dubious. "She's with her son, no point in her going in and out of quarantine zone just to talk." "Well," he began, but then thought better of it. "You're right." "Here are your meds," Byers said, putting a glass of water next to the bag on the coffee table. "You should take them after dinner." The doorbell rang and Langly went to get it, his wallet out to pay for the delivery. Mulder ate one slice, without getting up, took the pills and watched the game on tv, which someone had turned on. Low conversation hummed around him, comfortable, familiar, and completely undemanding. It was one of the little things he was grateful for most, having people he could count on without worrying about returning the favour. Food, meds and being home helped a lot, but his mind kept drifting to Scully, her nervous hands he wished he could hold, her tense shoulders he would gather under his arm. His brave, strong Scully, fighting for her son. Mulder's prayers were short and to the point, since he wasn't even sure, if there was an all-powerful God. He didn't need much from the one above, or below, or around for that matter, if one wanted to be fair to all, nothing more than not making them stand over a hole in the ground, because that hole would forever stay open in their hearts. He didn't watch the game end, or notice the boys look at him then at each other. The question that hung unspoken, finally ripened enough to be voiced. "Why do you do it?" Frohike said from the chair by the fireplace and Mulder sighed, pulling the blankets a little closer around himself. "If I ever had a kid," he said quietly, "I hope there would be someone, who would do the same for him." His friends looked at him for a long moment, expressions gradually softening, while they accepted the answer as true to Mulders' nature as they might ever expect. "Well, let's hope it works." Frohike said and smiled warmly. "Yeah, let's." Mulder relied and watched them get up to leave. "Take it easy," said Byers, shrugging into his long coat, "and call if you need anything." "Thanks." "Anytime man." Langly said and zipped up his leather jacket. Frohike patted his shoulder and they left, leaving Mulder with his fears and aches. His part was done, now all he could do was wait.

#generous donation #mst fanfic #au #sweet nothings #x files fanfic

84 notes · View notes