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akystaracer22 · 9 months ago

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Free the Bird from its Gilded Cage

Synopsis: Lucifer would tell anyone who asked his greatest regret was letting humanity eat the apple. Better than admitting what he really regretted.

Notes

Golly gee good thing affairs didn’t exist back then huh!

In which Lucifer’s tism hurts his best friend, the fic.

I think I can tag this as Edenpoly considering the conversation between Lucifer and Lilith.

I give my greatest thanks to my good friend Hat who uttered the phrase “I raise a glass to the friend you could have been and drink to the monster you became” (Or something of the sort) which has not left my brain 2 years later.

No shade on other people’s depictions of the ancient archangels. I love good archangels as much as you guys but… this is very much bashing.

I’m so sorry Michael. And Azrael, and every single angel who’s characters I butcher in this AU. It’s not you guys I swear.

God on the other hand fuck you I’m not sorry.

I have been told by many people irl that I have religious trauma. I didn’t think I did but fuck it we ball.

I am so sorry this came out late but I had two assignments and I'm moving houses, I'll try not to have a repeat.

Word count: 1957

Fic under cut!

Lucifer felt Lilith before he saw her, the first woman’s aura screaming frustration and hurt louder than the tears in her eyes.

She was sitting under an aspen tree with her legs tucked to her chest.

Lucifer didn’t need to guess why she was upset; it could really only be one thing these days.

“Adam did something again, didn’t he.”

Lilith huffed and lifted her head to meet Lucifer’s gaze, “We fought, again. He still doesn’t get it.”

Lucifer sighed and sat down next to the first woman, not for the first time the little voice in his head bemoaned Adams chronic inability to listen to anyone other than God. It was really starting to cause problems in Eden.

“He’ll regret it.”

“He always does, but he still does it.”

Lucifer nodded, “He needs to learn that God isn’t right about everything,” His siblings would murder him if they knew he was spreading this kind of blasphemy, “But I do agree, it’s a little irritating.”

“It is!” Lucifer jerked as Lilith stood up abruptly and began to pace, “He’s great most of the time don’t get me wrong, but he’s just increasingly growing more and more insufferable! It’s like every time he gets better he just goes straight back to being worse!”

“Truly the trials and tribulations of the first humans.”

“I just wish he would listen to me! Not some stuck up self-important know it all who thinks I’m worthless.”

Lucifer wisely held back the instinctive defence of the Creator, “Especially when you are so much more than that.”

Lilith seemed to finally run out of steam, falling back into Lucifer’s arms and holding him tightly, “I hate this… I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t… I hate the man God wants him to be.”

“I hate that man too,” Lucifer admitted, “I hate how he hurts everyone.”

Because it wasn’t just Lilith that was left hurting. Lucifer hated how he was losing track of the near silent breakdowns of Adam’s.

God created humanity different from the grand design, and every day Lucifer loathed that fact more and more.

“He’s going to win, that man.”

“Neither of us will let him.”

“He’ll let himself,” Lilith hissed right by his ear, the sound sending a shiver down Lucifer’s spine, by the choirs that felt good “Adams an idiot.”

“Yep!” Call Lucifer blasphemous, but he was so tempted to-

Lilith opened her mouth to say something, and Lucifer listened to the little voice in his head once again.

He caught her mouth with his own swiftly before pulling back, face flushing as he realised what he just did.

That was something only Adam and Lilith was supposed to do with each other.

Lilith blinked, taking time to process before giving her response, “Do that again.”

Lucifer didn’t need to be told twice.

The bark of the aspen tree was lit up by Lucifer’s wings as he pressed his lips to Lilith’s again.

And again.

Lucifer had never felt so good. He could see why Lilith and Adam like doing this. This felt so good.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

It was hours until Lucifer disentangled himself from Lilith, still not having quite recovered from the experience. Sadly, he could feel the mental tug attached to his halo signifying his siblings wanting an audience with him. The last thing he wanted was to have them come down and see him with Lilith.

The moment he returned to heaven however, he had the distinct feeling that he might have messed up regardless.

Michael was pacing and muttering angrily under his breath, sharp sounds grating Lucifer’s awareness. When the archangel saw Lucifer, his wings physically bristled as he lunged forward and grabbed the Morningstar by the robe.

“You are so very fortunate that God was already growing tired of Lilith’s rebellion!”

“What?”

“Michael,” Lucifer turned to see Azrael landing nearby, “I highly doubt Lucifer knows what he has done, as impulsive as he is.”

“What? What happened,” Lucifer demanded, mantling his wings to make himself look larger as he stared down the other archangels.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what!”

“God decided to give the first man a new wife,” Michaels words cut through Lucifer’s anger and left only shock, “Made from his rib.”

“… what?”

“Yes, I had to tear it out myself,” Michael huffed, Lucifer noticed the dried red still dusting the angels gloves, “Adam tried to flee.”

“…”

“What Michael means,” Azreal shot the other a look, “Is that Adam didn’t take the information well, and saw it fit to attempt avoiding the situation entirely.”

“He was awake?!” Lucifer screeched “By the choir what is wrong with you two?!”

“It was the Creator’s wishes, none of us knew it would bring pain,” Azrael sighed, “However, it would encourage not repeating the situation…”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Michael scoffed, “The Creator ensured Adam wouldn’t remember.”

“It would taint him.”

“It would motivate him.”

“What?”

“Our Creator has decided to take a more… hands on approach in ensuring the situation does not repeat itself,” Azrael looked uncomfortable, “Xe employed the use of divine power to keep Adam and Eve from straying from the grand design.”

Lucifer took a step back.

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Lucifer couldn’t hear over the roar of nothing in his ears.

No.

Nononononono.

Lucifer ran.

He broke into a sprint before diving back down to Earth, landing on the soft grass of Eden he looked around desperately.

“Adam!”

“Yes?”

Lucifer turned around as Adam’s figure came into view from behind a tree, “Adam-”

His eyes were gold.

Lucifer stumbled back as he took in the first man’s appearance, Adam’s eyes were no longer the colour of earth. The familiar dark brown orbs that bore the gold of honey and of leaves in the sun were gone. In their place was the brilliant gold of divinity, of heaven, the same gold of the-

The chain attached to his wrist.

Lucifer lunged forward and grabbed his friends arm, pulling him forward and running a hand along the softly glowing cuff on Adams wrist.

It was definitely the Creator’s doing.

“Adam what have they done to you.”

“Ah, apologies, but have we met before?”

Lucifer’s golden ichor froze as he looked back up to meet that accursed golden gaze, “What?”

“It is just that… you seem familiar with me, but I do not recall ever having met you. I apologize.”

Lucifer stepped back from the first man, “What.”

“Were you present for my creation? That day was such a blur I hardly recall all those present.”

“Adam- Adam look at me,” Lucifer grabbed Adam by the shoulder, staring desperately into those too gold, too inhuman, too holy eyes “Adam. You are my best friend. You remember me don’t you?”

Adam’s eyes flickered for a moment, that familiar beautiful earth brown peeking through for a moment before being swamped by heavenly gold.

“You are an angel; how could I ever be friends with someone of a higher status such as you?”

Lucifer wanted to cry.

The Creator truly was cruel.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Lucifer couldn’t do this.

Lucifer shoved Adam away and ran like a coward, stumbling through the bushes and past trees as he ran away from the puppet wearing his best friends face.

He didn’t even talk like Adam.

The Creator just stripped his best friend of everything that made him… him.

Lucifer collapsed under a willow tree as he sobbed into his arms.

He didn’t move for a long time after that.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Lilith found him in the dim of night, her eyes sharp and he teeth bared in a rueful grimace even as she took him into his arms.

“We’re not letting them get away with this. Not this time.”

A hot flame of righteous anger sparked in Lucifer’s heart as he held onto Lilith. She was right, this crossed a line.

Lucifer wanted to rush in, to steal Adam away and find a way to break that chain.

Lilith told him to wait, to watch and observe as she would.

“Right now, heaven does not know about our rebellion, if we move too quickly we will both be destroyed.”

She was right, of course she was. Lucifer hated it though.

They had to watch Adam go through the motions of what his life used to be. The way he would no longer wander the garden without reason.

He wouldn’t play with the animals anymore or sit and relax under the sun.

Lucifer almost broke the trunk of a tree when he saw Adam tear out a plant Gabriel considered ‘too imperfect for the garden’ even though Lucifer knew that it was Adams favourite flower.

That flame of anger grew every time that damned shackle glowed and chained Adams will.

It took a little time to figure out, but if there was one thing Lucifer was sure would free Adam and Eve, it was the apples of knowledge.

They had to.

Lucifer and Lilith also watched Eve through everything. She seemed meek through the control of the Creator, but in the few moments the attention of heaven faded and the gold in her eyes let a little bit of reddish brown through, they got to know her.

She was gentle and sweet to the animals but there was a steel in her spine.

She was vibrant and wild as she chased the cheetah’s around the garden or buried her head in a grizzly bears side.

Lucifer grew to love her in a way. As little of her as he could see. But she was the one the Creator paid less attention to, and why would xe? She is supposed to be subservient to Adam.

Lucifer shifted into the form of a snake and curled through the branches of the tree of knowledge as she came into view.

Showtime.

“Eve my dear, may I borrow your attention for but a moment?” Lucifer sing-songed, drawing the girls eye as she stopped at the base of the tree.

“What is it you require of me, snake?” Eve asked, Lucifer watched intently as the telltale hint of red brown filtered into her gaze, this was the shot he needed.

“The fruit of this tree, could you tell me how it tastes to you?”

The woman flinched back as if struck, and Lucifer’s eyes narrowed at her response.

“I couldn’t, God said-”

“And have you not wondered why xe demands such things of you? Have you not questioned why xe forbade this?” Lucifer hissed, snapping off an apple and letting it fall to the ground at Eve’s feet, “I know, and that is why I ask this of you.”

Eve’s will fought with Heaven for a moment as she picked up the apple, but she was not gone yet, “God said that if I ate the fruit, I would die.”

“And the Creator lies to you,” blasphemy dripped off of Lucifers tongue as he all but snarled at Eve, the white-hot flame of fury envenoming his words, “To eat the apple is not to die, but to be freed. To have your eyes opened to the truth around you.”

Eve held the apple in her hands, the reddish brown in her eyes traitorously present.

“How do you know I won’t die?”

“Because my dear, I have had my eyes opened long ago. To open them is a freedom the Creator keeps from you on purpose,” Lucifer hissed, “You will not die, of that I can promise.”

Eve bit into the apple, and the chains snapped under the weight of knowledge granted.

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scoutsbabygirl · 2 years ago

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keep me safe | sniper x reader

the area was quiet. too quiet. he was far away from much of the battle, camped out in his nest watching from a distance. his heart skipped a beat when he saw a fellow teammate run back to the base in fear of accidently shooting a friend. his eyes were becoming blurry as he kept his focus on the small scope waiting for a fly to fall into the web.

the gunshots, screams and wails of agony became louder signaling that the battle was approaching him.

his heart was beating out of his ribcage, terrified he would shoot the wrong person. in his head, he kept on repeating to only look for blu and pull the trigger. more importantly, he was paranoid he would shoot you. last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, and that went for everyone on the team. god forbid you bled by his hands.

the wooden outpost would crack underneath his feet as he gently swayed from right to left and as he took a step back and forth. his eyes glued on the scope waiting for someone to walk right into his line of sight.

he begun to hear the awful sound of the cart moving down a hill, the boisterous noises both mechanical and human produced made him cringe. it was hard to concentrate knowing you were down there. you could be dying in a corner with no one around with a metal bullet filled with poison leaking into your bloodstream.

“fucking hell.” he whispered under his breath, lowering his gun and looking down seeing dell almost underneath him.

“you alright up there?” dell yelled, placing the back of his hand up to his forehead to better get a view of the Australian in the nest. “i’m putting up a sentry” he announced as he begun to work his tools into the gun.

“yeah.” mick sighed. “yeah, i’m all good.” he noticed a pack of metal near his location and generously tossed it down to dell, who thanked him many times.

dell ran off a bit farther down the line, hearing him clinker and clanker with what mick assumed to be a dispenser or a teleporter.

then he saw you. doused in blood. covered in the ennards of someone else. you looked to be all intact. running to get behind the sentry for cover. even all the way in the nest he could hear your groaning in pain and you gripped your left arm with your right arm. you yelled out an obscenity as you searched around desperately for a health pack or wherever Ludwig could be at.

mick moved behind a banner, yelling that there was a med kit up where he was. he moved into position, his eyes glued into the scope. he would kill the person ten times over who hurt you-tried to murder you.

you heard his call out and without thinking twice you ran up the wooden stairs which creaked underneath you. you saw the health pack and grabbed it quickly simultaneously ducking yourself under the nest. close to mick. while you wrapped your forearm with the bandages. you had only then noticed how bad the damage was, a whole part of your flesh had been blown off. nothing medic couldn’t fix in a few hours. you know you’d be alright, at least you had your bones and ligaments still.

“my fucking everything aches.” you laughed, still applying pressure on your arm.

“my fucking heart aches for you.” he replied with a smirk painted on his thin and pink lips. sure, he wasn’t spy, but he knew how to wiggle his way into your head and heart. he comments were flirty and sly and it drove you mad.

“keep me safe, mick. my fucking arm was almost blown off.” you replied, placing your head on the wooden planks of the structure, exhaling deeply. mick knew you were in pain and all of his focus was fixated on the cart and the enemies. his enemies.

“i’ll keep you safe, just promise me your head doesn't pop up infront of my scope.”

#sniper x reader #sniper #snipertf2 #sniper tf2 x reader #tf2 #tf2 x reader

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bellysoupset · 1 year ago

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Oh my gosh that story with Jonah and Leo was SO GOOD - would you ever consider a part 2 with Leo and Jonah talking about what he was saying???

- 💋

You guys really should stop indulging my angsty self. We'll end up killing this boy.

This is a continuation of this fic: Feverish Leo has a nightmare and overshares his past with Jonah. - Which happened before Sicily!

Warning for the f- slur and mentions of past child abuse, thread carefully.

---------

JD let out a pitiful meow as Leo stopped her from escaping and squeezed her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. Jon snorted, noticing the cat staring at him, as if begging him to help her run away.

"Sorry, little miss, I guess you're stuck," he whispered darkly, crawling back in the bed with a bottle of Gatorade, "bottom's up, Leo."

The blonde coughed weakly against his fist and took the bottle from him, taking a small sip and grimacing when it hit his irritated throat. He gulped down a couple more sips then handed Jonah the bottle back, slumping against the pillows and letting out a soft burp.

JD burrowed against his stomach, starting to make biscuits and Leo opened a smile, running a shaky hand over her fur, "her belly rubs are better than yours."

"Yeah but hers don't come with a get-well-soon blowjob," Jonah deadpanned, rolling his eyes and moving closer so he could push a strand of hair out of Leo's eyes. His hair was much longer than usual and Jon loved it, he knew Leo wasn't cutting it entirely for his benefit too.

"What exactly did I tell you last night?" Leo sighed, turning slightly so he could meet Jon's worried eyes, "you have that freaked out look on your face."

Jonah cringed. He thought he had his usual bitch face on, but clearly Leo was getting better at reading him.

"Not too much," he reassured him, fiddling with a strand of golden hair, "don't worry-"

"I'm not worried," Leo shrugged, sounding exhausted. His voice was basically gone, he had spent the better part of the night coughing, once the fever broke, "I don't mind you knowing, Jon."

Jonah sighed, pulling his hand back, "you thought you were back home... And I think you thought I was your dad? You kept saying you'd stay out of my way and behave, so if you could stay home instead of going to school..."

"Sounds very on brand with dad," Leo snorted, without any humor, "he hated when I stayed home instead of going to school."

"Even sick?"

"Especially sick," Leo scoffed, "and give him my germs? Please."

Jonah bit on his lip, angrily munching over the words he wanted to call the man, "your father was a piece of work."

Leo let out a chuckle and slid down the bed just a little bit, continuing to pet JD, "he was complicated."

Jon didn't think there was anything complicated about the man being a cunt. He trailed a hand over Leo's arm, up and down, "did he... Did he abuse you?" the words were whispered, he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud, "I- I asked you to remove your shirt and you freaked out..."

Leo flinched, then opened and closed his mouth twice before saying, "no, he didn't," he wasn't lying, but it wasn't all of it. Still, he shut his mouth and avoided Jonah's gaze, focusing on their kitten who was playfully rolling onto her back on his stomach, little spotted belly open for him to rub.

"Leo?"

"He was just..." he shrugged, "he was weird and he scared me. He fucking terrified me," Leo looked up, "I don't know if it was some form of homophobia, because he always knew I was gay, he made it very fucking clear he knew it with the name calling, but he just... I didn't like undressing around him. Or being near him, to be quite honest. But he didn't abuse me like that."

"Like that?" Jonah repeated, voice a whip. He had never felt so heartbroken or murderous.

Leo shrugged again, "well, there was the name calling. You'd the surprised how many slurs there are other than faggot," he smiled without any happiness, tickling JD's belly, "then there was the beatings. It didn't happen often, only when he was really wasted, but towards the end..." he shuddered and Jonah moved away from the bed, getting up.

He couldn't sit still, too angry, and Leo looked up, concerned.

"Jon?"

"I'm fine," he waved him off, pacing the room, "...Was he like that before your mom left?"

Leo frowned, confused "I don't know, baby, I don't really remember anything from back then. I was too young and trauma..." he touched his temple lightly, "kinda fucks with your memory. My whole childhood is a little bit of a blur."

Jonah ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the tight curls' roots, "when- When did she leave again?"

"I was ten," Leo answered and then the next question Jon was going to ask, "and seventeen when he passed away."

"Suicide, right?" Jon sat back down, near his knee and JD meowed, jumping to his lap. Leo nodded, quietly seeming to be thinking over everything.

"Hung himself in the living room," he said in a hesitant voice, clearly scared he was freaking Jonah even more.

Jon squeezed their cat, causing her to meow and try to bite his fingers "that's why..." his mouth was dry, "another day, you mentioned a fan... That's why...?"

"Yeah," Leo shuddered and curled up on his side since JD was no longer sitting on him, watching Jon, "what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I hate him," Jonah answered honestly, "and I hate the fact that you still have all these scars, I wish - I know it's silly, but I wish I had met you earlier, I wish I could've helped."

Leo smiled sadly, "I wish I had met you earlier too, babe," he sighed, coughing again, "I don't hate him... I'm pretty sure he had the same chronic depression I have-"

"Being depressed doesn't cause people to abuse little kids, Leo," Jon said sternly, "sucks for him, but this justifies nothing."

Leo nodded, wincing "yeah, I know... But I can't help thinking it if he wasn't so severely depressed, things would've been different. He wouldn't have drunk all the time, for starters."

"He'd still be a fucking asshole," Jonah scoffed, leaning in and planting a kiss on his boyfriend's forehead, lingering there, "I'm happy you moved here and that... And that we found each other... And that you told me all that."

Leo melted under the kiss, tugging on his sweater and causing Jonah to crumple on him into an awkward hug. JD let out a yelp and jumped away from between them, offended.

"Doesn't this scare you?" Leo whispered, voice muffled by Jonah's sweater, "I know it's a lot, the- the past, yeah, but also now-"

"Nothing about you scares me," Jonah hugged him a little bit tighter, "we all have baggage, Leo," he pulled back to look him in the eye and met Leo's feverish gaze, blue eyes searching his face as if Jonah was going to pull back and say gotcha, "I want to help you carry yours too."

Leo let out a little scoff, pulling back with a smile, "since when you're so good at communicating?"

"Please," Jonah rolled his eyes in a playful manner, pressing his forehead to Leo's, "you're so feverish, you're delusional."

#😎 anon #no emeto #mywriting #leo wagner #whump #emotional hurt/comfort #fever

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oohnotvery · 10 months ago

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Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 22)

Mulder

Mulder expects a few things upon their return to D.C.: a procedural ass-kicking served up by OPR; a few official reprimands added to his file; and a suspension, maybe even—God forbid—termination.

He anticipates much of it correctly, and after a heated verbal spar with Skinner and Kersh, he and Scully accept their punishment—four weeks without pay. Leave your gun and badge with security. Don’t come near the Hoover for at least a month. Ignore the rubbernecking from your colleagues as you exit the building in a wash of anger and embarrassment. Forget the fact that Kersh didn’t receive a lick of punishment himself.

“At least,” Mulder says to Scully as they part ways in the parking garage, “they’ve got Evan on attempted murder.”

Scully’s lips purse thoughtfully. “I wonder if the court will take into consideration the fact that he saved your life.”

Mulder shrugs. “Reduction in sentence?”

They nod in agreement. There’s an awkward pause as they stand on opposite sides of Scully’s car, staring at each other.

See you in a month doesn’t seem right, not after what they’ve been through. But neither does please come back to my place so I can fuck the hell out of you.

By some unspoken agreement, they part in a strange middle ground—a friendly wave, a sympathetic smile, a promise to call.

None of it surprises him too much, not at first. He expected their punishment, even predicted Kersh’s absolution of guilt. What he didn’t expect was what followed.

They’re a week into their suspension and he hasn’t seen Scully since they parted in the garage. A few days ago, she told him over the phone that she would be seeing her mother soon. Maybe she decided to stay for a few days?

It’s with an uncharacteristic sense of self-preservation that he refrains from calling too frequently. You’re not supposed to look too eager, right? That’s one of the rules of dating? Are they dating? Fuck if he knows.

Apart from his burns, bullet wound, concussion, and severe dehydration, things had been pretty perfect in the hospital. To the consternation of the hospital staff, Scully had slept in his bed with him every night. They had been inseparable, as they should be. He mostly assumed that once they got home and Scully gave him clean bill of health, they would jump right in, taking this starved thing raging between them and giving it life.

Hell, he thinks as he bounces a basketball aimlessly up and down his living room, everyone at the Hoover building who thinks they’re sleeping together would be in for a fun surprise.

On day seven, he caves and calls her twice, and when she doesn’t answer either her cell or her landline, he starts to fidget.

“What the hell, Scully?” he considers yelling into her answering machine, but claps his mouth shut at the last second.

On day eight, he gives up and calls Maggie Scully. And blessing of all blessings, the woman reassures him that her daughter is staying with her.

“Oh,” Mulder says quietly, suddenly feeling awkward. “. . . . can I talk to her?” He feels like a teenage boy trying to get on the phone with the girl he wants to take to prom.

Maggie hesitates and he feels his stomach clench.

“Mrs. Scully?” he prompts nervously.

She sighs gently. “Fox, why don’t you just come over?”

He blinks. “Okay,” he agrees. “But can you tell me—is everything alright?” If he’s going to do this, he wants to know what he’s walking into.

“I think you’d better just come over,” she repeats evasively.

After a quick shower and an ill-conceived attempt to put some food into his jittery stomach, he’s on the road. Some time later, he stands on Maggie’s front porch, heart clattering in his ribcage. She opens the door with an overly sympathetic smile, and that’s when he knows something is truly wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes scanning the living room and kitchen for signs of his partner.

“She’s upstairs,” Maggie says gently, placing a hand on his forearm. “You can go see her,” she says off his questioning look. “But Fox . . . .”

“What is it?”

Maggie licks her lips uneasily, and it’s like staring at Scully’s double. “She’s not doing well.”

A shadow blooms in his chest and he nods tightly. He takes the stairs two at a time, dipping his head into each room. He’s generally unfamiliar with the layout of the Scully house but eventually finds his partner in one of the back rooms. She’s lying in bed, a remote in one hand, her eyes impassively glued to the T.V., which appears to be playing some kind of soap opera.

“Scully?” he says quietly, tapping his knuckles on the door.

She startles, her eyes growing wide as she takes him in. Her mouth opens in surprise and she scrambles up the bed, a red flush blooming on her cheeks. With profiler’s eyes, Mulder observes her quickly—rumpled, unkempt hair; face devoid of makeup; pajamas still on in the middle of the day; curtains shut tight against the windows.

“I wasn’t expecting you. I would’ve dressed,” she stutters out.

He moves to the bed and takes a seat beside her, twisting to meet her eyes. Her normally bright blue irises have clouded over, and although he can tell she’s trying really hard to excuse her appearance, he sees right through her.

“Scully,” he says gently, lifting a palm to her face. With his thumb, he circles the apple of her cheek before leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. Her skin feels hot on his lips. When he pulls back, there is a glisten of tears in her eyes. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. It takes her a moment to regain the composure that she values so highly, and he waits patiently as she breathes through her emotions.

Finally, she swallows, then speaks. “I keep going back to that day,” she whispers. Her eyes flick between his own. “I spent a whole day thinking you were dead.” Her lower lip trembles. “Thinking you had died in this terrible, violent, horrifying way.”

She presses a palm to her chest and sucks in a breath, her shoulders shuddering as she releases it. He leans into her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her in. He can feel the rapid beat of her heart against his.

“I can hardly breathe with the memory of it,” she confesses softly.

His stomach drops as he considers that she has been silently suffering with this pain for over a week now. She turns her head so her cheek rests against his shoulder. After a moment, she speaks.

“What was it like for you?” she murmurs. “Those final moments, before you knew you were being rescued?”

His eyebrows crease and he pulls back, shaking his head gently. “No, Scully,” he says. “No, I’m not going to relive that with you.”

She grips his hand tightly and her eyes penetrate him, demanding information in a way he’s never seen before. “Please,” she begs. “I need to know.”

He studies her for a long moment, then sighs, dropping his gaze. “Scully, no,” he says with finality. He stares down at her hand for a long time, stroking her knuckles as he considers what she needs. When he’s ready, he glances back up at her. “We’ve spent years being chased by death. We’ve both come pretty damn close a dozen or so times.” He pauses, the words caught in his throat. “But for the first time in my life, I thought I was really, truly, finally at the end.” Scully bites her lip hard. “But I got to keep living, Scully. I got to keep living and I get to keep doing life with you. So I won’t focus on death, or what was almost taken from us. I’m going to focus on what’s living, what’s right in front of me.”

A single tear trickles down her cheek and he waits, wondering if she will accept this or fight him on it. She rubs her thumb into the skin of his hand in endless circles and he resists the urge to subdue her nervous energy. Finally, she leans forward, tipping her head to his chest.

“I keep thinking that if I knew how it was for you in those final moments, I’d have some sort of resolution,” she says.

“I don’t think that’s going to help you.”

She beats her fist into his chest, but it’s without any real strength. “I just keep reliving that moment of Lydia dragging me away from you.”

He pets her hair soothingly. He has received some training in trauma processing and for years, he has known that eventually, one of their near-death experiences would catch up to them. But re-experiencing this event isn’t doing her any good.

“Scully, look at me,” he insists, tipping her chin up. “I’m here. Right in front of you. I didn’t die and I—I believe I wasn’t meant to. Whether it’s due to your God or the Fates or simply the result of very good luck, I’m alive.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you know what I really believe?”

She tilts her head to the side in question.

“I believe that it was you, Scully. I think you saved me. I think you always have.”

She shakes her head critically, her nose crinkling at his nonsense. “I believed you died, Mulder. It wasn’t like during my coma when I—when I had the strength of your belief that I would live.”

He smiles at the memory. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is . . . we’re meant to be together. Whatever that looks like,” he quickly clarifies. “And deep down, I don’t think your soul wanted to accept that it had lost mine here on earth.”

She stares at him hard for a long minute, and then, miracle of miracles, rolls her eyes. “Mulder, that is such crap.”

He barks out a laugh, relieved to see some of his Scully returning. He winks. “Just making sure you still have your wits about you.”

She bites her lip, shaking her head with a slight smile. “You’re right about one thing,” she concedes, and the air around them grows serious again. “We’re meant to be together.”

He clasps the back of her head and pulls her into a hug.

Mulder shuts off the soaps on T.V. and after a time, Scully falls asleep beside him. When she’s dozing peacefully, he retreats downstairs to make a coffee.

Mrs. Scully looks nervous as he wanders into the kitchen. “How is she?” she immediately asks.

He smiles to himself, nodding. “She’s going to be fine.”

Mrs. Scully’s shoulders collapse with relief. “She’s only told me bits and pieces, Fox. How bad—how bad was it this time?”

He cringes a little, avoiding her gaze. “Ah, it was not—not one of our better days,” he replies cautiously.

When he looks back up, Mrs. Scully is staring at him with a mix of regret and relief. They sit at the table and share a pot of coffee, both avoiding the topic of Scully and their investigation. He’s about to rise and take a cup of coffee up to Scully when he hears the patter of bare feet on the kitchen tile. He turns.

Scully tips her hand in a quick wave. He’s relieved to see that she has showered and changed into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, which makes her look instantly more like herself. Her mother rises to kiss her on the cheek and then excuses herself from the table. Scully helps herself to a cup of coffee and then tilts her head towards the living room in invitation. He follows her there, settling in beside her on the couch. She sips at her drink for a few quiet moments, and he can’t help but notice the way color seems to be returning to her face.

“It’s nice to see you,” he finally says, hoping he sounds more casual than he’s feeling.

She hides her smile with the dip of her chin. “I think . . . I think it was wrong of me to isolate myself,” she admits.

He stretches and shrugs. He won’t pretend he wasn’t wounded by her long absence, nor will he act like she hasn’t hurt herself by staying away. But now that the concern and fear he felt on the drive here have faded, he feels the return of that familiar tension between them. But this time, it’s strung more tightly than it’s ever been before.

“When are you coming back to D.C.?” he finally asks.

He half-expects her to hem and haw around the issue, to tell him she needs more time. He grits his teeth in preparation. But her eyes flit to his and he sees a slight dance to them, a little mischief there.

She smiles knowingly. “I was thinking tonight, actually.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh?” He tries his damnedest to sound casual, but he hears the ache and longing in his voice.

She sets her cup on the coffee table and scoots up until their knees are touching. “I don’t think,” she says evenly, “that it’s good for either of us to be alone right now.”

He huffs a little laugh. “I could have told you that a week ago.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “So, Mulder.” She fixes him with a meaningful look. “Want to keep me company tonight?”

His eyes don’t leave hers. “Your place or mine?”

She grins, and although neither of them is anywhere close to healed, he can see the light returning to her eyes.

“Mine.”

#msr #msr fanfic #x files #mulder x scully #txf #dana scully #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #xfiles fanfic

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mutable-manifestation · 1 year ago

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After it works the one time, they do their best to interrupt all such rituals going forward.

Of course, the league can't be everywhere at once.

And word spreads.

It only takes a few weeks for another cult to be sneaky enough to complete the ritual.

Word has also spread about the first, smaller ghost that came before the king. And about him talking Pariah out of destroying everything.

Clearly an offering to the first is the way to go - perhaps if they please the small one, the king will be willing to listen.

Unfortunately, cults have a tendency to offer up human lives.

The JL rescues the first one before they can be murdered right in front of Danny's eyes, and then they focus on cleanup while dutifully tuning out a repeat of the Kid(TM) talking down the Ghost King from burning their planet to dust.

Batman is also there, patiently waiting to apologize for the inconvenience (aka make a good impression on at least one of them so he'll be less inclined to burn the whole world next time. Maybe just inclined to burn down That Warehouse In Particular. Still not ideal, but far better than the Whole World) once the kid has successfully talked the ghost down.

(Or, if the kid is unsuccessful, to delay and distract while the JLD tries to set something up to kick the guy back to his own dimension. Pariah Dark has proved reasonable one (1) single time so maybe he can be talked down again, but Batman wouldn't be alive if he didn't have backup plans for his backup plans' backup plans.)

Of course, the guy doesn't give them a chance to interacting, scooping up the kid and disappearing the moment he stops looking actively homicidal.

The next few summonings pass in a similar manner, and how close they skirt to disaster makes the JL's skin itch every time.

It's the seventh summoning where things go to a near-disaster.

Their just a little to late to the party, and they arrive to see a human child bleeding before the summoning circle while The Kid (Phantom, they heard Pariah Dark call him once) flew around beating the absolute tar out of the cultists with Pariah Dark cheering him on silently from within the circle.

The only saving grace was that Phantom wasn't killing them.

They move to assist, restraining the downed cultists and fighting the ones that were trying to flee through the holes in the ice that the JL had to make to enter the place.

Zatanna runs through the chaos to the bleeding child, healing him under the cold gaze of Pariah Dark.

Phantom abandons the fight to be at her side in an instant.

Not that it makes much difference since all of the cultists are downed by then.

"Is he okay!?"

"He will be fine," Zatanna assures. "The injury was severe, but I have healed him completely, save for the blood loss. He will need to recover from that on his own, mostly, but the magic will keep him in full health in the meantime."

Pariah takes little convincing, this time, needing nothing more than Phantom's quiet "can we go home now" to abandon their dimension altogether.

The next two incidents return to the usual drawn-out argument required to talk Pariah down, but upon the third Phantom is different.

They can all see how tired he looks, how irritated. And, Batman notes, when it comes time to talk down Pariah he hesitates.

He does it, all the same, but he hesitates. And his words are far less passionate.

The convincing takes twice as long.

(Listen Danny knows it's a whole world in the balance. He's trying but he's tired. It is finals week. Just how many cultists can One world even have?? He's getting summoned like once a month now, give him a break.)

The next time they're too slow to the show, Batman tosses him a pair of binoculars set to function like a high-quality telescope, hoping the pajamas have some meaning.

The Kid spends two hours grilling him for details while everyone (including Pariah Dark) just kinda stands around awkwardly.

He practically drags Pariah Dark out of their universe by his elbow, chattering excitedly about Alpha Centauri.

Pariah Dark squints threateningly in their direction just once before he's pulled from view.

Prompt 149

Danny is not the ghost king. In fact, he’s never going to be the ghost king.

However, that doesn’t stop him from getting summoned, which is stressful. First of all, he has school to deal with, second of all, he’s just a lil baby ghost so shouldn’t even be able to be summoned, and three, his new ghost-dad gets a… tiny bit upset. Not at him, but he can only talk him out of destroying a world thanks to some idiot-cults so many times before there’s the temptation to let him do so.

#dpxdc #Pariah Dark kinda hates the dc earth #bc it keeps summoning his son #(other places have the ritual but most stopped summoning after the first time they heard him have to talk down Pariah Dark on their behalf)#(it only took like a month)#(though there are a few stragglers once in a while)#dc earth is the only one with enough people dumb or crazy enough to keep summoning a world-ending threat #he may change his mind though #possibly #if his son is sufficiently tithed to (read: bribed) at each summons #big difference between a planet that makes nothing but demands on ur kids time & a planet that keeps asking a moment to give him things #he's royalty #he deserves gifts #they could stand to use a more polite summoning method tho #more of a “show up if you want” would be far better than a “yoink” by leagues #unfortunately for him cults aren't usually patient #and most people aren't crazy enough to just #leave the door open #just In Case a world-ending threat wants to visit #(if Young Justice or w/e talks to Phantom for 0.5 seconds that might change tho)

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

shut in [epilogue]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, swearing

Word count: 4k

A/N: annnnd we’re done :)) thank you to my resident bully @midnightsunfae for really getting this fic off the ground and helping with the planning. ily upo and thank you to everyone who’s read this series over the 5 months it’s been going on. it’s meant the absolute world to me :’)

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, an indicator of the nervousness that was building to a crescendo in your chest.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, hand placed gently on your forearm.

You nodded, eyes downcast. If you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to find it in yourself to follow through with it.

“I am,” you said quietly, swallowing to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“Okay,” he confirmed, letting his arm drop gently.

Ten minutes to go. You took a sip of water nervously. The glass had already found itself shifting back and forth on the table in search of the perfect place. It was a fruitless quest anyway.

The door was painted a dark green, steps leading up to it from the pavement.

“Are you sure he won’t mind?” you asked quietly, standing a stair below him in apprehension. Neither of you had contacted him or sent a message, just showed up at his place exhausted and covered in a thin layer of dirt.

“I know he won’t.” Sam raised his fist to knock thrice, a pause before knocking two more times.

A code.

He turned around slightly, checking to see if you were fine. The longer you stood out there, the more afraid you were of someone spotting the both of you, putting an end to your life before it even began. You had a feeling that paranoia would continue for a long time.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with blonde hair leaning against the doorway with one arm. There was a nick above his eyebrow, an old scar that hadn’t faded over time. Even though his other hand was concealed behind the door, you could tell that he was holding something by the way his muscles were clenched. Years of training wouldn’t disappear overnight.

"Sam." Surprise overtook his face in a second. "You're alive."

"Don't sound so happy, I can't handle it." Sam rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile on his face. "This is Y/N, we need a place to stay."

“It’s just been a while since I heard from you, man. Coming from a hit?” Riley didn’t think twice about moving aside, scrutinising dried blood on your person as you walk past. “Nice to meet you, I’m Riley.”

It was a cane in his hand. Sam’s mention of his limp flashed in your mind.

You gave him a small wave and a quiet re-introduction of yourself, following Sam into the house.

“You could say that.” Sam paused, a hand on Riley’s shoulder as he says something out of your ear shot to him.

Riley’s face turned stoic immediately, a nod of his head and a deep exhale soon following. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” You pressed your lips together in a straight line with a corner quirked upwards, a half smile of sorts.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to the right.” He pointed out the direction. “I’m getting you some food. Gumbo still your thing, Wilson?”

“Anything other than peanut butter.”

Riley was a blessing you could have never prepared for; knowing exactly what you both would need and anticipating emotions you had no idea you’d be feeling. For someone who had guests show up completely uninvited to crash on his couch, he was ready as ever, given that he had been through the same thing a while ago.

It was difficult. Fuck that, it was one of the hardest things to go; not pretending like everything around you would fall into soon and that you would be fine because you had to. You had worked too damn hard for you not to be.

But you knew things weren’t going to be fine right off the bat and it would be foolish to think it was.

“Sam, look at me,” you commanded gently, but there was an edge of firmness to your tone. You were sitting on the bench near the entrance of the park.

“I’m sorry, things were going good and I thought-” He shook his face that was hiding in his palm, elbows resting on his knees.

His attacks didn’t come nearly as frequently as yours. It was easy to think that he had no trauma just because he learnt how to deal with it better.

“Look at me, Sammy.” It was just a walk in the park, a stroll that should have lasted twenty minutes tops. You had been on that trail before for the same purpose but something triggered him today, someone’s gaze who lingered too long on the both of you.

He clenched his fists, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Breathe with me.” You exaggerated the movements to have him follow, a system the both of you had come up with when anxiety attacks used to hit at random. A temporary solution to an aftermath that would go on for hours, days even.

It took him a few staggered breaths to get there, finally falling into routine with you. He could feel his heartbeat slow to what it was but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t subside for a while.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” you reassured, still making sure he was breathing with you. You were nervous too and your eyes were still darting about to survey your surroundings, but he needed you at that moment. “We’re safe. We’re okay.”

“No one’s here,” he mumbles, interlacing your fingers and bringing it to his forehead to lean against your hand.

“We’re okay,” you repeated, giving him the space he needed. “We’re okay.”

“Will someone be joining you?” The waiter prodded softly. If it wasn’t your incessant tapping at the table, the clammy palms and constant checking of your watch was a clear giveaway that you could use a bit of kindness that day.

“Yeah, any minute now.” You smiled at her. She simply nodded, refilling your glass of water before leaving you alone.

You looked at your watch and sighed.

Seven minutes.

Things were fine. Things were good.

Sam and you were… undefined. Labels almost seemed too constrictive for now and it wasn’t like the both of you didn’t know what the other felt. It was kind. It was soft. Sometimes you kissed his cheek when the sunlight bounced off his face while he watered the succulents and the smile he gave you was addictive. Other times he snaked an arm around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder while you watched the street from the kitchen window.

It made you happy, and so you tried to force away the stem of doubt that creeped into your heart.

Riley had introduced the concept of movie nights and the occasional mob movie would make it in there just to poke fun at. He showed you around the city, inviting you to go grocery shopping with him at the farmers market, the best places to get a glimpse of the music scene or to subtly point out potential date night spots.

He was a genuinely nice guy, and if you thought Sam was fun to hang out with, you were not prepared for the both of them together. You could tell why Sam adored him.

“Y/N, I don’t know how you stayed with him for all that time and didn’t murder him in his sleep.” Riley glared at Sam who had once again left his collection of music CDs strewn around on a couch. It was all in jest; it was well known that Sam found an anchor in music that kept him up late at night for a sense of calm.

“It was a close call sometimes,” you added playfully, giving Sam a grin.

“You weren’t exactly easy to survive with either.” He scoffed. “How many times did we watch Megamind in a row? Eight?”

“You wouldn’t stop watching Die Hard,” you accused, arms crossed over your chest. “It was payback.”

“You made the rule saying we couldn’t watch things more than twice in a row and you broke it first.”

“I’m gonna go,” Riley interjected. “But y’all keep at this. I heard it’s good for your soul.”

“Stay there,” Sam demanded, pointing to where he was standing a second ago. “You’re gonna be play judge since you started this shit.”

“I really don’t want to.” He shook his head, staying put nonetheless, amusement clear as day on his face.

“The laundry.”

“The dishes.”

You both narrowed your eyes at each other. His argument didn’t hold a match to yours.

“You know what, I was wrong,” Riley announced to no one in particular. “I’m pretty sure you guys would kill each other under any other circumstance.”

The smile on your face faltered but you straightened it back out with a clearing of your throat before firing a comeback.

It was barely a second, almost unnoticeable. But Sam caught it.

Four minutes.

Almost time.

The tapping became more intense, and the rate at which you pulled out your phone to check the time increased.

Fuck, this was a bad idea. How were you supposed to behave with him after all this time?

Something was wrong. Something was off.

Sam wasn’t blind to it. He could see it under the smile you eased into at game night, the complaining when too much food was ordered for three people to eat, the good natured teasing when he rolled over to your side of the bed at night to steal your blanket.

Something was eating at you, gnawing at you from the inside.

His suspicion was confirmed when you whispered at 2am one night to what you thought was an asleep partner that you wanted to move out. Find a place of your own.

His stomach dropped instantly but he didn’t so much as move a muscle.

“I need to get out. I need to have a life,” you sniffed, doing your best not to wake him up as you traced circles into his skin lightly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be independent. I won’t know unless I figure it out myself.”

The air had a chill to it and it was one of the times you had asked him to sleep in the guest bedroom with you instead of on his own, knowing that it was one of those nights where you could use a little extra warmth.

“Even when we were in there I couldn’t stop thinking about whether this thing between us was just because we were forced to stay together. You said it wasn’t, and I know that but I can’t help but think-” Your voice cracked. “Would you come back to me if things were different?”

He didn’t answer, even though he knew what he wanted to say with all the certainty in the world. Your fingers continued to draw on his skin. He continued to let you.

Sam didn’t even bring up the conversation that morning, or that week. Instead, he held you a bit closer whenever he could and gave you the space to hopefully open up to him on your own time, letting you know that he’d be there to listen.

It took a while. You both were in the middle of watching a movie that wasn’t Die Hard when you told him that you needed to talk to him about something. The hesitancy in your voice and the fixation your fingers had with the hem of your sweater was painful to witness.

He understood, of course. He always did. That you needed to experience what it was like to live, not survive. That decades of living with other kids, living under an abuser, living in a safehouse for months, was restrictive and suffocating and you needed to find what made you happy.

And so did he. It was something both of you had to do eventually, exit the bubble you had been staying in under such ardent protection for those two months.

Riley was wonderfully supportive of it, vowing to find you the best apartment that New Orleans had to offer. You didn’t doubt it.

His place had been colourful and bright and everything you could have asked for after the monotone walls you were used to. But it wasn’t yours.

A few weeks later you had moved out. Sam left a lingering kiss on your forehead, a sign to say that he’d be here whenever, whatever.

You made a Shakira joke. He laughed.

A completely fresh new start. If you failed now, it was all on you.

And what a terrifying thought that was.

It had been four months since you had left Riley’s apartment behind.

Four months since you had seen either of them.

The cafe was starting to feel too small for this event. Too intimate, too-

When the bell above the cafe chimes, something at the back of your mind instantly wakes up, sending you on high alert.

“Y/N?” he called out from behind you.

You knew he’d be early.

“Sam.” You breathed out, standing up to face him.

Video calls didn’t do him any justice. He had a particular glow to him, an aura of confidence that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. His beard was neatly trimmed and the smile that tugged at his lips the minute you caught his eye was beautiful.

You didn’t realise how different he looked until the time apart. Months of makeshift workouts and peanut butter as your only source of protein had done a number on him. You remembered him being leaner, and what you now realised was the constant burden of fatigue on his face.

“You look good.” An understatement escaped you, but he did.

He had a deep blue shirt on that hugged him in all the right places. Months of seeing him only black and grey had you damn near drooling when he wore other colours after you got out.

Not that you were staring, but his biceps had definitely made a wonderful return.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Sam sent you a smile that instantly put you at ease. “Independence looks good on you, sweetheart.”

You gave a small laugh, gesturing for him to take a seat. Should you have hugged him? Shook his hand? Kissed hi-

“It’s been a while,” he politely interrupted your overthinking. “How are things going?”

You let out a small breath. It was a big question, one that you had answered over text and call a few times but it was different now. He was in front of you now and you couldn’t bullshit the way you used to on call occasionally.

“Weird,” you admitted. “I don’t know what to do with myself now that I have all this time.”

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” He nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair.

A lot of your time went into trying new hobbies. Knitting, pottery, drawing- anything that you could get your hands on. Things didn’t always catch on, some discarded just after the first week. Others stuck, bringing you bits of triumph every time you moved forward with your newfound skill.

“You still seein’ your therapist?” He flashed a smile at the waitress who filled his glass of water.

Ah, yes. Dr. Bishop had been one of the first people you sought out.

“Yeah.” You took a sip of water. “See her weekly.”

You still had money left over from all the hit jobs that you had done. As much as you wanted to leave every inkling of that life behind, you needed the cash to live. You had enough for the time being, but you knew that eventually you had to start working; if not for the money then for the peace of mind.

“How’s that goin’?”

“She thinks I talk in elaborate metaphors. The gang’s what I call my toxic family, he was my abusive father, stuff like that.”

There were moments where you thought you saw someone you knew standing at a corner, vendors giving you icy looks from across the street, footsteps outside your door that seemed too damn loud. But nothing ever came of it.

“Thanks for the tip, by the way.” You extended a smile to him in appreciation for the idea.

“Worked with my therapist, figured it would be the same with yours.” He shrugged casually. It wasn’t like you wanted to lie to her, and you weren’t. But some things were better left in the dark.

“But I think it’s helping.” You exhaled deeply, eyes downcast. “The nightmares are reducing.”

“That’s a lot of progress.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward in pride.

Several feelings erupted from that look, some that you’d spend the whole day revelling in if you didn’t force yourself to move on.

“How about you?” you diverted the subject back to him. “How’s Riley?”

“He says he misses ya.” Sam laughed. “Says he can’t handle me alone, that he needs you back to save him.”

“What have you been doing to that poor man?” you teased, easing back into your seat. “He was fine when I left him.”

“He’s got a fancy new job now and it’s been going to his head. Needed a little humbling.”

“You’re not going too hard on him, are you?” Even though you knew he wasn’t, it was fun to make sure.

“Nah, I’d say it’s just about the right amount.” Sam grinned and you felt the familiar flutter return to your stomach. “I’ve been doing good. Working on getting my license.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?” You were thrilled when he said he was going to look into becoming a youth counselor, knowing that it was something he had been genuinely wanting to do for ages.

“With my background, or lack of it, it’s a little trickier than I thought it would be,” he divulges a bit more seriously. “Riley’s been pulling a few strings and I got a few contacts but it’s gonna take some more time.”

You bit your lip, worry rising for him. He deserved it, he earned it. It fucking sucked that it wasn’t going to be an easy, direct path.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said quietly, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his in reassurance.

The contact brings with it a small spark. You wondered if he still felt it.

“Yeah. We will.” He sent you a soft smile at your action, not making any effort to move it. “You been on any dates lately?”

You let out a snort at that. “Loads. Have fellas lining up at every corner for me.”

“I bet.” He’s more bold, a bit more open than he was in the first month when you both got out. “How many of them do I have to fight off?”

“I’d say six as a rough estimate.” Your expression mimicked one of consideration. “I hope you’ve been getting your hours in at the gym.”

“I’ll kick it up a notch,” he promised, hands raised in surrender.

“You better. We’re supposed to go for laser-tag.” A dumb callback to a joke he made on one of your last days there.

“Or paintball.” He remembered. It made you unnecessarily giddy. “I added an escape room to the list too.”

“Hilarious,” you fired at him, rolling your eyes slightly but the happiness on your face proved otherwise.

His laughter died down eventually, paving the way for the comfortable silence that lingered between you both. Your eyes fell down to where your hand still held his, biting your lip to conceal a smile.

“Y/N,” he called out, pulling your gaze back to his. “Jokes aside… how are you?”

You let out a breath at his question. You knew it was coming.

“Riley found me an apartment,” you murmured.

Sam looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“It’s a nice place. Lots of sunlight. Quiet too.” You toyed with your fingers. “But it’s about an hour away. More if you consider traffic.”

Sam set his phone down gently on the bedside table, indicating that you had his full attention.

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, because I’m not. I wouldn’t, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupted calmly, twisting his body to face you. “I don’t think you’re abandoning me. If this is what you need, then you should do it.”

“I don’t know if this is what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never been-” the frustration in your voice only increased as you went on. “-I don’t even know if this is going to work. What if I hate it?”

“Finding out what you hate is just as important as what you like, I think.” He watched you toy with the fidget square he had gotten you. “And you know that if you don’t feel like it, then you can come back here at any moment.”

“I know.” It was a comforting thought. A safety net.

“But would this make you happy?” That caught you by surprise.

It wasn’t something you had thought of. You thought of the negative consequences, the devastating effects it could have on you, how it could be the worst possible decision you’d ever make.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, a new anxiety setting in. “I guess we’ll see.”

You liked the neighbours who played the piano way too loud at 2am, the really terrible coffee at the therapist’s office and the feeling the paper plane on your dresser gave you when you occasionally looked at it.

You didn’t like how hot the apartment could get, especially during the afternoon, or the guy who sold magazines down the street who cursed at everyone for no reason, or the gentrified Indian food they served at the mall.

But Sam was right. Figuring out what you didn’t like was just as beautiful a journey as figuring out what you did.

“I’m happy.” You breathed out. “Or I'm working towards being happy. But it’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Simply slipped his palm under yours to lift your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m proud of you.”

If anyone could feel the heat that rose to your face they would probably think you had a fever.

The fear that you had, the one of what things would be like if you weren’t forced to survive in a confined space together, had begun to fade the minute he called out your name that day.

It was Sam. Your Sam.

You shake yourself out of your train of thought with a small smile, making a move to gather up your belongings without letting go of his hand for a second.

“Well, c’mon then. Those paintballs aren’t going to shoot themselves.”

“Are you saying this is a date?” There was a smirk on his face that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Would you still consider it one once I annihilate you?” You tilted your head in a challenge.

“That would never happen, first of all.” He scoffed. “Second… I was thinking that maybe we could do something normal for a change.”

That had you more interested than the prospect of adventure sports. You had enough of it for a lifetime, frankly speaking.

“Lead the way, Cinnamon.” He only rolled his eyes at the nickname, sending you a vaguely threatening look. You just laughed.

“This place got good coffee?” He looked around at the establishment and its patrons.

“One of the best.”

“Then I don’t see why we have to go anywhere else,” he offered and you nodded, relaxing back into your place with the same sense of warmth in your heart that only intensified with his proposal.

He raised his hand up to flag the server, the same girl who had been helping you out since you got there, asking for two menus.

The smile he sent her was infectious. It was good.

“Sam,” you began quietly. “I missed you.”

His eyes softened, the sunlight reflecting in it making it shine like dravite. “I missed you, too.”

“Ready to order?” The waitress stands beside you with a notepad.

He looked at you and you nodded with a smile.

Things were different. You were different.

And he still came back to you.

--fin--

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

thank you so much for reading!

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miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

out of the woods (eren jaeger)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x reader

↯ genres and warnings: royalty au (not within the snk universe), knight/bodyguard au, friends? to lovers? implied? perhaps? maybe one day, but eren’s obviously in love with you lol, sorry i had to make jean the token little shit character but i love him

↯ notes: i spend a lot of time thinking about royalty aus in which the reader is in line for the throne and eren is her very impulsive, but very skilled personal guard because i love him

↯ word count: 1.5k

The harsh clinking of metal ringing in your ears is probably the only thing that keeps you from falling asleep in your chair. Eren’s always a bit fidgety when he’s completely suited, covered almost head to toe in armor and weaponry. It’s a bit excessive, too, which is why he’s not required to look like a walking chandelier on a regular basis, and especially not within castle walls—his normal uniform and longsword at his side in case of an unlikely emergency; but for meetings like these, Eren adorns all four layers of shiny, heavy, gold armor.

It’s more of a status symbol, decoration even, than for his or your own protection, really. And it’s his sly way of keeping you awake during long, drawn out civil duties meetings like these; he knows you hate the sound of all the metals clinking together, but it’s an effective way to making sure you don’t fall asleep face first on the table, and embarrass yourself in front of other royalty and noblemen.

Eren’s arguably a little too impulsive to be a knight, especially for one that stands at the right hand of the sole princess to the kingdom; and definitely the most mischievous of all the royal guards. And, as if to prove it, he shakes his wrist near your ear again when he sees you spacing out, prompting you to shake your head reflexively. He has to hold back his chuckle.

“Princess,” both yours and Eren’s attention shift to the voice that calls after you, “You seem a bit… distracted? Is anything the matter?”

The sound of Jean’s voice is enough to make Eren straighten his spine, his noisy wrist falling to rest his hand on your shoulder protectively. Eren feels you relax your shoulders under his touch, a silent message that he’s free to withdraw and do the same, but he stays sharp.

“My apologies, Jean,” you reply, voice kind and steady, “I have quite a bit on my plate, please pardon my absentmindedness.”

Jean hums, a cheshire grin growing on his lips, as his gaze settles on Eren, rather than you. Jean leans forward, the ruffled cravat around his neck tickling his chin as he brings his elbow onto the table, and his cheek to rest against his palm.

“Surely you’re in no immediate danger, princess,” Jean drawls, slowly, eyes now fixated on you, “Your guard dog can stand down in the presence of friends, no?”

Eren grits his teeth, growing more restless with every word that leaves Jean’s irritating mouth. The prick has the audacity to smirk when Eren’s free hand goes to rest against the sheath for his sword.

You, however, simply smile politely. The other men and women of the court are silent around the table; some eyes wide with anticipation, or perhaps anxiety, as the tension between Eren and Jean grows. You look slightly behind Jean, where Armin stands against the wall, his stance neutral, but his face concerned, with a look that speaks a thousand words—or, rather, twelve: tell Eren to relax, or there will be a bloody royal murder.

Carefully, you bend your own arm back, as to place your palm atop Eren’s hand still resting on your shoulder; then looking towards Jean: “Eren is my primary guard and advisor, Prince Jean, just as Marco is to you,” you state calmly, gesturing to the seat at Jean’s right, where Marco is seated, “He is by my side at all times.”

Eren knows that; and Jean knows it, too. He also knows this is a losing battle, but he wants to play, anyway.

“I understand, my lady, but surely there’s no need for Eren to be on guard for high-level threats at such a minuscule gathering,” Jean taunts, looking Eren in the eyes before continuing, “Besides, I’m sure a husband would provide much more civil protection, wouldn’t you agree?”

It takes you squeezing Eren’s hand with all your strength to get him to even think about refraining from unsheathing his sword and putting it through Jean’s head. He feels your orders, but it does nothing to calm him, though; angry, vengeful, green eyes boring into the prince’s soul.

Jean smirks, slips in another sly innuendo about he could please you better than any knight in your court, and Eren almost loses it. His right hand is on the handle of his sword, a glimmer of handcrafted gold peeking through its casing. His moves have the other knights on guard, too; Armin silently signaling for Mikasa to be careful, or ready.

“Eren,” you call, but you’re looking at Jean, “Stand down.”

You have to repeat your words twice more for them to get past Eren’s cloudy mind and growing growls. You squeeze his hand again, and reluctantly, he takes a step back—evens out his footing, removes his hand from your shoulder, lets go of his weapon. His stance is neutral at your right hand now, and the relief in the room is palpable. And audible from Armin, who lets out a sigh; he can rest now, knowing that the foreign prince won’t be beheaded.

With a similar sigh, you stand to address your other guests, “I believe a recess is in order. Mikasa will usher you to the ballroom for hors d’oeuvres and wine. We will reconvene at quarter to the hour.”

The noblemen, advisors, and other royalty nod in acknowledgement, moving to the exit as Mikasa leads them through the castle corridors and into the appropriate room. Prince Jean falls behind the rest, offering you and wink and a cocky grin before being pulled by Marco. Armin is the last to exit, saluting you politely as his stands in the entryway.

“Would you like for some refreshments to be brought to you, princess?” he questions.

“You don’t have to be so formal when they’re not around, you know that,” you smile gently. Armin gapes, a light, embarrassed blush falling across his cheeks, “It’s fine, Armin. I’ll be there shortly.”

Armin nods, giving Eren a look, before finally exiting and following behind the crowd. When you’re alone, Eren finally speaks.

“I don’t like him.”

“I thought you and Armin were friends,” you joke, pushing yourself from out of your seat and standing next to him. Eren’s side-eye speaks a thousand words, but you find yourself chuckling in response.

“You promised me you’d work on that temper of yours,” you taunt, taking a few steps towards the door. Amused by his pouty demeanor, you extend your hand for Eren to hold like a child, “Come on, knights shouldn’t pout.”

Eren rolls his eyes, gingerly taking your hand, only to spin you around and wrap his arms around your middle. He fits his chin into the crook of your shoulder, “Knights shouldn’t have to justify wanting to murder asshole princes, either.”

“Jean means well,” you say, laughter seeping through your words at Eren’s evident disagreement with your statement. You reach a hand backwards to comb through his hair to quell his irritated state; an action well received, as the taller boy nuzzles his face deeper into your shoulder, his body finally fully relaxing, “He shouldn’t intentionally antagonize you, but he’s still a prince, Eren. You have to be careful.”

Eren huffs, and holds you a little tighter. “Him being a prince means nothing to me.”

“I’m serious,” you sigh, letting the hand in his hair fall down to your side, and then to rest atop his that are over your stomach, “You can’t be that hasty. Your actions could be seen as an attempt on royal blood by the wrong people.”

“And his words could be seen as harassment and defamation of the princess and her associates, in which case I am within my rights to attack, and you are within your rights to sue,” Eren counters.

He removes his hands from your waist, gently resting them on your shoulders to turn you to face him now. He’s got that stupid look on his face, the one he gets when he’s a little too overly confident, but Eren’s not dumb; he’s impulsive, and passionate, but he knows the law of your land like the back of his hand, particularly where it pertains to protecting you.

“And he did it while on your land. It would have been defense of the princess—precautionary knightsmanship, really—if I had sliced his head off.”

“Precautionary knightsmanship sounds made up,” you say, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“It’s real. It’s in the knight handbook, trust me,” Eren replies, leaning down to press a single kiss to your forehead. He removes his hands from your shoulders, stepping past you before turning back with one arm extended, “Come on, allow me to escort you to the tiny, not fulfilling, rich people finger foods.”

You chuckle, placing your smaller hand in his, “They’re called hors d’oeuvres, Eren.”

“That sounds even more ridiculous,” he notes, wrapping his fingers around your palm, “Just eat normal meals and portions like the rest of us.”

“You know, you’re allowed to eat the tiny, rich people finger foods, too.”

“I know,” Eren hums, turning his head as he begins to walk you in the direction of the ballroom, “But I’d rather have Jean’s head.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #eren fluff #eren smut #armin x reader #jean x reader #aot jean

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chemicalpink · 4 years ago

Text

대취타 (DAECHWITA) | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | FINAL

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut, angsty

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of historical public execution, oral sex (male receiving), lowkey breath play, unprotected sex

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE. I hope you enjoy, I had a hard time trying to make this not seem lame so here it is! please let me know what you think!

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

You almost sat up with a start. Suddenly the world was bright and hazy. Yoongi had opened his eyes and they were digging like daggers into yours, an unusual look on him. You looked at the emperor apologetically before turning your gaze to the end of the room where there was a pile of books, silently detangling yourself from him.

The silence was deafening.

Then again, who in their right mind proposed marriage while having their cock buried deep inside some assassin turned royal slave. All the same, Min Yoongi wasn’t exactly known for having a right mind. But it wasn’t just the fact that he had proposed seemingly out of the blue, more than it was everything that came with it. The words seemed to tangle themselves inside your brain as you hear him say them over and over again. That he couldn’t think of himself marrying some woman that was inferior to him in mind and spirit. That he had wanted to marry to someone he loved. To think that Min Yoongi had proposed you marriage not in the heat of the moment but fully conscious of his actions would not only mean that he was in it for the great sexual escaped you two regularly went on, but because due to some fucked up mindset the royal had, he believed he could love you.

Yoongi reached for your hand in an attempt to get your attention, face soft with post orgasmic bliss as he repeated the ill fated words “Marry me, Y/N”

You snapped out of his hold. “Yoongi I don’t think you understand the situation”

“What is it then, please do enlighten me, Y/N cause from what I understand is me asking for your hand in marriage, twice now” he blinks a few times, looking at you expectantly, crossing his arms like a petulant child

“FUCKING READ THE ROOM MIN YOONGI ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND”

“Well I’m not, but you seem to be”

“I’m a fucking assassin, my hands? they will forever be tainted red” you look down at your hands and the blond man comes near to hold both of them inside his

“Y/N I couldn’t care less about that, it’s not like I’m a saint either”

“You just don’t understand”

“Then help me out” somehow his ever consistent and aloof tone gave you more chills thana you could’ve imagined if he were to raise his voice at you “Y/N I’m serious with my proposal, the sex is amazing, but you’ve proven to be an excellent addition not only to my court, but to my life”

You are shaking, voice trembling and just above a mere whisper “I was the one that killed your mother on that freezing December night”

He freezes in place.

He seemed oddly composed for someone who had just been told the responsible of his mother's death was none other than the woman he thought he wanted to marry

You remember how a few years ago, he had gone on a killing rampage, exposing heads outside his palace as if they were homemade decorations, swearing to find the person responsible for his mother’s death and get revenge. It had been months of bloodbath. Some had considered the emperor’s son to have gone completely out of his mind.

You storm off. Not before accepting the responsibility of your actions, perhaps Yoongi had also been a good addition to your life “I’m fine with you deciding to execute me for my crimes, I understand whatever sentence is best fitted for me, your majesty” for the first time since you had arrived at the palace, you don’t dare to look him in the ye, opting to follow court protocol and bow deeply before taking your leave, attempting to detangle yourself from your messed up robes and even more messed up string of thoughts.

The following days to that conversation were a blur and for the most part, uneventful, the emperor had opted not to gravitate your way unless strictly necessary, oddly enough, the air wasn’t awkward at all, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you in the first place. Yoongi had retreated to being an aloof ruler, along with regular trips to meet his once very occupied and spoiled rotten concubines, all the while you were kept apart from. Sometimes, you would receive jobs outside the palace and were expected to fulfill them according to instructions. More times than not, you were left wondering if you would make it back to the palace or if it was one hell of an excuse to execute you.

Hearing approaching footsteps, you couldn’t help but hide the best that you could behind one of the hostel’s walls. Hooded and well muffled with the cape, as you did your best to camouflage yourself into the shadows and become a mere wisp of darkness. A maid from the hostel trudged to the open window and closed it, grumbling. Lightning illuminated the landing. You took a deep breath and reviewed the plans that you had so painstakingly memorized throughout the three days you had been guarding that building on the outskirts of the kingdom. Five doors on each side. The target’s bedroom was behind the third one on the left.

Stealthy as a specter, you walked down the landing. You pushed the target's bedroom door, which opened with an almost imperceptible squeak; waiting for another thunder to rumble to close it carefully. A second flash of lightning illuminated the two figures sleeping on the canopy bed. Young Hee must not have been over thirty-five. His son, small and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

“I’m not murdering a poor kid’s mother”

“So you’ve gone soft”

“No I haven’t gone soft” “What could a poor merchant woman have done to you for her to deserve such an end to her life”

He sits down on his throne “You didn’t even hesitate when killing my mother, though”

“Yoongi I-” he turns his head to you, a sharp gaze following your every move, as if he was a predator waiting for the precise moment his prey took a wrong turn to jump on them. You turn your gaze to the floor immediately “Your Majesty”

“Listen Y/N- I’m a very busy man, so I’ll make it easier for you” he stood up from where he was sitting, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, you could hear him move around the room until you were able to see him stop right in front of you, a hand you were so familiar with once caresses your cheek as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him face to face “It’s either her life, or your life. Easy choice, Y/N”

You can feel your heart wanting to burst out of your ribcage at that exact moment, finally understanding the importance behind such a horrifying task, the mirroring in the situation. And the choice was as simple as it could get. “Kill me instead”

You could see the rage inside his eyes, even as he stood still for a few second, steady as ever, unfaltering as he called over one of the palace’s servants to get him the royal seal, the infamous red ink that decorated the skin of those in line to be executed by the royal himself, an utmost sign of rage, of personally wronging the monarch. A sense of longing crossed his gaze for half a second as he locked eyes with you before he took your wrist in his hand and stamped the cold ink on it; you couldn’t keep your body from reacting to the action, whether it was having him touching you again, the almost imperceptible stuttering of his movements when he did so, or the knowledge that you’d have to face an execution, making you shake lightly as adrenaline filled your veins.

Preparations were something the emperor certainly didn’t scattered in, back when he became known as the cold hearted borderline psychopath he had a vaste fame of, ikt was mostly do to the whole antiques that surrounded his personal executions, the way that they seemed to mimic a kingdom’s festivity was almost breathtaking, were it not for the fact that the main entertainment of the day would be having you publicly executed. You had been waiting for that night for a whole week. Sitting in the wooden corridor nestled to one side of the golden dome of Min Yoongi’s personal library, remembering how the last time you had been there, things were so different from how they were now, where the emperor had asked you to marry you in the worst way possible and you had confessed the greatest murder of the dynasty; you let yourself be carried away by the music that rose through the amphitheater. With your legs dangling under the railing, you leaned forward and rested your cheek on your crossed arms. One could almost swear the palace was preparing for a wedding, if the way you were constantly dressed up and down during the week, the way the palace’s servants were constantly bustling around the building to ensure the greatest quality for the evening, the greatest night for the kingdom. The execution of the Empress’ murderer.

“You seem oddly calm for someone who's about to be executed” Jungkook mentions as he approaches where you were currently hanging out, a few minutes to spare before a small group of designated maids were to call you to get you ready for the night.

You look up at him tiredly, without separating your head from where it was laying, catching him taking a seat by your side in the most infantile way you had ever seen the royal guard do, shrugging to no one in particular, you add “You know, accountability and stuff”

“Oh and she grew a moral compass during her time here” if he was expecting a bickering comeback, the way you used to do back when he was designated to look after you, he was certainly not getting anything other than be met by an extended silence that seemed to rise the tension and seriousness of the whole interaction between the two “Why are you letting this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about” this time, you do turn to face him, confused as to where he was expecting the conversation to go.

“You didn’t kill his mother”

“I did”

He huffed out air, sounding a bit exasperated at your response; you could have even sworn you saw him roll his eyes faintly “No you didn’t, you were a mere 15 year old” there was a bit of laughter behind his sentence before he regained his composure and went back to his former self from a few minutes ago, looking at your face quizzically as if there was something hidden in there that held the answer to his question “So why are you doing this”

You try and miserably fail to convey a nonchalant look on your face as memories of your time with the emperor fill your mind, not just the carnal ones, but those where you would watch him work for his place in the royal hierarchy, the soft sides around the rough edges that were publicly hidden on purpose, turning away from the guard you say softly “Yoongi’s a great man”

“Okay sure, he could do with a more...tame temperament, but what does that have anything to do with you chopping your own head off”

You try your best to ignore the way your heart seems to physically ache at the thought behind the answer; you almost don’t get enough strength from within to mutter “I’m hoping to get him some closure, be an even better ruler”

“That’s- definitely not how it’s supposed to work Y/N” Jungkook says incredulously

“I was technically part of the killing so, it’s all the same”

He huffs before going to stand up, dusting off his uniform and already facing away from you, before you can hear him call for you one last time “Yoongi’s in his room, you know, he was looking for you a few hours ago, in case that information helps in any way”

So perhaps you were naive for thinking that he would answer his door, he would have no reason to do so, especially given the circumstances, if it were you, opening the door to the person that had confessed of murdering your mother, and having them come up at your room, you wouldn’t even need to think it once to decide not to further interact with them, but Jungkook had said Yoongi had been looking for you before, so the chance of him wanting to see you alive one last time were there. Unless you were reading it all wrong. You turned your back on the huge wooden door you had come to know as the emperor’s bedroom a few months back, resigned, when you heard the creaking of a door opening and a calm steady voice.

“So you’re going to just knock on my door and run away the same way you entered my life and are now leaving it forever?” his frozen tone still having an effect on your body as you turned to face him properly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity “Came to discuss a bargain for your life?”

“Not at all” you lock eyes with him when approaching him, until you were practically inside the room, his judgemental gaze still on you “I wanted to say my goodbyes properly, your majesty”

“Then don’t waste my time and come in already, Y/N”

The royal wasted no time in cornering you against the door, face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin, the tip of his nose nuzzling the side of your face and you knew him enough to know he had his eyes closed to keep his composure as he talked “I’m going to miss you like a fucking mad man”

It felt like falling back into routine, the way he kissed you, down to your neck up to your collarbone, pushing past the robes that covered your skin, in preparation for the ritual, his hands roaming freely in a familiar way, grabbing all the right places as he draws little sounds from your throat, all while he worked the both of you to where his bed was placed, although he was giving your body and pleasure a decent amount of attention, you couldn’t brush off the fact that he irradiated an angry aura, words left unspoken as he got his anger out by pleasuring both of you. Maybe himself more than you, as he removes himself from caressing your body as he usually did and positioned himself above you, his member laying flat on your already expecting tongue,as soon as you realised what his intentions were when he started undressing himself, his hips thrusting a few times in an experimental manner, soon enough finding a pace at the same time as you bobbed your head up to capture as much of his length as you could inside your mouth, your hands captured under Yoongi’s weight, unable to help you work him further, the way you’d done before.

You feel him start to thrust further into your throat at one particular kitten lick of yours to the tip of his cock, your head starting to hang from the edge of the mattress you two were on as he picked up the pace, his cock filling you up all the way until it hit the back of your throat a few times, you trying to whine around him, only further encouraging him to take a handful of your hair and push you further against him, your gag reflex taking the best of you as he held you there, nose close to his navel, deep grunts ripped from his lips, the air leaving your lungs and becoming slightly light headed after a few seconds of you tapping his thigh in a motion to let him know to let you breathe, at which Yoongi locked eyes with you, a mix of anger and longing in his yes as he thrusts a few more times as saliva started dripping from your mouth, tears decorating your pink stained cheeks before he removed himself from you, giving you a few seconds to gain air before he repositioned both of you. A deafening silence taking over both of you, as you were still catching your breath and he positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip, wet with your saliva, playing with your folds for a few seconds, as you take a sharp intake of air when he enters you and immediately sets a slow deep pace. You can feel his member filling you up perfectly, mind racing with flashbacks to all those other nights before where the emperor and you shared endless nights all over the palace.

The knowledge that this would be the last time creeping up in the back of your mind. You feel an unfamiliar wetness hit your neck where Yoongi was kissing your skin, rolling down as you identified it as tears, as he was still passionately thrusting into you.

“I don’t want to lose you” his voice barely above a whisper, trying to conceal the way his chest was tightened with sadness

“You have to let me go, Yoongi” one of your hands comes up to caress his locks as he pushes up to stare at your face, anger long gone and replaced with utter sadness before one last thrust has him filling you up with his seed, warmth enveloping you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his cock leaves your cunt, a briskly wind coming from the window causing your body to shiver for a second at the loss of body heat on top of you.

“I guess this was it then” his cold and unnerved facade was on again, making the cold shivers in your body that much worse as you watched him adjust his clothes and walk out of the room, leaving you to dress yourself and ultimately face your fated destiny at the end of the day.

The palace’s front plaza is filled to the brim with spectators as the news got out that the Emperor was finally getting revenge for his mother’s killing, people from the kingdom and even some people from neighbouring ones all lined up in the outer sides of the fire marks that decorated the space to illuminate the middle path where you were placed in the end of it to walk your way up, two unknown guards on each side of you as each grabbed your elbows to push you forward, the rope certainly leaving marks on your skin as it was wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You could only catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s blond hair, wrapped in his infamous black and golden hanbok, drums roaring in unison, people screaming as you watched him take the sword from the swordsman that had prepared the ritual beforehand, as someone wrapped a cloth around your eyes and you were promptly pushed forward, legs buckling every few seconds as you came to realise what you were about to face, it hadn’t been clear before, mere seconds away, finally falling to your knees, head bowed down in resignation as you could barely hear the sharp sword cutting the air around you, gasps from the crowd filling the air along with the constant sound of the drums around you. You could only hope your death would bring much needed peace to the monarch and his kingdom. Your heart seemed to want to burst out of your chest, if anything, Yoongi was known for being an espectacular swordsman, which hopefully made the whole execution that much easier. You could hear cheers and a metal cutting the air before your body fell limp to the ground.

But your consciousness never left, the drums couldn’t be heard anymore, cheers were replaced with confusion as a pair of hands helped you up to your knees, fumbling with the cloth around your eyes to come face to face with Min Yoongi kneeling before you, a subtle smile on his face as one of his hands caressed your cheek before helping you up beside him.

“I’m sure you all must be confused right now” he announced to his subjects “This woman right here, has got more courage in her than anyone that has ever worked for me, any of us, for that matter. Which is why I’m asking once again, publicly, for the first time, for her hand in marriage” he turned to face you, as you were still dazed by the whole ordeal, his hand in yours being the only thing holding you down “Marry me, Y/N”

#kwritersworldnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtanuniversity #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios

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lonely-writer · 4 years ago

Note

I wish you write a buck x reader fic where buck discovers the girl he's been dating is eddie's sister!

Thanks for this request! If you’d like to see more drabbles like this then feel free to request more!

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Eddie’s sister! Reader

Tags: Angst, swearing, anxiety, fluff at the end so don’t worry, first time saying I love you’s

Summary: After the earthquake happens you and Buck both realize something about the other.

When you had first started dating Buck you knew that his line of work was dangerous, hell you knew that from the day you met dating a firefighter would always have it’s up’s and down’s but today...well today took the golden medal for what would possibly be the worst day of your life.

It started out like any other day, you had woken up bright and early going for a jog, you stopped and got some coffee texting your boyfriend when the ground had begun to shake. Living in California you knew what this was almost immediately- an earthquake. Panic surged through you as you quickly hit the ground, “Everyone get down, it’s an earthquake!” You shout finding shelter underneath a table.

Screams began to fill the cafe as glass shattered, coffee spilled over onto the floor, people ducked for cover underneath whatever tables were unoccupied, the lights in the building flickered for a moment before completely shutting off, chaos reigned within the little cafe as the ground beneath you trembled evermore. You had been living in California all your life and you hadn’t seen an earthquake this bad ever.

After what felt like an eternity the shaking stopped, cautiously you stood up although the tremors in the ground had stopped the shaking in your legs hadn’t. Your first thought was to text Buck, to make sure that he was okay. To make sure that he was safe when everything had happened.

To: Pretty Boy

Holy shit are you okay??

(Not Sent)

You swore silently, heart beat picking up in fear as you realized that the cell towers had more than likely been knocked out. Buck was probably okay but there was that panic in the back of your mind ever present- a natural disaster meant that the 118 would have their hands full. You got to work with helping the coffee shop owners pick up the remains of cups, tending to the wounds of those who had been hurt by the falling glass, cleaning the spilled coffee all the while worrying about your boyfriend and the rest of the 118 who had come to be your friends.

Once the shop had been cleaned up sufficiently you headed out to the 118′s station, hoping to find everyone safe and sound as you sent another text message to Buck.

To: Pretty Boy

Let me know when you get this. I hope you’re safe.

(Not Sent)

You hesitated to add more not having verbally spoken the words that would push your relationship with him to the next level. Sure you’d been dating for two months by now but there never felt like there was a good time to say it. Time was fleeting for the both of you since your schedules didn’t always align so when you were together it was spent catching up, making out, and falling into bed. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Buck...you just wanted to wait for a perfect moment.

As you kept heading towards the station you felt your phone buzz in your pocket quite a few times.

From: Pretty Boy

Baby are you okay???

From: Pretty Boy

Hey the cell towers are down so I know you won’t get these until they’re back up but I just want you to be safe. I’ll text you as soon as I can.

From: Pretty Boy

The cell towers are back up!! Are you okay? Can you call me?

You smiled at your phone quickly calling his contact, it didn’t even ring twice before he answered.

“(Y/N)! God I’m so happy to hear your voice! Are you okay? Are you safe? Were you hurt during the earthquake?” Buck quickly asks from his voice you can hear the panic that you once felt and yet a bit of relief as he assess your condition from over the phone. In the background you pick up on a familiar voice- someone repeats your name in confusion- you can almost make out who it is but you’re pre-occupied right now.

“Buck, I’m fine but thank you for worrying about me- are you okay?” You assured him. The voice in the background was more apparent now- it was masculine and you definitely recognized who it belonged to.

“Yeah I’m alr- Eddie can you chill I’m talking to my girlfriend?” Buck asked in exasperation.

“Wait Buck, who’s Eddie? Like Eddie as in Edmundo Diaz?” You asked anxiously, you had no clue that your brother had moved to California- let alone that he’d joined the 118- the last time you had spoken to him was when he had signed up for a second time. You hadn’t left on good terms either you were angry at him for leaving Shannon and Christopher by themselves while he went off to fight another war. This had been years ago but the pain of him leaving still hurt even to this day, briefly you wondered what had changed for him to come live in LA.

“Uh...yeah, actually that’s kind of weird that you know his full name. How exactly do you know each other?” Buck asks a hint of insecurity in his voice.

“Okay so don’t panic but Eddie’s my brother.” You answer after taking a deep breath you continue, “He enlisted in the military and then signed up for another tour when he and Shannon had Christopher, I didn’t like that he was leaving his wife and kid so I told him. We argued about it for awhile and he just left on bad terms.” You finished feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your chest.

“And you guys haven’t spoken since?” He asked hesitantly, Eddie was standing near Buck all but begging him to hand over the phone so that he could speak to you.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to either I just- I haven’t ever found the right time to reach out to him. Plus I don’t know what I would even say to him, you know?” You replied hoping for some understanding.

“Of course I know that (Y/N), but sometimes there’s not a right time. Sometimes you should just say what you’re feeling.” He suggested, “Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you something I just didn’t know when the right time was. Y/N, baby, I love you.”

The smile on your face seemed to grow bigger as he said those words- it felt like your heart was going to explode with joy. “Buck I love you too.” You replied allaying any fear that he might’ve had. A small laugh fluttered through the line.

“Okay, you’re brother looks like he’s going to murder me so I’ve gotta go but I’ll see you later. I love you, Y/N.” He said happily.

“I’ll see you soon. I love you too Buck.”

#evan buckley #911 #911 reader inserts #911 fanfic #my writing #request #evan buckley x reader

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wilwheaton · 4 years ago

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wow! you really did it this time. who knew you would be the one whod crack the oh so cryptic nazi dogwhistle that the rightwing has been hiding behind all this time? you're truly a genius! now that you have basically compared the official term (that the members themselves have used for years) of the democratic party TO the n-word, the s-word and the k-word, they cant make fun of liberals and leftists anymore, we are finally free. their supplies are SPENT and their defenses BROKEN. thank you mr. wheaton, you have done it! you have defeated fascism! may god bless america!

Just because you don’t know about the history of something doesn’t mean your interpretation and dismissal of that history is factually correct.

You’re probably not going to hear this. That’s okay. This is for anyone else who is open to hearing how this 48 year-old guy got where he is, politically.

The biggest event in my generation’s life is likely the attack on 9/11. None of us had ever experienced something like that, and it wrecked a lot of us.

But in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, all of us who weren’t on board with Bush’s illegal and immoral invasion of Iraq were grouped in with the terrorists who murdered 2000 people. We were The Other. It wasn’t as dangerous or as violent at that is in Trump’s America, but for its time, in its context, it hurt.

Sidebar: We are losing a 9/11 of Americans every two days, to COVID. It didn’t have to be this way. The fact that it is this way is a choice.

The whole point of a slur is to dehumanize and cast out a group of people. slurs shape unconscious public perceptions, encourage prejudices and bigotry, and create The Other.

When our nation was grieving and afraid, Republicans saw it as an opportunity to consolidate power, and one of the ways they did that was to Otherize and dehumanize all of us who didn’t share their political ideology. Our grief was minimized and discarded, and part of that was deliberately calling us The Democrat Party, instead of The Democratic Party. This was started by right wing Fascist Rush Limbaugh. He said that anyone who was a Democrat wasn’t actually democratic, and within 24 hours, elected Republicans at all levels of government, their supporters on hate radio, and right wing pundits were saying “Democrat” party instead of “Democratic Party”. As far as slurs go, it’s nowhere near the slurs propagated against BIPoC, LGBTQ+, and other groups of people who are dehumanized by my fellow white people. But it is still a slur, and it is still intended to dehumanize and delegitimize us.

So we were left with this huge, emotional, psychic wound that we couldn’t heal, a national grieving we were very publicly excluded from. If you weren’t alive then, you likely don’t know what it felt like for us to be told “you’re with us or against us” at a time when “us” meant Bush and the GOP. We lost friends and family and colleagues on 9/11, too. We were afraid, too. We lived in the same country and had the same right to grief and healing as Bush’s allies.

So when I hear a young person, who likely wasn’t alive or was a baby in 2001 and its immediate aftermath repeating a phrase that was used against me and people like me, I take offense. I won’t apologize for that. I also won’t apologize for not being as Left as some of the kids who attacked me. I do apologize for not making more of an effort to communicate clearly and compassionately.

I can’t imagine that anyone who doesn’t already agree with all of this is still reading, but just in case some of you are open to it, open to hearing this old man’s voice of experience:

This will be hard for you to believe, but I’m WAY to the Left in American politics. I know I’m not as Left as some of y’all in other countries. I respect where you’re coming from, and I ask you to understand and respect that, in 48 years (30 of them voting and actively participating in campaigns at every level of government), I’ve learned that we will never get as Left as I want. Bernie was as close as we’ve ever come, and as much as I love his message and policies, Americans have been asked, twice, if we want him to be The Guy, and both times America has said no thanks. We tried, again, with Senator Warren, and America said No Thanks.

That’s a giant bummer, but it has laid the foundation for a new generation of progressive Democratic Socialists who I hope are the future of my party. I believe that the future is progressive, that America can’t continue to exist in Late Stage Capitalism, and that the Republican party as it exists now must be destroyed.

This is likely where we diverge: I vote my conscience and my heart in the primary, but I vote for Democrats in the general election, because even when I don’t get everything I want, I know that of the two options, Democrats aren’t going to deliberately hurt me and people I love the way Republicans will and do.

I’m willing to fight like crazy in the primaries to get the most Progressive candidate into the general, but once we’re in the general, I am going to support the candidate who is closest to me. I sent my message in the primary with my vote, and with my bank account by supporting the most progressive candidates I’m comfortable with. There was a younger version of me who believed voting Green would push the Democrats to the Left, where I was. I was wrong, and boy do I regret ever giving any of them my vote. Maybe it’s different in other countries, but in America, Greens have become useful idiots for Fascists who seek to hold onto power not by winning majorities, but by splitting their opposition’s vote.

When my candidate doesn’t make it out of the primary, I’m not willing to sit out the general, or cast a vote for a candidate who won’t ever win, because I have worked on enough campaigns, been close to enough party officials, and spent enough time in American politics to know that the two parties you despise don’t care at all about your protest vote. It doesn’t move them to adopt your positions. It makes them dismiss you, entirely. That 90 or 90 percent of things you and the Democrats agree on? Doesn’t matter. You’ve ceased to exist for anyone who will ever be elected or hold electoral away. And because you did not vote for the one candidate who could beat the candidate you hate more, you have ended up supporting not just the candidate you hate, but all of their policies, their SCOTUS Justices, and every single head of every single branch of government.

I want to repeat that, because I really hope someone will hear this the way I couldn’t and didn’t hear it when I was in my early 20s: When you vote third party, not only do you help the candidate you most want to defeat, you take yourself out of the conversation. Nobody who will ever be elected takes you seriously, and all the things you care about will not be any closer to being addressed by people who can actually make a difference.

I don’t want you to give up your seat at the table. I want you to move the Overton Window back to the Left, so we get America closer and closer to being a nation that isn’t overtly racist, doesn’t murder Black people, provides healthcare and college to all Americans at no cost, and holds criminals -- even powerful criminals -- accountable for their actions.

In our Primary, I worked hard to get Senator Warren over the top, but our party and the voters who will decide the election didn’t agree. The people who can end Trump’s criminal reign of terror all said “We want Biden,” and I know this is a hard to swallow pill, but they are the people who matter, and they are the people we need to support if we want to get rid of Trump and stop the Fascist advance in America.

#alejosdo

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 3 years ago

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sometimes it baffles me how the plot of L’amour des trois oranges exists

-we start off with meta

-like this whole thing is literally a play within a play

-the “audience” keeps interrupting the show

-lead tenor is a hypochondriac, which is probably the thing that makes the MOST sense in this opera

-except the hypochondria is caused by a witch who wants to kill him for…reasons???

-so really it doesn’t make sense

-and his dad (the king) and all his doctors are too fucking stupid to realize that hypochondria is not in fact incurable

-commedia dell’arte tropes

-so many commedia dell’arte tropes

-also playing cards as a major theme and plot point

-we randomly go to the underworld twice

-WIZARD BATTLES

-seriously we have two wizards squabbling it out it’s fucking awesome

-and one of them is literally Morgan Le Fay. Arthurian universe crossover confirmed.

-casual authorial racism??? (directors if you put Sméraldina in blackface I WILL yeet you into the sun)

-Definitely Bi Power Couple trying to murder the prince for power reasons

-commedia dell’arte clown. not the one you’re thinking of.

-There Is An Iconic March You Will Recognize

-Morgan le Fay/Fata Morgana has the power to make the Prince not laugh

-apparently this power can be invalidated temporarily by *checks notes* her tripping and falling on the floor

-so the Prince laughs which cures his hypochondria

-so this witch casts a spell on him

-makes him fall in love with three oranges

-thus the title

-except not actually

-now dude’s gotta find the oranges

-and mister clown man has to go with him for…reasons???

-wind demon fuckin helps them get to some castle where the oranges are

-thanks wind demon

-“may fate protect them from the giant ladle” is a verbatim line from the opera

-because there’s a giant cook with a giant ladle

-also the oranges

-also the cook is a woman but is sung by a dude

-they steal the oranges by distracting the cook with a ribbon

-bass wizard tells these two dumbass tenors to open the oranges near a body of water

-so the tenors do the completely logical thing

-they take the oranges to a desert

-then clown man decides to open one of the oranges because he’s thirsty and he thinks there’s juice inside

-spoiler alert

-there is no juice

-there is a Princess

-clown is disappointed because he is orangesexual

-princess dies of thirst

-repeat the above six steps because clown is a dumbass

-third orange

-first five steps repeat

-the actors break the fourth wall and give the princess water at the last minute so she doesn’t die

-nice going y’all

-you let the other princesses die

-I guess they didn’t want polyamory

-anyway

-Prince dude wakes up from his nap or whatever

-prince and princess

-you guessed it

-they’re in love

-prince dude leaves again because reasons

-bad witch comes

-transforms princess into a rat

-prince comes back with dad and is like “hey here’s my true love”

-except Sméraldina’s there instead

-and the king’s like “aight you’re gonna marry her”

-and then the Prince calls Sméraldina a racial slur

-once again casual authorial racism

-literally just change all the racist lines because it adds literally nothing to the plot

-like we’re in cloud cuckoo land basically

-anyway

-everyone goes back to the palace

-WIZARD BATTLE AGAIN

-Fata Morgana becomes the victim of more fourth wall breaking when the actors push her into a closet or hole or something

-oh yeah also remember the power couple? yeah they’re involved in a whole massive power conspiracy lol

-magic happens and princess is un-transformed so she’s human now good for her

-all the bad plotting characters are sentenced to being hanged but Fata Morgana (who’s…broken out of her prison?) helps them escape

-massive chase scene

-but at the end everyone is just kinda like “meh that was weird anyway long live the kingdom woohoo” so nobody even cares about stopping them lol

like seriously what even *is* this plot lol

#opera tag #opera #L’amour des trois oranges #The Love for Three Oranges #…was crack involved in the making of this opera #Prokofiev #Sergei Prokofiev

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thearvariblues · 4 years ago

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A Man of Easy Virtues

Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.

This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.

Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.

And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.

“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”

“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”

“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.

“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”

The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.

“Young man. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.

“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”

“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”

“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”

“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”

“No.”

“I will pay you double–”

“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”

“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”

“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”

“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”

The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.

Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.

“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”

“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”

“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.

“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).

“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.

The Witcher smiles.

“Good boy.”

“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.

Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asks.

“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”

“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”

“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”

“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.

“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”

“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.

“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”

“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.

As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.

“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”

“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”

“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”

“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”

“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.

Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.

“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”

“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”

“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”

“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”

The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.

“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.

“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”

“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.

“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.

“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”

“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”

“Three times.”

“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”

“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”

The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.

“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”

In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.

When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.

Or any other Witcher he meets until then.

They basically saved his life, didn’t they?

#the witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #lambert x aiden #lambden #because when i write about lambert i just can't NOT include aiden okay?!#also jaskier can't keep his pants up #quite literally #my fics #attempt at humor

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 4 years ago

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At 11:08pm In The Music Room, I Was Saved (Part 2)

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

Part 1

A/N: second and last part, lovelies. Thank you again anon for this prompt (I may have, once again, deviated from your original idea bear with me), and thank you @venablemayfairgoode for helping me figure out the end (tw: the death of a dog is mentioned :))))))) ). As always, English isn’t my first language. x

Word count: ≈ 7 000

You were so fucking pissed. Also, you couldn’t stop crying. The world had ended on a beautiful late spring afternoon and now, for some reason, you were trapped in a gloomy building with people you didn’t know and the woman who had broken your heart bossing you around.

And the worst was, you had been so relieved to know she had survived. And you shouldn’t have. But the tears you had cried on the plane to Outpost 3 had not only been for your family and friends; they had also been for her. They had mostly been for her. And you hated yourself because of that.

She looked different. Her clothes were darker, her hair was darker, her eyes were darker and they were glazed. They looked as if they were made of stone. Tourmaline maybe. Something bad must have happened to her, but you decided you didn’t care. Bad things had happened to you, too, and one of them she had caused.

“There’s been a mistake,” she said, voice very deep and very slow. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t want to be here,” you sobbed.

“You were assigned at Outpost 2.”

You were so mad at her. Had she done this? Ripped you from your family and sent you to this dark place to spend the rest of your life consumed by grief and guilt and hatred? She couldn’t have done this, she wouldn’t have done this but then again and was that panic in her eyes? It was gone before you had time to take a good look at it, but you knew her. You knew how to read her.

“Why are you here?” she asked, as if you had chosen to, as if it had been your decision.

“Because some rude guys barged into my flat and shoved me into a plane,” you sobbed, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. “I don’t want to be here,” you repeated.

“You should’ve been sent to Outpost 2,” she said. She was trying so hard to hide the confusion from her face, but you saw it, and you saw that flash in her eyes again and it was panic.

Suddenly it hit you: how could she know where you should have been sent? How could she –

“Did you…” It was hard to speak. Your throat was too tight. Your eyes widened with horror, and hers hardened. “Are you the reason why I’m here?”

You were vaguely aware that everyone else in the room was staring at you and Wilhemina. You should have felt ill-at-ease, should have felt shy. But all you could feel was anger.

“I don’t want to be here!” you cried again, but this time it was fierce. This time it was a cry of rage.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the ground. The sound echoed off the walls.

“Better sad than dead,” she said coldly. And then she proceeded to ignore you as she explained the house rules.

You barely heard what she said. You were burning, and you couldn’t stop your tears from falling. This was not happening. You were in a dream. You would wake up and everything would be alright. You would count to ten and the nightmare would end.

You counted to ten. It didn’t end.

What you did hear of Wilhemina’s speech sounded ridiculous. No technology? No sex? Death punishment for intimacy? People basically being your slaves? Her eyes were too cold. They were glazed. This wasn’t the Wilhemina you knew. The Wilhemina you knew had used cruelty for protection. This one used cruelty for fun.

A few people protested, but the protests didn’t last long. This Wilhemina was just as scary as the one you knew.

And then she was leaving, to the sound of her cane, every tap a stab to your heart. A Grey led you to your room and you collapsed on your bed, hugged your pillow, and cried.

The next few days you didn’t leave your room often. You felt so empty. You spent most of your time lying on your bed and grieving the people you had lost. You got up for lunch and dinner. Sat at the table and stared at your plate as the others tried to make small talk. The food cube had no taste. It felt like jelly in your mouth. You hated it. You hated having to swallow it. You hated how it never soothed the hunger in your stomach.

You sat on the left side of the table. Wilhemina sat at the head of it. The light from the candles would glint off your food cube and fork. Coco sat on your left, a girl named Mary on your right. Coco would do most of the talking. Complaining, really. Sometimes – but only sometimes – you would glance in Wilhemina’s direction. Once or twice, she met your eyes. Hers were cold and like a black hole.

After the first week your tears finally subsided. You spent more time in the music room with the others, playing board games, reading, talking. Coco was a bitch, but she made you laugh, and you soon befriended the girl named Mary. She was about your age, was very shy and didn’t speak often. She kept in her pocket a photo of the dog she had owned and loved more than anything else, a small, sweet thing with big black eyes named Sam.

You didn’t know how Wilhemina spent her days. You barely ever saw her. You could forget her, you thought, if you didn’t dream of her every night. You would forget her if only your stupid heart would stop skipping a beat and break into a gallop every time you heard the familiar sound of her cane, letting you know she was coming, she was coming! in a second you would see her and be near her and hear her voice. You would forget her if she wasn’t your first thought every damn morning when you woke up. If when she was near you, you didn’t feel like you were burning and suddenly became aware of every single sound that was her, the rustle of her dress, her breathing, her heart beating, her eyelashes fluttering, everything.

You barely ever saw her, but when you did, time stopped, and it lasted forever.

You fell into a routine. Aimless, dreary. Getting out of bed every morning. Eating your food cube. Making small talk with the other residents. A teary-eyed Mary showing you her picture of Sam. Trying not to think, not to remember. It went on like this for a week and a half, until two Greys were found having sex and were sentenced to death.

It was Mary who told you the news, just before dinner. At first you thought she was joking. But then every soul at the Outpost was talking about it and even Coco seemed scared.

You didn’t know the Grey girl, but you had spoken to the boy once or twice. His name was Mark. He smiled at you every time you would meet him in a corridor.

You ate your food cube in complete silence and shock. When dinner was over, when Wilhemina stood up and walked off, you didn’t think. You stood up, too, and followed her.

She didn’t become aware of your presence until she was halfway down the corridor to her room. You saw her slow down, come to a halt. She tapped her cane on the floor, then turned on her heel.

Time slowed down. You noticed every detail, even the smallest ones. The way the candlelight glided over her cheekbones as she turned. You were still so attuned to her, every inch of her.

You stopped breathing as her eyes locked with yours. And it would have been so easy, to take a step forward, to wrap your arms around her waist, to pull her close and go back home. It seemed her eyes were pleading you to do just that.

But then she blinked, and her eyes turned cold. Glazed. Tourmaline. You felt your body stiffen.

“May I speak to you?” you asked, almost a hiss. Then you added, “Ms Venable.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly at you, raised her chin. “I do not care to hear what you have to say,” she said coldly.

You took a step forward and snarled, “I will say it. You can either listen to me here, or in your room. Office. Whatever.”

Her nostrils flared, and for a second you thought she was going to slap you. You had seen her slap some of the other residents who had dared question her rules. That was one of the things the new Wilhemina had no problem doing.

But she merely nodded, almost imperceptibly, and led you to her room.

You tried not to look. At the bed, perfectly made, at the pillow where she laid her head every night. At the vanity where she did her hair and make-up every morning. All the small rituals you knew so well.

It hurt. Merely standing there in her room felt like someone was crushing your heart between cold fingers.

You came to a halt in the middle of the room and tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. Wilhemina stopped in front of you, rested both her hands on the head of her cane.

How did she look so different? Why was her face so hard and so cold? She reminded you of the ancient statues of Greek or Italian gods. The powerful, lifeless stare. The dangerous power. How she could destroy you – how she had destroyed you – with one word or one tap of her cane on the floor.

You searched her face for the light, for the fear, for the love, the shyness and the boldness, the desire to be completely, truly seen and loved. You found nothing.

“Well?” she asked, annoyed, after a while.

You cleared your throat. “I heard you’re gonna have Mark and that Grey girl executed tomorrow morning.”

“You heard right,” she mocked.

You cleared your throat again. Your right hand twitched at your side. “Why?”

She made an annoyed noise. “You know why. They didn’t follow the rules. They put their own little disgusting needs first and compromised the group. We cannot have more mouths to feed.”

“Disgusting needs,” you repeated automatically. You took one step towards her and raised your head defiantly. “I don’t remember you calling sex ‘disgusting’ when we were doing it.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Something that almost looked familiar.

“Don’t be crude,” she hissed.

“You cannot have those two Greys killed,” you went on, ignoring her. “That’s murder, Wilhemina.”

Her name dropped from your mouth before you had time to think. You paused. She didn’t react.

“I know you’re better than that,” you added, taking another step towards her. Closer. You wanted to reach out and touch her. It seemed to you she was leaning forward, forward – towards you. It seemed to you her eyes flicked to your lips.

How you had missed her. How you missed her still. How you wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and demand an explanation as to why she had destroyed your world, stolen all the stars from your night sky. How had she dared, who did she think she was, and what had happened to her that had stolen all the light from her eyes?

“For God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you cried when still she didn’t react, didn’t speak, didn’t move, “you can’t kill two people for being in love!”

“Why not?”she hissed, low and dangerous, like a snake.”What’s so special about love?”

“You know what’s so special about love. You felt it.” A pause. “And don’t tell me you didn’t. You may think you were good at hiding your feelings, but you weren’t.”

Wilhemina’s gaze hardened. “Those two Greys will die tomorrow at dawn,” she answered emotionlessly.

You raised your hands in frustration. “What’s wrong with you?” you cried. Again, she didn’t react. Her silence only fueled your anger. “If you do that,” you went on, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from yelling the words, “if you have them killed, you’ll be walking down a path I cannot follow you on.” You gave a mirthless laugh. “But I guess you don’t care. Who am I kidding? You don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. You made that clear months ago. But ask yourself this question, Wilhemina: will you be able to sleep knowing you’ve killed two innocent people?”

Oh, she would. Without a doubt she would. She knew it and you knew it and you saw it on her face. Yours turned sickly pale.

“Okay,” you mumbled, lowering your head in defeat. “Okay. I – you know what, I –“ You met her eyes again. “I don’t even know how I could fall in love with you in the first place.”

She swallowed, but her face remained blank. But that familiar something flashed in her eyes again, something sad, that looked almost like the Wilhemina she used to be.

You knew confronting her would likely make her shut down. You knew that. But you were only human, for God’s sake, and you had been hurt and betrayed and it was a well-known fact, that anger was stronger than Man.

So you took yet another step towards her and clenched your fists.

“I have questions,” you growled, “and you’re going to answer them. Why am I here? What made you think you could dump me with no explanation? Did you even love me, or was it all a game to you?”

By the end of your little outburst you were breathless, and Wilhemina, the Wilhemina you had tried to reach and caught a glimpse of, had been roughly locked away.

“Say one more word,” she enunciated, glazed, empty eyes staring right into yours,” and I’ll have you arrested and whipped every day until you meet your pitiful end.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off. “Don’t forget who you are, Y/N. I’m the only one who has authority here. If you question me or my rules again, I’ll make sure that insolent tongue of yours is nicely severed from the rest of your body. And don’t think I won’t enjoy watching.”

Your whole body was shaking. But it wasn’t with fear. It was with rage, and with something else you didn’t like at all, for that something else was love. Love that was terrified and aching because this wasn’t her, this wasn’t right, and part of you desperately wanted to make it right again.

Someone knocked on the door. Your eyes widened.

Don’t, you screamed at Wilhemina in your head. Ignore whoever it is. Talk to me. Let me in, let me help you, let me –

“Yes?” Wilhemina called.

The door opened, and Mary shyly stepped into the room. “I, um, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said in her sweet, low voice. “But, um, Y/N, I need your help with something.”

“Can’t it wait?” you asked her, your gaze not leaving Wilhemina’s face, your voice shaking, your body shaking with rage and love and ache.

“Obviously it cannot,” Wilhemina answered, eyes boring into you. “Or else little Mary wouldn’t have been brave enough to push that door open.”

Mary shot her a scared glance and immediately lowered her eyes again.

Send her off, you begged Wilhemina. Make me stay.

Her gaze was too intense, it was too cold, too dark. You lowered your head and turned to Mary.

“I lied,” Mary whispered once she had closed the door behind you two. She glanced up at you with a smile. “I don’t need your help with anything. I just thought I should come and rescue you.”

You swallowed. Your body was still shaking, and you couldn’t unclench your fists. “Right.”

“I heard her threaten you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you retorted sharply.

Wilhemina wouldn’t hurt you, you thought. She had only tried to scare you, to push you away. She would never carry out her threat.

But then again. You didn’t know what this new Wilhemina was capable of. Fear vaguely sang in your chest. Maybe she had meant every word.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you,” Mary was saying, “please tell me. I’ll be happy to listen.”

You thanked her, told her you wanted to be alone, and went to your room.

Wilhemina had decided the execution would be public to set an example. All the residents of Outpost 3 gathered in the music room and the two Greys who were to die were ordered to sit down on their knees in the middle of the room. They were both crying. Pathetic. Weak. Wilhemina looked down on them and smiled to herself.

A guard walked in with a gun. The Grey boy whimpered.

Someone – the hairdresser – mumbled something, a protest probably, but he was too scared to say it loudly. The old lady who had once been a star nodded at Wilhemina and gave her a smile and a thumbs up. Wilhemina ignored her.

You were standing in front of her slightly on her left, by Mary’s side. Wilhemina was trying not to pay you attention, but somehow you were the only person she could see.

You spent an awful lot of time with Mary, she had noticed. Laughing together, talking together, napping together. Good thing for you. Mary was just the type of person who would treat you right. She’d be kind, and happy, and healthy, and enough.

The Grey boy said something, pleaded for his life, probably. Wilhemina didn’t care. She didn’t listen. She nodded to the guard, and he crossed to him, holding the gun in front of him.

Wilhemina saw Mary grab your hand, saw you touch your shoulder to hers. Oh, you would be alright.

She didn’t know why, but her eyes had started to sting. Her hands were shaking. She willed them not to. They would not stop.

The guard raised his gun, pointed it at the Grey boy’s head, but Wilhemina didn’t see him, not really. She saw you turn your head and look at her, your eyes glossy and pleading, your hand holding Mary’s, and Wilhemina took a sharp intake of breath and felt tears pool in her eyes for she had loved and loved you and she had lost you. And now she was losing you again.

But she couldn’t go back, not now. She would lose her authority, she would be laughed at. And besides, she didn’t want to. This execution was the right thing to do. It would make everyone at the Outpost fear and respect her. They would bow their heads to her and they would hate her but they would never, never laugh at her.

There was a low but fierce shout, “Stop!” Your voice.

The guard lowered his arm slightly. He looked at you, confused, then at Wilhemina, awaiting orders. You stepped forward, letting go of Mary’s hand, came to a halt as if you weren’t sure what to do. A second passed. Then you crossed to Wilhemina, cupped her face in your hands, searched her eyes and murmured, “I love you.”

Something inside of her melted. The warmth from your touch and the warmth from your voice seeped into her and turned ice into water. The water washed down everything and left her insides dripping wet and glinting in the sun like after a hurricane.

You had spoken too low for the others to hear, but they saw the change on Wilhemina’s face. They saw her eyes widen and the light weave in as if she had opened a blind to let the sun in. They saw life and emotion settle back on her face and soften it.

For the first time since the world had ended, since you had walked into this music room sobbing and looked up and met Wilhemina’s eyes, you found her again. And you fell in love with her all over again.

You tried to give her a smile, and it was small and quivering, but it was genuine. It was fond. Wilhemina’s lips parted on a breath as she searched your eyes, wondering, hoping, and when she blinked a tear rolled down her cheek and you caught it with your thumb. You were crying, too, but you smiled again, stroke her cheek. You felt the tension leave your shoulders.

The gunshot echoed off the walls as loud as a crack of thunder. It made everyone in the room jump. The Grey girl screamed as Mark slumped onto the floor at the guard’s feet. The guard moved his hand, pointed his gun at the girl and pulled the trigger.

The second gunshot was louder, somehow. It deafened you and left a ringing in your ears. Your hands fell from Wilhemina’s face as you both turned to stare at the two corpses. Blood slowly pooled around them and shone faintly in the candlelight.

The guard met your horrified gaze and shrugged. “Following orders,” he said nonchalantly. “It was taking too long.”

Wilhemina was staring down at the two dead bodies with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she looked up at the guard, and her eyes were glazed again.

“I didn’t order you to shoot,” she said coldly.

“You did,” the guard argued.

“She told you to stop,” Wilhemina said, nodding at you, her voice growing angry now.

The guard shrugged again. “I only take my orders from you.” He raised his gun and held it to his chest, a defiant look in his eyes.

Someone in the room was crying softly. You didn’t know who. Your mind had gone numb.

Wilhemina turned away from you. Slowly, regally, she walked to the corpses, her dark, glazed eyes fixed on the boy’s head. She stopped in front of him and tapped her cane on the ground. Then she gave orders to carry the corpses outside and burn them.

Dinner was silent that night. You swallowed your food cube and drank your water. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. Coco tried to diffuse the tension with a few sly remarks that made some of the residents laugh nervously. When dinner was over, you excused yourself and went to your room.

You lay on your bed and prayed for sleep, but sleep, unsurprisingly, didn’t come. You turned and turned until you gave up. You sat up with a groan and buried your face in your hands.

Blood, slowly pooling. The two bodies, not moving. Wilhemina’s eyes, widening. A tear rolling down her face, that you caught with your thumb. You couldn’t chase those images from your mind.

It hadn’t been her fault, not really, you told yourself. She would have spared them in the end. You knew it. Without a doubt.

You buried your fingers in your hair, dug your nails into your skull. She would have spared them, for the Wilhemina you knew had come back, if only for a few seconds – and she had been hopeful, and you had been, too.

And you knew you should still be mad, you knew it was too early to forgive her. But you were ready to surrender and fall back into her arms the second she’d want you back. If she ever decided she wanted you back.

There was a whisper, in your head, that assured you she did.

At 11:00pm you gave up on trying to sleep. You got up and went to the music room, hoping someone would be there and would like to talk to help you pass the time. Maybe Coco, for she would make you laugh. Or Mary, for her kindness would soothe you.

There was only one person, and it was Wilhemina. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. You thought it was because of annoyance, or disappointment maybe. Bullshit, your heart told you. She had been the one you had wanted to find.

Wilhemina was sitting in an armchair, her hands resting on the head of her cane, her eyes fixed on the fire. She raised her head when she heard your footsteps, and met your eyes.

“What are you still doing up?” she asked, not unkindly.

“There’s no curfew I know of,” you replied, probably too sharply, but Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind. She nodded, then resumed her staring at the fire.

For a minute you hesitated. Going back to your room was the wisest and safest option. But before you had consciously taken your decision, your feet moved towards Wilhemina. A moth drawn to a flame. Always, when it came to her.

You sat on the armchair opposite the hearth from her. For a long moment there was only silence. The fire crackled lazily and warmed you up.

You glanced up at Wilhemina, only to realize she was staring at you. You quickly lowered your gaze, nervously shifted in your armchair, then glanced at her again.

The expression on her face wasn’t closed, you noticed. There was a wistfulness to it, some sprinkles of curiosity, too. You felt hopeful again.

“So,” you said, assuming a casual tone as if you two were having a friendly conversation in a bar, “what’s your plan in the long run?”

Wilhemina watched you for a few seconds before she answered. Her voice was emotionless. “The Cooperative should contact me soon enough with new instructions.”

That’s not what you had meant. You had meant about her and you. But you let it drop.

“So you’re still following orders, uh?” you taunted. “I thought you were the only boss around here.”

“This is bigger than this outpost,” Wilhemina replied coldly. “This is about building a new, better world, where everyone is at their rightful place according to their worth and abilities.”

“What is my rightful place in this new world, do you think?” You waited, but no answer came.”What is yours?” you tried again. “Let me guess. You are the feared, hated leader. Making sure everyone respects you, making sure everyone survives. Noble work, but it sounds awfully lonely. Wouldn’t you rather fall asleep in somebody’s arms every night?”

Wilhemina’s expression hardened. She kept silent, which surprised you, and averted her eyes from your face to stare at the fire again.

You watched her. You watched the shadows the flames threw on her face. Followed the arch of her brow, the line of her mouth.

Had she done something to her hair, or was it the dim light? It was darker now. She had let you dye it once when you two had been dating. You had frowned at the smell and coughed and splashed the walls with tiny dots of orange. Wilhemina had tried to scold you, but she had burst into laughter instead, her hair piled on top of her head. She had let you wipe the dye splatters from her face and tuck her hair in a shower cap. And while the dye processed, she had sat on the couch reading and you had rested your head on her lap and grinned at her.

Wilhemina cleared her throat, bringing you back to reality.

“What you said earlier, did you really mean it?” she asked in a low voice, still staring at the fire. “Or were you only trying to save the Greys?”

You leaned forward, digging your elbows into your thighs. “I’ll answer that once you’ve answered my own question. Why did you leave me?”

A pause. An annoyed look.

“Because I felt like it,” Wilhemina replied.

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Because you felt like it?” You shook your head, anger rising in your chest. “I don’t believe you. I’ll ask it again. Why did you leave me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve just told you why. It’s not my fault you’re too proud to accept it.”

“Why did you leave me?” you repeated, clenching your fists.

Wilhemina made an angry noise. She tapped her cane on the floor, then slowly stood up. You jumped on your feet and followed her when she crossed the room and turned right down a corridor.

“Did you wake up one morning and realize you didn’t love me?” you called, as she opened the door to her room. You stepped inside after her. “You’d had your fun, but now it was time to plan the end of the world? Uh? Do you have any idea,” you growled, voice growing louder and angrier, “how it felt to watch you leave without even knowing what I did wrong?”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Wilhemina said, voice quavering.

“Then why the fuck did you leave?” you growled, taking one step toward her. “Tell me! For fuck’s sake, I deserve an explanation!”

She couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. She was staring at the floor and her breathing was quickening at it always would when she was trying not to cry. And suddenly you were in the company of the Wilhemina you knew, the one you loved, the one who didn’t think she should be soft and kind but was still willing to try, for you.

“Elijah came to see me,” she answered, so low you barely heard it.

“So what?” you growled. “You fucked him and realized he was your one true love?”

She winced, and you bit your cheek, thinking that maybe you had gone a bit too far. But she deserved it, part of you thought. She had hurt you too badly.

You waited, but she didn’t add anything after that. So, rage beating inside your chest instead of your heart, you strode to her and planted yourself right in front of her, fuming, and she flinched but held her ground.

“Tell me,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “Why did you leave me?”

She drew in a breath, turned away from you and crossed to her chest of drawers. You were about to yell at her when she opened one of the drawers, closed it again. She crossed back to you and dropped something into your hand.

A lighter. Small and black and plain. You stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“What…?”

Wilhemina had never been good with words. But when you two had been dating, she had been willing to open herself up to you in any way she could. Actions sometimes were easier, she had found.

You glanced up at her, then back down at the lighter in your palm. “I don’t understand,” you said.

Wilhemina had averted her gaze from you again. “I couldn’t pick it up from the floor,” she whispered brokenly.

It didn’t hit you all at once like a revelation. Instead it felt like something spreading inside your head. A bubble. Slowly inflating until it burst.

“What?”

Somehow, it was the only thing you could say.

Wilhemina squared her shoulders, raised her chin, built up her walls. She met your eyes and glared.

“You got what you wanted. Now leave before I feed you to the monsters outside.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but instead you burst into tears.

Your chin dropped to your chest and you sobbed, as Wilhemina stared at you in shock. She extended one hand towards you, hesitated, changed her mind. Her brow pushed up in confusion and concern as she waited for you to calm down, dying to touch and comfort you, but not daring to. She had lost you, after all. She hadn’t been enough.

Some people are just too fucked up to be loved, Elijah had said. She could hear his voice now as if he were saying it again, remembered his exact intonation, the way he had pronounced every syllable.

“It’s alright,” she tried after a little while. “He was right.”

“Who was right?” you sobbed, wiping your eyes.

“Elijah. I did the right thing for you.”

That made you burst into tears again. Except this time, you wrapped your arms around Wilhemina’s waist and pulled her close.

She stiffened against you, but you buried your face in her chest and held her tight and cried and cried at how blind you had been. Your heart broke, but this time it didn’t break for you. It broke for her. For how low her self-esteem was, how she had tried over and over again to be kinder and softer and yet had still been convinced loving her was a burden. Loving her had been the best thing in your whole goddamn life.

Tentatively, Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and rested her chin on top of your head.

“I’m gonna bring Elijah back from Hell and kill him,” you mumbled against her chest.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” Wilhemina replied. “He was right. All he did was love you so much he only wanted the best for you.”

You shook your head, wailing as Wilhemina brought her free hand up to your head and started stroking your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked. “I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina’s fingers stuttered in your hair. “What for?” she asked, and you couldn’t see her face but you knew what her expression must be like right now, brow pushed up in confusion, eyes wide as she tried to think of something to say or do to help you calm down.

You sobbed against her chest and tightened your grip on her. “I’m so sorry he did this to you and I let him.”

“I don’t –“She paused, hesitated. “I don’t understand,” she breathed after a moment, which only made you cry harder.

You felt her body stiffen again. “No no no, please don’t cry,” she pleaded. Her hand hovered over your head, afraid to touch you now. “I’ll stop talking, I’m sorry, I’m going to shut up. But please don’t cry.”

You clung to her, clutching the back of her dress, wishing that you could… you didn’t really know what. Let her creep inside of you, let her nestle by your heart so the outside world could never hurt her ever again.

When you had calmed down enough to speak, you asked her what Elijah had told her exactly. You wanted to hear every word, so you could erase them from her brain and replace them with words of truth and love.

You had expected her to refuse, to shut down and keep silent. But to your utter surprise, she let out a shaky breath, pressed her cheek against your head, and started to speak.

It was barely a whisper, and at first she paused and hesitated every second or so; but then, words poured out of her, ashamed and painful. You closed your eyes against a fresh wave of tears as you listened.

It didn’t last long. When she was done, her whole body slackened and you tightened your grip on her, afraid she was going to collapse on the floor. She didn’t, though. She nuzzled your hair and sighed.

She hadn’t broken up with you because of you. She had done it for you. Or at least, she had thought so. And it made everything worse, for you had said hurtful things to her. Accused her of things that had never even crossed her mind. Rubbed salt on the wound.

Not your fault, said a voice in your head. You hadn’t known.

After a quiet moment had passed, you took a deep breath and pulled away. Wilhemina let out a faint noise of protest, but you cupped her face and locked eyes with her.

“Have you ever thought that, maybe,” you whispered, offering her a small, teary smile, “I’m the only one who can decide what and who’s enough for me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes widened a bit. You gave her another smile, then let go of her face and looked around the room.

“You said Elijah told you you could never be enough for me and you believed him,” you said, gathering unlit candles in your hands. “I know this kind of thoughts don’t go away easily. I know it takes time and work. But let me show you something.”

You came to a halt in front of Wilhemina and held out the lighter. She glanced at it, then met your eyes, frowning. You leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. Wilhemina’s lips parted on a breath as you pulled away.

You smiled. “Let’s pretend these candles are my heart. Shush, let me finish. Sit down. Let me show you how you light up my heart.”

You set the first candle down on the bedside table. “Remember the day we met at the supermarket? I was blocking the aisle with my cart and you snapped at me. Told me my ass was too big for this world.” You chuckled softly at the memory. “My life was so boring before that day. I hadn’t realized it, but it lacked challenges, it lacked passion. It’s like my brain was asleep, and with just a few words, you awoke it.”

You flicked the lighter and lit the candle. The flame flickered, then grew. You glanced at Wilhemina, gave her a smile.

“Remember the first time we made love?” Wilhemina’s eyes were riveted on the burning candle. You bit your lower lip, set a second candle on the chest of drawers. “You were so nervous, and you tried to hide it, but Mina, honestly, I can tell you now, you weren’t very successful. You thought you would hurt me or not know how to pleasure me. Remember how many times you made me come that night? You’re a great lover, Mina. And you sure have talent in these fingers and tongue of yours,” you teased. Wilhemina’s eyes, wide and shining, flicked to you. “But do you know what you’re even better at? The way you take care of me after. The way you cannot seem to be able to stay away, how you always snuggle up to me and hold me and ask me if it was good.” You lit up the second candle.

You took a third one, put it on the floor by the door. “Remember my birthday?” you went on. “I’d spent the last one alone. You brought me breakfast in bed, bought me flowers and a cake.”

“I ruined your birthday cake,” Wilhemina whispered sadly.

You shook your head, flicking the lighter again. “But you bought it. For me. To celebrate me.”

You crossed to the other side of the room, set two candles on the vanity. “I don’t know if you’re even aware you did it, but you’d always fluff my pillow when you’d make our bed in the morning. You’d never fluff yours. Only mine.”

Wilhemina let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“It’s only one example of all the things you did that made me feel so loved. Like how you’d always buy pears even though you don’t like the taste of them, just because you knew I do. Or how you read the whole of War and Peace just because I said it’s one of my favorite books. That’s more than a thousand pages, Mina.” Your voice broke as your lips parted on a smile. “You didn’t even think it was that good. But you read the whole thing. Valentine’s Day. You said you hated Valentine’s Day. You bought me flowers and chocolates and tickets for Carmen. Front row center seats, Mina.”

You were crying again by now, but these tears were happy. You set the last candle by the bed. “You made sure I’d survive the Apocalypse. It was you, wasn’t it? I don’t know how you did it, but I’m sure it was you. I used to be mad at you for having saved me but left all my friends and family to die. But you saved me. Gave me another chance at life. Because you still cared about me.”

Wilhemina sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand. You walked around the bed and took her hand.

The whole room was studded with bright, dancing dots of light, as if you had stuck your head into the night sky. Wilhemina’s hand was shaking, but she laced her fingers with yours and gave them a tight squeeze.

“So, you see,” you whispered, “see how bright you make my heart shine.”

A sob pushed out of Wilhemina’s throat. She wrapped her free arm around her waist, hugging herself as she cried. You leaned towards hers, bumping her shoulder with yours. For a while she didn’t move; then she, tentatively, laid her head on your shoulder. And then, as you did not protest, did not push her away, she slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you close.

Her hand cupped your face and her mouth crashed against yours as she sobbed and you sobbed and kissed her fervently back. How you had missed this. How you had missed her. One of your arms wrapped around her shoulders to press her closer still, tongue sliding inside her mouth. You were shaking, entirely too hot and so, so alive.

Something seemed to break loose inside Wilhemina. She let out a noise like a whimper, and suddenly she was crying over and over again “I’m so sorry” and “please” and “don’t go”. You pulled away slightly, cupped her face to make her look at you.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered. “I forgive you.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief as another sob pushed up her throat. “But what about Mary?” she hiccupped.

You frowned, stroking her cheek. “What about Mary?”

“And what about the two Greys?” she went on, voice growing frantic and breathless. “What about the rules? I’ll hurt you again, I’ll hold you back, I’m too fucked up –“

“None of that,” you shushed her gently.

“But I –“

“No.” A kiss on her mouth, slow and sweet, meant to reassure. You tugged softly at her lip, and she moaned, dug her fingers into your skin. She let out a breath that went all the way down into your lungs, and sank into you.

After a moment, she rested her cheek on your shoulder and opened her eyes to look at all the lighted candles. You held her, stroking the nape of her neck, rubbing circles on her back.

The candles were burning. They lit up the room.

Tag list: @sapphicsarahpaulson @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @coxmicbabygirl

#does reader forgive wilhemina too quickly in that one?#yes #but i want to give w all the love and no one but god can stop me #ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #fics

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thisisnotourlasthunt · 4 years ago

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Andrew Showing The Foxes His Love Through Actions.

All through “All for the game” we can see how Andrew shows his love through actions. I believe that Andrew does care for his teammates and I know I; m not the only one, so I wrote this. (Also, I will just forget about the choking scene because N*ra did their relationship so badly, like- ugh, that’s for another time)

Tw: Curse words, references to the foxes pasts, punches, vomit, Riko, mentions of scars, mentions of nightmares, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of past self-harm, probably many spelling and grammar mistakes.

Allison.

It happened during a game, the foxes were winning and the other team were getting exasperated because they could not get past the backliners and if they could, Andrew would not let them score.

During the last minutes of the game, a player from the other team made Allison trip on purpose and “accidentally” kicked her.

Everyone else were too far away from them.

Except Andrew.

When the referee called the fault, Andrew was already there, punching the guy resulting in him taking a step back and falling to the ground.

As the referee gave him a yellow card, Andrew extended his arm to help Allison up.

And if he asked Renee how bad the injury was, no one had to know.

Matt.

When Matt was visiting his mom during summer vacations, they decided to go shopping, there he found the most adorable hoodies. It was orange on the outside and the inside had a really soft and warm fabric, which was white and had orange paw prints. But the best part was that the hoodie had fox ears.

Matt obviously bought nine of them.

“Disgusting.” Andrew had said, which Matt had obviously expected, so he thought nothing of it.

Everyone wore them, Aaron had given his to Katelyn, except Andrew.

But when winter came, Matt saw Andrew get out of his dorm room with the hoodie on, pulling it tighter against himself when a cold air blast came.

“Not a word.” Andrew deadpanned, pointing at Matt, when he noticed him, before leaving the tower.

Matt smiled the whole day.

Dan.

During one of their dinner bankets, the foxes were placed into pairs and told to socialize with the other teams. The pairs were meticulously design so that ‘the monsters’ (minus Nicky) interacted. This meant every ‘monster’ was placed with an upperclassmen. Andrew got Dan.

So when they Dan were talking to some players from Penn State, the Ravens decided to join.

They began talking sh¡t about Dan’s time as a stripper.

Andrew didn’t say or do a thing, knowing Dan was capable on fighting her own fights, she is the first female captain on Exy, but he does stand to the side, throwing a death glare to them.

But when one of them decide it’s a good idea to slap her in the butt when she is distracted....Andrew intervienes.

He grabs the Raven’s wrist, twisting it before pushing him into a table.

Dan is surprised, to say the least, but she knows that the Raven will get a worst fate if she leaves Andrew like that.

Calmly, she tells him she is okay and that the Raven didn’t touch her and that he can look and see for himself.

The latter does the trick, Andrew turns his murderous glare at Dan so she turns in place extending her arms showing him that the Raven did nothing to her.

Andrew calms after a while and stands up, glancing at the Raven one more time.

The rest of the night Andrew does not leave Dan’s side until they head back home. Dan attaches herself to that memory forever.

Renee.

Renee and Andrew sparred at least once a week, more whenever Andrew was having a bad day.

Such as that moment, Aaron’s trial was just around the corner and Andrew was not having it.

He went to Bee’s twice but it still wasn’t enough, so him and Renee spared.

But today was a specially not good day, Aaron’s lawyer had said that he’d have to speak about what happened that day.

Renee knew that Andrew was far more on his head than n the present so she wasn’t mad when Andrew threw her down to the mat and her hip bumped onto the floor.

For the first time since they spared that day, Renee saw Andrew actually see her.

His eyes were wide, probably surprised of what happened so she reassured him that she was okay and that it didn't hurt much and that she’d had much worse before.

But he didn’t listen to her and got off the mat.

Renee stood up and went for her water bottle, thinking that Andrew had gone to let out some steam alone.

But then he came back with an ice package in hand and gave it to her.

Renee thank him, placed it on her hip and sat near him while he starred to the distance in moral support.

Nicky.

Nicky wasn’t one to get sick often, but when it happened, he really got sick.

So when one day he wakes up with a headache and all of his bones ache, he knows he’s in trouble.

Not wanting anyone to be worried about him, Nicky tries to stand up, just for a blast of nausea hits him and he has to run to the bathroom before he pukes on their bedroom.

When he is done throwing his guts out, he brushes his teeth and walks out to the kitchen for a glass of water. But when he gets there, a water bottle is out with a bottle of Pepto-bismol beside it.

In the middle of his confusion, Andrew and Aaron appear with a thermometer, a blanket and pills.

“Go lay down,” Andrew says with an uncharacteristically softness in his tone.

Nicky complies and walks towards the couch, Andrew protectively trailing behind him with his phone and a blanket.

“I don’t have any class today, Aaron has two in an hour but then he’ll be back. Tea?” Nicky is perplexed at this attention given by his cousins so he is only able to nod and think who were these people and what did they do with his cousins.

The rest of the day, the twins (mostly Andrew) take his temperature, give him his meds, cook for him and help him out whenever he needs it.

Nicky sleeps with a smile that day.

The next day, he feels much better, but because the sickness messed with his feelings, he has an urge to hug his cousins.

He asks for permission and surprisingly, Andrew says yes.

Nicky keeps the hug fast and makes sure he doesn’t make Andrew feel trapped.

He still cries at the memory.

Aaron.

Out of all the foxes, Aaron is the one with the most difficult things to study. He is in fact studying pre-med.

So during the finals week, he is the most stressed.

There is this one class in which Aaron has been having the most trouble with and if he doesn’t pass the test, he’ll have to repeat the class. So to say that he was stressed was an understatement.

He begins studying for that class a week and a half before the exam is and the day before the exam, he skips gym, morning practice and afternoon practice.

He studies for the exam the whole day and had to be reminded to take breaks for the bathroom and meals constantly.

He is also forced by Andrew to sleep when he woke up at 3 am and Aaron was still awake, studying.

Aaron keeps thinking of the material as he tries to sleep, and isn’t able to until 4 am, he dreams on the material the whole night.

When he opens his eyes, he sees that the sun is much higher than usual, worried, he checks the time on his phone just for his fears to be true, his alarm didn’t sound and he slept through the whole exam.

He doesn’t even care to change and runs to the building. The door to his classroom is closed and the professor is not there.

“Can’t stop thinking about the exam? Me neither.” He hears one of his classmates say behind him.

“I didn’t even do it.” He says through his teeth.

“What do you mean? I saw you there.”

Aaron is confused so he asks more classmates if they saw him, and all of them said that yes, they saw him there.

Hurriedly he got to the tower and confronted Andrew if it was his doing and if he did the exam for him like they did in high school.

“I did.” was Andrew’s only response before walking out.

Aaron got a B⁺ a grade much better than if he had done it by himself.

Kevin.

After Riko died, his and Andrew’s deal could be done, but they had grown close, they had passed so much time together since Kevin escaped Evermore.

Neither of them would say it out loud, but they were each other’s best friend.

So when Kevin learned that his things would be thrown away from the Nest, he went into a spiral.

But when Andrew asked and Kevin couldn’t say why, Andrew made it his mission to know.

Neil had a few assumptions, but when he had been at the Nest, he had been too focused on his injuries that he wasn’t a good resource.

So Andrew contacted someone he never thought he would be speaking to. Jean.

Jean told Andrew of Kevin’s old bedroom and the things Kevin had to hide away from Riko because if he found them, Kevin would be punished. Yet he didn’t know what these secret things were.

Thankfully, Jean knew where the hiding spot was.

The next day, Andrew took the Maserati in the early morning without a word (Neil knew but he had to act as if he didn’t), and made his way to Evermore.

Once there, he had to sneak inside, but given that the Nest was desolated for classes it was easy.

When Andrew got to where Jean had told him where the hiding spot was, he found a small shoe box.

Opening it, he found three things and Andrew immediately understood Kevin’s spiraling.

When he got back to the tower, he directly went to his dorm. Inside were Neil, Nicky and Kevin watching a game.

Andrew signaled Neil and the latter made Nicky follow him out.

“Where were you? You missed morning practice,” Kevin said as soon as they were alone.

Without a word, Andrew took the shoebox out of his bag and carefully gave it to Kevin, who took a shaky breath at the sight of it.

As soon as it was in Kevin’s hands, he opened it and carefully took the three things which were the last things he had from his mother.

A woman’s ring, a record player and a photograph.

Tears immediately sprang from Kevin’s eyes and Andrew decided he would give Kevin his space.

“Thank you,” Kevin said as he opened the door, Andrew just nodded feeling a weird warmness in his chest.

Neil.

Andrew shows Neil his love in so many ways, helping him out during panic attacks, reminding him that he’s safe, holding his hand, kissing him, sharing a cigarette in the roof, stroking his hair when they cuddle and so much more.

But the most important thing Andrew does for Neil is letting the latter see his vulnerability and trust him with it.

It starts with simple things, Andrew letting Neil sleep with him in the same bed, cuddle together, sit on Andrew’s lap (and vice versa), etc.

But it slowly begins to increase, let Neil stay whenever he gets a nightmare and/or a panic attack, let Neil take care of him when he gets sick, let Neil cuddle on top of Andrew, let himself seek comfort in Neil, Andrew letting Neil take his armbands off, see and touch them.

It takes a long time, but Neil doesn’t mind, those little things are more than enough for him and he doesn’t expect more from Andrew, but welcomes this little things and holds onto them with all of him.

Bonus:

Wymack.

Wymack is always threatening his foxes with running marathons and says that their personal stuff is over his pay rate, but oh doesn’t he care for them.

He works hard for them so they can have good things and safe and comfortable area for them, that’s why he had the walls on the showers made.

He loves the foxes, and they love them too.

One morning, he had to organize some piles of paperwork, but he had a stressing week and the night before he hadn’t been able to sleep good, so after a while of organizing paperwork, he decides he deserves a break.

The foxes are supposed to be in class so he doesn’t expect them until the afternoon. He goes to the lounge and lays down on the couch to “rest his eyes”.

He falls asleep almost instantly.

Andrew had forgotten something on the court after their morning practice so he decided to go now, he had finished his classes and knew that Wymack had to organize some paperwork, he was surprised to see the old man asleep.

Andrew could remember his initial fear of the man when he saw him the first time, he was tall, broad and serious, but he didn’t let it show. He had been waiting for the man to do something to him, but instead the man had respected his boundaries and didn’t ask when Andrew broke into his home in the late night and made himself a pot of hot cocoa (which had been bought for this reason).

So quietly, Andrew went to Wymack’s office and organized his paperwork, marking those who were missing one or two things with a post it and leaving right after he was done, not expecting the man to know it was him.

When Wymack woke up and walked back to his office he was surprised to see that his paperwork was organized. He mentally questioned who it was but when he read the post its he immediately knew it was Andrew, he knew all of his children’s handwritings, and made sure he bought Andrew’s favorite chocolate ice cream.

Abby.

Abby was the first one, apart from Bee, to see his scars.

The first time she had tried to say something but she had seen something in his face because he didn’t and let him place the armbands back on.

After that she looked away when he took them off and just glanced at them for a second to make sure there were no track marks before turning around again so he could put the armbands back on.

(She knew there would not be track marks, so she just looked at them so there would be no new ones, he cared for her foxes.)

And during the physical exam, she made sure not to touch him more than necessary.

Abby checks on Bee asking if he’s okay, she never expects an in depth answer, just a confirmation and she feels relief when Bee tells her that he is getting better.

On one of his sessions with Bee, she suggests Andrew that he should tell someone about his scars, preferably someone who has already seen them.

Andrew knows what Bee is trying and Bee knows that Andrew knows and Andrew knows Bee knows that Andrew knows.

In the end, he does tell Abby. He keeps it vague and watches her reaction, waiting for a small expression change, but thankfully Abby just listens, and shows no pity, knowing that Andrew would hate it and does not comment.

When he’s done, she just nods and thanks him for telling her and when Andrew leaves, Abby lets the tears she had retained out.

She keeps the truth guarded with her life, glad Andrew trust her enough to say this.

Bee.

It is not a secret that Andrew sees Bee like his mother figure, out of all the woman in his life she was the only one that he didn’t feel the need to be unlike himself, she loved him just the way he was.

It was scary at first, his mind supplied that it would be just like Cass, he just had to wait for the other shoe to come down.

It never did.

So he found himself driving to her office when he needed to understand something or he was just not in a good mental place.

He would also call her when he didn’t have the energy to move.

She was on one of his sides during Aarons trial, helping him keep his cool when he felt like he needed to punch something.

When it had been his turn to say his testimony, he had looked at her and Neil, remembering that they would be with him and that they would show no pity to him.

So the day before Mother’s day, when him and Neil were shopping for clothes, and he saw a coffee mug in the shape of a bee hive that read “To the Bee-st mom” he had to buy it.

The next day he arrives to her office and leaves the cup before leaving without a word.

It fills Bee’s heart when she reads it but knows best than to comment of it on their next session.

But if she uses it everyday and it becomes her favorite mug, no one has to know.

Look at me posting three days in a row, I’m proud of myself ngl. Anyways, have this, hope you like it, I tried my best and this is honestly the longest “headcanon” I’ve ever written.

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