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queenmarytudor · 3 years

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The Spanish Princess S2 rewrite

The wonky timeline and horrible inaccuracies of The Spanish Princess season 2 inspired me to plot out the season myself.

I made some minor timeline changes to make things flow easier, speeding up the time between events while ignoring Catherine’s first daughter born in 1510 and Mary’s 1518 French betrothal - but I can guarantee my version is 100% more accurate than Emma Frost’s ;)

I used the same following events in the series as rough reference points:

Birth and death of Prince Hal - episode 1

Battle of Flodden - episode 2

Princess Mary’s birth - episode 4

Field of the Cloth of Gold - episode 6

but I’ve dramatically altered the context, featuring a lot more festivities, the births of Margaret Douglas and Frances Brandon, and Henry VIII’s affair with Mary Boleyn!

EPISODE 1 - SIR LOYAL HEART (1511)

King Henry VIII and his new bride, Queen Catherine of Aragon, are crowned king and queen of England, to great rejoicing.

The new court is full of revels; Henry dresses up as Robin Hood to surprise his young queen, along with his band of merry men. An amused Catherine is declared his Maid Marian. The happy king and queen dance together, while Mary, Henry VIII’s sister dances with the king’s best friend Charles Brandon. After the revelry, Catherine confesses to her husband she is with child.

Henry writes to his father in law Ferdinand that he considers him his new father, and prefers an alliance with him rather than any other prince.

Catherine is sent a blessed girdle by her sister, Margaret queen of Scots, to guarantee a safe birth. She had been given it by Catherine previously to use in the birth of her son, prince James of Scotland, and hopes it gives her similar luck. Catherine is touched by the kind gesture.

On New Years day, Catherine gives birth to a prince, named Henry for his father.

Henry goes to a shrine, Our Lady at Walsingham, to give thanks while Catherine recovers. The king of France, Louis XII, is made godfather of little Prince Hal.

When Catherine is churched and returns to court there are jousts to celebrate England’s new heir. Henry jousts as “Sir Loyal Heart”. His sister Mary gives Charles Brandon her favour before the pair joust. Henry is victorious, but Charles admits privately to Mary after that he let the new father win. Catherine happily awards her husband the main prize.

A grand feast follows, where a jubilant Henry encourages the people to take the gold from his costume. A stampede follows, and the laughing king and queen must be helped to safety.

Their happiness is interrupted by the sad news that prince Hal is dead.

The court is plunged into grief, and Henry, in an effort to distract himself, declares war on France, wanting to win back the land lost to England. He asks a mourning Catherine’s help in convincing her father to fight with him. She agrees eagerly; God has taken her son, but he will surely bless them with another when they defeat their ancient enemy.

EPISODE 2 - FLODDEN (1513)

There has been several months of planning war against France, and Catherine is in the early stages of pregnancy. She talks to the Venetian ambassador about hiring Italian ships for an invasion, asking about the cost. Henry admires her attitude, and declares her regent of England while he is in France.

On the eve of her husband’s departure, Catherine tells him their child has quickened, leaving Henry even more eager to win for the sake of their son’s future inheritance.

Before they cross the channel to fight, Mary promises Charles Brandon to look after her brother. He reassures her they will both be fine; Mary says he’ll look after the king, and she the queen.

In France, Henry, Charles, and the other men wait on Catherine’s father, Ferdinand of Aragon. He never arrives, and Henry is incensed to discover he has been betrayed. He successfully lays siege to Therouanne, taking the town and demolishing the walls, creating large fires. They carry on, leaving destruction behind them.

Meanwhile in England, a now visibly pregnant Catherine heads the Privy Council meetings and realises they will have to fight the Scots, allied with the angry French. She writes constantly to the king’s almoner, Thomas Wolsey, worrying how her husband fares.

Catherine, helped by Mary, busies herself preparing essential items for battle, including sewing banners of the royal arms of England and Spain.

Margaret writes a letter pleading her sister not to attack, but Catherine burns it and rallies her soldiers with a rousing speech, saying “English courage excels that of all other nations!”. The soldiers proudly take her banners to battle at Flodden field, where they slaughter the Scots.

Catherine and Mary wait anxiously before England is declared victorious and Catherine is brought James IV of Scotland’s body. She wants to send his head to her husband, but her men persuade her not to. She sends her friar, Friar Langley, to Scotland to comfort the now widowed Margaret.

Across the sea Charles Brandon distinguishes himself by capturing a gatehouse at Tournai. Henry is sent James IV’s bloodstained clothes and a letter from Catherine informing him of her success. Inspired, Henry leads the successful assault on Tournai.

In England, celebrations continue for their victory, but are dimmed when Catherine goes into labour early and gives birth to a stillborn son. Mary comforts her, promising Henry will be home soon.

Henry returns from France victorious, creating Charles Brandon the Duke of Suffolk for his actions. He assures Catherine all will be well now the enemy is defeated, as his sister Mary is to be betrothed to Louis XII of France to make peace between the two countries.

EPISODE 3 - GRIEF (1514)

In Scotland, a grieving Margaret is comforted by Archibald Douglas after being declared regent on behalf of her son, the now king James. He can relate to losing a spouse, as his wife died not long ago.

In England, Catherine is pregnant again, and sews Henry’s battle torn shirts as Mary gets fitted for her wedding dress. Henry’s sister is horrified at having to marry the French king.

Wolsey is now the archbishop of York, and Catherine is beginning to resent his growing influence and power at court. Henry has come up with an idea to claim Castile on behalf of Catherine. He and Catherine argue viciously over it. She thinks it is ridiculous; even if she agreed to fight with her father over the land, Castile is her sister Joana’s before hers, as their mother’s heir. Henry says Joana is mad and incapable of ruling, and therefore it passes to her, and by extension, him.

Catherine is miserable, not helped by her bad pregnancy. She is constantly sick, but disguises her pain to say goodbye to Mary. At the waterside before her departure, Mary gets her brother to promise she can choose her second husband. Henry agrees, and Mary sets sail for France with several ladies in waiting, including Mary and Anne Boleyn.

In Scotland, a lonely Margaret finds herself falling in love with Archibald Douglas.

Catherine is torn between her husband and her father, even more so when Henry decide to send Charles Brandon over to France to discuss a new alliance with King Louis against him.

In France, Charles talks to Louis about an alliance against Ferdinand but the French king is reluctant.

Catherine goes into early labour and gives birth to a son they name Henry for his father. He dies minutes after birth in his parents arms, and both are devastated.

Charles Brandon informs Mary of the queen’s loss; both comfort each other before Charles reluctantly sails back to England.

In Scotland, Margaret secretly marries Archibald Douglas, breaking the terms of her regency.

Back in England, Charles tells Henry he tried his best but Louis refused. Henry reveals he has dropped his plans to get revenge on Ferdinand for the sake of the queen.

Henry tells Catherine he has realised there are more important things to focus on - like her, recovering. They cuddle in bed, brought back together in shared grief for their son.

EPISODE 4 - THE THREE QUEENS (1515 - 1516)

In Scotland, Margaret’s secret marriage is discovered when she becomes pregnant. Besieged and desperate for help, she sends a letter to her brother in England.

In France, Mary becomes a widow after King Louis dies. Henry sends Charles Brandon to bring her home, not before making him promise not to marry her. As she had with Margaret, Catherine sends her friar, Friar Langley, to comfort another Tudor widow; she has no need for him now as her prayers have been answered - she is with child again.

In France, Friar Langley tells Mary that the privy council, especially Wolsey, will never let her and Charles be wed. The pair marry anyway, helped by the new French king, Francis. Francis also gives his blessing for the Duke of Albany to take up the regency of King James in Scotland.

Henry is furious with both of his sisters, as Mary has married without his permission and Margaret urges him to send an army to help her. Henry refuses to send an army, but says Margaret can stay at his court.

Archibald urges Margaret to obey the council and surrender her son to a newly returned Albany, but she refuses. After a long argument, a defeated Margaret turns over James to Albany and flees with Archibald to her brothers court for the sake of her unborn child.

Mary reminds Henry “as you well know, I have always borne good mind towards my lord of Suffolk.” She beseeches him to “keep all the promises that you promised me when I took my leave of you by the waterside.”

Wolsey convinces Henry to allow Mary and Charles to return home to England if they pay a fine. To sweeten her brother’s disposition, Mary steals a large French jewel, the Mirror of Naples, for him.

On the Scottish borders, Archibald refuses to cross into England with Margaret and reveals he intends to make peace with Albany. A betrayed Margaret carries on to London without her husband.

Mary and Charles return home to England, but her lady Anne Boleyn decides to stay on with the new French queen.

All 3 Tudor queens, Catherine, Mary, and Margaret, are now back together in the English royal court, and pregnant.

Margaret has still not forgiven Catherine for the role she played in her first husband’s death. She asks for her blessed girdle back, and Catherine agrees.

Shortly after, Margaret gives birth to a daughter, also named Margaret. Catherine visits her and apologizes for the hurt she has caused. She gives her new dresses and jewels that befit the queen regent of Scotland, and Margaret thaws.

Catherine tries to reconcile the three Tudor siblings, saying their children will all be cousins and it would be a shame to make them enemies as they will be the future royal family.

Henry forgives his sisters; he delights in wearing the Mirror of Naples Mary has stolen from King Francis, and tells Margaret Archibald’s actions were “Done like a Scot”.

Grand jousts are put on to celebrate Mary and Margaret’s return to court. Catherine and Mary watch on proudly as their husbands compete against each other, while Margaret is cheered by a letter arriving from her husband, saying he is trying to negotiate with Albany.

Catherine successfully gives birth to a little girl, named Mary in honour of her aunt. Wolsey, now a Cardinal, is made her godfather, while Margaret Pole is made her godmother and governess. A delighted Henry assures the Venetian ambassador “We are both young; if it was a daughter this time, by the grace of God the sons will follow.”

EPISODE 5 - MAY DAY (1517 - 1518)

Henry and Catherine are head over heels with their surviving child, now a thriving toddler. Mary is constantly flaunted by her parents to ambassadors and courtiers who dote on her; the king names her his pearl of the world, and brags she never cries. The royals are informed of attacks on foreigners in London, but caught up in their happiness, they brush off the news.

The three queens meet at Margaret’s London townhouse, with their children, Princess Mary, Margaret Douglas and Henry Brandon. Mary is pregnant again, while Margaret is eager to return to Scotland as the people around her household are becoming increasingly hostile towards her.

On May Day there are large scale riots in the city, and royal officers including Charles Brandon are sent to suppress them. Three hundred rebels are rounded up and sent to the king and queen. An emotional Catherine, Margaret and Mary beg for Henry to have mercy on them for the sakes of their wives and children, which is given.

Margaret leaves with her daughter to reunite with her husband in Scotland. Mary and an increasingly devout Catherine accompany her northwards while on pilgrimage to visit the Our Lady shrine at Walsingham, the same place her husband visited in thanks after she gave birth to their short lived son. Catherine suspects she is pregnant again.

While his wife is away, Henry entertains his daughter, and writes a Defence of the Seven Sacraments with Thomas More. Increasingly bored as the months pass, he begins an affair with one of Catherine’s ladies, Bessie Blount.

On her return to court, Catherine tells Henry his sister has given birth to a healthy girl named Frances in honour of the French king, and surprises Henry with her own big belly, obviously with child. He orders Te Deum to be sung in the churches in celebration.

In her absence, Henry has grown a beard as part of a peace pact with Francis, but Catherine dislikes it and asks him to shave. He agrees happily after her surprise.

Unfortunately, their joy is as short lived as their child; Catherine soon gives birth to a daughter who dies not long after.

EPISODE 6 - CLOTH OF GOLD (1519 - 1520)

Catherine and Henry take comfort in Mary and the new title, “Defender of the Faith”, that Henry has been given by the Pope. Catherine is teaching her daughter Latin, and all is well until it is discovered that Bessie Blount is pregnant. She is sent away from court to a nearby priory to avoid the scandal being discovered.

Back in Scotland, Margaret discovers her husband Archibald has been living openly in her house with a mistress.

Cardinal Wolsey devises a royal summit with the French king, the Field of the Cloth of Gold, to cement their peace treaty. Henry is eager to see his rival, King Francis, in the flesh.

Bessie has given birth to a bastard son, Henry, who Henry immediately recognises as his own and gives the surname Fitzroy. He makes Wolsey his son’s godfather, and sends him to a secret christening. Henry promises Catherine Fitzroy will be kept away from court, but he will do his fatherly duty. He sends some of Princess Mary’s ladies to care for him.

Margaret writes to her brother she wants a divorce. Catherine sympathises with her sister as she is in a similar position, but urges Margaret to commit more fully to her husband, as she is. Henry and Catherine are determined to put the Fitzroy argument behind them and spend time with Princess Mary as a loving royal family.

Margaret discovers the Duke of Albany has been invited to the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and urges him to convince her brother to help her.

Henry, Catherine, Henry’s sister Mary and Charles Brandon attend the Field of the Cloth of Gold in France. In their absence, England is ruled by Princess Mary, Margaret Pole and the Privy Council.

At the Field of the Cloth of Gold, the Duke of Albany talks to Henry; again Henry and Catherine refuse to support his sister in a divorce. Margaret needs to work out her differences with her husband, for the sake of their daughter.

Catherine and Queen Claude of France become friends, bonding over their husband’s rivalry and their ladies in waiting becoming mistresses. Catherine is grateful Henry is discreet with his lovers, unlike Francis with Francoise de Foix, and that in England there is no official recognised royal mistress position.

King Francis proposes a match between his son and Princess Mary; Henry agrees to allow some French ambassadors to visit England.

In England, the French ambassadors meet with Mary. Mary, watched over by Margaret Pole, entertains them by playing the virginals and offering them strawberries, her favourite.

In France, the kings hear the ambassadors are enchanted with the princess. Catherine is secretly displeased, as she favours her nephew, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, as Mary’s future husband. She says her daughter is far too young to marry, and the four royals agree they will wait until Mary is older for the pair to wed.

At the festivities, Catherine’s lady Mary Boleyn reunites with her sister Anne, who returns with them back to England as one of Catherine’s ladies.

EPISODE 7 - THE KING’S PEARL (1522 - 1523)

Catherine concentrates more on her daughter’s future. Hearing of his talents, she meets the great scholar Juan Luis Vives and commissions him to write a book on female education for Princess Mary.

A desperate Margaret writes that her marriage to Archibald is invalid as James IV is still alive. Catherine is incredulous; she had seen the Scottish king’s dead body herself. Catherine and Henry again refuse to support her.

After an annoyed Henry tells Edward Stafford off for failing to keep the Welsh in line, Catherine persuades Henry that an Imperial marriage would be better for England and their daughter.

Charles V visits England, where a grand pageant is performed in his honour. Henry’s sister Mary plays Beauty, while Mary Boleyn is Kindness and Anne Boleyn Perseverance. Afterwards, Anne flirts with a courtier, Henry Percy; she says she likes his beard.

In the midst of the festivities Edward Stafford, still annoyed over being rebuked by the king, makes a snide remark overheard by Wolsey.

Princess Mary, wearing a Valentines brooch for her cousin, meets Charles V. Catherine says he cannot leave without seeing Mary dance. Mary does not need to be asked twice; Catherine watches her daughter proudly as she impresses the emperor.

In Scotland, Margaret commands Albany to appeal directly to the Pope for a divorce, as Archibald has turned her mad. He agrees to help her. Margaret and Albany finally come to an agreement over the regency of James, which is confirmed by the Scottish parliament. Margaret is not regent, but is able to help her son govern.

Princess Mary is formally betrothed to Charles V, but after he leaves England Charles breaks the treaty and marries Isabella of Portugal. This infuriates Henry, who takes his anger out on Catherine. They have a blazing argument, where he blames her not only for her nephew jilting their daughter, but for not bearing a male heir. Edward Stafford has been listening to prophecies that predict his death and intends to kill him himself after their argument; England is not safe if he were to die without a successor. Catherine argues they have an heir; her mother ruled as a queen in her own right, and she herself ruled the country for him when he was in France.

Juan Luis Vives presents his finished book to Catherine. She tells him “If I had to choose between extreme sorrow and extreme well-being, I think I would prefer the former to the latter, for people in disgrace need only some consolation, while those who are too successful frequently lose their minds.”

She is comforted by Vives’ assurance that she is a good queen and mother, and a model for all woman. Henry meanwhile, is comforted by Mary Boleyn while Edward Stafford is executed for treason.

EPISODE 8 - DECLARE, I DARE NOT (1525 - 1527)

Archibald approaches the Scottish parliament heavily armed, but Margaret orders cannons to be fired at him. Henry Stewart, the master of artillery, is eager to obey, but the English ambassadors are appalled at their actions. They tell her not to attack her husband, but Margaret replies they should “go home and not meddle in Scottish matters”.

In a ceremony, Catherine watches on as her husband announces Princess Mary will go to the Welsh Marches with Margaret Pole and her own council to learn how to govern. It appears Henry has changed his mind and is prepared to accept his daughter as the first ruling queen of England; Catherine is delighted, especially when Mary is given the executed Stafford’s lands and the lordships of Bromfield, Chirkland and Yale to support her new role.

In the same ceremony, a proud Mary and Charles Brandon look on with their daughter Frances as their son Henry is made earl of Lincoln. Shortly after Henry Fitzroy is made Duke of Richmond and Somerset. Catherine is furious, especially when Henry declares his bastard and household will go to the northern borders to defend England against the Scots.

Mary Boleyn gives birth to a girl, Catherine Carey, named in honour of the queen. Catherine says the child looks just like her father.

Henry and Wolsey press ahead with arranging a marriage treaty with France as discussed at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; Catherine, desperately wanting to make amends with her husband, reluctantly agrees.

Wolsey tells Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn off for getting betrothed without approval from the king. She is only a knight’s daughter, and beneath Percy’s rank; he is sent from court to marry Mary Talbot.

An ambassador for the French marriage, Bishop Tarbes, arrives to see Princess Mary. Tarbes questions Henry and Catherine about their daughters legitimacy. Catherine brushes off Tarbes’ concerns, as the Pope had given her and Henry a dispensation to marry even if her marriage to Arthur had been consummated.

Henry visits Mary Boleyn and congratulates her, wondering if her daughter is his. While looking after her sister, Anne talks with Henry; sparks fly.

Margaret is relieved to hear the Pope has finally sanctioned a divorce from Archibald. Though she acknowledges she will have to let Archibald attend Parliament, she is free to marry again should she choose. She drinks to her success with Henry Stewart, acknowledging he is quite handsome…

Henry has grown his beard out again, but this time refuses to shave when Catherine reminds him she hates beards. He insinuates to Anne Boleyn she could be his mistress, but she refuses after seeing how he’s treated her sister.

Princess Mary is formally betrothed to the French king’s son and there is a joust to celebrate. Henry competes with the motto “Declare, I Dare Not”, in stark contrast to Sir Loyal Heart in episode 1, and Catherine is confused.

With the celebrations over, an emotional Henry and Catherine must say goodbye to their daughter. Together they watch on as Mary, helped by Margaret Pole, prepares to leave court for her own estates in the Welsh Marches. As he holds his wife, Henry’s gaze cannot help but drift to a smiling Anne Boleyn nearby…

Embracing her daughter, Catherine gives Vives’ book to Mary as a farewell present. She promises her she will one day be queen of France - and England.

In a flash forward years later, Henry and Catherine’s daughter Mary is crowned the first queen regnant of England, to great rejoicing.

The last episode basically comes full circle to the first, with several parallels:

France are enemies/friends

Henry jousts for Catherine/Anne

Catherine loses Prince Hal/Princess Mary

Henry and Catherine are crowned/Mary is crowned

and we all know how the future will be, with a queen replaced because she can’t produce a male heir…

#let me know what you think!#the spanish princess #i know i focused more on the tudor's and not lina/oviedo #but just imagine them living their best life watching all the craziness unfold #i was going to have her be the lady henry dismisses in anger after catherine hating fitzroy becoming a duke but thought that was too mean!#they deserve their happy ending and catherine deserves a friend :)

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aria-i-adagio · 3 years

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Mudlark

aka. Chapter 46 of Where the Elfroot Grows (read on AO3)

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Rhys Trevelyan - Fucking Herald of Andraste and newly appointed Lord Fucking Inquisitor - kneels on the warm ground of Skyhold’s garden, ripping out weeds with his bare hands, getting dirt all over his trousers, and trying his best to enjoy the autumn sun in peace. The walls of the garden are working as they should, collecting and trapping the heat of the day, even as the shadows cast by the trees begin to grow long. It’s brilliant engineering, even more brilliant than he thought at first. Even at lower elevations, the season for pears and applies should have passed, but the trees here are still producing. He suspects some sort of enchantment built into the walls to amplify the natural effects of the design, but he hasn’t been able to clear enough growth to uncover all the stonework. He’d have finished days ago. Except for Leliana and Cassandra interrupting his plans to declare him Inquisitor.

He’s as close to alone as he’s likely to manage anytime soon. Mother Giselle wandered into the chapel a half hour or so ago either to pray or to work on cleaning and repairing the ancient statue. She’d probably tell him that work and prayer are much the same if one has the right attitude of devotion to Andraste’s teachings and the Maker’s will. He heard the sound of other feet in the gallery a bit after Mother Giselle passed followed by the scraping of a chair being pulled into a desirable spot. Someone might be there still, but whoever it is, they aren’t bothering him, just trying to get a break of their own from the general cacophony of a hundred or so people trying to make Skyhold fully habitable.

It shouldn’t bother him so; it wasn’t as though he’d ever had space to himself in the Circle, but there’s something very different about being in charge of more than seedlings. And Inquisitor feels so much more permanent, so much heavier, than Herald.

Josie kidnapped him promptly after breakfast and trapped him in meetings all day. First with Leliana about the couriers she would be sending: to the Inquisition camps around Redcliffe, to the Chantry, to the College of Enchanters, to Queen Anora in Denerim, to Orzammar, maybe to the Queen of Antiva. Rhys had honestly lost count at a certain point, even though he did his best to read the ones she wanted him to sign. They were all variations on the same theme - an announcement that the Inquisition had survived the destruction of Haven, a reminder that they were responsible for closing the Breach, and requests for supports to oppose Corypheus.

Then, Rutherford and Cassandra wanted to discuss the soldier’s progress repairing an old road that ran through a pass between Ferelden and Orlais, just under the peak on which Skyhold sits. Rutherford says the road is in shockingly good condition and mostly only needs a bit of clearing a few holes filled to be usable by caravans. At the moment, the engineers can’t explain why it was abandoned, as once opened the route will save a significant amount of time transporting products between Orlais and the Lake Calenhad region. Further, they’d discovered auxiliary forts will secure Skyhold's control of what will be a valuable trade route. There’s some discussion of collecting tolls as a source of income for the Inquisition, but it all seems very abstract to him.

The only part of the report that Rhys is internally motivated to be interested in is the repair work on an ingenious winch and cable system that would allow people and goods to be moved up and down the mountain in a matter of hours, versus days. Like the road, it is in remarkable condition - a little grease and a few solders to the heavy cables made it functional again. They’re already able to use it to send messages and lightweight supplies up and down the mountain. (And one adventurous member of Bull’s Chargers. Rhys is slightly envious.) To operate it with any significant amounts of weight, they'll need some strong draft animals to turn the winches at the base and the summit, but Rhys is told that the contact he had made with the farmers around Redcliffe and a few generous handfuls of gold should be able to make that happen.

Rhys had just thought assisting the farmers to secure watchtowers so that they could better defend themselves seemed like the right thing to do as he had no solution to the conflict in the area. Even without Templars and Maleficarii, there were still bears to worry about. Rhys has developed a strong dislike of bears. But they do all the allies they can manage. And Rhys wouldn’t say no to a bear fur or ten or a hundred. Skyhold is magnificent, but with the exception of the garden suntrap, the temperatures are rapidly dropping below anything he’s ever experienced.

An hour after lunch, when he thought the four of them were finished with him, Harritt showed up talking about the tunnels underneath the keep that he’d been exploring with a small team. They go deep, far deeper than Harritt is comfortable taking the men without reinforcements, but he just feels that they reach the Deep Roads. Skyhold is close to Orzammar after all. No signs of Darkspawn, thank Andraste! But they do need to be mindful of the possibility of an attack from below. (It balances the threat of an attacking dragon from above, Rhys supposes. Good to keep your equations balanced.) Cassandra suggested that Harritt take Blackwall along with a few soldiers to explore further, and around yawns, Rhys agreed with her. If the road between Ferelden and Orlais is somehow valuable, why not a road to Orzammar? Or Minrathous? All the roads!

Rhys continues ripping out vines and mentally curses all four of them for promoting him from Herald to Inquisitor. (Although, he’s fairly sure that Rutherford isn’t entirely happy about having a mage in charge for the longue durée.) Morning glories - another plant that would generally need a warmer clime to survive, even as stubborn as it is. Pretty flowers, but they take over everything. He’ll transplant some to a bed near an arbor he discovered two days ago when he swung a machete at a stand of ragweed and hit a metal post. The morning glories will be a desirable replacement - Josie will like the decorative element - if he can keep them contained.

Why couldn’t Andraste just need a gardener?

That question, of course, assumed that Andraste is in fact, the Bride of the Maker and thus, endowed with the power to toss Rhys back out of the Fade (however he ended up there in the first place), which, in turn, assumes the existence of the Maker and not just an empty throne in the middle of a Golden City. And as far as Rhys has ever been able to tell, the Maker’s existence can be neither proven nor disproven, and the people debating it - quietly, of course - were both wasting their breath and risking their necks.

A better question might be, why in the Void did he let Cassie talk him into agreeing to lead the Inquisition? It was a bit unfair of her and Leliana to ambush him with the question in public. And Josie and Rutherford’s little display of rallying acclamation from the survivors of Haven strongly suggested that the decision had already been made before Cassandra and Leliana asked him.

From the Fade and into the fire. Just my luck.

Rhys is too distracted by humoring his own grumbling to notice the loose, mounded soil hiding under the vines until his right hand is buried well past his wrist and stinging sharply from hundreds of tiny mandibles pinching the flesh and sinking venom under the surface of his skin.

Rhys springs up and back with a yelp, flinging his arm to the side in an attempt to shake the ants free, then immediately back in front of him to cast a cage of lightning around the anthill, hoping that it circles deep enough underground to cut off the entire colony before any more of the ants can swarm out to attack him.

“Andraste’s flaming weasel -” Some of the ants have already gotten under his sleeve, and it doesn’t take many of this species to produce abject misery. He swats futilely at his arm, then gives up and tears off his jacket. “Knickerbocker tits!”

“Rhys, has some demon of dance possessed you?”

“Ants.” Rhys tosses the jacket aside and tries to crush the insects between the fabric of his sleeve and his arm for a second before ripping the buttons on his shirt open and stripping it off as well. A couple of the damned terrors have made it to his neck and chest. “Blighted fire ants.” Ugh. That’s a horrible notion - fire ants infected with the Blight. The Maker really will have abandoned us.

“So dramatic. Here -” Dorian attempts to brush a few of the blighters off before Rhys can stop him. “Fasta vass! That thing bit me.”

“Yes.” Rhys flicks one off his neck and sweeps his left hand over his right arm. Be damned nice if this Anchor were effective against fire ants. “Get me a bucket of water, will you?”

The static cage spell will wear off shortly, releasing any of the ants that hadn’t been shocked to death already. And those ants will be an infuriated horde with murder on their hive mind. Rhys ignores the stinging long enough to cast as controlled and intense of a fire spell as he can manage over the mound and watches with satisfaction as it erupts through the weeds and rolls over the anthill in a destructive wave. Invasive little fuckers. Kill them. Kill them with fire.

Rhys grabs the full bucket from Dorian and splashes the water over his right side, knocking most of the remaining ants loose and hopping away from that bit of ground before they can recover and decide to crawl up his leg.

“The hell are those things?”

“Fire ants.” Rhys glares at the scorched earth, watching for movements that might single a second assault. Dorian really must have spent the majority of his time in cities and libraries if he didn’t know about fire ants. The things are native to Tevinter and had been slowly invading the south for decades. He goes back to the well in the center of the garden and draws another bucket of water to dump over his head. “Also known as the most vicious little blighters known to Thedas.”

“Certainly they can’t be that bad. They’re just insects.”

“I fell into a mound once when I was still an apprentice... I’ll take a small horde of Darkspawn over these things.” Rhys rubs his hands over his neck and face. He doesn’t think he’s allergic; the bites should just be an irritant - just one more irritant for an irritating day - but people do develop allergies to insect bites following initial exposure. He can’t feel any swelling around his throat, but there is an itch along his jaw. He swats at his cheek - unsure if there’s an ant, or if he’s just imagining it - and inadvertently smears water and dirt together into mud.

“Ah, thus the warpaint.” Dorian smirks at him.

Rhys touches his face. The tacky mud over his cheek and nose sticks to his fingertips. Fortunately, it seems like Dorian is the only other person about to bear witness. Rhys laughs. Ah yes, he should definitely be in charge of a quasi-religious movement with a military. “Yes. The warpaint.” He slaps his thigh as he feels another series of stingings pricks. Excellent. One or two had made it to his legs, but at least it’s not a swarm. “And the two or three more fireballs I’m about to hit that mound with.”

“Such a vengeful little mudlark. Ready to defend his territory. Want help?”

“Oh yes. Fire. Kill them with fire.” Rhys casts another fire spell over the mound as the first burns out, silently apologizing to any innocent soil dwellers caught in it... But... Fire ants.

“Then quick healing spell, a bath, and clean clothes, I suppose?”

“Volunteering to help with that too?”

“I could be.” Dorian paces a tight circle around Rhys and flicks one of the insects off his back with a single manicured nail. “You seem rather distraught to be left alone.” A wave of magic - Dorian’s spells always feel warm - flows over him, easing the stinging, although the sensation - real or imagined or a combination - of insect feet has Rhys ready to crawl out of his skin - along with the rest of his clothes.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra shouts down from a window in the tower she’s claimed for herself. “What are you doing? Why are there flames?”

“Fire ants!” Rhys yells back. That should be self-explanatory. He thinks the known range of the damned bugs includes Nevarra, but then Cassandra hasn’t spent that much time in Nevarra, and probably not that much time stomping through weeds anywhere. Andraste! Fire ants under armor. He shivers at the thought.

“What?” Cassandra sounds confused.

“Don’t worry about it, Seeker. The Herald and I have everything under control.”

Rhys can imagine her grumpy huff even if he can’t hear it over the sound of the shutters of the window slamming shut.

Dorian’s eyebrows arch high with amusement. “Be careful, Rhys, or there’ll be a rumor started that you’ve gone quite mad.”

“If I get many more bites -” He smacks a different spot on his thigh. “I just might.”

“Well then, we’d better go make sure you get them all drowned then. Is it safe to touch your shirt?”

“Leave it. Damn things will get confused now that their colony is gone and wander off in a bit.” He can retrieve the shirt and jacket to be cleaned later - once the ants are well gone. The morning glory vines around the ant mound are too green for the fire to spread easily, but Rhys throws another bucket of water over them to be safe. Josie would probably tell him it’s bad form to burn down one’s new base of operations. And then yet another bucket over his head.

If Varric has questions when Rhys, shirtless and still dripping water stalks past the table he’s writing at with an amused Dorian following behind, he keeps them to himself.

“Why so grumpy today?” Dorian asks. He’d volunteered to go find some dry, ant-free clothes for Rhys, and after returning to the kitchen storeroom - the most rational place to locate a tub for bathing until further repairs are made - had remained, leaning against the closed door and toying with the rings he wears, switching them from finger to finger. “You're normally as chipper as a little bird.”

“A mudlark?”

“Does that bother you? I won't call you that if it does.”

“No, no. I kind of like it.” Rhys scrubs a bit of soapy flannel between his toes - just in case an ant had found its way there. At least Josie won’t be able to complain about dirt under his fingernails for a few hours. “Much better than Herald.”

“Or Inquisitor?”

“Definitely better than Inquisitor.” Rhys slides down in the tub, dunking his head under the water again. His next oldest brother and little sister calling him snaggletooth when he was eight would be better than Inquisitor. Besides, he likes the way that Dorian says ‘mudlark’ when talking to him. Rhys resurfaces and pushes wet hair out of his face. “I really don't want to be called Inquisitor. And yet, here I am.”

“You know, the fact that you don't want to be Inquisitor might be precisely the reason why you should be.”

“I spent all morning trying to keep up with discussions on topics that I know nothing about. Politics, economics - roads! I’m not the right person for this.”

“You’ll learn. Quickly, I’m sure.”

“You’re more confident than I am.” Rhys flicks idly at the surface of the water. “But for what it’s worth, thanks.”

“Rhys, the kind of person who would be prepared for something like this is also the kind of person who is likely to abuse any power they are given. And you will have power once the rest of Thedas realizes the threat Corypheus poses. Wouldn’t you rather be the leader and not just the tool?”

Rhys lifts his left hand from the water and studies the Anchor carefully. Yes, a tool. An instrument that controls the Veil in terrifying ways that he doesn’t understand. Something that he’s not supposed to have and that an ancient monster desperately wants. The faint green glow is more apparent in the dim light of this basement room than it was in the sunlight of the garden - one more reason to cherish the place. “It feels so foreign. Wrong. Like some disease that should be pruned away.” He touches the first three fingers of his right hand to his palm and draws them slowly down to the fold of his elbow, following the path that the magic flows along before Solas pushes it back again.

Dorian’s brow creases and moves fluidly, kneeling on one knee beside the tub and catching Rhys’s hand in his. “You’ve managed well this far.” He weaves their fingers together, and almost - almost - touches his lips to Rhys’s knuckles. “You can always come rant to me, you know. If any given day is too much.”

Rhys remains still for the space of one, two, three heartbeats, then he runs his thumb over Dorian’s fingers, soft skin, metal rings warm with heat from his body.

Dorian’s eyes drop. His cheeks might be colored a touch, but Rhys can’t quite be sure in the dim light. He rises to his feet and turns away in a single elegant motion. “You should take a break. Soak for a while. Relax a bit.” He pushes the door open, just a crack, hesitating for the barest second. “I guess I’ll -”

“Dorian?”

His back straightens as he turns back around. “Yes.”

“Keep calling me mudlark.”

Dorian glances down, breaking eye contact between them, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You know where to find me, Mudlark, trying to salvage books. I could try to do something about the mess you’ve made of your hands playing in the dirt again.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dorian x inquisitor #pavelyan #dorian pavus #dragon age inquistor #trevelyan #rhys trevelyan

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eyeofmud · 3 years

Text

Aidan doesn’t pace, he’s never found anything soothing in wasting motion back and forth over and over again. No, Aidan’s thoughts don’t need his feet meandering aimlessly to be in total disarray. Instead he fidgets. Leans against the hospital wall and worries a dark stone between his thumb and forefinger in a habit nearly as old as he is. Even if the habit isn’t anywhere near as old as the stone. It’s always helped him focus before and now with the rough texture under his fingertips his thoughts circle around exactly what he wants to ignore.

It’s been days since he’s seen her. Days in which he couldn’t bear to do anything more than wrap a hand around the door handle never once turning it. How could he? How could he go in to face her again?

With a sigh Aidan brings his worry stone level with his mouth, thumb still working on its smooth side. He needs to talk to her, needs to know she’s alright. Needs to see Nat like he needs to breathe and right now his chest is aching with the absence of both. It should be frightening how deeply it hurts but Aidan’s fingertip brushes across the stone and he’s more afraid of how much he doesn’t care that it frightens him. She’s worth it, she’s more than worth it.

“Does the wall no good to have you lean on it like that.” Vieno’s voice startles Aidan out of his thoughts and he pushes himself off the wall with a small jolt. When had Vieno come over to this wing of the hospital?

Actually when had he learned to sneak up on Aidan seeing as Vieno isn’t exactly known for his stealth? Grimacing Aidan rifles a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth tugging further downward at how dry his scalp is, he must be more tired than he thought. “Good morning to you too Vieno.”

Scrunching his bushy eyebrows together, Vieno gives him a strange look, “We’re well into the afternoon boy.”

Oh. “Ah.” Abandoning the little propriety he had at the moment Aidan rubs at the back of his neck shooting Vieno an askance glance. “Lost track of my thoughts, I think.” Or got lost in them more like. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, especially not when his thoughts seem to revolve around Nat.

“Well don’t get lost on your way through that door there.” Vieno continues to prove himself a straight forward individual, gesturing at the door to Nat’s room.

No, he couldn’t get lost there. Aidan sinks back against the wall and shakes his head before pausing his response before it can get started. He can’t call Vieno a close friend, not really, they’ve only met a couple handfuls of times but. Well Aidan thinks he could call him that one day, and from the way Vieno is standing, waiting, for him to either walk through Nat’s door or tell him why he isn’t going to do so, Aidan wonders how soon such a day could come.

Friendships don’t start by themselves though. “Can I tell you something Vieno.” Picking his gaze up off the floor Aidan levels it at Vieno, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he does. Vieno raises an eyebrow and Aidan takes it as permission to continue.

“I don’t think I deserve to walk through that door.”

Surprised sprigs of lemon balm bloom across Vieno’s unruly hair but Aidan doesn’t lift his gaze. “It was my choice, Vieno, my choice is why she’s in there at all.”

If he were to close his eyes Aidan knows he’d see it play out before him again, a loop he can’t do anything to stop from replaying over and over. Aidan grits his teeth and keeps his eyes open. The past isn’t something he can change, it’s making the same mistakes in the future what he’s most afraid of. Making the same choice of an order over her.

“How can I tell her I’m sorry if I can’t promise not to do it again?” Aidan wraps his tongue and his teeth around them like poisonous pits, nearly choking on them before spitting them out.

Vieno’s hand claps down on his arm harshly, startling Aidan out of his thoughts. “You don’t.” It’s a flat statement, brooking neither argument nor room to doubt. A single begonia springs out from behind Vieno’s ear, complimenting the frown on his face.

“You don’t.” The words ring through Aidan’s head like a church bell early in the morning. Crystal clear and breaking the fog. Of course, of course he doesn’t. Here he is agonizing over a choice he already made when he knows he can’t make it again. Oh what an idiot.

Slowly Aidan’s jaw unclenches, his shoulders smoothing out, “You’re right.” Not that it’s an easy choice, nor one Aidan wants to make lightly, but turning his worry stone over in his hand something in Aidan’s chest relaxes. His lips turn up and this time when Aidan’s eyes crinkle it’s because a smile is beginning to stretch across his face. “Vieno, thank you.”

Pocketing the worry stone Aidan nods, to himself and to Vieno, and the corners of Vieno’s mouth turn upwards before he continues down the corridor.

Alone again but this time just for a moment. His hand on the doorknob but this time able to open it.

Aidan takes a deep breath walking through the door unable to stop himself from a split second of worry. Fumbling over his words the moment he finally has them. “Nat, I-”

“Aidan” Nat’s voice is soft over his, pulling his gaze up from the floor. “I missed you.” Her words fill the empty hollows in his chest, lifting some unknown weight from his lungs. Propped up on the bed Nat smiles at him still lingering in the doorway and Aidan can’t think of any sight more beautiful.

His own words dry up with his mouth, tongue heavy and thick behind his teeth. It isn’t enough to simply say, “I missed you too.” But he means it. He missed her like a seedling misses the sun, desperate and reaching.

Nat stretches her hands out towards him and Aidan nearly jolts forward. Stepping across the room is his first apology to her. He takes her hands in his, calloused palm to calloused palm, and bows his forehead to the back of her hands. Whispers against them, a small prayer of thanks falling from his lips. Nat doesn’t rush him, she never has, she waits until he’s ready to raise his head and softly smiles. Cups his cheek with her hand covered by his and lets her nails gently scrape behind his ear.

There isn’t any helping it, Aidan leans into her touch without even thinking. “I should have come sooner, meant to but-”

“Well, you should have,” Cutting him off smoothly a teasing light appears in Nat’s eyes. “What kept you?”

Another deep breath, this one steeling the racing of his heart. “I didn’t have the right words, but I do now and I’d like for you to hear them.” Nat raises an eyebrow at him but sombers when Aidan doesn’t drop his gaze. “Nat, I need to apologize.”

She opens her mouth but this time Aidan is the one shaking his head, “Let me, please.” And it is a plea, he needs to tell her. Tell her in the way he can. The words he can��t say locked away behind his heart and the ones he can’t stop now spilling from his tongue. Nat sighs but she curls her fingertip around the shell of his ear and Aidan shivers.

“I chose to protect Agency interests over protecting you. You got hurt because of my choice, and I know, I know you don’t want me apologizing for that Nat. So I won’t. I’m apologizing for not doing it again.” His voice shakes harder than his hands do and he forces himself to loosen his grip on her hands, not wanting to hurt her. “And I know you can protect yourself, or heal quickly when you can’t, but Nat you shouldn’t have to. From this time on if there’s a way to handle things where no one gets hurt, that’s the way we take. From now on you come first Nat.”

Aidan’s voice cracks wetly and he shakes his head. “I’m not choosing the agency over you again Nat, I’m sorry.”

Gently, so gently it’s as if she’s afraid he’ll break, Nat strokes her thumb over his cheek, through the salty track marks lining it. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to, simply pulls him forward till his cheek rests against hers. If both of their cheeks are wet, both their hands held too tightly in the others, both their breathing shaky, neither says anything.

Not for a long while.

When you love someone, sometimes the only way to say it is to not say it at all. Aidan holds Nat to him and is held in return and for the first time, this time, it clicks deep in his heart. Sunshine bleeding through his ribs. It should hurt and maybe it does, a little, but it’s the warm ache of growing pain.

Opening his eyes, he isn’t sure when he closed them, Aidan decides something else too. He clears his throat and pulls back, finding Nat’s eyes look as puffy as his feel. A smile breaks across his face and a small laugh escapes him. “I said you don’t need any protection, and well fire is different than lightning a bit but.” He straightens up, letting her hands go only to reach behind his neck and unclasp the necklace he’s worn there for nearly three decades.

It’s a small piece, a thin golden chain with an equal four point woven cross hanging from it. “Natalie Sewell, if you would accept it I would offer you this necklace. My father gave it to my mother, and my grandfather to my grandmother before him, to bring good luck and protection to the one who wears it.” The old words come naturally and are easily remembered from what his mother taught him when she gave him the necklace so long ago.

Nat’s mouth falls open with only a quiet gasp, her eyes falling from his to the necklace only to raise back again. “You’d give this to me?”

He can only nod. An unspoken everything.

A smile to match his own spreads across Nat’s lips. “I accept, Aidan.”

And this time, oh this time, the burning of his eyes is more than welcome. Nat leans forward and Aidan reaches out in the same moment neither one looking away. How could they? Aidan’s heart skips in his chest and she’s there in the circle of his arms and how was he ever afraid of being worth this? He can’t undo his choices but maybe, hopefully maybe, he’ll make fewer and fewer choices he’d even want to regret. And this could never be one of them.

Closing the clasp of the necklace Aidan smooths the chain over the back of Nat’s neck. Soft skin and cold metal. Breathes in the clean scent of the hospital soap to replace the one of burning flesh. Nat’s hand on the back of his head twists in his hair and for a second Aidan’s heart stops in his chest, her touch grounding him to now instead of then. She’s not going anywhere.

Thankfully tears can’t tarnish gold.

Even if Aidan doesn’t deserve her he’ll spend all the time they have together loving Nat. Earning her love, it isn’t his decision to make for her but if she chooses to love him Aidan will make it worth it for her, too. If he can’t protect her from harm he’ll stand by her while she recovers. He’ll stand with her, if she lets him. For however long he has.

Pulling back only far enough to rest his forehead to hers Aidan shuts his eyes. Wet eyelashes sticking to his cheeks. Nat’s hand drifts from his hair to his cheeks and she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to, not with him.

He doesn’t kiss her but her breath ghosts across his lips and Aidan’s whole body trembles. Grounded only by the press of his forehead against Nat’s, their noses touching in a contact more intimate than any kiss Aidan could imagine. Her hand cups the side of his face holding him close and the unspoken ‘We’re here, we’re here, we’re here, together’ echoes between them. A quiet space of lips not yet ready to meet.

#good morning >:3 #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #n x detective #nat x detective #n sewell #hurt/comfort #romance #dragon age origins #aidan mac braoin

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vexing-imogen · 3 years

Text

the persistence of 4/?

read from beginning | read on ao3

Percy spends the evening in a state of quiet panic. He's trying to strike the delicate balance between taking care of Vex when she's obviously unwell and not overwhelming her already fragile mental state. It's more difficult than he was expecting. He doesn't actually witness her vomit again, but she excuses herself rather quickly while putting Vesper to bed and returns a short while later looking pale and miserable.

She retreats to their bedroom not long after, and it takes everything in him not to join her. He wants desperately to hold her through the night, feel the rise and fall of her chest, be lulled to sleep by her soft and steady breathing. The force with which she'd hit the tree earlier had been truly frightening. He'd thought, for a split second, that he'd lost her. Again.

But you have lost her, haven't you?

He does his best to ignore it. The cruel little voice in his head that sounds like Orthax and Ripley and the worst possible version of himself.

Does she even love you like this? If you can't fix this, will she even want to stay?

Percy is not a religious man by any means, but tonight he prays, to any god that might be listening. He even considers invoking the contract with Ipkesh, far longer and more seriously than he will ever admit if asked, only dismissing the idea because he knows Vex would never allow it.

He gives up on the idea of sleep after tossing and turning for several hours. It's due to this insomnia that he's able to hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs, and the opening and closing of the front door. He weighs his options for nearly a quarter of an hour before he pulls on his dressing gown and goes outside.

Percy stops short when he reaches the garden, briefly wondering if he's fallen asleep and is now dreaming. Either that, or the gods have decided to answer his prayers in the most fucked up way imaginable. Because the cloaked, hooded figure that's sitting in the grass, gently stroking the large raven that's perched on their knee is almost certainly...

"Vax?"

The figure looks up, the hood falls back, and his wife is staring up at him with a bemused grin.

"Still can't tell us apart after all these years?" she teases.

He laughs and joins her on the ground. The raven hops off of her knee, and comes to peck at a loose thread on his pajama pants. "In my defense, I did come outside in the middle of the night to a mysterious, cloaked figure brooding in my garden."

That gets a genuine laugh out of her. "Alright, fair." She plays with the hem of the cloak. "I'm pretty sure this is his cloak, too. Though, I can't fathom why it would be balled up in the very back of my wardrobe."

Percy knows why. It's the same reason there's only one mirror in the entire house. Why ravens come to visit, and snowdrops grow here year round. It's the one truth he'll keep from her, the one lie he'll allow himself to tell, even if it's only for one day.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks, hoping she won't notice the quick change of subject.

Vex shakes her head. "Weird dreams," she says.

"Nightmares?"

She shakes her head. "Not really, just...strange. No names or faces, just feelings. But weird feelings that didn't seem to fit where I was."

"How so?" he asks.

"Like...being in Syngorn, at my father's house, but feeling happy. Proud." She thinks for a moment. "Or being at our keep and feeling like...like the world was ending. Just consumed with grief and dread. It was all so..."

"Unsettling?"

She nods. "Yeah." She studies him. "What about you? What's on your mind?"

He snorts. "Oh, you know. Everything."

She winces, ducks her head. "Sorry."

He's kicking himself for being so flippant. "Vex'ahlia." He reaches out for her hand, waits for her to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. You didn't ask for this."

"No, I know," she says. "I still kinda feel like shit."

He squeezes her hand. "With any luck, we'll have this fixed tomorrow."

"Can I ask you something?" He nods. "This is probably going to sound so selfish and shitty, but will you sleep with me? Not...like that. Just pretend that it's any other night and things aren't totally fucked."

He almost says no, should probably say no. They're both scared and vulnerable, and would probably benefit from being able to break down privately. But then he remembers her saying earlier that she didn't want to be alone. And honestly, the idea of him being able to deny her anything is ludicrous.

"Whatever you need."

#critical role #critfic #vox machina #perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo

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lustinglilac · 4 years

Text

Mother’s Instinct

A/N: In which Oscar and Cesar’s sister goes into labor but her fiancé, Sad Eyes, isn’t there yet to witness the baby’s birth.

Warnings: strong language, blood, probably a completely inaccurate delivery of a baby

*All credit for the name Jose goes to other writers*

*GIF BY: @merakiaes 🖤

“I am not having this baby on the porch! Get Jose on the phone right now—“ She grabbed a Santo member closest to her by the neck of his tank top, yanking him down level with her face.

“He’s not picking up!” Another one yelled, pacing back and forth with the phone pressed to his ear.

“Call him again— ow!” A sharp contraction hit her as she clutched onto her stomach panting.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Relief flooded through her body for a split second replacing the pain at the sound of her older brother’s voice.

“Oscar. The baby’s coming.” Her voice strained, attempting to do those stupid breathing exercises that were not working at all.

“Did anyone call a fuckin’ ambulance?!” His voice bellowed out across the lawn, making the other members flinch.

“She wouldn’t let us, Spooky, said she wanted to wait for Sad Eyes.” Oso spoke up first, looking at him with a worried expression.

“Are you crazy?! We’re going to the hospital— ahora!” Oscar leaned down to help up his sister by her upper arm, ignoring her pleas of not wanting to go just yet in case her fiancé showed up.

“Oscar— we have to wait for him! Aghhh!” A loud yelp of pain passed her lips, gripping her brother’s hand so tight he hissed.

“You can’t wait any longer. Cesar, get inside grab the hospital bag. We’re leaving now whether you like it or not.” His gruff tone leaving her no room to argue as Cesar ran inside the house to get the go bag.

“Help me get ‘er up.” Oscar nodded to Oso who immediately complied. With an arm each under hers, they helped her walk to the waiting vehicle at her pace.

“He can’t miss the birth of his baby.” She whimpered quietly, making her brother’s heart break but nonetheless put her in his car slowly.

“If anyone hears from him, tell him where we are.” Oscar commanded Oso who wasted no time in checking if he had gotten a call back yet.

“Good luck, hermana, we’re praying for a safe delivery. Te amo.” Cesar kissed her head and then her round belly, saying a small prayer with his palm against her stomach.

“Te amo— gracias Cesar.” She whispered before groaning in pain slightly, leaning back in the passenger seat.

The red Impala pulled off the curb and onto the street, racing to the nearest hospital.

“Stay with me, alright? He’ll be here. We ain’t know baby girl was comin’ this early—“

“Baby boy—“ She managed to grit out through her teeth.

Some of the gang had been convinced it would be a baby girl, even Jose himself. She felt it was going to be a baby boy, claiming it was a “mother’s instinct” to know the sex of the baby. Plus, she’d read one too many old wives tales on Google to help her come up with the decision.

Even though he was mad that she waited this long before telling him she was having labor pains, he couldn’t help but smile and shake his head at her stubborn attitude.

Her water hadn’t broken yet though the contractions were stronger than ever. A gasp left her lips as she clutched onto the dashboard, nails digging into it, breathing heavily.

“We’re almost there. Hold on.” She didn’t miss the panic in Oscar’s voice as they arrived into the emergency department. Oscar came around on her side to help her out.

“I can’t— I can’t get out of the car.” She struggled to get up off of the seat, panting when she tried to lift herself, a sharp pain shooting through her abdomen.

Oscar let go of her hand, “Just don’t move,” He turned his head towards two EMT workers clearly having a lunch break on the back of their truck, “Hey! Lemme get some help over here!”

The two of them looked their way, immediately jumping into action seeing the woman in pain.

One of them grabbed a folded up wheelchair from the back of their truck, running across the parking lot to their aid.

Just as they reached her side, she felt a warm liquid trail down her legs, “Oh shit. My water.” She looked down wide eyed at the wet seat of the Impala and then back up at the man helping her.

“You’re okay. Take deep breaths. What’s your relation?” He looked to Oscar, eyeing the Santos cross on the side of his neck.

“I’m her brother.” He looked the EMT up and down with a scowl.

“Right— we’ll just get her inside.” The EMT’s eyes widening, helping her get into the wheelchair with precise speed having been trained for this moment.

•••

“Oscar, the labor process can be hours long. You don’t have to stay— really.” She tried to reason with him, holding onto the side rail of the bed so hard she felt like she could break it.

Oscar shook his head bregudgingly, “I’ll be right here. I don’t know when— when Jose’s gonna show up. Until he does, I’ll be by your side.”

She let a single tear roll down her cheek, trying not to think of where her spouse was. She prayed to God he wasn’t in trouble and would contact them soon. Oscar noticed the way she grew quiet at the sound of his name, leaning over in his chair to hold her hand, placing his forehead against hers.

“You got this, hermana. Baby’s gonna be fine, Jose’s gonna be fine.” Oscar closed his eyes breathing in a deep breath as she cried for the first time that night. He didn’t know whether it was from the stress, from the nerves, or from his second-in-command and the father to his sister’s baby was not there.

As the minutes passed by, he’d began to feel guilty. Sad Eyes was doing a run for him in dangerous territory, alone. He hadn’t picked up his phone the first few times, no one was able to get a hold of him. What if he died because of him? Oscar would never let that guilt go, praying to God he was okay.

•••

An excruciating 7 hours later, she was fully dilated and ready to push this baby out into the world.

“Ms. Diaz, your doctor is here. We’re ready to push, sweetheart.” An older nurse walked into the room, smiling sweetly at the younger girl.

She looked to her brother who nodded his head encouragingly and then back at the nurse, “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Dad, will you be staying for the birth?”

“I’m her brother,” Oscar comments as politely as he could without glaring at the nurse who hadn’t known any better, “I’ll be right next to her.” He looks at his sister who had a somber smile on her face at his comment.

The nurses assigned to her worked around the two of them to assist the doctor, putting out any other equipment that they may have needed.

Oscar’s phone rung for a split second, sending a wave of hope through her body as she looked over to him with wide eyes. He looked at the caller ID, Cesar’s name showing up.

“Cesar— you hear anythin’?” He spoke into the phone just as the doctor came in.

“No. Nothing yet. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She’s about to have the baby.” Oscar looked at the doctor who was saying something to his sister as she nodded her head agreeing with what was being said.

“Oscar— hello? You’re breaking up—“ Cesar’s voice cutting in and out of the receiver making Oscar hang up all together out of frustration.

“Okay, let’s get this baby out. The sex of the baby is still a surprise right?” The doctor asked, placing herself between her legs.

“Yes, it is.” She whispered, grinning slightly at her OB. Oscar stayed near her head, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and moving some of her hair out of the way with his thumb.

“I’m scared, Oscar, I’m so fucking scared.” She whispered, eyes closing as the doctor told her what to do in order to make her feel more comfortable.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna do this together, alright?” Oscar took her trembling hand in his larger one, letting her squeeze it as hard as she needed to.

“When you feel a contraction coming, start pushing.” One of the nurses educated her on what to do as she nodded her head.

“I feel ahh— I feel a contraction!” She yelled out, the doctor encouraging her to push. She grunted, giving one hard push before panting, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

Oscar grimaced not being able to understand the pain of childbirth but sure as hell watching the pain on his sister’s face as she pushed his niece or nephew out.

The same nurse from earlier tilted her head to her chest from the other side of the bed not letting her lay flat, talking her through the process and whispering sweet words.

“Ahhhh!” She screamed louder than she intended to, giving it her all with another push as she squeezed her brother’s hand.

“Almost there, sweetie, you’re doing great— one final push. Big push, come on I know you can do it.” The doctor supported her as she was finally able to see the baby’s head come through.

“Come on— one more push.” Oscar smiled wide, looking from the doctor to his sister.

She breathed in through her nose just like those birthing technique books had taught her, pushing for the last time, body exhausted due to what she’d endured for the past few hours.

“It’s a boy!” A loud wail sounded throughout the room, the sound of her baby boy being born.

“I have a nephew. I’m so proud of you.” Oscar held her face between his hands kissing the top of her head over and over again.

“I have a baby boy. Oh my god.” She whispered, tears flooding her eyes.

“Congratulations. He’s precious!” The nurse next to her smiled at the sweet boy who was getting cleaned up with towels and fidgeting slightly in the little basin. She couldn’t wait to hold him.

“Let me the fuck in! That’s my wife in there!” An angry voice yelled outside of the delivery room, prompting Oscar to let go of his sister and check out what was happening.

“Jose?!” The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them, recognizing the sound of her fiancé’s voice just about anywhere.

“Ms. Diaz, we are gonna have you do skin to skin with your baby boy. Sit back for a moment—“ The nurse instructed her to lie back on the bed.

“Sir, we cannot have you yelling on this floor.” Another much calmer voice spoke to the mystery man.

“Spooky! Is she in there?! Is my baby in there?!” Jose questioned his leader as soon as he saw him. He had a cut above his eyebrow that was bleeding slightly and a bruise forming on his jawline as well as a few other bruises that crept down his neck.

“He’s the father.” Oscar glared at the person who’d told him to keep his voice down. He nodded his head towards the door, not letting anyone else interfere with him getting into the delivery room.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion, from their baby boy being placed on her chest to the moment their eyes met.

“Jose.” She gasped, eyes welling up with tears at the sight of her fiancé who looked like he was hurting more than her.

The room went silent, all eyes on the interaction that was happening before them and on the Santo who was covered in blood.

“Gracias a Dios.” Jose nearly fell to his knees at the bedside taking the hand that wasn’t holding their son and bringing her knuckles up to his lips.

“We have a son, Jose.” She smiled and laughed all at the same time, grasping onto his hand so tightly like he would disintegrate any minute.

“Te quiero siempre y para siempre.” Jose whispered as the older nurse who’d cared for her brought him a wipe for his face and he took it, grateful for her caring instincts.

“I’m gonna wash my hands, okay? And then I’m gonna hold our son.” He nodded, letting go of her hand to stand up and walk to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean and ridding himself of the soiled flannel shirt he had over his tank top.

“What happened? I was scared that you were—“ The words caught in her throat barely able to get them out.

“I’d never, ever leave you,” Jose kissed her lips for the first time that night making any and every worry she had melt away. “Don’t think like that, mi amor.”

“You’re right. I know you wouldn’t,” She wiped a tear from her cheek sniffling as she looked down at their son nestled against her chest. “He’s perfect like his daddy.”

Jose smiled, reaching a finger down for his baby boy to grasp, his tiny fingers wrapping around his daddy’s finger as a reflex.

“We’re gonna let you have some time. Let me know if you need anything or have any questions.” Her OB left them to their own accord, leaving a nurse behind in case they needed help.

“Dad, why don’t you have a seat. I’ll put the baby on your chest, how’s that sound?” The nurse smiled up at Jose, pulling the chair closer to the bed for him.

Their baby boy cooed and squirmed as he was removed off of his mother, carefully being placed onto Jose’s strong chest.

“Mi vida. Papi te ama por siempre.” He whispered while caressing his back softly as the baby relaxed in his arms.

“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t make it in time for the birth. I tried so hard. I really did, nena.” He sighed, watching her watch the two of them interact. He could tell she was upset over the fact that he wasn’t there to witness their baby being born. But he was thankful that she had Oscar there because he knew he’d never leave his sister all alone.

“It’s okay. None of that matters, my love. You’re here now and that’s all I ever need.”

“Damn, I can’t believe we have a baby boy. I really thought it was going to be a beautiful little girl. Shit— half the guys thought so too.” Jose thought back to the way the Santos would place bets on the baby’s gender, his fianceé being the one to collect nearly half of it since she’d been right all along.

“Mother’s instinct. I told you, baby.” She smiled, giggling at the way he rolled his eyes playfully.

“The next baby I put in you is gonna be a girl, mamas, I can tell you that much. Father’s instinct.” He joked back, chuckling at the way she blushed at his words.

“She just had a baby and you’re already talking about a second one, mano?” Oscar’s voice startling them both as he walked back into the room.

“Spooky, man, thank you. For everything. I owe you.”

“Nah— you don’t owe me nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” Oscar waved his statement away, “I do wanna hold my nephew though.” He smirked down at the sleeping baby in his brother-in-law’s arms.

“For sure, man.” Jose stood up slowly with the baby on his chest still, moving carefully as not to disturb his slumber.

She watched from the bed as her older brother held his nephew for the first time, “He likes you, Oscar.” She awed from her bed, eyes watering at the way her son immediately felt comfortable in her brother’s arms.

“He better. I kinda watched him come out of you.” Oscar joked making her roll her eyes at the statement.

She watched on as her brother bounced in place with the baby, “You’re gonna be an amazing father one day, Oscar. I know God has big plans for you. I just know it.” She smiled at him.

“Mother’s instinct?” He said with a shaky voice, tears welling up in his eyes for the first time since the baby had been born.

“Yeah, something like that.” She shook her head, giggling at the ongoing joke that she’d probably never hear the end of.

•••

“Cesar, support the neck, mano.” Oscar instructed his brother softly over his shoulder making sure he didn’t drop their nephew the first time holding him.

“Like this?” Cesar put a palm under his neck making the baby grin, “Look! He’s smiling at me. We’re gonna be best friends.” He spoke to the little boy in his arms.

It was their first day home from the hospital and they were a little bit nervous if they were being honest.

“He’s so cute. Like a little chicken nugget. Could just eat him up.” Jamal cooed at the baby from next to Cesar.

Oscar glared at him as he spoke, making him shut up immediately. Her son had become a superstar the moment they got home, everyone wanting to see him and hold him all at once.

“Yo, can you look after him for a second? I gotta talk to her—“ Jose’s hushed tone made Oscar turn his head towards him.

“Go ahead, I got him.” Oscar made sure the baby was safe, shooing his compa away.

“Nena, come ‘ere.” Jose grabbed her hand in his, pulling her down the hall of the Diaz residence to her room.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned him, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he sat on the edge of her bed pulling her between his legs.

“I just wanna talk, me and you. I wanna apologize about the other night. I know, and you don’t have to deny it, that it broke your heart when I wasn’t there by your side for the birth of our son. I would do anything to go back to that moment and do it over again.” He breathed out, his thumb rubbing the back of her knuckles softly, specifically the spot where the beautiful diamond engagement ring rested on her finger.

She stared at him, eyes focusing on the cut above his brow and the bruise on his handsome jawline, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone softly before speaking again.

“Jose, I already told you, it doesn’t matter. You can’t change the past so let’s look forward to the future. You can be there for the next one. And the one after that. And then the one after that—“ She giggled at the way his expression changed, squeezing her hip telling her to slow it down.

“I love you. Por siempre. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.” He reached an arm up behind her neck to bring her lips to his as she moved to straddle his waist, resting her head against his chest hearing his heartbeat under her palm.

“I love you.” She closed her eyes, reveling in the way his heart pounded faster in his chest at her confession.

“Y’know Oscar’s really good with baby boy. He’s like— a nanny or something in another life.” Jose couldn’t help but confess, chuckling slightly.

She laughed loudly at the statement, bracing herself on his shoulders, “Honestly, if he can put our son to sleep on nights that we need breaks, he can be whoever he wants to be.”

#sad eyes imagine #sad eyes #on my block #steve villegas #on my block imagine #on my block oneshot

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nodameshield · 3 years

Text

Day 5: Future / “Some things are destined to be—it just takes us a couple of tries to get there.” - J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

Fate is a bit of a bitch, if you ask Goh about it. He won’t tell you why - the technicalities are a bit too much for him to explain - but he’ll happily say to anyone who listens, that Fate is a bitch.

This is now the third lifetime he wakes up on in which his soulmate is nowhere to be found.

It’s nothing like the first time, when he didn’t even know of the existence of this other being, when he ignored there was someone out there who was made to match him and accompany him through all of their lives’.

Ignorance really is bliss.

For centuries now, it’s taken but a couple of years for him and Ash to run into each other, sometimes they’re kids, sometimes they’re teenagers who go to the same school or farm the same fields or hunt the same witches (though that one time Goh had been the witch himself, and Ash chasing after him with a pitchfork hadn’t been the most ideal of first encounters. Not really the stuff of romance, that.)

But no matter the circumstances, what is certain, over and over again, is that they will run into one another, for they are twin-flames, meant to love and hold together for eternity.

Which is why, as Goh wakes up as a ten year old in this new lifetime, with vague recollections of past lives and a distinct sense of wrong, he’s got no-one to blame but Fate. He curses its very existence with the limited knowledge of mean-words a ten year old would have.

Ash isn’t here. Hasn’t been born, probably won’t be.

And now he has to burden however-many years on his own. Yearning and missing and ugh, he can’t wait to die. What’s the average lifespan in this era? Seventy-what?

Ah, fuck him.

Even if he wanted to complain, it’s not like Fate has office hours, or an assistant with whom you can schedule an appointment. You get what you get and if you don’t like it, well,…tough, buddy, better luck next time.

Except it’s been no luck for Goh for the last three lifetimes, and he’s starting to feel a bit like the butt of a joke.

He is worried, because, what if something happened to Ash’s soul? What if it’s something serious and their reincarnation cycle is now broken and they won’t meet again? That is…that is the worst thing Goh can ever imagine happening and, if it were the case, he doesn’t really think he can keep going with this living business. He simply doesn’t want it.

And unless you, too, are part of a reincarnation cycle and have a soulmate of your own, please abstain from commenting on how extreme and dramatic that sounds. You simply don’t understand.

Twin-flames must meet on every lifetime. Otherwise the whole thing just feels…off. As if you shouldn’t be there in the first place. As if you shouldn’t exist at all. it’s taxing for one’s soul. It’s definitely taken a toll on Goh’s, who wakes now for the third time and meets the heartbreaking realization that his one and only person isn’t here.

Again.

But Goh is a determined - (read: stubborn) soul. And he refuses to let another lifetime pass him by without his partner. That’s unacceptable.

Fate might not have office hours. But he’s paying a visit anyways.

It’s several years before he can make good on that decision. As he learns the ins-and-outs of humanity this time around, as he grows, becomes a someone in this lifetime (he chooses science, because Ash had been a chemist in a past life, and he feels as though that is a respectable homage to his lover. He thinks he’d be pleased.)

There are creatures in this world other than humans or regular animals. They’re called Pokémon, he’s learned. They live alongside humanity and societies. Goh has a companion of his own, a fire-hare that has been with him since he was a child. Cinderace has heard all about Ash and their bond and how important it is to find him.

And so, when he’s twenty, Goh and Cinderace set on a journey to where he’s heard the goddess of Destiny lives. It’s the closest thing to ‘Fate’ he’s found. It’s months on the road, but Goh is not giving up. The life he leads, the future he wants, it’s up to him to make it happen. It’s up to him to get Ash back.

It’s late May by the time he arrives. He lights his candles and says his customary prayers and, when he’s the only patron left at the shrine, he lays it down on Fate as he’s wanted to do for ages.

Listen to me, your ‘highness’. I think it’s very messed up how you gave me a soulmate, and then decided to simply take them away. That’s not how this works and you bloody-well know it. I swear, if you don’t bring Ash back -

Goh doesn’t actually remember how Ash left the Earth last time they were together. He doesn’t remember who left first, or the events that led up to it.

It’s been a minute (three lifetimes). And it’s not the kind of thing they remember every time anyways. Some stuff comes back stronger when they meet, but that hasn’t happened in a minute (three-fucking-lifetimes), either.

Fate is kind enough - cruel enough - to show him exactly what happened, last time. It shows him the King, angry and vengeful, ordering his guards to attack him, get him away from the young prince.

The young prince, who jumps in front of Goh to protect him. Who takes the arrow to the heart. The young prince, with whom Goh had been meeting in secret for the last several years, in love and forbidden.

The young prince. His Ash. Who’s just sacrificed himself for Goh.

Goh, who spent a lifetime of tortures for his sins. All of them meaningless and painless, for his life had disappeared in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

Goh remembers now. Goh remembers and cries and begs to understand what it all means. Why isn’t Ash back now. Why hasn’t he been back in so long.

He gets no response. Fate’s done listening to him. Fate’s closed its gates to the past. Fate invites Goh to look into the future with some more hope.

Goh doesn’t know what to do with that, either. But he extends his gratitudes and leaves with Cinderace by his side. More confused than he’d been upon arrival. The feeling of dread towards yet-another-lifetime without his soulmate never leaving him.

It’s four years after that, on a day Goh is moving around his new lab and organizing the last of the boxes, that he’s hit in the gut by what can only be defined as power. A surge of energy that shakes him to the core and has him tumbling to the ground instantly.

Cinderace rushes to him, worried and startled. And, as Goh gapes for a reassurance, he feels it again.

His eyes fill with tears as he looks forward. Sure enough, right at the entrance of the lab is the figure of the person that was crafted just for him.

He can’t see much from the tears. But he can feel. And that’s enough.

Ash rushes to his side, unannounced and somewhat clumsy. Instead of helping Goh stand, he comes down to the floor with him, hands holding onto Goh’s face, meeting his crying blue eyes with shinning brown ones.

“Shh, I’m here now. I’m here. Goh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m not leaving anymore.”

It’s a litany of assurances for the next several minutes. Of I missed you’s and I love you’s and I’m sorry’s. Of you idiot’s and don’t ever leave again’s and have-you-got-any-idea-of-how-long-it-has-been’s. Of Ash explaining how his soul had been healing. How he didn’t understand what had happened, and the last thing he remembers is jumping in front of some guard to keep Goh safe.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, decides Goh. Because he is finally, finally holding Ash back in his arms. And it’s been too long for comfort since that’s happened. He’s not wasting a second more.

They can figure out who Ash is in this life later. Together. They can look into finding him a Pokémon companion later. Together. They can make plans for the future and make plans for the night and make love in Goh’s bedroom. Together.

What’s the average lifespan in this era? Seventy-what?

Goh can’t wait.

#SatoGou #Satogouweek #firstfriendshipping #satoshi x goh #051220 #fanfiction

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Part Two

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Fox gets a surprise or two from his Little Mouse

A/N: So like any fic I write, I have no clue where this is going. But half the fun is the journey. Right?

Part One can be found here on my Masterlist

It is only his own shoddy luck and his Little Mouse’s uncanny understanding of E and E, that allow her to evade him and evacuate from any interaction for the rest of the week.

A sudden surge in Anti-republic activity had the Guard running ragged to keep up. Fox refused to allow the Coruscant Security Force to regain any footing that he’d so rightfully taken from them. They were not bred and trained to do what his men could and their poor handling of one too many cases connected to the senate and its officials made it very clear that he and his men could perform at a far superior level to then any day of the week. The Supreme Chancellor seemed to agree which only made him more sure of their undertaking.

That said, by the end of the week his Shock Troopers we’re running on stims and a prayer, pulled thin by the multiple officials requiring additional security, but they were still running. Fox himself had only managed a few hours in the office between Tuesday and Saturday in between investigations. While Mouse had been present each time- as he’d expected- she managed to find reasons to wiggle out of his sight the first second she could. He’d begun to second guess his initial assessment of her interest. Luckily, he was hitting the post stim wall and everything not immediately involved with sustaining life was pushed to the far back of his mind to worry about later. It was 0800 Saturday and he was running on 3hrs of sleep in the last 36. His rack was crying out his name.

On Kamino he’d never been privy to the notion of privacy but the Supreme Chancellor has commended he and his men for their loyalty and dedication to the Republic as such he’d felt them entitled to a somewhat higher standard of living then other clones. Fox had felt unsure of the change at first but the Chancellor had insisted the guardsmen entrusted with his life and the safety of the Senate be allowed private rooms within the greater barracks facilities as reward for their service. While his room wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination it was his and his alone offering a bed twice the size of anything he’d ever slept in and his own private fresher with hot water that never seemed to quit.

He’d already decided against the shower upon walking through the door as he worked to peel out of his armor and unceremoniously discarded his under armor shirt before collapsing in a heap atop his blankets. Sleep pulled at his consciousness and he was nearly lost to it when he heard the knock at his door, somehow managing to growl out an ‘enter’ order will still face down into the down comforter.

Like a dream his Little Mouse is standing there hesitating in the halo of light that bathes the entry. She’s not in her usual stark GAR issued uniform but form fitting civvies, pants and inky black jacket fitted over a tank top. Why was she concerning herself with him on her day off?

She takes a step through the open door allowing it to slide shut with a soft hiss behind her.

Fox pushes himself up right. He takes a moment to scrub at the sleep in his eyes before his focus narrows in on her.

Her eyes are wide and looking everywhere but at him. That’s fine. It gives him time to allow his own eyes an lazy perusal of her soft curves, so often hidden to him.

“It’s Saturday, Mouse.” He notes as she finds a place on the wall to stare at. “What do you need?” His voice is sharper than he’d usually use with her but he has little control over that right now, and for kriff sake, why wasn’t she looking at him?

“Sir, I’m sorry but I have these for you to sign and I wanted to get them done” she rattles through quickly. “and I’m s-so sorry to bother you and I-“

“Mouse! Enough!” He barks and she freezes “and for the love of the Senate, look at me when we’re talking.”

“But Commander your-“ she makes a gesture toward his chest. Fox realizes she’s pointing to his state of undress and slowly rises. He notes the way her eyes rake over him when she thinks he’s not looking. He offers a raised brow pointedly.

Y/N chews at her lip in that very distracting way she did when she was nervous. He groans, unable to stop the soft sound.

“Kriff, just hand be the pad and tell me what I’m signing”

She moves hesitantly and can’t help but roll his eyes as his jaw is stretched into a yawn. He can’t imagine being any less intimidating than he is now, out of armor and minutes from sleep.

“It’s your field reports and rotation schedule for next week. They’re due by 2200 tonight and you weren’t in the office yesterday and I don’t want you to get in trouble...” One arm crosses over her chest and grips her arm as he takes the pad and signs. “I’m so sorry for bothering you sir.”

He can feel the way her eyes trace the tattoos that cover his right arm from wrist to shoulder and cross over his chest. “You’re not a bother. You just have inopportune timing.” She nods absently, “Y/N?”

“Sir?” She shakes her head in confusion.

“I said something to you. Or were you too busy enjoying my artwork to listen.” Her eyes have dipped to his arms again.

“Mmhm...I mean… yes- no! Commander Fox, I’d never stare. That was very rude of me.”

Fox can’t help but chuckle. “If I had a few more hours of sleep” he flexes his arms and watches her eyes follow the movement of his muscles bunch, “we could explore each and every centimeter of ink on my body but, unfortunately, for the both of us that’s not the case.” Y/N swallows hard as he hands back the datapad. “Now, unless you’ve decided to crawl into bed with me and pretend to be my favorite stuffed Ewok…” he lets the teasing question hang in the air and is surprised by the swipe of pretty pink tongue across her lips-though less surprised at the stirring he feels low in his belly.

Later, he’ll think she nearly took him up on the offer. That, or it was simply the delusion of an exhausted man.

“Thank you Commander Fox, I’ll get these filed immediately.” She turns to leave and he clears his throat. She halts mid stride, hand already reaching for the door panel.

“79’s tonight”

“Fox?” He likes the way she drops his title and the breathless way she says his name.

“We’ll be at 79’s tonight if you want to join.”

“I- I may take you up on the offer.”

When she’s gone Fox wastes not a second collapsing back into the bed and crashing into sleep. When he wakes he doesn’t remember the dream of soft kisses and his Little Mouse curled up underneath him.

```````````

The end of another successful week always warrants a celebration. The back booth at 79’s is composed of a contingent of the Coruscant Guard. It wasn’t the most welcoming waterhole in the parsec but they managed and the end of the week brought drink specials that their small quarterly stipends couldn’t turn down. Commander Fox liked to think It did well to show the other troopers that they were just as human as they were or, as Thorn had once pointed out, to remind them that eyes were always on them. Either way the mass of other clones gave them a wide berth. Though the whispered curses, in both Basic and Mando’a, were hard to miss. Eyes from members of the 501st and 332nd- among others- were easily felt and readily ignored.

Rule, Hound and Thire, still in the red and white plastoid armor were taking bets on which would be the first to get the comms of the new waitress, a pretty Twi’lek with pale blue skin and a stunning smile, while Ryk and Wren were at the bar ordering the next round of drinks. Their Grey's blended into the sea of other clones but who knew who they were, he always kept an eye on the kits.

Fox watches quietly, eyes flitting from his guardsmen brothers and other clones meandering about. He was off the job so the amount of fucks he truly gave about the behavior of the 501st and the rest of the cadre of troops letting loose was negligible. If their command couldn't handle them that was their problem. He just wanted to drink in peace.

The ice in his glasses rattles wetly as he nurses two fingers of whiskey, Cheedoan with mature smoky notes and a peppery finish. He's on his third of the night. He doubted his invitation, thrown out on a whim, would be accepted but it doesn't stop him from occasionally glancing toward the door. He rolls his tongue along the inside of his lip and let's another sip of whiskey wash along his taste buds. He enjoys the burn though it’s becoming weaker with each passing drink. The sensation warms- like rays of sunshine over bare skin- from the inside dulling the demons that had been eating at him for over a month now.

“You want in on this, Sir?”

Fox shoots Rule a questioning look. The Sargent seems more than happy to ignore his commander’s lack of focus on the task at hand.

“You think you can get the Twil’s comm?” Rule clarifies, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief in the low light.

Fox lets his gaze drift to the woman in question as she moves about the room. Her steps are fluid and she manages to move through the crowd without knocking into any of the inebriated clones or allowing her tray and the drinks atop it to be disturbed in the least. She’s a professional that knows her crowd. She’s got a tempting amount of flesh on display and her lekku- long and elegant- are swept back ever her shoulders. Her hips are pleasantly curved and have a nice dip to them as she moves. He glances at his brothers from the corner of his eye. Hound wets his lips as he watches, never one for playing his cards close to his chest.

“Nah” Fox says after a moment with a shake of his head, “wouldn’t be fair to you” The trio of clones laugh and Thire elbows the younger Hound in the side, head dipping toward Fox as the Commander lets his eyes sweep back toward the main entrance.

“The Commander has a smaller quarry in mind.” He tips the bottle up in a three fingered grip as he empties the dregs of it. Hound turns a questioning look on the Commander and Fox sighs internally. This again. He doesn’t let on that he’s heard but Thire is not one to let sleeping dogs- or foxes- lie. His look is challenging. “Got a little mouse in his sights.”

Fox shakes his head as the Guardsmen begin to snicker. He’s glad Mouse hasn’t shown. He’d hate for her to be surrounded by children.

“Really, Sir?” Hound asks.

Thire answers, “I bet she’s an absolute spinner, get one that’s wound that tight to finally cut loose…?” He lets the thought hang in the air and the others hum quietly.

Fox feels his lip twitch. Thire wasn’t wrong but he wasn’t about to let it be known that he had the same thoughts. He also didn’t appreciate the cavalier way he spoke about things he knew Sithshit about. It was more than a base level attraction he had for Y/N. He couldn't put his finger on it, a feeling he hadn't felt before, but he enjoyed the way she looked after him. It was like she cared what happened to him. It made him want to do the same for her.

He’d been halfway to finding out what his Little Mouse really thought of him when they’d been so rudely interrupted earlier in the week and far too exhausted to string together any kind of seduction when she’d turned up in his private quarters this morning.

He could play the long game though and it was only a matter of time until he was given another chance. He was a patient man when the situation called for it and he would get to the bottom of whatever it was that drew his eyes to her.

He raises the glass to his lips and finishes the nearly full drink in one swallow, licking his lips as the glass comes down hard against the table, the ice tinkling merrily as he does.

Fox shakes his head once and gives the boys a calculating smile. “I’m not going to validate any of that with a response.”

“Sir,” It’s Rule’s turn to speak up, “I think your silence tells us everything we need.”

Fox offers a shrug as he slips from the booth, laying down some credits in his wake.

“Maybe so” he offers. He feels the buzz of alcohol in his veins. He needed to cut back before it became a problem but that wouldn't be tonight. “I'm going to see what's taking the kits so long at the bar.”

The Twi’lek waitress passes close as he heads toward the long garishly lit bar. Her perfume is sweet, almost cloyingly so. Fox glances over his shoulder as he begins to make his way into the thrum of clones and civilians and shouts back to his vode “my credits are on Hound”.

A roar of laughter follows him as he moves through the crowd. He leans against the bar top as other clones offer him a wide berth. He catches the bar tenders eye and waits his turn to be served.

"Are you going to b-buy me a drink, Commander?" The soft voice catches him off guard as he feels a gentle tug at his greys. He can't help the smile that falls to his lips as he turns.

"Didn't think you'd-" Fox's voice trails off as he takes in the woman in front of him. There is certainly nothing mousy about the dress she's wearing. She's got the black coat she was wearing this morning draped over her arm as she flashes him a nervous smile. He can't help but lean back and give her a long sweeping look. She's added a few inches with strappy heels she's wearing. From there he's treated to a long expanse of bare legs that seem to go on forever. The hem of her dress skims high on her thigh. It's red. Almost a perfect match for his own paint job and he bites back asking if it was a coincidence. She makes a nervous sound and he quickly remembers his manners. "You look stunning, Y/N"

"Thank you Comman- Fox. It's not too much is it?" Any other woman would sound like she was fishing for compliments but with Y/N he knew that it was a genuine question.

Fox let's his eyes trace over her face and guided by alcohol his hand smooths over her hair. it's sleek and longer than he ever thought it would be moving in gentle waves over her shoulders. She's a vision that he knows he hasn't done a damn thing to deserve. "You're lovely. Can I?" he gestures behind him as the bartender heads over.

"What you're having?"

He wastes no time in repeating his order from earlier x2. He can't help but chuckle when she takes her first sip and her face screws into a sour expression.

"i'm sure it'll grow on me" She jokes.

"If it doesn't, I owe you something else." he promises as he loops an arm around her waist. She stiffens momentarily and Fox wonders if he's crossed the line they've been straddling. She relaxes into his touch and he decides he doesn't care if he has crossed that line. The looks his boys give him as they return only serves to bring a smug smile to his face.

"Mouse!" Thire and Rule greet in tandem. Y/N presses into his side and he shoots the boys a look that says tone it down, in no uncertain terms. Hound and Ryk scoot to the side as Fox ushers her into the booth, moving in next to her as she does.

Ryk, ever the sweet youngster offers a gentle smile to their guest, "The Commander didn't tell us you were coming. You look really pretty."

His Little Mouse blushes and dips her chin, "I didn't think I was going to but" she shrugs, "here I am"

Fox feels her knee bump against his and his free hand dips down to rest over it. She looks up at him through dark lashes and relaxes into his side. Taking another sip of her drink she manages not to make a face.

"You don't have to drink that." he reminds as Thire catches his eye.

"It's growing on me." she hums.

"I hope I do the same."

She laughs, it's the first he's ever heard from her and it's light and effervescent, addictive. "Who says you haven't already?"

"Mouse?" It's Wren, Rule's batchmate, newly returned with a round of shots. "I didn't know you were here? I could have gotten you one too." He points to the neon green test tube. Hound makes a face of disgust.

"You know I hate Sith Spit." he groans and turns to Y/N, "You can have mine."

Y/N gives the trooper a sweet smile and accepts to shot he offers. When all members have them Thire let's out a raucous cheer of K'oyacyi.

The gathered Coruscant Guard answers back. "K'oyacyi!" Y/N joins in quietly a slight second behind the rest and takes her shot before setting the vial down while the others slam their own. Fox laughs and deep rumbling thing that has her smiling up at him shyly. "didn't know you knew Mando'a?"

"I was just following along."

"Careful cyar'ika" he warns playfully, "you never know what your agreeing too" She gives him a curious look and he shakes his head. "you said cheers."

"And cyar'ika?"

"Ancient Mando'a for nosey little mouse" He offers with a straight face. She swats playfully at his arm. It's entirely ineffectual and he smiles like an idiot. It was good to see her loosening up the longer she spent around them. He pushes back the grey GAR issued cap on his head. He hadn't felt this easy going in ages.

"Mouse" Rule speaks up from the otherwise of the booth, "do you dance?"

Fox looks down at her curiously as she shrugs, "Not in a long time."

"Wanna dust off the dancing shoes for me?"

Multiple sets of eyes travel to Fox who puts his hands up, "It's not my decision. If the mouse wants to dance she can dance."

He's said something right because a smile flashes across her face and she nudges at him to move out of the way. Fox relents and Rule takes her hand, helping her to her feet. His eyes follow the pair to the dance floor.

Thire slides closer, "already ready to lose her?"

Fox shrugs, "she's not mine yet and if you think Rule is going to be the one to snatch her away than your crazy." Thire laughs and goes back to his drink. Fox sips at his drink as he watches Rule's hands fall to her hips. Mouse moves them in enticing circles that make him wish he'd asked her to dance first. The music thrums and the lights flash and his Little Mouse laughs and giggles as Rule spins her around then pulls her in tight to dip her. Every member of the Guard in attendance quiets as they watch her dress ride up her thighs.

"Maker help me..." Wren squeaks.

"Tell me about it" Hound adds.

Fox is silent as he watches her hair frame her face like a silent mane. Something inside him, a possessive quiet voice purrs mine.

His vision is disturbed a second later as a soldier, clad in blue and white plastoid, blocks his view.

"vod’kyramund"

Brother killer.

The words hit him like a blaster bolt to the gut.

His shoulders have already gone tense before he’s even slipped from the booth.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that” the words are growled out- a low and dangerous sound that should have warned the clone trooper to check himself.

The trooper lurches into his space knocking against the table, his squad mates quickly moving to hold him back but he shakes them off, “hear or don’t hear what you want but it doesn’t make it less true.”

Fox looks at the pair of men behind the instigator and notes his own team of backup slipping from the booth.

A half circle has formed up around them and Fox can hear the murmur beginning to rise as more blue and white pops into view. The tension is thick, even a plasma blade would have trouble cutting through it.

The song ends and he catches Rule pull Y/N close as she attempts to move back to the table.

Fox makes sure the dreg from the 501st throws the first punch. It'll hurt like hell tomorrow but it'll make the paperwork so much simpler.

The night disintegrates into chaos from there.

#commander Fox #tCW #commander fox x reader #commander fox/reader #the clone wars

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grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

those who are left behind (share the grief between them)

Summary: Cody goes to find Rex. Ahsoka finds him first. AO3. Part 2 of “scraps” series. Part 1. Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, canon-typical violence.

Cody tries to find Rex.

It’s the only thing he can think of after he manages to get off the Death Star--a feat in and of itself, as he knew it would be. He’d had a couple close calls; he knows he was on the list to be transferred to a teaching job for new initiates, and clones as a whole were kept under close watch. Too many of the vode had killed themselves or disappeared or went berserk and killed their commanding officers. (Cody thinks about those brothers now and wonders how crazy they really were.) He’s not sure if he was under closer observation than most post-Order 66, due to his place at Kenobi's side for years; those memories are hazy, and upsetting besides. Obviously Vader didn’t think he’d be more of a problem than anyone else now, because even with the close watch Cody’d been able to slip security and hitch a ride on a stolen emergency shuttle with little fanfare. The fiasco with the droids weeks earlier taught everyone exactly how much the Empire let slip between the cracks.

The lightsaber was tempting. It still is. But Vader keeps it in his secure chamber, hoarding it like a Krayt dragon. Cody didn’t even try.

So he gets away and goes to find Rex. Rex, who had told him about the chips. Rex, who Cody had dismissed. Rex, who was made commander and promptly had everything else taken from him with Order 66. Rex, who Cody had seen hide nor hair of during his tenure as CC-2224. Cody tries to find Rex.

Ahsoka finds him first.

He's on some backwater planet, somewhere bleak and angry looking; drab grey roads and trees with no foliage against a blood-red sky. The people here live in hovels and call themselves lucky. Cody closes his eyes as he leaves the tiny fishing market on the edge of the docks. The smell clogs his nose and makes him want to retch, but for a moment he can almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He can picture the exact curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the twitch of an eyebrow as he tells Cody to find the beauty in the small things. The people here are born with silver scales lining their cheekbones, their fingers webbed with thin, iridescent skin that catches the light just right and turns to millions of colors. There are children who actually play in the street here. There are no stormtroopers raiding the stalls. Happiness comes in small packages, Obi-Wan would say. Cody exhales the smell of dead fish and wraps the robe tighter around himself.

It was probably too big on Obi-Wan by the end; it fits comfortably around his shoulders, and although Obi-Wan was a little taller, he certainly wasn't wider than Cody even on the best day. He’d slimmed down during the war too; they’d had few rations going around in the hard times--it was always a task getting the general to eat when his men were going hungry. Cody nearly put him on an IV a couple times.

The robe covers what’s left of his stark white stormtrooper armor well enough. He’d stripped the leg armor off immediately, stole some fatigues from a clothesline when he’d landed on the first planet he could find and slipped those over his blacks. He’s been planet hopping for a while, chasing rumors of rebels and crossing imperial battlegrounds. They’re burial sites now. Cody doesn’t know enough about the Force to do more than read the fallen their last rights and ask them to be well as they pass on. Every place is the same; empty, except for bones. The Mando’a prayers spill from his lips easily but his voice is rusty and Cody usually settles for a silent vigil instead. There are so many dead.

After the first graveyard, Cody stripped off as much of the white paint from his vambraces as he could. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s the best he can do. Paint is a luxury he can’t afford. Cody doesn’t have a credit to his name.

He bows his head to the small woman who pushes a package filled with row after row of tiny fish into his hands and chatters at him in an unknown language. Places like this, even as untouched by the Empire as they seem, know hardship. The people here are kind. Obi-Wan would be proud to have met them. Cody tries to be proud too, but his chest is so hollow now. The robe flutters and whips against his knees as he walks away.

He’s outside town limits, thinking about a campfire and shelter, when he hears it. There’s the scrape of a boot on rock somewhere above him in the hills that line the dirt road. He should have gotten off the path into the treeline when he’d had the chance. The hood is good cover from the light rain but it gives too much of the movement of his head away; by the time Cody whirls around, there is no one behind him. He scans the trees anyway and counts how many bolts he has in his blaster. He’d taken out those troopers on Florrum weeks ago. A couple of hunting trips when he couldn’t beg or work for any food in townships. He’ll have to make the shots count.

But before he can do more than pull the blaster from his sleeve, they're upon him. There’s a sound of ignition, one that has Cody thrown years into the past, and then a flash of white. A figure in dark clothes bears down on him with a white lightsaber, and Cody doesn’t mean to react how he does, he really doesn’t, it’s not red but—

But he’s spent years as a slave to a lightsaber wielder dressed all in black and he can’t do that again, not after watching Obi-Wan fall. He can't go back to the Death Star. Cody pulls his blaster and fires a shot, dodging to the left and then feigning a stumble, hoping to get around to the attacker's other side. The other fighter, also cloaked and hooded against the rain, is spry and wiry--perhaps female--and obviously trained. One of those Knights of the Empire they were talking about training? They dodge another bolt as Cody curses and then a second ‘saber lights up and--the handles are the wrong way around.

They’re holding their lightsabers wrong. Cody nearly does trip this time, only just scrambling back from a slice that surely would have taken his head off. As he does, the figure speaks.

“Where did you get that robe?” They hiss, and prepare to strike again.

“ Ahsoka?”

“Wh-- Cody? ”

“Oh, Force,” Cody says, feeling like he did when Longshot knocked all the air out of him during a sparring session. He pushes his hood down hurriedly. Rain splashes down his forehead, rolls off the end of his nose, fills his mouth. “It is you. You’re alive!”

He’d been so afraid of being alone.

Ahsoka, older and leaner and sadder than he’s ever seen her, lowers her own hood. One ‘saber stays in her hand. Good. “Cody. You’re...you.”

“I remembered,” Cody chokes out. It’s hard not to vomit when he thinks about it for too long. “Who I was, before the Order. I remembered.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a thin line. “Good men lost their lives that day. Dead men walked among us for years afterward. I--I’m sorry for your loss, Cody. It has been a long time.”

“I’m sorry too,” Cody says. It tastes like ash in his mouth, like the pyre he should’ve given Obi-Wan and never got the chance to. “The vode weren’t the only people lost that day.”

She softens, if only just. The lightsaber is hooked onto her belt under her own robe. “It really is you. Come then, I have a fire.”

They settle around her campsite, small and remote, on a perfect vantage point, before she speaks again. Cody is waiting for her when she does. He unwraps the fish, ignoring the mud splashed onto the scales from their impromptu fight, and lays them out on a flat rock in the fire. They are too small to debone individually; they’ll have better luck eating around the skeletons and hoping for the best. (“If you kill my grandpadawan via choking on a fish bone I will never forgive you,” jokes the Obi-Wan in his head and Cody suppresses a snort.)

“The robe.” Ahsoka murmurs. Her lekku twitch, in apprehension or agitation Cody isn’t sure. The pit in his gut, always there, yawns wider. She’s Obi-Wan’s family. Next of kin. He by all rights should give it to her, but… “It has Obi-Wan’s Force signature infused in it, but I recognized that yours was different. I thought…”

“I’d taken it off his body.” Cody finishes for her. Ahsoka nods, grim. He nods too and flips the fish. “You’re almost right. He didn’t leave behind a body, just his lightsaber and the robe. Vader killed him; it’s what woke me up. Chip’s stopped working, I guess. Too old.”

“I felt him when he went.” Ahsoka’s eyes are far away when Cody snatches a glance at her. She sits, back ramrod straight, unyielding, steely. He thinks Obi-Wan would have been like this in the end; untouchable, almost. He was statuesque, carved from marble, right up until the moment he died. “His light went out; that day the Force got much darker.”

“Wasn’t sure it could get darker.”

“Obi-Wan spoke once to me,” Ahsoka tells him after a long silence. She takes the food offered and nods her thanks. Cody’s heart is dead, has been since he left the Death Star, but he curls his fingers into the robe’s edges and listens anyway. He never stops hurting these days. “Through the Force, I mean. It was right after--right after. Just a fleeting thing, a feeling. He wanted to make sure I was safe, that I knew he--”

Cody doesn’t move when her words cut off. He knows. She knows.

It is like stripping off his own skin with a dull blade when Cody shrugs out of the robe and offers it up. “Here.” His voice is hoarse, tortured, not his own. “I just--you’re his family, but I can’t... please.”

Ahsoka is beautiful even when she cries. The robe looks worn, dingy in her hands, but she holds it close, like a child. She has to work hard to get the next sentence out. “You loved him.”

Cody nods. His face is wet too. “Still,” he whispers, almost inaudibly over the fire. “Still.”

“It’s yours,” Ahsoka promises. “Let me meditate with it, just once, and then--it’s yours. It’s yours.”

Ahsoka goes still; her shoulders stop hitching after a while, her cheeks dry, her breathing evens. Cody does not sleep, but he does drift. He knows she will not mind the salt water on his own face when she wakes. Obi-Wan would tell him to release his grief, perhaps that Obi-Wan is not worth it; Cody holds on almost greedily, bottles up the pain and sorrow and regret and keeps it with him, cold as ice in his chest.

He knows she comes back by the small cry that slips past her lips; she jerks in place, nearly toppling from her meditation pose. Ahsoka straightens again and clenches her hands in the robe, head bowed. “Alright?” Softly, softly. He knew her when she was just a child.

“Meditation is rougher than it used to be,” Ahsoka admits, and, reluctant, passes the fabric over in a bundle. “Thank you.”

“I miss him too.”

“What are you doing out here?”

Cody smiles without real feeling. “Following you. Or the Rebellion in general, I guess. Thought maybe I could find Rex that way.”

Ahsoka raises her eyebrows. “The Rebellion hasn’t been here for months; I’m just here checking up to make sure refugees we helped are still doing alright.”

“You guys got a head start on me.”

Her laughter is quiet, like Obi-Wan’s used to be. Cody looks away, twists his hands in the robe.

Wait.

He knows Obi-Wan won’t mind. He lost so many during the war anyway, went through them like tissue paper. It was a game among the 212th, who could find them on the battlefield first.

Cody looks up, eyes Ahsoka shrewdly. She’s taller, more muscular than she used to be. He’s no seamstress. “Scarf or sash?”

Ahsoka blinks at him. He presses his lips together and nods. “Sash. Won’t get in the way.”

The sleeve comes apart at the seams easily enough. Cody ignores her protest, and tears the other sleeve away too before pocketing one--someone else will want it, someone else who can hold vigil with Cody and Ahsoka both. Then he tears open the remaining sleeve and flattens it, before holding it out to her. “Through the belt loops,” he advises, blandly, like the tears on both their faces don’t exist. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates in her head. “Won’t get in the way when you pull your weapon.”

Ahsoka’s lips tremble when she takes the scrap of fabric. Cody doesn’t watch her loop it through her belt, taking the time to wrap the rest of the robe around his shoulders in a makeshift poncho; the hood hangs down his back still, and the ends of the robe are still long enough to cover most of his breastplate, some of the only trooper armor he has kept. There is a scratch on the shoulder from when an overconfident Jawa took a shot at him on Florrum.

Ahsoka gasps when he looks up. She gestures at his chest. “You…”

Cody splays his hand where she indicates, over the insignia he painstakingly etched into the armor covering his heart. The lightsaber was tricky to overlay on the 212th logo. It took him hours. He has a lot more time on his hands now that he’s not being controlled by the chip, though; it was worth it.

“Yes,” Cody answers. “I--I don’t want to forget again. Never again.”

Ahsoka reaches out and takes his hand over the fire that gutters low in their makeshift hearth. A thousand lives lie between them, and a thousand deaths. Her hand holds his so carefully. Cody squeezes back and feels Obi-Wan smile. “Never again,” Ahsoka vows.

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Note

Okay, I love a little angst, and I could see Faust visiting Faith at work and some prick keeps flirting with her and she’s very oblivious and doesn’t realize it. Or she has a tutor for college, and Faust walks in on him teaching her something, but the guys clearly flirting with her. Or lastly, her father setting her up with a family friends son who’s picture perfect and Stan making Faith go out with him for the night. But all these scenarios lead to a good banging lol.

Warning: 18+ anti-religious/anti-Christian themes/angst etc. **jealousy, angst and possessiveness in this part**

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

Faith awoke with a sharp intake of air. She glanced at the digital clock on Faust’s desk through misty eyes and paled when the late morning hour came into focus. She was due to meet her father in twenty-five minutes, and he expected her at the campus—not a half-hour bus ride from her dorm in an area of town known for its street crime. Even if Faust borrowed his roommate’s car to drive her, she wouldn’t have time to shower and dress before her father arrived.

A text from her dad warned of his impending arrival. She should have known better than to spend an entire Saturday evening humping her boyfriend, or at least set an alarm to wake up with ample time to get back to her dorm. In her panic, Faust woke up, looking ruefully unconcerned while she rushed to get dressed.

“What’s your deal?” Faust grumbled as Faith slipped on her black tights and lilac blouse, a worried expression on her face.

“We slept too late! My dad’s supposed to pick me up at school in like twenty minutes!”

Faust rolled onto his side, propping his head on his elbow as a dreamy smirk snagged his lips. Faith clicked her tongue. When it came to disappointing her father, Faust had nothing but encouragement to give, but his playful stare could not snuff her genuine panic.

“You won’t make it to school on time. Why don’t you just ask him to pick you up here?” Faust suggested.

“Hell no!” Faith exclaimed. “You don’t realize the amount of shit I’ll be in if he finds out I spent the night with you. Premarital sex is... No, I just can’t.”

Faust rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he’ll kill his own daughter.”

She rolled on one sock, then the other, grimacing when she noticed one was on inside-out. “You still don’t realize that he can and will pack up everything and move us away. Or he’ll make me go to a different school next semester. Trust me. You don’t get how strict my parents are. They’ve already made me read several pamphlets from church about the sin of fornication.”

“Well, clearly, you’ve learned nothing. We fornicated all night, babe. I fornicated all over that shirt, too,” he snickered.

“Faust! I’m serious. Now is not a time to joke. Wait... What?” Faith stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at her top, gasping. “Oh my god! There’s cum all over me! I’m so screwed.”

He got out of bed and went to the low-boy, pulling open the third drawer while Faith panicked.

“I am literally covered in your jizz! Why did you have to blow on my shirt?” Faith groaned.

Faust stifled a laugh as he pulled out a black t-shirt from the drawer. “Babe, you’re the one who wanted to suck my dick first thing after you got here. I can’t be responsible for where my unborn children go to die. Maybe you need to catch my loads a little better.”

She scoffed then scoffed again when he held up a faded t-shirt with a macabre design on the front and an illegible logo cresting the imagery.

“Wear this,” Faust offered.

“I can’t wear that in front of my dad. What does that even say?” Faith asked.

“Obituary.”

Faith shook her head. Faust shrugged and stuffed the shirt back into the drawer before grabbing a different one. “How about this? No pictures on it or anything.”

She grimaced again. “It just says Death. I’m going to church, Faust.”

“All right, all right. Give me a minute,” Faust said, rifling through another drawer.

The phone buzzed in Faith’s hand, warning her that time was running out for her to make herself presentable and come up with an excuse as to why she was nowhere near campus grounds. Faust pulled out a plain black t-shirt, offering it to her with round, sympathetic eyes.

“Will this work?”

She took the shirt and gulped. “It will have to do. It’s still all black, and my parents won’t be happy.”

Faust nodded, seeming to understand her predicament. “Why don’t you say you’re sick?”

“The only time I ever got away with missing church was when I had Chicken Pox,” Faith said.

“Say you have too much work.”

She frowned. “There’s never an excuse large enough to appease them. I appreciate the suggestions, but I’d rather you just help me with a plan.”

The man towering over her nodded, turning to select his outfit for the day. “I’ll take you to the diner down the block. You can say I picked you up for breakfast.”

“I’d rather not tell them I was with you at all,” Faith said as she gathered her purse and stuffed her soiled blouse inside.

“Ouch,” Faust flinched.

“I’m sorry... That was rude,” Faith replied, covering her mouth for a moment, eyes wide. “You’re right. We should do that just to make it look like I didn’t spend the night.”

Faust ducked into a dark long-sleeve shirt, pulling his black hair out to fall over his shoulders. “Might want to wipe the dried cum off your chin then.”

When Faith slid her fingers through Faust’s as they walked down the street, his grip fell limp. He stared ahead and didn’t take any casual glances at her. In fact, Faust had been silent since they left. Worry piled on top of anxiety over what she would tell her dad, and she dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, counting the cracks as they walked. She doubled her steps to keep up with Faust’s until they reached the front doors of the quaint diner he and his buddies went to after nights of partying and hungover mornings. He let go of her hand and stepped away from her.

“See you later,” he said, spinning on the heel of his boot.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait! You’re not even going to kiss me goodbye?”

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket bemoaning the gesture. “Wouldn’t want your dad to catch you kissing your boyfriend.”

“Faust... Please. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He snorted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “If that’s what you think.”

His pointed response stung, but Faith wouldn’t let him walk away without addressing the tension. “Seriously... I’m sorry. I wish you understood how hard it is for me to navigate this. You think I’m exaggerating when I say my father will stop paying my tuition and make me go to a different school, but I’m not.”

“No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do,” said Faust, inhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You just let them run your life.”

Heat built up behind her eyes. She took in a deep breath and sighed hopelessly. “I don’t have the income to be independent. It’s not as easy as you think. Not for me.”

Stan’s car pulled up at the curb, and Faith’s heart dropped. Faust glanced at the vehicle, then back at Faith fidgeting with the hem of the black t-shirt he gave her. He nodded toward the street.

“I should go before your dad gets the wrong idea about us.”

“Faust—” she whimpered.

“We’ll talk later.”

Faith hurried to get into the backseat of her father’s car, staring out the window as they drove off and passed Faust on the street. Her mother sighed and shook her head.

“Smoking is a disgusting habit,” she muttered.

Faith’s sisters stared at her from their seats, then looked away when she met their eyes.

“What?” Faith asked.

“You’re in trouble,” one of them sang.

Stan glared at his oldest daughter in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t keep his indignation quiet for long. “Since when is it okay to wear all black in the house of Christ? We’re not attending a funeral, Faith. We’re going for worship.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was the only clean outfit I had. I haven’t done laundry because I’ve had too much schoolwork.”

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time with that man, you’d have a proper outfit to wear on Sunday.”

“That man is my boyfriend. Am I not allowed to ever fall in love? It’s not like you and mom didn’t date before you got married.”

Reneta continued shaking her head. “Your father was a respectable man. He didn’t smoke and listen to evil music.”

Faith scoffed as her sisters listened with wide eyes and mischievous smirks. “What are you talking about, mom? You had nothing but nice things to say about him when he came over for dinner!”

“He was our guest, and a lady is always a kind host.”

“So, you don’t like him either?” Faith asked.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I said. I just wish you would find yourself a nice boy. One who knows the importance of God—”

“If I smell smoke on you or catch you making a mockery of His word, I promise on His good name, I will make sure you never see that boy again,” Stan vowed.

Faith clammed up. Though she had plenty to say, she knew better than to push her luck. Her sisters whispered next to her, but Faith ignored them too. She fished her phone out of her purse and sent a text message to Faust.

You’re right. These people are fucked. I have to get away.

The service dragged for what seemed like hours, and when it ended, Faith was eager to leave. But instead of piling into the car to go home after the last prayer, Faith waited as her family mingled with others. As a revered minister of the church, Stan often welcomed conversation from those who sought his guidance and blessings. She sat in an empty pew, sighing with impatience as the churchgoers waited their turn for a private conversation with her father.

Faith peeked at her phone to see if Faust had replied, but the message remained unopened.

Though he hadn’t said much that morning, she feared her err had caused Faust to reevaluate his interest in her. A troublesome mass weighed in her stomach. Texting him again might result in him dubbing her “clingy,” Faith decided, so she turned off her phone until it was time to leave.

They piled into the family car and turned down the road in the opposite direction of the school campus. When Faith noticed, she perked up in her seat.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“We’re having the Esders family over for dinner this evening,” said Stan.

Faith tried not to voice her displeasure, but nothing prevented the furrowing of her brow. “Well, that’s very nice, but I have to go home to work on my paper.”

Stan glanced back at his oldest daughter. “Your home is under our roof. And you can spare a few hours for your family.”

“Dad, I can’t spend the entire day doing nothing. It’s due tomorrow!” Faith whined.

“I won’t hear anymore, Faith. Bobby is your age, and you’ll be kind and cordial.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? You want me to spend time with another boy?”

“Faith, you’re helping host the Esders’, and you will be on your best behaviour.”

Faith kept to herself during dinner, helping set and clear the table, answering questions with curt replies, and after dessert, she stepped onto the veranda to call Faust. The line rang and rang until it cut off. Faust didn’t have voicemail, and he still hadn’t replied to her message from earlier. Dejected, Faith sighed as she looked out over the suburban street, the stained glass crosses hanging in bay windows and wind chimes tinkling in the cool breeze. The sound of footsteps rounded the corner, and she turned to find Bobby Esders approaching.

“Hey, Faith. What’re you doing out here all by yourself?” The flaxen-haired boy asked.

She forced a brief grin and leaned against the handrail. “Being by myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. I was getting sick of all the church-talk in there.”

Faith nodded. “Same.”

Bobby tucked his hands into the pockets of his beige chinos. “I noticed you haven’t been to group in a while.”

“I have a lot of schoolwork. It’s a little more important than making arts and crafts and babysitting kids while they cry over which Veggie Tales movie to watch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bobby snorted with amusement, stepping up to the handrail beside her. “So... What did you do all Summer?”

The only voice Faith wanted to hear was Faust’s whispering in her ear, gently poking fun at her, calling her babe and stating interesting yet useless facts about his favourite bands and horror movies. Though she was polite, she turned to Bobby with a tight smile and sighed impatiently.

“I don’t know... Stuff? What everyone else does during the Summer.”

The boy accepted her response with a solemn nod. Bobby Esders was not oblivious. He sensed her discomfort and unspoken need for solitude the moment dinner began. With a nod, he backed away.

“Well, I hope you have a good night, and good luck with your schoolwork.”

Faith frowned. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t be so short with you. My parents have been treating me like a child lately, and it’s getting on my nerves. I should be studying, but instead, I’m here—”

“Pretending like you give a shit about church?” Bobby said with a secretive smirk.

“Um... Well, yeah,” she replied, blushing.

Bobby chuckled, maintaining his distance but relaxing his shoulders. He was tall like Faust, with zero body fat, bony arms, and a mop of blond curls. Faith hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to Bobby since joining the church, but she always smiled at him when they passed in the corridors. He was pleasant and had one of the best singing voices in the congregation. His parents were wealthy business owners who donated large sums to the church and took a liking to Stan the moment he commanded the podium for his first service. Since then, Faith’s parents cultivated a friendship with the Esders family. Faith even heard them discussing how perfect it was that the two respective families had a daughter and a son of the same age, as though it was some kind of miracle. She dreaded the day Stan might suggest she try spending time with Bobby. And perhaps if she had never met Faust, she might entertain the idea of Bobby courting her, but that chance was long gone.

“Don’t worry, Faith. I might look like a goody-two-shoes, but it’s just the clothes my parents make me wear for church. I don’t really buy into any of this bullshit either.”

Stunned by his admission, Faith tilted her head as Bobby’s expression turned sly.

He continued. "And I know what our parents are trying to do with us. They’re trying to play matchmaker like it’s the eighteenth century or something. Trust me; I wouldn’t be out here bothering you if your dad hadn’t encouraged me. I can tell you want to be somewhere else, and I don’t blame you."

Faith looked up at him with a growing appreciation for his honesty. His bluntness still took her back, but she smiled with relief.

“Well, I appreciate your observation. My dad doesn’t seem to realize that I’m a person capable of making my own decisions.”

“I’m in the same boat. Do you think I want to spend all my free time doing church stuff? Right now, my friends are at home playing Call of Duty together, and I’m here, pretending like I give a shit about this stupid religion and all its oppressive rules.”

“Wow. I never pictured you as anything but...” Faith trailed off, flushing pink.

“But a Bible-toting nerd? Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Reneta called for Faith from the side door. She sighed, smiled at Bobby again, and smoothed her hands over the black T-shirt that still smelled like Faust’s bedroom. Bobby stepped aside, motioning for Faith to go first before he followed.

Faith turned on her phone after she collapsed in her bed in the corner of her dorm room. To her shock, Faust still hadn’t answered her message from earlier. She called him, but the line rang until the call dropped. Fighting back an onslaught of burning tears, she rolled over, stuffing her face under her pillow to absorb the sounds of her whimpers.

She worked an evening shift at the bookstore the next day. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she decided that morning if Faust didn’t want to answer her, she wouldn’t press. If he couldn’t accept her apology and saw silence as an acceptable form of punishment, then she would return the favour.

However, by the time Faith made it halfway through her shift, her heart had grown twice as heavy, and she longed to hear Faust’s gravelly voice more than ever. She ducked away for a minute here and there to stifle her tears, returning to the floor with watery eyes and a sagging expression. Even her boss noticed her sunny disposition trampled upon by something she refused to disclose.

The only relief she found was when Bobby Esders strolled into the bookstore, surprised to see her working behind the counter, sorting discarded books to return to their proper shelves.

“Faith! I didn’t know you worked here,” Bobby said with a broad smile.

“Yeah, I started here in the Summer,” she replied, returning the grin.

“This is my favourite bookstore. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”

Faith forgot her melancholy for a time. With twenty minutes until close, she focused her time on helping him locate a copy of a novel he’d had no luck in tracking down. He purchased the book and offered to wait until Faith punched out to walk her to the bus stop. Her first impulse was to decline, but Bobby was too kind to allow her refusal, claiming he was going to the same stop, and he might as well accompany her there.

The last thing Faith expected to see was Faust parked outside of the mall’s entrance, leaning against the side door of his friend’s car, waiting. She flashed a concerned look at Bobby, who stared at the leather-clad man with a touch of disdain.

“Oh, that’s um... That’s my boyfriend,” Faith pointed out as Faust glared ahead.

“That’s your boyfriend? That mean, scary-looking dude with the hair?” Bobby scoffed.

By the time Bobby took another breath, Faust had launched forth with long strides, clearing the cobblestones in a second. His glare burned hotter as he approached them.

“Who are you?” Faust asked Bobby with an air of mocking disinterest.

“Uh—”

“This is my friend from church,” Faith stepped in. “His name’s Bobby.”

Faust narrowed his eyes on the man who was only an inch shorter than himself. “Your friend, huh?” He asked.

“Faust, don’t start. He was just walking me to the bus stop.”

Bobby took a step back, relinquishing the closeness with Faith he had enjoyed for the last half an hour. He’d heard stories of Faust and his buddies, as they had beaten up and antagonized his friends throughout high school. Anyone associated with the church was subject to the circle’s cruelty, and despite Bobby’s size, he was no exception.

“I don’t want to see you sniffing around my girl ever again, you got it, bible-beater?”

Faith frowned as Bobby cowered from Faust’s smouldering contempt. She pushed on his leathered arm and stepped between the two men, glaring up at Faust with her own scorn lighting her features.

“Stop it, Faust! He didn’t do anything. We were going to the same stop, anyway. Stop being such an asshole!”

Faust pushed his jaw forward, swiping his tongue over his teeth as she challenged him. He’d never seen Faith look so angry, and though she was laughably small in comparison, her scowl was enough to make him take a step back.

“Let’s go, Faith,” he muttered.

“No. I’m not going with you. I’m going home,” Faith refused.

“Fine, I’ll drive you,” he insisted.

“No! I’m taking the bus. You can’t return my messages or answer your phone when I call? Then I don’t need your help getting home.”

The city bus pulled around the corner, rumbling to a stop at the depot to pick up the people leaving the mall. Bobby watched, frowning, then looked back at Faith.

“Sorry, Faith. I have to go,” Bobby said.

Faust sneered. “Yeah, get lost. She’s fine.”

“I’m leaving too,” Faith said, turning, shouldering the strap on her purse before stepping away.

Before she crossed the road, Faust stepped in front of her. His expression softened when he noticed hers hadn’t. Faith was angrier than he thought. When he showed up to intercept her, Faust assumed she would drop everything and run into his arms, happy to see him despite the tension he’d allowed to rise. But her disgust was potent. She wasn’t about to be pushed over by his feeble attempt at soothing the situation.

“Don’t,” Faust punctured his firm stance as Bobby crossed without her. “Please.”

“Why would I go with you? You’re not even nice to me. I tried texting and calling you, but I guess you were too busy doing your own thing to care.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you pissed me off!” Faust hammered. “That whole ‘I don’t want my dad to see us together’ was a real dick thing to say.”

Before Faith launched another complaint, she closed her mouth and looked to the ground, then back up, glaring harder. “I said I was sorry. It’s not like you haven’t said awful things before. The only difference is you never apologize for them. I’m just expected to accept your unsolicited opinions about my life and my family.”

Faust offered no rebuttal. The couple stood staring at each other until Faust relented, scooping his hand into her hair to kiss her firmly. He hated that she was right, and he refused to admit it out loud, but the kiss acted as his justification.

It wasn’t good enough for Faith. She pushed him away.

“You can’t just act like a total asshole, then kiss me and expect it all to be okay.”

Faust rolled his eyes to the darkening sky. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. An apology might be a good start.”

“Why would I apologize for you pissing me off?”

“Apologize for making a scene in front of my friend. Apologize for not answering me. Not accepting my apology when I had the maturity to realize I was wrong.”

“All right, well, I’m sorry. Happy? Now, let’s go.”

“No, Faust. I don’t think we should hang out tonight.”

Her refusal hit him hard. Faith always jumped at the chance to spend time together, so her steadfastness came as a shock. His shoulders slumped as he sighed.

“Please,” Faust said.

“Why? You seemed happy ignoring me yesterday.”

“I wasn’t happy. I was upset. What you said really fucked with me. Now, I’m over it, and I want you to spend the night.”

A flicker of sympathy sparked in Faith’s chest. She noticed his green eyes reflecting something she had never seen in him before: sadness. Faust reached out for her hand, and she stared at his outstretched palm, heart aching. Maybe what she said had hurt him more than she realized. She always figured Faust was above such emotions, that the only passion that lived inside of him was menacing anger that only came out when somebody threatened him or his territory. The regret tugging at his mouth proved her theory wrong.

She took his hand and he pulled her close. Streetlights illuminated as the parking lot emptied. Stars poked through the violet sky in clusters. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a minute before he held her out before him, staring into her eyes beseechingly.

“If you really don’t want to come over, I’ll take you back to your dorm.”

Faith shivered. When Faust noticed the goosebumps on her arms, he let her go and shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt with a severed head spewing forth a waterfall of blood and entrails. The carnage spelled out the name of a band whose logo was utterly unintelligible. She smiled as he swung the heavy leather jacket around her so she could push her arms through the sleeves. The hem ended at her thighs, and only the tips of her middle fingers poked out from the armholes, but it was comfortable despite being several sizes too large for her body.

“Fine. I’ll come over. But I wanna have sex, and I don’t want you to hold back.”

“Faith—”

“Those are my terms. I don’t want you to treat me like a little flower. I want to fuck... hard.”

Faust snorted, biting his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes again. He placed his hand on the leather at her back, guiding her toward the car. “You might regret that request, you know.”

Faith smirked. “We’ll worry about that in the morning.”

#faust x faith #faust stuff #valter skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

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kirishwima · 4 years

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Hello hello! I love your headcanons! Can I request the RFA+V(and Vanderwood?) with an MC who is the one to make the first move to give the first kiss? I need more proactive MCs ready to go for it. (I think with Saeran we already do...?)

oh i like this headcanon hehe~ and yeah, i think we pretty much do see MC making the first move with Saeran-although I do think he’d get just as flustered any time MC gets affectionate with him lol

YOOSUNG:

* Honestly...after that kiss at the party, which he was only able to initiate because of adrenaline and excitement, he’d be a flustered m e s s anytime MC would be affectionate with him-even a mere hug would be enough to give this boy a nosebleed lol

* For the sake of this headcanon though, let’s pretend he didn’t smooch his MC at the party-so instead, whilst they officially start dating, they haven’t kissed yet; just holding hands is a huge feat for Yoosung, his poor heart needs time to adjust at the thought of having a boyfriend/girlfriend/SO to hold hands with!!

* Honestly, Zen would nag at him about it constantly. “What do you mean you’ve been dating MC for a month and you haven’t even kissed them yet?!” he’d ask, incredulous. “Just go for it!”

* Well, for Yoosung, it’s not that simple. Does he...want to kiss MC? Absoloutely all the time always yes. Is he...brave enough to just ask them for it? Nope. Nuh uh. Nein.

* So it’s up to the hero MC to save the day, and steal Yoosung’s first kiss!

* Honestly, a sneak attack would be the best-he’d be talking about one thing or another with MC, his face bright and beautiful as he spoke, and MC would absentmindedly bring a hand to cusp his jaw, their fingertips tracing his skin as they ask a soft “Can I kiss you?”

* Yoosung gulps, his eyes wide, but nods, and that’s all the invitation MC needs-they lean close and kiss him, takin in his shuddering breath and how he’s awkwardly trying to follow MC’s lead-and failing.

* They lean back and look at his flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes; and when Yoosung looks to them with puppy-dog eyes and asks ‘can we do that again?’ well, who’s MC to say no?

ZEN:

* You’d think he’d be bold and be the one to kiss MC first-but same as Yoosung, his first kiss with MC was adrenaline-ridden and chaste.

* Zen’s a gentleman-he’d never want to push his beloved MC out of their comfort zone, nor would he want his ‘beast side’ to get the better of him before MC’s ready to greet that side, if ever.

* So he waits...and waits....and waits. MC has been trying to get him to make the first move but he’s a stoic rock, chanting prayers each time he looks at MC’s lips to keep his sanity lol.

* After a succesful opening night for his latest play, he comes to greet MC backstage at his dressing room; he politely ignored his co-worker’s greetings in favor of rushing to his dressing room where he knew MC would be waiting, and there they were-a bouquet of roses in their hands, yet a barely-hidden pout on their lips.

* “My love?” Zen asked, coming to stand across MC, cusping their cheeks in his hands. “What’s with that frown? Is something wrong?”

* MC’s pout intensified, their lips pursed. “In the play-you had a kiss scene.” Zen nodded, brows furrowed. He’d told MC about that scene from when he first read the play, and they were fine with it-did something change?

* MC leaned up to him, bridging the distance as they kissed Zen-something chaste and innocent, but lingering long enough for him to know the implications behind it.

* They licked at their lips as they looked back to Zen with a small victorious smirk. “I don’t like someone else kissing you before I did. I hat to purify what’s mine” they added with a shrug and-oh no MC what have you DONE.

* The BEAST(TM) has been unleashed. Good luck, MC.

JAHEE:

* She’s bold and brave, yes, but when it comes to affection Bahee’s a Hot Mess. She hasn’t even had her first kiss yet...and she loves MC but doesn’t have the slightest clue of how to initiate any contact between them.

* So it’s up to MC to slowly build up Jaehee’s confidence so that she’ll be okay with a kiss-from holding her hand when walking down the street, hugging her close and leaning their head into the crook of Jahee’s neck, little affectionate gestures that have Jaehee melting into the touch yet also clearly show MC’s intentions; that they were never at the level of simple friendship.

* When one night MC leans close to Jaehee as they sit on the couch watching some silly movie; when they trace Jaehee’s cheek with their fingertips, curling their fingers through her hair as they whisper ‘Can I kiss you?’ into her ear;it’s not a surprise. Jaehee’s come to expect this.

* Yet expecting it and actually preparing for it are two entirely different things-while she nods yes to MC, she shuts her eyes tight as she can, her lips slack and her hands trembling as they come to wrap around MC’s back.

* MC stifles a laugh at Jaehee’s tomato-red face, and says they don’t have to kiss if Jaehee doesn’t want to-while yeah, MC would love nothing more than to kiss the heck out of this woman, they’d never want to force her into anything.

* But Jaehee shakes her head furiously, her grip on MC tightening. “I want this!” she insists, her eyes clear, “I want this.” she repeats.

* So MC smiles and kisses her, slow and gentle, letting Jaehee set the pace.

* Slowly, Jaehee would learn to open up more, and would even be the one to initiate physical affection-but that’d take much, much longer lol.

JUMIN:

* Honestly...this thing he has with MC is his first relationship, and he doesn’t know what boundaries should be set-so he lets MC pick the pace their relationship should develop with. If they’re ready to kiss him, then so is he.

* And boy, MC does want to kiss him. They absoloutely do.

* Not even a day into their new and fragile relationship, they catch Jumin being the cutest he can be-he’s sitting on the couch, Elizabeth the 3d in his lap, and he’s cooing at her, talking in that high-pitched silly voice we all use when there’s a cute kitten or puppy in front of us, and Elizabeth seems to love it, turning her head this way and that whenever Jumin speaks.

* “Who’s my princess?” Jumin coos, scratching Elizabeth’s chin gently, “Are you my princess? Yes you are!”

* ((Yes he absoloutely talks this way with Elly when he’s alone, no you can’t change my mind))

* This cutesy behavior sends MC over the edge. They stand there, eyes trained on Jumin as they ask “Can I kiss you like, right the heck now?”

* Jumin blinks owlishly at them before smiling. “You never have to ask my permission for that-never.”

* So they don’t. Instead they replace Elizabeth on the couch, who’s now left the silly couple to their own devices to go stroll around the penthouse, and so MC leans close to Jumin, their lips inches away from him...and they kiss him.

* He’s soft and pliant, letting MC set the pace yet following suit, matching each of MC’s movements like he’d been thinking the same thing. When MC’s hands run through his hair he hums into the kiss, his fingers tightening on their waist.

* Now that MC has given this man permission to do something like this...hoo boy you can bet he’ll never take his hands off of MC ever again, ever.

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* Like most of the RFA, he too has never had a relationship-sure, he’s kissed people, sure he’s had sex, but he’s never actually held hands with someone nor had someone he loves to cuddle with. So everything that happens with MC, every little thing’s a first for him.

* Even kissing feels sacrilegous, the mere thought of someone like him laying his hands on someone as bright and pure as MC making him feel the need to go to church and drown himself in holy water-he knows how much MC would tease him for the thoughts he has, but he can’t help it.

* He’s a flustered mess at the littlest of things-MC merely leaning their head on his shoulder is enough to turn his cheeks redder than his hair, and MC wants to do so much more than that, wants to take this ridiculous man’s ridiculou’s face and smooch his lips until they’re puffier than a jellyfish, yet they fear what that might do to Seven-what if he short-circuits and his brain fries from the affection?!

* Well, all these worries are put to rest one night when MC fell asleep on the couch-they’d been waiting up for Seven to finish with his work so they’d go to sleep together, but ended up falling asleep as he worked.

* Seven kneeled besides MC, bold now that he’s the only one aware of his actions-he trailed his fingers through MC’s hair, to their temples, down the slope of their nose, his fingertips dancing on the corner of MC’s lips. He sighed, ready to pull his hand away when MC shifted and gripped his hand by the wrist.

* They sat up, ignoring the flusterdness visible on Seven’s face-there, in the dark room only illuminated by Seven’s laptop screens, his pupils blown and lips slack-he’s never looked more kissable.

* “I’m going to kiss you now” they said, and that was all the time Seven had to prepare; they leaned in and kissed him, trapping his lips as his surprised gasp was muffled into the kiss.

* He didn’t take long before his hands were finding their way around MC’s waist, pulling them off the couch and onto his lap as he sat back on the floor, leaning up to angle the kiss better; even if it wasn’t his first kiss, everything felt new, every touch left a spark of electricity, a tingling in his skin he wasn’t aware he was cabaple of feeling.

* Now that this Pandora’s box had been opened, there was no closing it-if he could, Seven would never stop kissing MC.

* And well, MC didn’t mind that one bit.

Mood MC, mood

it’s like 5am and i didnt proof read this woop hope it’s okay!!!!

-send me mysme headcanons for character reactions-

#i was gonna write V's too but a) theres sUN outside i should sleep #and b) my cat has decided to sit on my arm so im typing w one hand lol #mysme #mystic messenger #mysme prompts #mysme reactions #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger prompts #yoosung kim #jumin han #jaehee kang #hyung ryu #luciel choi #707 #Anonymous

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suncityblues · 3 years

Text

Little Miracles// 2k words destiel, mentions of saileen

AO3 link

In the morning Castiel likes to turn his bedside radio on and listen to the news. He’s especially fond of the science segments. Listening to people try and understand the little mysteries of their world in real time makes Cas feel grounded, and less like he’s making a mess of being human, since it seems like no one really knows what’s going on anyway.

But they’re trying, and he likes that they’re trying because he’s trying too.

Sometimes Dean sticks around, because he drank too much the night before or just fell asleep without remembering to go back to his own room, and he’ll grumble something along the lines of: “How can you listen to these nerds talk out of their asses? You know all this stuff better than they ever could.”

Castiel just shrugs and ignores him, preferring to concentrate on how these people think fractals work, or black holes, or the glands on a dog’s nose. Sometimes they’re right and sometimes they’re wrong. Dean’s always cranky in the morning so Cas knows it’s best not to take him seriously. And besides, Dean always stays for the whole segment, sometimes asking Castiel to elaborate on the topic and sometimes just dozing off until the end before getting up to feed the dog, so he can’t hate it that much.

These are Cas’ favorite kind of mornings, and they’ve been happening more and more since he got back but he doesn’t know exactly what to make of it. He does not allow himself the luxury of optimism.

Things feel strange and different now that the world isn’t ending. Too real maybe. For angels everything always had a purpose, a plan, and all things fell into place accordingly. But now, it’s like he’s writing a new story with no outline, one that can be kind of meandering and boring in places, but peaceful too. There’s a kind of power in winging it and just hoping for the best. Maybe life is like poetry or jazz now, though admittedly Cas doesn’t have much experience with either of those things to really know.

He’ll have time to find out though. A whole hopefully long lifetime to read or listen to anything he pleases. Jack brought him back as a human at his request, with the understanding that he could return to angel-hood anytime, with just a little prayer. Cas doesn’t think he’ll take Jack up on it but he’s aware of how lucky he is, and how loved. He can still do miracles, but only small ones. Making flowers bloom. Healing paper cuts. Boiling water. Cas is grateful for it, like a taste of home without all the family drama.

Jack had popped him back into existence at a pie festival Sam and Dean stopped at on their way to a hunt. Dean had kissed him in public for the first time that day, after years and years of motel bathrooms and dark corners. It seems significant to Castiel, but Dean’s cultural hang ups always felt dumb to him in the first place so he chooses not to read into it too much. When Dean pulls back he says, “I, uh… I…” but doesn’t manage to finish the thought because Cas is pressing kisses to Dean’s cheeks, the sides of his mouth, his forehead. Dean gets pie on Cas’ nose, but Cas didn’t mind. After that, Sam pulls him into a bear hug. He whispers, “I’m happy for you, man” and Cas doesn’t know if he should to reply to that or not.

They get so distracted by his reappearance that they lose the trail of the vampires they were looking for. When Cas mentions it to Jack the next time they talk, he replies that it was all for the best. Cas gets the message and doesn’t need to ask for any more details.

The adjustment is hard on Sam and Dean, he can tell. It’s like suddenly their lives are starting in the middle, and it’s not fair they had to wait until their knees were shot and half their friends were dead to have a chance at a real life.

Sam, at least, still has Eileen. She doesn’t stay with them full time but she swings by the bunker often. Privately one night Sam had asked Cas if he thought Dean would be okay if he joined Eileen on a hunt. Just the two of them. Cas hardly thinks he’s an expert on Dean Winchester’s psyche, but recognizes that Sam is talking to him rhetorically, looking for reassurance. So Castiel tilts his head. “I think Dean will be happy as long as you’re happy, Sam,” he replies cautiously and hopes this is the answer Sam is looking for. It’s not a lie by any stretch but not the whole truth, either. Castiel thinks Dean will worry himself sick, and obsessively check in on his brother, and repress his anxiety so deeply that no one will be able to talk to him about it for days without it turning into a fight about something completely unrelated. Then Sam will come home and Dean will pretend nothing was bothering him in the first place. But he’ll get used to it, eventually. Dean is nothing if not resilient.

Sam runs his hands through his hair, a little exasperated. “Yeah,” he says, “You’ll be here so… he’ll be okay. I think this is good. Right? A good change? You guys are, ah, good? Together?”

Truth be told, Cas has no idea what Sam’s getting at or why he’s suddenly so nervous and uncomfortable but he just says, “Of course, Sam.” And Sam looks relieved, so Cas knows he said the right thing.

“Dean can be… well anyway. I’m glad he has you,” Sam continues. Then, with the look on his face Castiel recognizes as the one he wears when he teases his older brother, “But he really doesn’t deserve you.”

That makes Castiel smile, though he knows they do, in fact, deserve each other.

His days start to form a kind of unintentional pattern. He wakes up, listens to the radio, showers, and gets coffee from the kitchen. If Sam isn’t off on a hunt with Eileen that day there’s usually a pot of coffee already brewed, and if he is Castiel makes it himself. He takes his coffee with a bit of almond milk and some cinnamon. Sometimes when he knows Dean’s particularly hungover he’ll make a cup for him too, whole milk, one sugar, and leave it on Dean’s bedside table, careful not to wake him or the dog up. He uses one of his small miracles to keep it warm.

Then he goes on a walk in the woods. Sometimes he talks to Jack, sometimes he just listens to the trees shift in the wind. By the time he gets home Dean’s usually made breakfast or lunch, depending on what time he rolls out of bed. They eat together, sometimes with Sam and Eileen, or other hunters who roll through town, but usually just the two of them. They talk about movies, or possible new hunts, or Dean’s job search.

After a while Dean will leave to do his own thing, and Cas will read or watch TV, and then they’ll have dinner. After that maybe a movie or a game of cards, always accompanied by a few beers. They wait until Sam and Eileen go to bed if they’re home and then Dean will put a hand on his knee or his hip or his back and lean in close until they’re kissing. Cas always lets Dean make the first move, he doesn’t want to seem needy, or like he’s asking too much, he’s been human before but all the functions that come along with it still take some time to get used to, and there are boundaries, and so many other complex things to navigate. At some point Cas will pull Dean into his room. They have sex and Cas will fall asleep, and Dean will get up and go back to his room, or he’ll stay and they get up together and listen to the radio and start all over.

They’ve been having sex on and off for years but it’s been different since the empty took him and Jack returned him. It’s not some kind of desperate end of the world adrenaline thing anymore, or an open secret that everyone dances around, it’s deliberate now, and sometimes gentle. They get to take their time, if they want to. And it’s not like Dean doesn’t know how Castiel feels. But they don’t talk about it, Dean hasn’t said it back, and Cas doesn’t want him to if he doesn’t mean it. It makes him a little, something, though. Something between being irritated and sad, he’s not sure exactly what.

Castiel thinks that, maybe, for the first time in his long, long life he’s bored with what he has, and he wants more.

So, he decides to get a job as a distraction, and because that’s what people do. He works from home as a research assistant with a carefully crafted and entirely fake resume Sam helped him come up with. It’s easy work for someone like Cas, but it passes the time and gives him new things to think about, and new people to talk to. He has work friends, and he likes them. Sometimes they see Dean walking around behind Cas when he’s in a meeting and they ask him if that’s his partner. Cas decides to reply with “yes” because it’s easier and more work appropriate than explaining it in full. Besides, mostly they just want to see the dog.

Still, the word feels nice to say, like a relief. He mentions it to Dean offhandedly, and Dean just shrugs nonchalantly, but gets red at the ears and gently tugs Cas into his room for a nooner.

Dean hasn’t had any luck with his job search and Castiel pretends not to know that it’s because Dean is stalling for time, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and not really applying to anything with any follow through. Sam’s noticed it too, but doesn’t push the subject, though sometimes he’ll suggest a hunt if Dean’s looking particularly cagey. All three of them are aware that Dean doesn’t have much first hand experience with peace, and the one time Cas tries to help by showing him a construction supervisor ad on his phone, it results in a two day long fight. In the end Dean apologizes and buys Cas a lumpy cactus with a little white flower on it. Cas names it Earl and Dean applies for the job. He gets it.

Sam spends more and more time away from the bunker with Eileen, and then one day announces that he’s moving in with her. Not far from them, just a few miles into town because Sam misses having a window in his bedroom, and waking up to the sun on his face. Wants to have a bathroom he doesn’t have to share. Wants to buy crappy Ikea furniture he gets to pick out himself. Castiel understands. He wants a window too, because he wants plants in his room, but doesn’t know how to ask Dean about it. He’s afraid Dean will take it the wrong way, and think Castiel wants to leave again.

Sam gives them each a key to his new apartment, and tells them to come over any time they like. He gets drunk alone with Dean the night before he moves out and long after Cas has gone to bed Dean comes into his room stinking of whiskey and sweat and tears. He lays down next to Cas in bed, puts his arm over him and leans heavily into the crook of Cas’ neck.

“You’re my best friend,” Dean mumbles, “You’re my best friend and I…” Cas cuts him off with a tame kiss on the forehead, and the miracle sends Dean into a deep dreamless sleep. For whatever reason, now didn’t seem like the right time. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his chest and wonders if this is normal or if he’s dying. He ends up staring at the ceiling until his alarm goes off. Then, he turns the news on.

Dean is miserable for an entire week without Sam but brushes it off with a joke whenever Cas asks him how he’s doing, or Sam calls to check in. He starts sleeping through the night in Cas’ bed so often the dog comes too, and then shortly after Dean’s clothes get mixed in with Cas’. Then comes Dean’s shoes, the dog food bowls, and Earl, with a grow light.

Cas decides to buy a bigger bed because two adult men and a fifty pound dog in a full sized bed is a lot. Besides, he has money now after all, he has a job.

Then, one morning they’re laying together listening to the woman on the radio talk about DNA and Dean leans over and places a gentle kiss on Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t have to say it out loud because by now Cas knows it clear as day, but Dean chooses to say “I love you,” anyway.

#destiel #Fic #my Fic #Spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #deancas

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tae-cup · 4 years

Text

Cupid’s Blind Eye | Of Eternity and Euphoria (3)

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Summary: A demigod looking for love meets the god of love himself.

Warnings: N/A. This might be the fluffiest one so far. wait I lied it’s not fluffy at all. It’s really angsty. I’m sorry.

Word Count: 5.4k words

A/N: I have a lot of ideas for this series. So much so, I’m ignoring my other series. Like Hamartia and The Pact which I was s u p p o s e d to start by now. Smh this is what happens when I have too many ideas. I’m planning a spin off series for a Male!reader for this...I also wanted to tie this more into the overarching plot, but it’s okay, I’ll get you more park jimin okay. Consider me your supplier.

AS:ASJFLKWJQ:W it deleted my first draft >:(

Other:

Series Masterlist

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Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged cupid painted blind - William Shakespeare

Your knees hurt already. It had been all of 15 minutes, but the gravel under your legs wasn’t exactly comfortable. You had spent the last hour praying for the god of love to show himself and you fell to your knees desperately in the last 15.

“Oh, god of love.” You drawled sarcastically, ready to leave the dilapidated altar. “Answer my prayers.” You practically rolled your eyes, sick of this nonsense.

You stood slowly, realizing he probably wasn’t going to show himself any time soon. You swiped the gravel off your knees, not noticing the presence behind you.

“You should know not to be so disrespectful to your gods, darling.” A sly voice called. You froze. No way. When you turned to look, a man leaned against the pillars of the altar. He radiated lust and love, an inhuman aura. There was no doubt this was the god of love, lust, and passion.

And unlike him, you radiated a sort of pure aura; compared to him, of course. It drove him mad.

“Oh.” You were at a loss for words. His build was literally of the gods and his face, oh his face. You couldn’t find a single flaw in his face. From his adorable nose to his plump lips. You found yourself staring at his features for way longer than necessary. He smirked. This was a typical response to his appearance.

“Why do you seek me out?” He stepped forward, peering into your eyes.

“I want to know my soulmate.” You clenched your fists. Everyone you knew already found theirs. Your friend, Jennie, had explained that the god of love had helped her, but you didn’t believe her. You thought she was pulling your leg. The god quirked his head to the side.

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Because I’m sick of being alone.” You admitted, mouth feeling awfully dry as you nervously shifted from foot to foot.

His gaze softened, heart thumping.

“You won’t be alone forever.”

“It feels like it sometimes.”

“You’re a demigod.” It suddenly clicked. Your blatant disrespect of the gods, the odd aura surrounding you. Almost godly, but not quite. Not many demigods had a good connection to the gods. They were often cast aside, looked over, thought of as wannabes when many just wanted to live their lives. His altar wasn’t any different than the other crumbled ones around, the only indicator was the Greek letters above, but only a demigod would be able to read that.

“And you’re a god. I’ve come to learn that it doesn’t matter who you are, we all die in the end.” You frowned, thinking of your godly parent, one that had faded a long time ago, sentenced to eternal darkness for the atrocity of giving birth to you. However, being a demigod came with its perks. As long as you stayed healthy, you had longer lifespans while staying youthful. You had stopped aging around 25, but now you were around 60. You would likely begin aging around 100 and then die around 200. You had lived a long life so far without finding love. At first you thought it was possible, but as the years went on, no one gave you that spark, that burning sensation, that claimed them as your soulmate.

“Listen.” You sighed, “I just want to know if they exist. I’ve spent years searching and I thought fate was supposed to bring us together. Are they to be born in another timeline? Shall we never meet?”

The god of love frowned at your lack of faith in him as a god. He stepped forward, close enough for you to make out his face in detail. He radiated love, lust, and passion. His eyes were intense, but you didn’t find yourself scared. In fact, it was almost comforting. He was the definition of love.

“Do you have so little faith in me? Fate has brought you here.” He gently reached out and touched your shoulder. He just needed to check. It was silly to think that the god of love, could not seem to find his lover. There. That spark, that burn. It spread like a wildfire, consuming your everything. It felt like your atoms had rearranged, yearning to be completed by him.

You couldn’t do anything except stare at him. There was no way you were fated to one of the gods whom you so dearly despised. The gods had abandoned you as a child. Was this some cruel punishment? He softened his expression, taking in your frustrated form. Scared, worried, and anxious were reactions he expected from his soulmate, but anger was not one.

“I don’t have to be with you, you know?” You said bitterly. “I can choose to stay away. Not all soulmates stay together.”

Your words clearly had an effect on him because he nodded and stepped away. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion and hurt flashed across his face.

“I won’t force you to join me, but please reach out if you change your mind. You know where to find me.” He gestured to the altar. He, out of everyone, knew that you could put two perfect people next to each other in a room, but you couldn’t force them to love each other. Love was a tricky thing and Jimin knew it best. “Just ask for Jimin.”

Then he was gone, the wind seemingly taking him away. You rushed forward, looking for that sneaky god, but you couldn’t locate him. You had to admit you felt bad about reacting that way. He didn’t expect this either. With a sigh, you called out to the stones. “I’m Y/N. Lovely to meet you, Jimin.”

And of course he heard you. His eyes trailed your back as you ran back into your small town. It was one of the last towns who truly believed in the gods, that’s why so many had altars up. A smile made his way onto his face. Now it was just wait and see.

“Oh come on. You are way too boring, Jimin.” The fiance (I’m sorry I don’t have accents on this computer >:( ) of Yoongi rolled her eyes.

“___, You must understand, love just doesn’t work like that, You have to let it happen.”

“I bet she wants you to chase after her.” ___ continued. “Here, invite her to the wedding. She can be your plus one!”

“You’re too kind. I fear she may be afraid of the underworld.”

“Didn’t you say she’s a demigod?” Yoongi’s fiance quirked her head to the side. She was a human before a goddess. She had no bias against demigods and Jimin felt she was the best to approach about his encounter.

“Yes.”

“Then I doubt she’ll even bat an eye at the underworld.” She viewed her nails, thanking the workers and standing from the salon. “You came all the way to the human world just so you could whine about your love life to the goddess of the underworld. Seems right.”

Jimin scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. He was at a loss for words, however, and he bit his lip. “I came to you because she seems more human than god and I wanted to know your experience.”

“Well, Yoongi basically kidnapped me, but not really. I just knew I wanted to go with him. Then he and I hit it off from there. I fought with Taehyung, stirred up some shit, and now I’m going to be the downfall of Olympus.”

The other gods didn’t like her joking about the downfall of Olympus, but Jimin could always laugh.

“At least my nails will look good while it happens, yeah?”

The love god laughed along with her and the two walked over to the park. The park, known as Plyosum Park, was a great hotspot of godly energy. It was the quickest and easiest way to get to Olympus.

“Now, I must be going.” She smiled, “But, have you ever thought, Jimin, that she’s no more human than she is god? Maybe she just wants to be treated as the person she is; a demigod. That’s why I don’t think I can help you much. I wish you luck, however.” She sent a small wave to him before ghostly hands reached up and dragged her under.

Jimin sighed. She had a point. He’ll just treat you like any person. He let his wings grow out as he prepared to travel back to Olympus. They were a feathery white with golden flakes scattered in between. Many called him cupid for this, but he preferred the name Eros.

You opened the letter with caution. It had appeared on your desk when you arrived home and it definitely hadn’t been there before. The handwriting looked familiar, though you couldn’t place your finger on it.

Dear Y/N,

I am writing to you today because the god and goddess of the underworld are getting married. They have requested I bring along someone and of course my first thoughts were of you. It would be lovely if you are able to join me, but it’s quite alright if you don’t feel comfortable. Please consider my offer, but I will not hold it against you if you choose not to come.

Best,

Jimin

You had to chuckled at his formal phrasing, but you couldn’t blame him. He wanted to give you space and you respected him for being so cautious to your boundaries. It wasn’t expected of the god. After all, he was a god. He could have just kidnapped you on the spot. Maybe he just understands love doesn’t work like that. That made more sense. You carefully wrote back.

My dearest Jimin,

I would be honored to attend such a momentous occasion. Sadly, I seem to be at a lack of formal wear suitable for this kind of event, what do you suggest?

Best,

Y/N

Of course you had to shoot back with your own formal tone. You hoped he understood the sarcasm in it as you hiked to the only place you knew he visited. His altar was old, crumbling, very un-beautiful for the most beautiful god you knew. Then you remembered that you would be meeting many beautiful gods and goddesses in a short time.

You placed the far messier letter down at his altar and hurried back to the village. Jimin was waiting, hoping to catch you, but you were gone before he could even speak. He bent down and slowly picked up the letter. He hastily tore it open, smiling fondly at your words. It was a shame he didn’t get to see you properly before you rushed off.

It was in your nature, as a demigod, to be skiddish around most things; though you seemed to have more of a fight in you than other demigods. The issue was that demigods didn’t fit in anywhere. The gods despised them and regarded them as abominations, hybrids, wannabes. The humans weren’t much better, fearing anything they considered other. Demigods would rarely be able to rest without being hunted by one group or another.

Jimin looked to the middle distance, thinking about what outfit would best suit you. He wanted you to fit in with the other gods and goddesses. While he was a great believer in “love is love” other gods may try to bring you down simply because you were a demigod. It made him feel ill to think of what terrible things could come your way because of your mother’s mistake, not that you were a mistake. He mentally scolded himself. He was constantly on the fritz of checking himself and making sure he said the right things.

He shook his head, returning to his place in the clouds.

When there was a knock at your door, you jumped in surprise. It was not often that the village people visited you. You lived a lonely existence, but you decided this was fine.

“For: Y/N.” You read carefully, surveying the package on your doorstep. You glanced around, eyes flicking to the house next door and traveling down the empty road. Hurriedly, you grabbed the package and hauled it inside your house, slamming the door shut.

The box was more of a rectangle. It was long and flat and there was no return address. You had a feeling you knew who had delivered it. You walked to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors. Then you approached the package, unsure of how to open it. If this was what you thought it was, you didn’t want to damage it. You gnawed at your lip, brows furrowed in concentration as you painstakingly cut through the thin strips of tape. This is ridiculous, just rip it open. You couldn’t bring yourself to do that, however. You didn’t want to rip the contents. So you continued your work before the box flaps finally undid themselves.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the dress. It was a light pink, an innocent color. You rushed to your room to try it on. Of course it fit perfectly. It had a tight bodice, hugging the upper half of your body in a flattering way. Then the rest of the material flowed from the bodice. Layers of tulle and silk fluttered to the ground. In the box also came a delicate silver crown, headband, thing. The silver was twisted into delicate branches that curved every which way, forming a sort of bramble. It looked so elegant and graceful. The accessories that came with the dress included silver earrings and bracelets. The most important was a necklace. It was an graceful, thin, silver chain, but at the bottom it was weighed down by a light pink gemstone. It seemed to glow, like a beating heart. You didn’t expect anything less from the god of love. You were stunning.

You couldn’t wait to wear it to the wedding in a few days. Jimin would surely be impressed. You found yourself blushing girlishly at the thought of impressing him. You wanted him to want you. To see his eyes light up when you entered a room. To kiss him. You gently placed your fingers on your lips, thinking of his plush ones on yours. You knew he would oblige you if you asked, but you had only met the once and the soulmate bond was inexplicably strong already. You were worried it would consume you if you let it. Would you still be standing if it did?

Days go by and now you stand at his altar. It’s desolate, looking lonelier than ever before. You shift nervously, having done your makeup to reflect the lightness you were sure he wanted to portray. You knew he was trying to get the other gods to like you and you were still wary of meeting them. However, you promised yourself that you would try, even if the other immortals didn’t. You didn’t want to pace, having already painstakingly made sure your dress wasn’t muddied on the way up. Where is he?

You were beginning to worry. Little did you know, Jimin was freaking out. He was pacing and getting far too worked up for a god.

“Hyung! What if-what if she gets scared and doesn’t want to see me again?” He whined to the sky god. He strutted up and down the hallway that led to his altar. He knew you were there, he could feel it, he just couldn’t bring himself to step through.

“Jiminie, she’s a demigod, she’ll be okay.” Jin squeezed his younger friend’s shoulder. Jimin had trusted Jin enough to tell him about you. He thought of telling Namjoon, longing for the elder’s advice more than anything, but there was something sneaky about that god that held him off.

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Why would she show up if she wasn’t interested?”

Jimin ran a hand through his hair and Jin could tell he was about to complain more so he stepped in.

“Hey, you’ll be okay.” He said softly, pushing the god of love towards the door. Who knew that such a suave man was so...scared of love? “If you’re worried about jumping off the deep end and drowning,” Jin had heard that falling for your soulmate often felt that way. “Then it’ll be okay. You’ll learn how to breathe underwater.”

The elder god then took the, now quiet, god by the shoulders and steered him down the hallway. The god of love took one heavy step after another. “Go, you’ll be late otherwise and that won’t do any good to lighten the other gods’ positions on her.” Jin said, almost scolding. The younger god just kept his mouth shut, nodding way too easily to his friend.

“Wait, Hyung-”

“Go.”

Then he was shoved through the doorway.

He stumbled straight into you, hands reflexively reaching out to stable you. You gasped in surprise, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Jimin! I thought you weren’t coming.” You said in a huff. The god stood there sheepishly, scratching his head.

“Right, I’m so sorry, I was...” Honesty is the best in any relationship. “...I was nervous.”

You tilted your head to the side. Usually it was the other way around with all the assholes you’d dated in the past. They were always entitled, never asking you about anything.

“Oh, I see.” You said awkwardly. “Well, it’s getting late.” You drifted off. Then you noticed him staring at you. Your cheeks flushed pink again at his gaze. It was intense, searching, as it took in your outfit. You heard him let out a soft breath.

“You look...ravishing.” He breathed, finally putting into words how he felt. But nothing could describe how you looked. You looked like a goddess. Perfection, beauty, grace, intelligence, all in one. He swallowed, trying to keep himself in check. He held out his hand, “Well?”

You hesitated, looking at his soft hands. Hands that had never worked a day in their lives. You cautiously place your hands in his and he pulled you close.

“Let’s go.” He murmured. How he managed to make two words sound so enticing was lost on you.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms...?” The goddess in front of you purred, holding out her hand. She somehow made it seem condescending. You and Jimin had been glued to the hip since you arrived, but he had briefly left to get drinks, leaving you to fend for yourself. Every god and goddess in the room was intrigued by you. You just kept thinking back to how extravagant the ceremony had been, but you had been more taken with how gracious the bride was. She was so bright compared to the god of the underworld, but somehow they got along.

“Y/N.” You smiled, your lips pressed together. You looked, and in someways were, like a goddess, but everyone knew there was something different. Your impostor syndrome was driving you mad.

“Right.” The feline-like goddess strolled away. You turned, trying to ignore the headache you had, only to bump into another god. He looked startled, jumping back quickly. He had an airy quality of innocence and bright light around him. He was handsome, devilishly so.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” You exclaimed genuinely, looking at the god with confusion. He had this air of familiarity about him that you couldn’t quite place.

“No, no, it was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He said shyly. Then an arm wrapped around your waist, a drink being handed to you softly. The man before you got visibly more pale at the sight of the god holding you. He didn’t seem scared, just sad, maybe even heartbroken. “Oh, I see.” He nodded quietly, mood doing a whole 180.

Jimin grimaced as he watched the other man retreat. He felt his heart strings tug, but pushed the pained feeling away. You could sense the tension so you carefully unwrapped yourself, taking his hands.

“Let’s dance.” You said softly. You weren’t sure what just happened, but it didn’t feel like your place to pry. As you place your hands on his shoulders and he planted his firmly on your waist, he let out a sigh.

“I know you’re curious, you can’t hide things from me.” He glanced around as you both blended into the crowd of other couples slow dancing. “That was Agape.”

You nodded slowly. That’s why you felt so familiar. Anyone who was close to Eros understood Agape well.

“Is that was he goes by?” You knew Agape to be the innocent love, the first love, and Eros to be a more sexual love, one filled with desire. You also knew that Jimin didn’t go by Eros, he went by Jimin. People often got him mixed up with Agape, claiming him as cupid, but Agape usually handled first love scenarios.

“No.” He said quietly, as if losing his will to speak. “He... he goes by-” He suddenly cut himself off. “Actually, he doesn’t like it when people refer to him by his real name. Just know that I like you now. You don’t need to worry about him.”

You frowned, eyebrows knitting together. “I never thought he would take you away from me? I was just interested.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s been...tension.” He didn’t give you any more explanation so you sought to change the topic.

“Tell me about the other gods.”

He seemed glad to change subjects. Instead, he told you about Seokjin, the friendly sky god who knew of your predicament. Then he went on about his Taehyungie, Kookie, and then his hyungs. You smiled warmly at all his fond remarks, discussing them as if they were his blood relatives. It humanized them, though you weren’t sure if that was intentional on his part. You had just warmed up to the idea of meeting these gods when someone screamed.

It wasn’t a happy scream. It was a blood curdling, ear piercing, shriek. A goddess ran from the entryway, clearly alarmed. You jumped and Jimin’s hold on you tightened.

You could see Taehyung pull his lover closer and Yoongi pushed his wife behind him. Other gods were taking defensive stances, eyeing the goddess warily. She was obviously a low level god, her aura faint and you were sure she was to die out soon. Seokjin carefully approached her like a wounded animal. Being the oldest, he had this responsibility; to meet all threats to his circle with full force.

“Ah, Ms. Lee, what troubles you today?”

The entire room stilled, watching Ms. Lee carefully. Seokjin spoke calmly, but there was a fierceness to his voice, a demanding power.

“We’re under attack up above. They’ll be here any minute!” She was inconsolable. You gripped Jimin’s arm and he held you impossibly closer. And attack? By who? The enemies of the gods were long gone and any god who tried to cause trouble was sure to be eliminated quickly. All the gods seemed troubled except a certain war god.

“Great! Then we’ll go to war!” He shouted, anger in his voice. Being the war god, you were sure it was his natural voice. Jimin started radiating a more dominating aura. You realized then that he had hidden most of it as to not freak you out. Now he glowed a luminescent light pink. You knew he was quite literally a lover, not a fighter.

“Now, now, how do we know this isn’t just a set up?” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, clearly not wishing to discuss war on his wedding night.

“Well either way we’d still be under attack.” The girl beside Taehyung breathed. She had a point, you couldn’t deny that. Jungkook’s eyes met briefly with Taehyung’s lover and you could almost see the spark of tension despite being a little ways away. Taehyung put himself between the two subtly. You had a feeling there was a story there.

“Jimin?” Your voice was a whisper as to not break the very thin surface tension of the room. He squeezed your hand in response to tell you he was listening. “Are we in danger?” Your heart beat rapidly. You knew you were the most human here. You were strong, but you wouldn’t last a second against a god. Okay, scratch that, you might last two seconds, being a demigod, but you were still severely disadvantaged. You didn’t want to a) be a burden and b) be killed.

“I’ll keep you safe, love.” He murmured quietly, leaning down and pressing a kiss on the top of your head. You felt your body heat up, wishing those lips to be on yours. You just nodded along, not trusting yourself to say anything else. Then there was a bang outside and the sound of the guards running. You turned to him. eyes wide.

Taehyung was already pushing his lover and Yoongi’s wife together, having another god usher them somewhere safe. You paused, wanting to join them. You even saw Yoongi’s wife turn and look at you expectantly. All the gods and goddesses who valued their lives were running. There was another bang and it was chaos. Those who had been frozen in place were now running and those who wished to fight were materializing their weapons. Jimin looked between you and the door, clearly debating. You gently pushed him towards his friends, knowing he wouldn’t want to leave his brothers.

Then you pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. He flushed red.

“Maybe you’ll get a kiss on the lips if you come back unscathed.” You joked, winking playfully as if he wasn’t about to go out and face...whatever was behind that entryway door. He didn’t respond, just nodding firmly. You rushed to join the other two women who were considered V.I.P.s because of their status and relationships to the inner circle. As you were ushered out of the room, you heard the door burst open and you prayed Jimin was safe.

You shivered, the dress not doing any good to keep you warm. The women beside you had hardly spoken a word to you except one, who was the bride herself. She had introduced herself to you and then gone quiet. Obviously, she was worried for her new husband. The other woman was shaking like a leaf. You were surprised the relationship between her and Taehyung worked, but you knew love worked in mysterious ways. The bride offered you a small smile, pulling off her pristine white cardigan and handing it to you. You thanked her lowly before resuming your staring contest with the wall.

It was a nice room, a library somewhere even more underground than the underworld. The goddess of the Earth was obviously more wary of you than the one of the underworld. Though, from what Jimin had briefed you on, she had once been a human too. You were all worried sick for your loved ones, of course. No one could think of much else. The constant shouting was driving you over the edge. You just wanted some peace and quiet.

Having always been introverted, you didn’t enjoy crowds for long periods of time. Keeping to yourself and staying out of the way was the best. As much as you disliked the gods, you and the women in the room were sharing a bond. A bond of fear. You were quite the opposite from Jimin in that way. He was a very social person, always going out of his way to talk to people, his words always smooth and graceful. You, on the other hand, were just...there. You stumbled over your words, rambled, and had trouble concealing your emotions as well as him.

There was a knock on the door. You all looked at each other, eyes wide and waiting for the password to be spoken. There was none. It’s not them. You mouthed. The door flew open before you had time to react. You counted your seconds. Two seconds against a god. You had two seconds.

You were just confused, however, when you were met with a familiar face.

“Mom?”

The long forgotten goddess didn’t even flinch at the anger in your expression, nor the tears that betrayed your pain. It was all too much. She had changed so much. Once the goddess of wisdom, the original goddess long before Namjoon, she held herself with grace. But her frame all bones, no fat, her face was gaunt, and she looked liked she had just walked out of a halloween store. Your breath caught in your throat as she grasped your arm, hard enough to cause a whimper of pain. The other women were forced to follow along as well.

She escorted you out to the ballroom. You felt yourself go pale, stomach dropping to the floor as you surveyed the room. Blood, everywhere. You couldn’t tell whose was whose. Gods are gods, but they bleed. And when they die, they must wait to be reborn once more. You felt your heart clench, seeing the inner circle on their knees. They looked defeated. Seokjin was comforting a sobbing girl, only to have her ripped away and whisked somewhere else. This made the elder god snarl, but he stopped almost immediately after looking at their captors. And who wouldn’t?

They were ghastly creatures, looking like demons out of a novel of pain and horror. Some of them had melted skin, others had hollow faces and haunting stares. All brandished with various “K”s on their bodies. You noticed your mother had one on the side of her neck. The gods were arguing with someone, but you couldn’t make out everything, the argument in full on Greek. Then there was a loud cough. Your mother threw forth the other two girls first. You watched Taehyung and Yoongi’s eyes go wide, before going back, completely feral, to arguing. Then your mother pulled you in close.

“Y/N.” She said coldly, despite her seemingly motherly embrace. “You have disappointed me greatly, I pray Kronos spares you.” Her lips were a thin line as she threw you to the ground too. You tripped over the debris and landed on your hands and knees. You looked up, meeting the eyes of Jimin.

You saw a quiet fury. You knew Jimin was diplomatic, he wouldn’t yell, but you could feel his anger from across the room. He mouthed ‘I love you’. And you frowned a little. This was not where you wanted to be confessed to. You wanted him to say to you, alone, and secluded. You selfishly wanted that. Now the enemy had stolen your first I Love Yous as well.

“Put her with the others.” You understood that part. The masked leader gestured to an underling who unceremoniously dragged you over to the other women. You huddled together as they shoved you into a cage with the crying girl from earlier. Yoongi’s wife wasn’t crying, but she did seem to be in a state of shock. Taehyung’s lover was crying, trying to conceal her sniffles. You gently shrugged off the cardigan from earlier, handing it to her. She took it quickly, hiding her face. You even heard the smallest thank you. Underlings surrounded you like specimen, watching you like you were zoo animals.

“Yoongi!” The bride called out, panicked. You felt it too. There was something bad coming. Then the cage moved and you felt nauseated from the sudden movement. You panicked fully for the first time. Where were they taking you?

“Jimin!” You screeched, hand stretching out. His eyes widened farther.

“Y/N!” He called back, fighting the restraints and lunging towards the cage.

Taehyung’s girlfriend sobbed loudly and Taehyung looked over, concern evident as he struggled to reach out, mental focus just on getting to his lover.

“I love you!” You cried. “Please look for us, don’t give up on us.” Came out your broken plea.

“I’ll search the ends of the universe just to see your face, Y/N.” You heard him say. The underlings restrained him and you sat back, feeling defeated already. The others knew you weren’t a goddess and they immediately babied you, knowing your body to be far more fragile from theirs. Tae’s girlfriend shot you small smiles of encouragement and you did so in return. Yoongi’s wife rubbed your back and the third mystery woman remained silent as you were driven to gods know where.

Last minute A/N: OKAY OKAY I admit it, I didn’t give this...a great happy ending. BUT BUT BUT I promise you a happy ending in the future-

#bts #tatawrites #of eternity and euphoria #bts x reader #jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #fluff #god!BTS #God!Jimin #Demigod!reader #love #proof reading is dead to me #I'll just fix it later if I have the guts to reread my work

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yandere-oppai · 4 years

Text

My Alpha

Yandere! Omega! Kirishima x Reader

Forced Partnership (pt.1)

Words: 1700+

Warnings: Nsfw, mentions of non-con

Note: Note beta-read

The second part will be posted tomorrow.

----

The social structures that came with a world of alpha, omegas, and betas were (in your opinion) complete bullshit. The idea of an alpha forcefully claiming an omega, and the omega preceding to “love” the fucker because of genetics? That’s just Stockholm syndrome with extra steps. It made you have a severe admiration for betas. They didn’t have to deal with their natural instinct. They could live normally.

Though, you have to credit your mother for giving you this complex. Before your second sex characteristics came in, she assumed you’d be an omega. Afterall, Alphas, in general, were rare, and on her family’s side, there were no betas. She’d fill your head with how someday you’ll find an alpha to take care of you. Like that was every omega’s dream. You’d hear her go on about how your father was a strong alpha who was a godsend. Who chose her to carry his genes. And you believed her for a while. When you would ask her where he was, she’d look at you and say...

“He’ll be back for us soon”

It was when your beta godmothers (mom’s high school friends) visited did you realize just how cruel the world was. Mom had left you in their care while she went to buy snacks for the guests. Your room’s vent carried sound. From the living room, you could hear their hushed whispers carry over. You couldn’t help but listen.

“She still hasn’t given up on finding him.”

“She can’t help it, it’s in her DNA. You know how omegas are. Loyal to their alpha.”

There was a pause, you assume they were thinking again. Probably sad thoughts.

“But he’s not her alpha. It was rape, and nothing close to a consensual. It’s not fair…”

“Nothing in life is fair. Not all humans are created equal.”

Your seven-year-old mind couldn’t wrap your head around what they were saying. Rape? Non-consensual? Who were they talking about? Your mind ran wild. But by the tone of their normally upbeat voices, you knew what they were saying wasn’t a happy subject. And for some reason, it stuck in your head. And as you further aged (you weren’t sure when) you began to understand what they were talking about. That’s when you realized how evil alphas were and how vulnerable omegas are. You hoped and prayed that you’d end up as a beta.

It was during your second year of middle school that your symptoms kicked in. You’d always been an athletic kid who enjoyed playing to the fullest. So after gym class, while you were changing with the other girls, you didn’t think much of your skin growing hot. Thinking that a broken ac was the cause.

“Hey, is anyone else hot. I think the a/c might need fixing!” you joke but didn’t receive a response.

When you turned around you were greeted by some of your peer’s faces turned beet red. Those that had already gone through the change. It took one of your close friends coming up to you and stuttering out that you were going through a rut, that you finally understood. You quickly threw on the rest of your clothing and ran to the nurse’s office in tears. You’d become one of the things you hated most.

----

“Where are you headed (L/n)-san?” Came the voice of one of the business course girls. You smiled and waved your hand.

“I just have to visit recovery girl before lunch. I think I might’ve pulled something earlier this morning,” you explained. The girls wished you luck on your way and you took off.

You’d never tell them the truth though. You kept a consistent schedule in when to take your represent medication. If you ever felt like a rut was coming on you’d rush to recovery girl to get the stronger medication. Today, you were 100% going through a rut. The pills you’d taken in the morning and during class could only do so much. It hid your scent and took away your symptoms, though only for about half an hour. They were the only ones you could get over the counter. The stronger stuff had to be sent in by parents and held in the nurse’s office. Taking too many could harm the individual.

“Recovery girl? Are you in?” You called and made your way into the sweet-smelling room. She might’ve replaced the flowers she was using. Or tried out the aromatherapy you’d recommended for students. “Guess she’s not in right now?”

There was no little old lady to be found in the room. So you sat on the bed next to its twin, covered by the surrounding curtains. Some poor soul probably didn’t want to be disturbed. You sat for a bit, just enjoying the smell of what you assumed was honeysuckle and vanilla. That is until a pained groan game from the other side of the curtain. You ignored it at first, but another louder blanch made your worry grow.

“You okay over there?” You called. Only to receive a whimper in response. The noise for some reason made you incredibly unhappy. Almost like your stomach dropped in an instant. You stood up and began to open the thick curtain. “Hey, hope you don’t mind but I-”

The pleasant smell of the office finally made sense. Especially with the source of it staring directly at you with half-lidded eyes. His red hair coming undone from its paralyzed style. Skin slick with perspiration and tears. All coming together with his flush skin to give him even more of a sickly look. You knew what was happening, he’s an omega. An omega in heat at that. Another whimper from him broke you out of your frozen state and sent a quiver to your core. This wasn’t good, your pills were wearing off. And the redhead could tell by how your scent was responding to his. To hell with waiting for recovery girl, you would rather make a B-line for the dorm and suffer through the rut before you’d force yourself on someone. When you took an unstable step back the male’s eyes widen and he tries to sit up.

“Alpha…” came his gruff voices, clearly exhausted from his heat. Again, the heat between your legs persisted.

“Omega,” you responded almost automatically. Yet again one of the reasons why you hated biology.

He gave you a smile and continued to stand up on unstable legs. You really wanted to run but your hormones were in overdrive. You didn’t want to stay but your legs were rooted to the floor a few feet from this guy. You tried your hardest to at most stand your ground and do nothing. Better than doing something you’ll regret. But when he stumbled you couldn’t help but catch him and give him some support. Again with the big grin.

“Alpha,” he once again mumbled. But this time he took advantage of the situation and nuzzled his head into your scent gland. You gulped, you needed to end this before things escalated. His growing smell was starting to affect you.

“H-hey, wait,” you stepped back but kept your harms on his biceps to keep him up. He let out a whine at the lost contact. “Y-you don’t want this. And I’m not l-looking for an omega. So if you could jus-” you were taken aback when he suddenly launched himself hat you. Knocking the both of you back onto the bed you’d been sitting on earlier.

His lips were on yours in an instant. Moving his mouth to an out of tune and sloppy rhythm. His teeth pricked at your lips in a plea for entrance. You wanted to shut him out, you really wanted to. But in an instant of weakness and hormone-filled lust...you parted your lips. In an instant, those desperate closed-mouthed kisses turned into a heated mutual passion.

Your tongue taking control in an instant. Exploring his mouth in a more aggressive way than he did. Teeth against teeth and bruised lips were all that could describe the moment. And when you felt a hardened length furiously run itself back and forth against your clothed nether region, you lost all semblance of control. You let out a guttural groan and grabbed the omega by the neck, pulling him away from your lips. His scrunched up eyebrows didn’t last long before you had flipped the two of you so that you were on top.

As all alphas should be

He let out happy mewls as you began to pepper his neck with love bites and rough kisses. Never biting hard enough to count as a mating mark. But with his hands curled up in your hair, trying to direct your mouth to his scent gland, it was hard to resist.

“Alpha, my alpha…” He chanted like some kind of prayer. Which only egged you on.

His gyrations picked up speed at one point, his hips finally finding their rhythm. The smell of slick and his vanilla scent were all that your senses could focus on. Making your head feel light and hazy. Like there was no better place to be but here. You continued to mark any exposed skin you could on his neck, leaving no territory left unconquered. And him doing the same for you. When you felt his whole body lock up and his eyes almost roll to the back of his head, you couldn’t help instinct.

You bit down as hard as you could onto his neck. You were latched onto his scent gland as he rode out his orgasm. The poor boy got off just by dry humping you. How sweet.

“Yours, I’m yours. Your omega. Your mate. My alpha! Mine,” he spoke in broken sentences. His focus completely lost in lust.

The door to the nurse’s office opening is what prompted you to detach yourself from the now messy boy. His face and hair now matching one another. It was only then that you realized what you’d done.

You jumped up and ran out of the office past recovery girl. You were in tears and completely ignored the sound of the boy you left on the bed. Still calling for his supposed alpha.

I’m a fucking monster

#yandere #reader #reader insert #a/o/b dynamics #a/o dynamics #Omega! Kirishima #fem!reader #Alpha! reader #boku no hero academia #Bnha #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #red riot

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years

Text

Goodbyes: Chapter 1

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is a dick. darker themes may be discussed in future chapters, as always warnings will be provided

A/N: Oh man, Chapter one! Super nervous. Please be gentle on me! Kind of an AU, I’m picking and choosing who’s still around and completely ignoring Thanos’ existence (...for now?)

You never expected Steve to call you. To cash in that favor you said you owed him a thousand times over. For you there was no hesitation, Cap needed your help and you’d do whatever it took.

When you met him in Upstate, New York he explained everything. The Avengers—or what’s left of them, needed more bodies. HYDRA was back, thinking the world was at a weak point. Knowing far too well what they were capable of, you didn’t hesitate to help in any way you could.

Now, weeks later, you’ve settled in on the compound and your ready to start training. Steve thought it best to get you back into the swing of things slowly, rather than dropping you in on a mission you weren’t physically or mentally prepared for. You agreed.

The rapid beeping of an alarm fills your ears. You let out an audible groan before propping yourself up on your elbows, and quickly look at the time.

5:15 AM.

You say a silent prayer to yourself, hoping your body can learn to readjust to these early morning.

A small electronic tone echoes throughout the room. “Good Morning, Miss Monroe.” FRIDAY says kindly.

“G’Morning.” You yawn.

“Captain Rogers is waiting for you in the East courtyard. He’d like you to put on the clothes he left with you yesterday.”

You nod, “Thank you, tell him I’ll be right there.”

You glance at the clothes laid out on your dresser. This is the outfit Cap had referred to as the ‘standard issue’ for recruits. Black tactical pants, boots, and a dark gray t-shirt.

Once you were dressed you threw your hair up in a pony tail and stared in the mirror. It had been years since you had been referred to as a recruit, and now that’s exactly what you were.

Nonetheless, you were grateful for the opportunity, and determined to make the best of it. Steve has become such a close friend of yours over the last few years and you trusted him with your life. He’d never put you through something he know you couldn’t handle.

Down several sets of stairs and corridors, you made it to the East wing and push through the double doors leading to the courtyard.

There he was, Captain America in all his glory. He was already in a conversation with someone when you approached him, which you thought was odd considering it was 5:30 in the morning.

“Hey, Ella.” He said softly, embracing you in a tight hug. “You ready?”

You nod quickly, “Nervous, but ready. Definitely ready.”

A smile settles on his lips, as it does yours before there’s a throat clear next to you. “Oh right, my fault. Ella this is—“

You cut him off, “Sergeant Barnes, right?”

The man looks at you almost impressed. “You know me?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No, but I make an effort to get familiar with who I might be working with. In this case it just happened to pay off.” You smile.

James Buchanan Barnes was one of the first people you read up on when you moved in. You’d heard of him. HYDRA’s very own Winter Soldier; the assassin you’d been forced to study in your old life.

His eyes don’t leave yours, not until Steve slaps his shoulder. “Bucky here is my oldest friend, I’ve asked him to help train you.”

Your smile falters for a moment, “Oh, my mistake, I thought I’d be training with you, Cap.”

Bucky scoffed quietly. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He says staring into your eyes.

You smile shyly, embarrassed by your comment.

Steve smiled, “I wish, but trust me. You and Buck here will make a much better team. Besides he’d actually have time for you, these days I’m a little too cut and run for anybody.”

You nod, understanding of course. “Thank you again, Steve. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

He chuckles, “I know you won’t. I’m still so grateful for your help, Ella. You’re really saving us here.”

“If I could interrupt,” Bucky says, obviously irritated, “Steve you brought me here to train her, so I think I should start doing that.”

Steve nods, “Right, right. Good luck, you’re going to do great.” He leans down to hug you. You’re so small in his arms it almost laughable.

“Like riding a bike...” you say. Hoping he can’t hear the false confidence in your voice.

“Let’s go, Recruit.” Bucky spoke sternly. Steve smiled at you softly, before nodding you off as a signal to follow his friend.

He walked a few paces ahead of you the entire time you made your way to the training facility. The walk is quiet, the sound of crunching leaves and wind being your only companions...and it was getting on your damn nerves.

“How do you know Steve again?” Bucky says suddenly, shaking you from you mood.

His tone spooks you, “Uh it’s—it’s kind of a long story.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I can give you the cliff notes if you’d like.” You joke, a small laugh escaping your lips.

“What?” He asks confused.

Right. Age gap. You remind yourself.

You clear your throat, “N-nothing,” you stutter, “Long story short is he saved my life...in more ways than one.” You murmur, keeping you eyes locked on your feet as you walk. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky nodded, “You two seemed close is all. I thought I knew all Steve’s...friends. But I guess you slipped his mind.” While it wasn’t clear what he was insinuating, you were sure it was meant to be insulting.

You decide to again, ignore it. Maybe he’s cranky because of the early morning, or maybe because he’s training someone he doesn’t know.

You decide to attempt to make small talk as a way to clear the air of any tension. “Thanks for doing this, Bucky. I haven’t been in the field since—“

“Sergeant Barnes.” He interrupts.

You look at him confused. “Sorry?”

He stopped in his tracks, “My name, to you, is Sergeant.”

The way he said ‘you’, made you eerily uncomfortable. You feel your stomach knot up instantly, “Right, sorry.” You say flatly. “Thanks all the same.”

He continued walking down the hill to a large field next to the training center, to your right you can see the sunrise over the lakes. A smiles lands on your lips as you take in the colors dancing over the calm waters.

Bucky’s watching you, taking in your every feature. He see the way your eyes dance watching the slowly rising sun. He sees the dimples next to your smile, and the way your lips curve at sight of something so peaceful.

But as soon as those thoughts enter his mind, he pushes them out.

“I’m doing it for Steve. For some reason, he’s made you his charity case of the month and now I got caught up in it somehow.” He spoke, refusing to look in your direction.

You turn away from the lake to face him, “Excuse me? Charity case?”

“You heard me.” Sergeant Barnes said flatly.

You scoff, “I’m not sure what you were told Sergeant, but I’m here as a favor to Steve. I’m not here to be insulted.”

Bucky turns to look at you. For the first time, you notice his eyes. They’re a beautiful cerulean blue and right now they are looking at you with absolute despise.

“Get this straight Cadet,” he said walking close to you. “We’re not going to be friends. This is my job, and training you is my current assignment. I’m going to that to the best of my ability and that’s it.”

You physically wince at his words. Your feelings were hurt instantly, and you didn’t know why. You’ve no reason to give two shits about what Sergeant Barnes thinks about you.

But you do. His disdain for you leaves you with a pit in your stomach.

Bucky knew it too, he knew his words cut you deep. Keeping you at arms length was going to be a necessity, though. He was going to try and tone it down, but as far as he was concerned—you just made his job a whole lot harder.

You watch Bucky with a blank stare, waiting too see if he’ll apologize or attempt to explain himself. Instead, he walks past you

“Warm up, start with laps. 15 around the field.” He ordered.

Your eyes widened. “Since when are 15 laps a warm up? This field is nearly half a mile around!”

“And?” He asked sarcastically.

You could tell he wasn’t going to budge, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you complain. “Fine.”

You sat down quickly stretching your legs out in front of you, bending from one side to the other.

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

You looked up at him to see him staring at you as you bend. “Stretching? If you’re going to make me run 15 laps at 6 am, then I think I shou—“

“You think you’re going to have time to stretch when you’re running though a mine field? Or when someone’s got a gun to your head?” He squats down so his eye level is with yours.

“Answer me, Cadet.” His face was inches from yours, his warm breath tickling your nose.

You swallowed hard. “N-no. I suppose I won’t.”

He backs away from you slowly standing once again, his tall frame looming over you. You hopped to your feet as quickly as you could, determined to prove something of yourself today.

“I want those laps and I want them now. Understood?” He questioned.

“Yes.” You couldn’t help the attitude in your tone.

“Yes what?” He asked, a glimmer of mischief in is eyes.

It took you a moment to realize what he was asking you. “Yes, Sir.” You reply quickly, turning on your heel and running to the edge of the field.

By the 10th lap, your lungs were on fire. By the 13th your legs were rubber. When you rounded the corner to start your 15th lap, you spotted him. He was watching you again, probably silently judging you.

“Asshole.” You whisper to yourself.

Your mind won’t shut up while you run. How could Steve think you and this guy would make a good team? You’re complete opposites, and his attitude fucking sucks.

Bucky walked over to you, meeting you once the last lap had completed. Immediately you fell to your knees in front of him, legs giving out on you completely.

“Let me guess, more stretching?” He teases, a half smile settling on his lips.

You cough a bit, your lungs desperate for all the oxygen they can take. “Oh look at that, he’s got a sense of humor.” You wheeze.

Bucky looked down at you, “Get up, Cadet.” He says.

You look up at him, “I’m sorry, my legs don’t feel like working right now. Please leave a message after the tone. Beeeeeeeep.” You jest.

For a second you think he’s going to laugh. The small crinkles by his eyes showing themselves, but as soon as they come they disappear.

“Laziness is something I won’t tolerate. Get up, that’s an order.” He scolds.

Pushing yourself off the ground with your palms you stand at attention. Not believing what he’s insinuating. “Lazy? Did you see what the hell you just made me do?” You ask, your voice shaking.

Bucky scoffs, “You think that was something to be proud of? It took you nearly an hour to do that.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Sergeant Barnes this is my first day back on active duty in a very long time,” you rest your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry my stamina isn’t to your satisfaction.”

Bucky watched your mouth move, taking in the way your lips formed around each syllable that left them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the way you defended yourself. It was honorable.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of spoiled life you came from, or if you’re just proud of being mediocre. But—“

He saw the look in your eyes change while he spoke, and he regretted every word.

“Stop apologizing.” Bucky says quietly. “Just do better.”

All you can do is nod as your heart sinks and the tears sting your eyes. You’re pissed off that you’re wasting tears on this asshole.

You stand and try to remind yourself that his opinion doesn’t matter to you, nor does it define you.

No matter how much you think it does.

Chapter Two: Distance

#samthemarvelfan #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x oc #bucky x you #bucky barnes series #goodbyes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst

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halsteadbrothersfanfics · 4 years

Text

All Better?

Will had known from the age of six that he'd grow up to be a doctor. He could pinpoint the exact moment the idea was planted in his head. It was one of his fondest memories and never failed to make him smile. Sometimes, when he was stressed, or sad Will would think back on it and almost immediately feel better. Guess childhood memories had that effect.

Reaching out with his hand to tightly grip Jay's, Will let out a shuddering breath. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to recall those memories up now. Anything to help reconcile the image of his brother's prone and broken body laying before him. Anything to help drown out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor in the corner. He supposed that it should grant him a small amount of comfort but unfortunately all it did was remind how much of a failure he was as a brother.

So instead, he imagined the beeping turning into the sound of Jay's laughter, echoing down the hallway of their childhood home. His small and unsteady feet trying their hardest to keep up with Will as they ran around the furniture.

At the respective ages of five and two, both brothers were bundles of boundless energy. Unfortunately for Jay, he hadn't quite developed the fine motor functions required to weave his way around all the furniture and toys without bumping into something. Will could still remember the exact feeling of horror he had, when upon turning around to gloat victoriously from atop the couch, he saw Jay trip over the edge of the rug and smack the ground with a loud thud.

Jay went chin first, sliding a few inches across the carpet. Both boys were silent for a few seconds before Jay's face scrunched up in pain and he let out a loud wail. Will frantically slid off the couch and ran towards Jay, praying their father wouldn't wake up. He had just gotten home from a graveyard shift a few hours ago and was supposed to be watching them while their mother was at a doctor's appointment, but as soon as the door had closed behind her, their father had rounded on Will. The instructions had been clear.

"You are responsible for Jay and you will under no circumstances, wake me before my alarm goes off."

Panicking slightly, Will pulled Jay onto his lap as best he could. Jay was clutching his chin with a hand and sobbing, his face red with anger. Gently Will pulled Jay's hand away from his chin, frowning at the rug burn.

"It's ok," Will said confidently. "I can make it better, but you have to be big like me and not cry. We don't want daddy to wake up. Can you be big like me?" Will asked.

Jay smashed his lips together tightly to keep from crying, chin quivering. He ended up looking more grumpy than brave but Will wasn't about to mention it. Slowly they stood up, Will grabbing Jay's hand and pulling him towards the bathroom.

With great determination Will managed to help Jay climb up and sit on the edge of the tub, just like their mama did when she cleaned up Will's scrapes and cuts. Giving Jay a quick kiss on the head, Will climbed up onto the counter, grabbing all the necessary items before sliding back down onto the floor.

"You're doing a good job," Will reminded Jay when he started to sniffle again. "Don't worry, it'll be all better soon."

Will opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and tried to carefully pour it on the rag he held. Unfortunately it ended up spilling more onto the floor than the rag. Jay giggled slightly at the mess, laughing harder when Will stuck his tongue out at him. It was nice to hear Jay laugh, knowing he was the one that made him feel better.

"Be brave," Will said. "This is going to sting but then you get a bandaid. We even have blue ones." Holding the bandaids out for Jay, Will took advantage of the distraction they provided, and quickly dabbed the rag across Jay's rug burn, praising him so he wouldn't start crying again. Once that was done Will blew gently across the wound until it dried and applied a blue bandaid. He examined his handy work for a second before adding a bunch more, just in case.

"All bedder?" Jay asked, staring wide eyed up at Will when he was finally done.

"Mmhmm, all better." Will confirmed with a nod of satisfaction. Mama would be proud of him right now. "C'mon let's go get some popcorn and watch tv."

Will smiled slightly to himself at the memory. Their mother had come home an hour later to find them cuddled up on the couch watching cartoons and shoving their faces with popcorn. He had been so proud of himself that day and any other time he'd needed to patch Jay up. His younger brother had been a bit of a wild child, always getting himself hurt trying to do dangerous things.

After that day though, Jay wanted to do everything Will did, looking up to Will like he was a hero. Will wished he could have lived up to Jay's expectations, been the hero he needed. He didn't feel like a hero much right now, he just felt like a failure.

"It's not your fault." Connor's voice sounded from the doorway.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Will snapped back, purposely refusing to look at the other man. His grip on Jay's hand tightened when he heard Connor make his way into the room, standing at the edge of the bed.

"I do actually, because no matter how hard you try you can't control someone else's actions. You didn't make your father push Jay down a flight of steps, just like you didn't make Jay go over there."

Snarling in anger, Will whipped around to glare at Connor. "Don't you dare try and blame Jay for this. I should have known something would happen and stopped it, that's my job as his brother. I'm supposed to protect him."

Connor held his hands up placatingly, "I'm not blaming him and I'm not blaming you, no matter how much you think you deserve it. You had no idea something like this could happen. Your father, the one who pushed him, didn't even know. It was pure bad luck Jay fell the way he did."

Will shook his head, "Doesn't change anything, I knew that one day our dad would go too far." He turned back to face Jay. "Dad was already pissed that he was being moved into a new place, I shouldn't have let Jay go help him alone. I can't make this better. I can't fix the fact that our father almost killed him."

"I know I'm not going to be able to change your mind on that but I'm sure as hell, that your brother is going to be pissed when he wakes up and sees you like this." Connor forced Will to look at him. "You can't go back in time and stop this from happening, but if you want to help your brother then you can stop wallowing in self guilt. The only thing that can come from that is hurting yourself and Jay because lord knows, he is exactly like you. He sees you suffering and he will feel just as guilty as you do now and he sure as hell doesn't need that extra stress."

Connor didn't want to be mean to Will right now but no one was doing anything and he couldn't just sit back and allow Will to self destruct. They may have their arguments but Will was still his friend and what else are friends for, then to be there, lending a helping hand to pull you back onto your feet when you need it most. Right now, Will definitely needed that hand.

As much as Will wanted to argue that he should be suffering alone with Jay, he knew Connnor was right. Jay would spot his guilt from a mile away and ignore his own health just to ease Will's suffering. They were too much alike for comfort sometimes. "I need him to be alright."

"He will be," Connor said confidently, even though he knew better. "He is already showing remarkable improvement from when he was brought in. The swelling around his brain has reduced to a comfortable enough level for them to remove the drain later tonight. You might be stubborn as hell but I'm pretty sure Jay has you trumped there. No way in hell he'll let this take him out."

Will let out a weak laugh. "Your right. That pains me to say, by the way."

"I generally am," Connor said, feeling slightly better now that Will seemed to be coming out of his funk. "I'll be back to check up on both of you later." He gave Will a comforting pat on the back before making his way out of the room, stopping when he heard Will call his name.

"Thank you," Will said. "I needed to hear that." Connor nodded his head, leaving as quietly as he arrived.

Will turned back to his brother, focusing all his attention on the injured man. He leaned in, whispering in Jay's ear, "I promise you that no matter what happens, I'm always going to be there for you. I know I wasn't there for you after I left for college but I'll never leave you again. You just have to come back to me." Will choked out the last sentence, bowing his head in prayer.

A few hours passed until Jay was taken to have the drain removed. Will stood in the hallway watching them take his little brother away. He knew it would be a while before they returned so he found a spot where his co-workers couldn't find him easily. Natalie had been eyeing him with great concern and he knew she wanted to talk to him but right now he just needed a moment alone, to gather his thoughts before Jay came back. Finding an empty room to hole up in, Will sunk down with his head between his knees, allowing his mind to wander to better times again. A time when he had been there to protect Jay.

Will had never been one for violence, that was more Jay's area, even for someone who came from Canary Ville. Sure, he knew how to throw a swing or two but he'd rather avoid it if he could. Unfortunately it was something the bullies in his grade had noticed rather quickly. They'd throw a punch once or twice, maybe say some rude things, but it never really bothered him that much. Most of it never even phased him enough for more than a passing thought.

Jay on the other hand took great offense to it when he found out, which wasn't until his freshman year and Will's senior year. It was just dumb luck Will had been walking by when he was close enough to hear Jay confront one of his bullies. Now Jay, unlike his older brother, loved to get into fights. He might not have been large in size, his growth spurt came a little late in the height department, but he didn't take shit from anybody and loved to have a chance to prove himself. So of course when he decided to take care of the people messing with his older brother he had to confront the largest one of the bunch. A large jock who looked like he might be taking steroids.

Will had heard Jay's yelp as he went sprawling to the ground, struggling to stand back up when the jock's foot kicked him in the side. He went back down to the ground, wind knocked out of him. Will's entire body seemed to burn with anger and all he could think about was beating the living hell out of the asshole attacking his brother. At the time he was unaware that Jay had started the fight, not that it would have mattered, and simply assumed the jock had decided that Jay was an easy target like his brother.

"Hey!" Will shouted, dropping his things and running towards the fight.

"Well would you look at this, your brother wants a beating too." The jock smirked down at Jay, completely ignoring Will. The smile was knocked off his face when Will spun him around delivering a swift punch to the nose. The bully howled and stumbled back, surprised that the other male had actually hit him and that it hurt so much. "You bastard! You're going to pay for that!"

"Fuck you," Will yelled, hitting him with an upper cut in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. As the jock gasped for air, Will quickly punched him in the kidney and his body spasmed for a second. Blinded with anger, Will hit him again and again screaming obscenities, until someone was pulling him away.

"Will! Stop!" Jay yelled, pulling his brother away from the whimpering mess on the ground.

Will panted heavily for a second, taking a moment to catch his breath, before noticing the large crowd that had gathered around them.

"We gotta go before a teacher shows up," Jay urged, continuing to tug on his older brother's arm. Will allowed himself to be pulled away from glaring at the writhing mess on the ground. "That was so cool, I knew you could take him."

Will groaned at his little brother. "Did you plan this?" He wouldn't put it past the little brat, Jay was surprisingly conniving when he wanted to be.

"Of course not," Jay said with a smirk. "We should probably skip the rest of the day. I doubt he'll rat on you but it might be better not to test it."

Will chose not to respond but allowed Jay to lead him off campus. He watched as Jay chatted on about how cool Will was, his smile bright as could be even though he was obviously going to have a nasty black eye tomorrow, if not within the next few hours. Jay bruised easily, their mother said it was because his skin was so pale.

They made their way to a nearby park to sit down for a few minutes, while Will examined Jay's head. "Why did he go after you?" Will finally asked.

"Well," Jay started sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "I might have started it."

"Seriously? C'mon man you're like half his size, why would you do that?" Will asked, feeling frustrated.

"Because he's an ass to you! He can't just treat you like that, someone had to stop him."

Jay yelled, quick to defend himself. He might have miscalculated his abilities but Will showed up and everything had been fine, better than fine. "You kicked his ass, Will. Why were you letting him mess with you if you didn't have too?"

"Because it doesn't bother me and despite what dad says, fighting isn't the answer to everything." Will flopped onto his back on the grass once he was sure Jay was going to be fine. "Besides. I got lucky. I surprised him and knew enough anatomy to know where to hit him. Probably got lucky hitting the right spots too."

Cocking his head to the side, Jay looked curiously at his brother. "What do you mean? What's anatomy got to do with punching a dude."

"Hit a guy in the solar plexus you knock the breath out of them, hit them on the kidney it will kinda paralysis them with pain. At least that's what I got from the book." Will looked over at Jay staring at him in awe. "Don't give me that look, it's also really dangerous. You can seriously hurt someone and I shouldn't have done it. So don't go trying it on someone, you little maniac."

Jay smiled innocently, "Who me? I would never."

"You're a menace," Will groaned.

"I know but I'll always have you to make it all better," Jay replied with a cheeky grin.

The door to the room he was in opened, distracting Will from the memory. He looked up to see Natalie standing in the doorway, silently asking to join him. Sighing, he waved her in, patting the spot next to him.

"I'm going to be ok," Will informed her. "Just needed some time to get myself together."

"I know." Natalie sat down next to him, reaching over to hold his hand tightly. "But if you need someone to lean on, I'm here. You might have to be strong for Jay but you don't have to be for me."

Will gave her a watery smile, clutching her hand tighter in his. "Thank you. I might have to take you up on that when Jay starts driving me up the wall about getting back to work."

They laughed with each other before falling into a comfortable silence. Natalie broke the quiet, "They wrapped everything up a few minutes ago, they should be bringing Jay out soon. All the scans are looking good so far."

"Do you think I'll have to tell him what happened?" Will asked suddenly.

Natalie faltered for a moment before giving Will a weak smile. "You might have too, or someone else could do it. Connor or I, maybe Voight?"

"Lord, no. Not Voight." Will shuddered. As much as Voight might care about his team, gently breaking bad news to someone was never going to be something Will could imagine him doing. Although, being a cop probably required it fairly often so he might actually be good at it. Still though, this was Will's job. "I should be the one to tell him."

"Ok." Natalie stood up, offering a hand to help pull Will up. "Should probably get back there, wouldn't want to miss your spot next to his bed. I hear it's the most wanted seat in the hospital right now."

Laughing, Will allowed Natalie to help him to his feet. "His team only dreams they could have that spot, I'm almost certain I nearly grew roots there earlier."

The two laughed together as they made their way back to Jay's room. Seeing his brother already back in the room, Will quickly made his way to the chair beside him and grabbed his hand again. He heard Natalie get a call for an incoming trauma, so he settled down as comfortably as possible to wait out the time until Jay woke up. A few visitors came by, mostly the intelligence unit, but other than that Will was left alone with his thoughts until he finally fell asleep.

A sharp painful yank came from Will's scalp causing him to swat the air. "Stop." The tugging continued, growing incessantly more annoying every time. Whining, Will swatted the air again in an attempt to make it stop.

"Willll, oh Willll, wake up you weirdo." Jay's voice slurred.

Will shot straight up at the sound of his brother's voice, quickly remembering where he was. "Jay! Oh, thank god."

Jay smiled dopely up at his brother. "They gave me the good drugs."

Will had trouble keeping his laughter at bay watching Jay act so completely out of character. "I can tell, you seem like you've been awake for awhile."

"Yup," Jay continued to smile brightly, even though he was obviously falling asleep already. "I told'em no, good drugs, but they said yes, good drugs. You think Voight is gonna be mad they gave me drugs." Jay started speaking in a whisper. "Drugs are bad."

Will couldn't keep the smile off his face, just so happy Jay seemed to be completely fine mentally. He bent his head giving the back of Jay's hand a kiss, ignoring the whines about cooties, thanking every deity out there that Jay was ok.

"Get some more sleep," Will ordered, noticing Jay struggling to keep his eyes open.

Jay nodded sleepily, "Everything's going to be all better?"

"Yeah, everything's going to be all better," Will promised, brushing Jay's hair gently out of his face as the younger male drifted off to sleep. If there was one thing he'd learned thinking back on his past, it was that he may not always be there to prevent Jay from getting hurt, but he sure as hell would be there after. He would never abandon Jay when he needed Will, because after all, what else are big brothers for?

#halstead brothers #jay halstead #will halstead #jay and will halstead #one-shot #whump fic #chicago pd #chicago med

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