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peterparkersnose · 2 years

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pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: attack description, clicker attack, nightmares, anxiety, wound description, angst, denial of feelings, alcohol mentioned, swearing, mentions and descriptions of gun use, near death experience (if u can’t handle the game don’t read)

HAPPY LAST OF US DAY!!!

a/n ive played tlou 3x and tlou2 2x (going through my second round rn) so shut up pls i dont want any of the ‘you only like joel bc hes pedro’ fr come on ive been playing this game since i was 12. (i’m not like other girls 🥵) jackson joel just does something to me mmmm. wrote this nov 18 ‘22 saved for today

Don’t forget 9PM EST on HBO Max

summary Y/N gets attacked by a clicker during an intense time with Joel

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read time: 12 mins 28 seconds

You could feel the air escaping your lungs at a dangerous rate. The rifle at your side slammed against your thigh as you kept running. The thick forest was just as you remembered it; wet, cold, and dark.

You were outnumbered. Mostly runners, but you spotted a few clickers. The brush on the forest floor wasn’t helping. Your heavy breathing and the sloshing of your boots against the snowy ground were making too much noise.

Where the fuck was Ellie?

3 bullets. Rifle was empty, spent that on some sharp shooting up the hill on some runners you and Ellie found in the town. How stupid were you? Those were an easy kill with a knife. But your childish games on who could get the best headshot left you empty.

Your heart dropped as the rock formation appeared. It was too high. It covered the forest like the earth split into two. That is when you came to terms, and you had to come to it quickly.

You were going to die.

Soon enough, the first runner appeared. Easy kill. One down, maybe 7 to go?

Where the fuck was Ellie?

The next one came. Two down. Three at a time now? A fucking clicker followed them? You wished the brush was tall enough to hide in.

It was useless fighting off three runners at a time with a clicker on their heels. This was it. Death.

The stone wall was cool against your backside. You hugged your knees to your chest as you pulled out your handgun.

At least the clicker would have a good meal.

Shot- one down. Shot- another. The clicker sped up. Shot, wounded but not dead. Quick slice with the knife. Dead.

The shrieking screams of the clicker engulfed your senses as the monster came running at you. It’s flailing arms we’re the last thing you were prepared to see.

You felt the hands on your shoulder. Dead hands of a monster, unspeakable to most. The hands grabbed your shoulders, but no bite came.

Just blinding white noise and a splatter on your face.

You had convinced yourself you were dead. You would never see anyone again. You had died the same death as your father years prior. The death that left you alone.

“Dad?” you managed to mutter out.

The white noise turned into ringing as two hands held your shoulder and shook you.

“Y/N? Y/N please, are you okay?”

Ellie.

“Maria I found her! Here!”

Cloth material wiped over your eyes and they opened. Ellie, splattered with blood stood in front of you with the most panicked look you had ever seen on the girls face.

“Your okay!” she yelled at you, wrapping her arms around you.

Sitting besides you two was the headless clicker that should have killed you.

***

You should be dead. Get this horrible life over with. Dead with your father, with the mother you never knew. Living a life without this disease, these creatures. Free of pain.

When you woke up in the medical wing you were pretty sure almost the whole town was there. You felt like an item on display at a museum. Looking over all the eyes, you most definitely were not searching for his. The whole reason you volunteered to go out with Ellie that day instead of Dina. And of course, he was not there. Why would he be?

“She’s awake!” someone yelled from the crowd. Every eye in the room seemed to fall on you at once. The nurse pushed past the group of people and went to your side.

“For heavens sake! Get out!” the nurse yelled to the group of onlookers. “Give her some goddamn space.” you heard from the crowd as people started to walk towards the exit.

Everyone wanted a look at the girl who survived a clicker attack.

“Hey,” she said, slowly approaching you and sitting on the chair next to your bed. “Ellie!” you exclaimed, embracing the girl tightly. “What happened?” you asked Ellie, releasing your grip on her and settling back into the bed.

The bond had been there since the day you met her. You always remember the look of the scared little girl on the back of Joel’s horse when they first entered Jackson. The bond you two had helped her grow into the person she is now. Ellie had always described you as an older sister. But Ellie was always there for you, and you for her. She was your best friend, platonic soulmate. And a damn good shot.

“I killed it,” she said bluntly. “I-I came at the right time it was about to bite you and- you should have seen it Y/N my shotgun did a number on that thing.”

“A-am I infected?” you asked, looking down at your body for the first time. Your tank top was still on, your jacket was missing. Your jeans were covered in dry blood and smelt of pine needles.

“It’s been three days. You got some pretty nasty scratches though. Sick looking if you ask me. Scars of a warrior.” she added, referring to her tattoo.

And that’s when you saw them. The claw marks were sewn shut on your left shoulder. Your eyes widened as you began to panic. You began to squirm and the pain set in.

“Hey, hey calm down. She took care of you. Best nurse in town, I made sure.” Ellie said, grabbing your good shoulder and stroking your arm to calm you down.

“The doctors said if your vitals stay stable for the next few hours you can go home. Dina and I cleaned up the place for you,” Ellie smiled, stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What have people been saying?” you asked, holding her hand tightly in yours. “That your a hero. You cleared out that building and we found a stash of food that’s going to last for… well, probably a good year. That’s amazing Y/N! They found baby formula for JJ- tons of it. You were right it was the old warehouse.”

A small smile rose to your lips but Ellie could tell what you really wanted to hear about.

What Joel had been saying.

And Joel hasn’t said much. Tommy had told him a brief description in passing of what happened when it was happening. He figured you were dead when they sent out a rescue wagon for you. He even watched as Maria’s horse lead in your body. Ellie was sitting with you in her arms screaming for a nurse, your whole left arm was covered in blood. What was visible of your face was white as a sheet and you weren’t moving. Joel had to silently give up the inkling of what could have been. Hell, you were the first girl who he even considered after his divorce over thirty years ago. It had to end one day and he had to silently agree with it.

“I don’t…” Ellie began, following with a sigh. “Y/N, don’t get yourself worked up over it. It’s not worth it.” Ellie began, knowing her friend too well. “Did he even come and see me?” you asked, looking to Ellie’s eyes. She couldn’t look into yours. She closed her eyes for a quick moment and shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Am I a fool?” you asked her. “I’m not sure,” she replied, weary.

The whole reason you went with her instead of Dina was because of Joel. You most definitely could not face him that day after the previous night.

He had knocked on your door a little after nine. He noticed a change in your demeanor today when he came in the room while teaching the some of the kids how to shoot. He wanted to make sure you were okay. Joel felt like he had some responsibility over you to make sure you were always okay because of what happened.

Joel was the one who was with your father when he died.

Sure, he was older than you. You weren’t sure exactly, but he was younger than your father by many years. The attraction from your end started when you saw him drunk off his ass during a celebration dancing with Tommy in the bar. It was the most unconventionally attractive thing, but it flipped some switch in you. When your dad died he taught you how to perfect your aim and kill efficiently. Never crossing any line because you were his dead friend’s daughter. And you were so close to Ellie. Ellie wasn’t too fond of your crush that you confided in her, but she grew to love the idea. Her family.

He came and visited you a little after nine. You were about to slip into bed before you heard the knock on your door. The night was cold and your pajama pants and thin tank top was not cutting it. You invited him inside. He had brought you a tiny gift to lift your mood; a bottle of gin. Your favorite. And you two drank at least half of that bottle of gin. You talked about everything from your father’s death to the time Tommy accidentally washed his clothes with Maria’s pink bra and still has an abundance of pink clothing to this day. The gin was most definitely speaking when you told him how you felt.

And he left.

“Let it go for now- okay? We’re gonna get you out of here and back home.” Ellie reassured you. Nodding your head, you fell back into the cold bed and closed your eyes just wishing it could all go away.

Home was empty as it could be. The bottle of gin sat on your coffee table. Your bed was made for the first time in years. Your work station was organized and all of your pens and art supplies were cleaned. You had remembered when Joel gave you those pens, he found them one day and thought of you. Your rifles now hung on your wall. Definitely was Dina’s idea, but you liked it. A tiny gift wrapped in a beige paper with a tiny bit of twine around it sat under your newly mounted rifles.

“Woo hoo. Christmas.” you said to yourself sarcastically. Kneeling down, you opened the package.

Bullets.

For safe keeping, ~Maria

Of course it was from Maria. She always played the mother you never had when she wanted to.

The immense feeling of sleep hit you like a brick wall. I guess being attacked by a clicker and living was a strenuous activity. All you wanted now to do was sleep. Unmaking the nicely folded sheets, you melted back into your bed. The sun was setting in your window and the horses were coming in for the day. You could hear them trotting past your window. You wondered if Joel was just feet away. It was what now… Thursday? You couldn’t remember if he still did the Thursday shift or if he switched with someone else. Who cares, sleep was creeping up slowly and the thought of Joel set you out cold.

The forest was blacker than usual. Without a doubt, you recognized where you were. Running again. All you seemed to do was run now these days. Taking a brief look back while you ran through the forest, you stopped as you realized a whole hoard of clickers were just at your heels. You didn’t have time to react. They were on you ripping your flesh off your body. The dream never seemed to end. You felt each bite and tear of your flesh until-

“Y/N!” Maria screamed, shaking you awake and still being mindful of your wound. “Fuck!” you screamed, sobbing into her arms. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” you continued, squirming in bed as she held you.

Your door was wide open and it was now pitch black out. The screams alerted security, and they called for a search of the town. Tommy quickly found the source of the screams and sent Maria in.

Standing outside your door was Tommy, peering in on the sight of his wife with you.

“Gather people. She needs to be watched.” Maria commanded Tommy as she held your shaking body. Too many people had left their homes now to look at the scene and disrupted the peaceful night.

Ellie sat with your head in her lap, slowly stroking your hair trying to get you to fall asleep. “Don’t worry. Nobody in this town will let anything happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The whole previous night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your wall and just thought. And that whole day you delved yourself in drawings you hadn’t finished or poems you had the inspiration for. Took a shower. You looked through your closet and picked out a fresh outfit. You tried all the little things that usually worked on your old self, but your old self was gone.

That bottle of gin sat on your coffee table and haunted you throughout the day as well. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, or the mindset to drink it. So there it sat. Pitiful.

You were at a loss for words. No words could describe the immense amount of pain re living that memory caused last night.

Ellie began to hum a tune. It was sweet and reminded you of something innocent. Your eyes began to get heavy. “You ready?” she asked, fluffing up your pillow. Reluctantly, you shook your head yes.

The absolute end was there and tiredness finally seeped in. Distraught sleep left and peaceful sleep took its place.

Ellie dimmed your lamp and smoothed the covers on your bed. It reminded you of the time you took care of Ellie years ago when she was sick. “Sweet dreams,” she said, giving your forehead a brief kiss.

Mumbling was heard outside your door, but you didn’t care.

The field was beautiful. Finally, peace. The flowers stemmed beautifully and the sun shown down on your face. Your hands ran through the fresh green grass. Laying in the rays, you suddenly felt the field get smaller. Sitting up, you realized the sun had disappeared and the field was getting smaller and smaller by the second. The sudden edge of a forest was getting closer and closer. And then with one blink you were back. The forest erected around you. You were back.

“No, no…” he heard from your house. Joel’s interest peaked from the grounds left in his coffee mug to the silent struggles in your bedroom. He lifted himself off your porch chair and looked through your window. You were writhing in bed.

“Ellie!” you let out the first yell. It was so loud that it startled Joel to his core and began a flight of panic. Joel didn’t hesitate to burst your door open. “Ellie don’t leave!” you yelled again.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting your shoulder. A loud groan of pain came from your lips. Joel’s heart sank as the feelings on guilt he felt for letting you go on patrol that day set in once again.

“Y/N!” he whisper yelled, yanking your body over to face him. Your eyes shot open. Ripped from the dream into another one.

You looked him up and down. This wasn’t real. It was another dream. Tears welled up in your eyes as you shut them tight, praying you would wake up somewhere else.

“It was a bad dream,” he whispered, resting his hand on your thigh. His thumb patiently rubbed your thigh as your breathing sped up. Your legs matched up perfectly, knees facing him. Your face was buried in your hands that were now grasping at your eyes.

“Stop it,” Joel hissed, grabbing your manic hands tightly. “This isn’t real,” you cried out, sobs following it.

His heart seemed to break into a million pieces when you started to full on cry. The last time he dealt with a crying girl it was Ellie. Wait- no, maybe it was Sarah. He honestly wasn’t sure, but it was most definitely years ago.

“Everything is alright. I know how it is. I-I didn’t sleep for a few days after my first clicker encounter. Those things are nasty fuckers.” he said, his hand returning to your thigh trying to soothe you. He was clueless on what he was supposed to do.

At this point, you realized you weren’t dreaming. He was here. His hand was on your thigh. He was sitting on your bed. You were in a tank top that cut a little too low for your liking.

Your teary eyes looked up and met his. He hadn’t moved his gaze off of your face. He gave you a soft reassuring smile.

Joel cursed himself for letting his feelings creep back in. This was wrong anyways, he felt sick any time he thought about you. The pit of his stomach couldn’t handle it much more, he had pretty much forgotten about you (as much as he would like to admit). But when Tommy assigned him second watch of you that night, he just knew it had trouble written all over it.

“Go back to sleep now. Pretty girls need their beauty sleep.” he said, instantly regretting it.

That line worked on Sarah, but in a whole different way with a much different meaning. He wanted to suck back in the words as fast as he said them.

Letting a tense breathe go, he steadied himself on your bed frame and made his way to the door.

He had made his way to the door as you spoke.

“Joel?”

His hand stopped his motion as it rested on the top of your door frame.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“W-will you stay? Just for a little bit.” you said, stuttering as you realized how large his body was compared to your door.

He paused. “I suppose.”

You moved your legs so he would have enough room to sit next to you. You heard his knee crack as he sat down on the low rise bed. His legs sat upward as he leant a hand behind your legs to steady himself.

“I’m sorry.” you said. It had to be said, what better time than now? “I don’t want to hear your apologies.” he huffed. “It was inappropriate.” you spit out again. “No- Y/N, stop. Please.” he asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I sleep I go… back there. I can’t.” you whimpered. He sighed, groaning and wiping his brow.

“What would you like me to do about it? I can’t do anything.”

“Stay.”

Joel was left confused on how your calmness met his angry tone. He knew you well, he was surprised you weren’t screaming in his face. You didn’t take shit. You were being patient for once in your life.

Oh, how you’ve changed since the attack.

“I’m here. What more do you want from me?” he asked. His tone had extra edge of anger to it that was fueled with a faint passion.

In the darkness, you reached for his hand. It was coarse and dry, with many various scars and callouses you could feel just with a slight touch. He instinctively pulled back a bit, but gave in within the second. Wrapping your fingers with his, you places his hand back on your thigh.

“Y/N I-”

“The thing you were doing before on my leg. It was nice.”

“Oh,” he said, defeating the original thought from his head. His thumb began slowly moving in circles once again.

You were showing him what you needed.

He watched as your sad face closed your eyes and sighed. You felt safe for the first time in days.

Joel felt the pit in his stomach widen and fully consume him. The girl who practically raised Ellie from when she arrived; his dead friend’s daughter; one of the best damn killers in all of Jackson; Y/N. God, he was in so much trouble with his morals.

“I’m too far deep in this shit,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him. “What?” you asked.

“I can’t…” he said, beginning to shake his knee up and down. “What?” repeated yourself in a confused tone.

His strong body swept over yours. He grabbed your shoulder ever so softly and perched you in his arms. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

No initiative had to be made besides the movement of your lips against his. Your hand wrapped itself in his hair, playing softly as he held your back strongly. A slight moan came from his lips that he instantly regretted when you accidentally tugged ever so slightly on his graying strands of hair. For the split second that you two separated gasping for air, he pulled you tighter.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been fighting this,” he whispered on your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you sighed, staring back at his scruffy face.

Joel came back to his senses. He felt different. He could never go back to the same person he was a minute ago. His world revolved around something new. No more obsessing over patrol and how to appease Tommy. No more worrying over how Ellie could handle herself. No more worrying about his aching joints and the fear of getting older. Something new became the center of his universe. He had folded.

The girl laying in his arms who now rested her head against his chest.

“You really need sleep darlin’,” he sighed. You sighed in resistance.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, looking down at your exhausted face.

“Please.”

You moved over in your bed as he made himself comfortable. Joel never realized how much larger he was than you until he slept with you in his arms.

You layed on his chest as one arm wrapped around your shoulders. His hand rested comfortably on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you whispered. He placed a small kiss on your head. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. The only sound in the room was your soft breathing.

“Go to sleep now. Your safe with me, my sweet girl.”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @jmillerswife

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crispysoupwonderland · 6 months

Text

~It Will All Be Ok~ (3)

William Afton/Dave Miller x Nb/AFAB reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Notes: kinda proofread, (art by other me again used base)

Cw: smut (kinda), kidnapping, non con

part 1, part 2

Read on Ao3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s been days since Callie died, it's hard to get out of bed in the mornings. However, you can’t give up on your job, your mom still needs you, you need to act like an adult. You try to get along with your co-workers the best you can but all you can form is a superficial surface-level relationship at most.

Everything seemed normal, boring, to be honest. But you were still grateful to be making at least some money. Every time you went to work you always felt like someone was watching you though. The only abnormal thing that you could think of was a bright flash in the corner of your eye every once in a while. I think this place is making me go a bit crazy.

One closing shift the kids seemed to have made a bigger mess than usual. There was birthday cake smeared all over the floor and walls, it had been completely massacred. You look in your usual cabinet where the cleaning supplies are kept, this won’t be enough for that mess.

“ Do you know where the ‘heavy duty’ cleaning supplies are?” you ask one of your coworkers walking by.

“Um.. I don’t know,” she says uninterested,” maybe look in the basement?”

“Erm.. ok thank, where would that be.. I didn’t even know that we had a basement here”

She rolled her eyes, clearly just wanting to leave. “Um, I think the key would probably be in the boss’s office…” sarcasm is in her tone

You pressed your ear against the door and it was quiet. You open his office door and the room is empty, thank god, a small feeling of relief trickles through you. After the encounter where he asked you on a date, you didn't want to be alone with him due to the potential for awkwardness.

You crept further into his office and towards his large wooden desk. His computer sat on the desk, along with some nicknacks, and a mess of scribbled notes. You start to casually open each drawer of the desk in search of the key, going from the top to the bottom. The first mostly contains more notes and papers.

The bottom drawer requires more of a pull. You grasp the handle and yank it, it bursts open, and small white pieces of paper fly out. You pick one of the pieces up and turn it around, it's a photo. A photo of you.

You pick up another, and another, and another. More photos of you seemingly taken without your knowledge. In fact, the whole drawer is full of photos of you. How would someone even get these!? There's me at work, taking a walk, even, at my house… There was even one of me getting changed. HOLY SHIT. This is bad.

You frantically pick up the photos and stuff them back into the drawer. All you could think of is the horrifying thought of him coming up into this room and being alone with you. You slammed the drawer and darted out of the room, shaking with fear. You made it back down into the main room, comforted by the presence of other people in the room again. Afton was nowhere to be seen but you trembled in possible anticipation of his presence. Dear god, what was all that, fuck, what am I gonna do?

You sped over to your coworker and she noticed the panicked look on your face.

“ Hey what the hell's going on with you? ” she asked, you were surprised that she actually cared.

You slowed your breath in preparation for a response, “ ha…has the boss ever done anything weird to you or any of the other workers?” you ask with a desperate look on your face.

“What? No, I mean, he's a weird guy but he mostly keeps it to himself” she replied, “now go clean up that mess you were talking about before, i'm not doing your job for you.”

This is it, this is the last day of working at this place. I don’t care, I'll find another place to work, it’s not worth it. I’m sorry mom, I don’t mean to let you down but I’m honestly scared and really freaked out.

You storm into work giving out an angered aura, you co-workers just glance at you instead of saying ‘hello’. This is the last shift I’m ever working at this shitty place, you check the schedule. FUCK. Why am I on the closing shift? I was supposed to leave a bit earlier today.

You angrily grab your stuff and start your shift. Time goes by at a crawl. This shift lasts forever.

Finally, the last customers leave and you finish your mopping. You put your stuff back and grab all your stuff from your locker. You feel a bit bad for not telling any of your co-workers that you're quitting, especially with such short notice. You go and knock on Mr. Afton’s office door, your heart is pounding, you don’t like confrontation and he scares the shit out of you.

“ Come in” he mumbles in a monotone voice.

You slowly turn the knob and enter his office, his face seems to have a surprised expression.

“ Can I help you doll?”

“ I told you to stop fucking calling me names, I’m quitting”

He stands up and puts his hands on his desk, “What do you mean? Don’t you need the money, you can’t just quit without telling me, it's too short of notice.”

“Why the fuck do you have pictures of me in your desk”

At that very moment, he drops the facade, his face turns blank and his eyes cold. His eyes were dark, like the sky before a storm. His lips twitched, almost into a smile, which then quickly disappeared.

“What do you mean darling?” there is something very off with his voice.

“I fucking saw them, in your desk”

He just looks at you blankly, “BAHAHHAHAHHAHHAAHH!”

Your face turns pale, what the hell is going on with this guy?

“Darling, that's me showing my love for you, you don’t like it? After all I’ve done for you, you don’t like it? Why? You’re going to leave me, when you can fix me? I know that you can fix me. I’ve done horrible things but you can make them all go away. You can fix me, you can fix me…” he rambles on. He slowly stands up, his fists tightly clenched. He towers over you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You start to make your way to the door, your back facing it as you keep eye contact with him while you fiddle trying to find the door knob.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave me…”

You turn around to find the door knob. You feel a cold sensation on your head, then it turns hot. It burns. Everything is turning black. Your body feels too heavy. You fall to the ground.

“ Don’t worry my sweet, it will all be ok.”

Your eyes flicker open, you’re in an unfair place. It’s cold and damp, there’s a strong mildew smell in the air.

“You’re finally awake darling, sorry my sweet I didn’t want to hurt you,” he chuckles to himself “So doll, I patched you up but I just want to make sure that you can’t get away so I made sure to tie your hands extra tight…”

You feel bandages neatly and tightly wrapped around your head. You clench your teeth and riggle your hands to try and get them loose, your attempts are fruitless.

“Darling don’t try and get away, you’ll only hurt yourself more”

“L-let me go w-what the fuck a-are you insane” You can’t seem to keep yourself from crying and choking on your tears.

He reaches his hand out and wipes a tear from your face, he then sticks out his tongue and licks your tear from his finger. He smiles. “Y-you’re d-delisous” he holds his cheeks with his hands.

You spit on him. “FUCK YOU LET ME GO YOU CRAZY BITCH!”

His eyes turn dark, and he angrily grabs your face. “My love, my sweet, my darling, if you want to leave me I’m going to gut you like a fish, don’t spit on me again.”

You realize that being aggressive will get you nowhere, you have to give in to him.

“Y-yes, s-sorry Mr. Afton..”

“That’s it darling, good pet~, Now I know you were a binder so let me help you take that off. You’re not meant to be wearing it for too long of a time you know.”

“W-wait d-don’t touch me”

“It's ok love, I’m helping you, now I’m going to untie you and you are gonna put your hands up or-” he pulls a knife out of his pocket.

You look at him, eyes wide and glassy, filled with fear. You nod your head yes quickly and he cuts the binds holding your hands in place. You reluctantly and slowly raise your arms above your head and your face turns bright red. He lifts up your sweater and begins to take off your binder. You can’t help but turn your head to look away from him.

He watches your chest closely as he slowly takes it off and moves his face closer, you can feel his breath on your skin. He licks your nipple and you wince and jump a bit not expecting the stimulation.

“W-what are you doing”

“What does it look like I’m doing whore?”

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #steve raglan #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf movie

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letitiaslabyrinth · 1 year

Text

AT THE END OF THE DAY

warning: angst, family issues/death, soft/quiet shuri, Riri's the best and most patient girlfriend ever, gentle riri, shuri paints as a coping mechanism, Shuri has more tattoos and piercings pairing: Riri x Shuri word count: 1.3k

Shuri walked around her lab, making sure everyone and everything was fine and in working condition. Once she was done and ended up double checking things again, she went over to her own desk to begin working.

Shuri felt her heart beat slightly pick up. She brushed it off and continued what she was doing. But it sped up more. and more and more, until she was breathing heavily and her vision was going in and out.

"Everyone, get out." Her eyes start watering. "GET OUT!" She screams.

The room was empty in seconds.

Shuri put her hand in chest and sank to the floor, crying. "Griot," she says softly.

"Yes, my queen?" The A.I answers.

"Call Riri. Tell her it's an emergency."

"Calling Mrs. Williams now."

Riri rushed into the lab, frantically looking around for her wife. She stopped for a second and heard crying. It was soft but she was able to figure out where it was coming from.

Riri kneeled down next to Shuri, "Baby, what happened?"

Shuris breath hitched in her throat before she looked up and spoke, "I… I was trying to work and my heart, it started picking up but when I tried to brush it off, I-" Riri could see how much talking about it hurt so she brought Shuri into a hug, rubbing circles on her back.

This wasn't the first time Shuri has had a breakdown while trying to get something done. And Riri knew the reasons, too—her family.

Shuri had gotten the news about T'Chala's death when she was here, working, and since then she'd tried to push down whatever sort of block that was trying to stop her from doing anything in the lab. But when Ramonda died? It was the last piece of hope, of fight, of anything that was still in Shuri and all of it was shattered completely. Whenever Shuri tried to work now, flashbacks of what Namor did would run through her mind until she got broke down, just like she did today.

"I wanna go home.." Shuri mumbled into Riri's shirt.

"Okay." Riri wiped away Shuri's tears and helped her up, bringing her all the way out the palace and into their car.

Shuri was in the backseat, laying down with one of Riri's hoodie's and a blanket that was already there.

"You want anything from the store before we go home?" Riri looked in the rear view mirror when she didn't get an answer and saw Shuri shaking her head. Riri said a quiet, "okay." and started their drive home.

Riri carried Shuri to the couch in their living room and gently put her down, trying not to wake her. She kissed her forehead before going to the kitchen to make her wife something simple to eat since she knew Shuri doesn't eat much when she wakes up.

When Riri reaches the couch, a sandwich and hot cocoa in hand, she sees that Shuri isn't there. She puts both down and creeps into Shuri's art room quietly.

Shuri still has on Riri's hoodie and the blanket as she continues to paint the formally white canvas with a myriad of different colors. She's mostly sticking to different shades of purple and orange—her and Riri's colors.

Riri stood in the doorway without a word, letting her wife express herself freely and with no interruptions.

"Ri?" Shuri says, turning her head slightly and putting down the paint brush.

"I'm here." Riri goes to her side and kisses her on the forehead, "I'm right here."

"Thank you." Shuri says softly.

"Of course, mama. You hungry yet or you wanna keep painting?"

"I could eat." Shuri takes the canvas off the easel and hangs it up to dry. She follows Riri out her art room, the blanket still on her shoulders and goes to sit in the couch with her snack and her drink.

"I'ma be right back, alright?" Riri says.

Shuri nods twice, slightly zoning out while she eats.

Riri comes back 15 minutes later with a new outfit on—a Nike's gray sports bra with matching sweatpants and sits down next to Shuri. She notices how Shuri only ate half of her sandwich but finished her cocoa. "You done with your food, mama?"

Shuri shrugs. "I'll probably finish it later or something, just don't throw it away please."

Riri hums and takes the dishes to the kitchen. She puts the rest of Shuri's sandwich in the fridge and washes out her cup. She gets a cup of water for herself before making her way back to her girlfriend.

The two of them watch TV in comfortable silence for the next three hours. The channel switched between things Shuri wanted to watch and things Riri wanted to watch but since they mostly liked the same shows, neither of them minded what the other picked.

Shuri's head is on Riri's lap while Riri drags her fingers over the sleeve tattoo Shuri has on her right arm and among the other ones she has, this one is Riri's favorite. It was the only one with color on it so naturally it stood out.

Shuri feels her eyes dropping and lets herself drift off slightly but not completely.

"I love you," Shuri mumbles softly.

The last person Shuri said that to was her family when she was saying goodbye to them at the beach in Haiti.

Riri froze for a bit, her hand stopping completely. Ever since Shuri's grief started consuming her, she'd stop telling Riri she loved her. Riri knew Shuri loved her but not hearing her say it for a while hurt far more than she thought it would. She would tell Shuri she loved her and not get an answer back, just a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead. Sometimes Shuri would try and say it back but it felt so forced that she just stopped completely.

Riri leans down and kisses the tattoo she was touching, "I love you, too."

Shuri hums happily. "I'm sorry for not saying it more often."

She's being open right now, something she knew she needed to work on when it came to her and Riri's relationship.

"It's okay, mama. I know it's difficult for you."

"How come you're so…"

"Understanding? I don't know exactly what you've been through when it comes to relationships, Shuri, but you shouldn't have to ask to be understood or heard when you're speaking. Especially not when it comes to me, alright?"

"You're the first woman I've been with who isn't…tired of me, yet. You're the first woman I've been with who actually makes me feel like it's okay to have bad days and to not want to get out of bed sometimes and it's new to me. The first time I spent a night at your place, I felt so safe with you and it felt so weird to me because I've never felt like that before and at first I didn't understand it and even now, I still don't…" She sat up as she started rambling. The conversation switched topics three times but Riri didn't bother mentioning it. All that mattered to her is that Shuri was actually talking to her when she was having a bad day. Usually she'd isolate herself in her art room or her "Panther cave", as she liked to call it.

Shuri stops talking, realizing that Riri wasn't saying anything. "Sorry, I completely went off track."

"It's alright, baby." Riri reassures. "I like hearing you talk about things you're passionate about."

"Really?"

Riri nods, "Yes, ma. You can continue if you want."

Shuri doesn't waste any time getting right back on track to what she was talking about.

#black wlw #lesbian #shuri x riri #shuriri #fluff #angst #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #shuri udaku #riri williams

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zane-wanna-sleep · 1 year

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This is what poped up in my mind when I wrote this but it's more like loop then time-travel

So let's think about if it swap to Spider is the one who back to the day he got kidnapped

Of course he would still loyal to the Sullys to death but if that's how the loop begin? every times he died he would be sent back to that day, where he knew in his heart no one will go after to rescue him, and he would definitely died over and over again that he forgot how many times he had been.

The limit will reach him in the end when he finally broken, just like everyone want, and when the RDA strapped him in that machine Spider, groaned, belike " c'mon we can talk this out in peace, no need this damn machine, no need to shout, no need to drag me,"

" just ask me nicely, and I will tell you what you want im so sick of all this shit anyways "

but Ardmore didn't trust him, still strapped him in that machine but this time he let out just some information easily, he just let his mind say any shit it want(it's mostly still useless to the RDA but they got clues). So they didn't sped up and Quaritch still stop it like every loop Spider had been through (only differ is this time hes not too late).

They threw him in the cell Spider didn't have energy or heart to do anything he still thought that this time he would die as well so he just lay and let the time take his life and wait for another sent back but that's never come this time cuz he didn't die!

I don't really plan about what is coming up after this(and I don't think I will, my head end here) it's can be Quaritch being nice or not or Spider gradually break each loop until he can't be fixed. But I think Spider in this AU can't really bring himself to choose either na'vi or human side, hes just done, so so done with everything.

I know this kinda nonsense cuz Spider would try to not get caught (but he want to make sure the others won't get caught instead of him as well) or actually he would warn them to not go to that place and warn Jake about the Recoms' comming

But that's can be another route I wanna think about loop-plot so let's set this at Spider was sent back to when Neytiri appear and everything endlessly repeat until he try to change his own fate by tell something to RDA.

Again; my brain stopped process this plot(or prompt idk) here and I don't know which way this gonna go so there's no continuing of this but if I suddenly have some hc maybe I will post it just not so soon.

#spider socorro #miles spider socorro #time travel #more like #loop au #avatar #avatar the way of traumatising spider #atwow #just prompt

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jedi-lothwolf · 1 year

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Whumpril Day 19: Choking/Muffled Subs/"I'm Worried About You."

Fandom: Star Wars the Clone Wars

Summary: Obi-wan and Dooku battle. It doesn't go well and it takes Obi-wan mental health down.

Obi-wan and Count Dooku's lightsaber met. They were just about evenly matched. Their fight had been going on for quite some time but Dooku was getting impatient. As their lightsabers moved apart the count decided he was done with the game. He reached his unoccupied hand up and force pushed Obi-wan into the wall behind them.

The Jedi hit the wall. His feet weren't allowed to touch the ground. Invisible pressure closed around his throat. He couldn't breathe. Responding to the feeling, Obi-wan moved his hands to his throat. Even if he knew it wouldn't help he dug at his neck.

Looking around Kenobi tried to find a way to escape. His vision started to blur and he felt lightheaded. The man's feet kicked as he tried to find the ground. Tears bordered his eyes. He had felt weak before but never quite like this.

Obi-wan stopped fighting; he no longer searched for the ground and he let his arms fall to his side. He somewhat hoped that Dooku would release him but other than that his mind was mostly worried about his loved ones. He just hoped they would be okay, that this wouldn't hurt them as deeply as he had been hurt when Qui-gon or Satine had died.

Dooku didn't let go. He held Obi-wan there. Anakin rounded the corner just as the man gave up and for a brief moment he thought that his brother was gone. Angrily, he attacked the politician. This caused Dooku to drop Kenobi.

Air flower through his lungs once more. It took a moment before Obi-wan could get control of his breathing again.

Anakin had taken note that his master was still alive and placed himself protectively between him and Dooku. As the two fought Obi-wan collected himself.

Around six minutes passed and Obi-wan stood to assist his rescuer. He wasn't completely ready but he wasn't sure he ever would be. Facing your own mortality is scary after all.

The Jedi forced Dooku to retreat. They reconvened with their men and finished the battle. After a Republic win, they headed back to their star cruisers.

Kenobi walked into his quarters and placed his lightsaber on his bunk. He walked into the refresher that was connected to his room.

Obi-wan stared at his reflection. He ran his fingers over the scratches on his neck. Something broke in him. It was like everything came down all at once.

The man walked back out to his bed. He went to sit on it but missed and landed on the floor. Tears fell from his eyes and he started to cry. His breathing sped up and he pulled his knees towards himself.

Obi-wan tried to stay quiet. The walls weren't exactly thin but he worried someone might hear.

It felt like he was suffocating all over again. That feeling of being unable to control your breathing. Even if air moved in and out of his lungs it was far too fast. His sobs slightly echoed in the practically empty room; making everything feel surreal.

Times passed and Obi-wan laid on the floor. He didn't quite have the will to get up yet. There was a knock on the door and for a moment he debated not answering it. "I'll be right there." Obi-wan's voice still came off shaky

Cody stood on the other side. "Can I come in?" he asked.

Obi-wan just nodded. Cody walked Obi-wan to his bed and sat them both down. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing."

"I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to do that" Obi-wan's voice failed to hide his stress.

"Then tell me what's going on." Cody had his ways of getting his general to talk to him.

"It's nothing you should worry about."

Cody tenderly placed his hand on Obi-wan's lower thigh, "then why are your eyes all red? You can talk to me."

"It's not" Obi-wan looked into the others eyes. Instead of trying to reassure his commander it was nothing he just went in to hug him.

He grabbed at Cody's shoulders, fabric filled his fist. His face rested in the others chest.

His muffled sobs broke the clone's heart. He wasn't sure how long he would be holding Obi-wan but he didn't care. Cody would sit there until his general stopped crying. Then he would wait until he felt better, even if it took all night. Even if it took the next day, or the next, or tell the end of the war, or even his whole life. He would be there.

@whumpril

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spookman404 · 2 years

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Mason’s Ghost NaNoWriMo CPR 11/2/22

I always loved looking out the window when I was younger.

The cold bite of the morning air carried through the bus from an open window three seats up the row. Jeremy was one of those kids who was pathologically obsessed with the cold for one reason or another. He’d open windows, wear shorts in December, and walk to school in blizzards just to prove he wasn’t phased by a little chilly weather. He was, and still is an ass, but he was also my friend, which meant I didn’t have the heart to tell him nobody bought his act. Everyone could see him shivering on the bus every morning. I could’ve asked him to shut his window, but I kept putting it off. That morning was no different.

Either way I didn’t really care. I was never too bothered by the cold, a little early morning chill wasn’t enough to pull my eyes away from the window. Mostly because if I did, it meant I’d have to talk to Mason, and no one talked to Mason. He sat next to me every morning quietly staring holes into his jeans, more holes than there already were. He was always a little shy, but when his dad disappeared he became a recluse, and like most spiders, people tended to keep away from him.

As we started to cross the bridge I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. I never liked crossing the river. I never really trusted the bus driver all too much. I figured some day he’d inevitably lose control or fall asleep at the wheel, plunging half of the third grade into Autrain River, but he never did. That’s why whenever the girl in the seat in front of me screamed bloody murder, I nearly had a heart attack.

“Do you guys see that?” She yelled, “What’s he doing?”

She was a girl named Ginger with brunette hair, one of the more scatterbrained kids in my class, the kind that swore she could talk to ghosts and see in the dark, but she was nice.

Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t been looking out the window that morning if things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe if I didn’t lock eyes with the man hanging off the side of the bridge, the four of us would still be friends. That’s not what happened though.

I could barely make him out at first but he was there, a shadow of a man silhouetted by a fog of white snow. He dangled himself off the edge, hanging on by the tips of his fingers at the end of a long strained arm.

As the bus sped by, and I pressed myself up against the glass, I could feel his stare boring into me. It felt desperate, scared, but most of all disappointed in a way. Like he wasn’t looking for me. I recognized him though, I was sure of it. I couldn’t see his face, only his eyes managed to cut through the flurry, but even then they felt so familiar. It wasn’t until I found myself face first on the floor of the bus that I realized who it was.

“Dad?” Mason yelled, yanking me from the window and taking my place, “Dad!”

I didn’t see him do it, but as the bus erupted into a mess of screams and cries, I knew he jumped. By the time I peeled myself off the grimy bus floor, Mason had already forced the window open and was leaning out into the cold, trying his best to shout his father's name over the howl of the wind.

By the time the bus skidded to a stop, Mason’s tears had already begun to crystalize, freezing to his cheeks but he didn’t care. The whole bus watched him as he ran down the aisle and out the door, charging back to the center of the bridge towards his father’s final perch.

The body was recovered by the time we got out of school. Mason’s dad landed head first on an ice sheet, his skull split wide open, and its contents frozen solid to the ice. He wasn’t fully identified for a couple days, mostly because the coroner couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. It was definitely Mason’s dad, the tests they ran confirmed it, but there was one inconsistency that couldn’t be ignored. The decay was too advanced, the ice too thick. We may have seen him jump just days before, but all evidence concluded he died over a month ago.

Regardless, we got a few days off from school. The district decided it was best to start Christmas break early and cancel exams, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The news of the tragedy swept through the town like wildfire. The adults of the town, our parents, did try to help, all of them in their own ways. Some turned to god, others to each other, but most just tried to move on as quickly as possible. For the most part, the town managed to forget about the death of Mason’s father over the holiday. The kids on the other hand, that’s a different story entirely.

Over those short two weeks we managed to make a ghost out of Mason’s father, the man who died twice, and suddenly, our town had another tale to tell around its campfires. In our defense, we were used to it at that point. We all grew up surrounded by deaths just like his. It was almost commonplace, something unique about our little corner of the world. Our town had a special way of making sure its residents were kept out of their toes. Much like the lake our town was built on the banks of, the land never gave up it’s dead either. When people died, they never really felt like they left. They stayed, and eventually they came back, one way or another.

Mason’s dad was no exception.

His story only really gained infamy when the buses started to run again and the back half of the school year kicked off. When I got on the bus that morning, wiping the leftover sleep from my eyes, I saw Mason sitting in my spot. I didn’t ask him why, I didn’t ask him to move, mostly I was just surprised he was even there to begin with. I figured I wouldn’t see him for at least another month to two, but there he was, sitting quietly in his seat, staring out the window.

As the bus crossed over onto the bridge, we were all waiting in anticipation. It was almost like we knew, like we were expecting something to happen when we crossed over the middle of the bridge, Mason most of all. We had traded places, while his tired eyes stared out the window, my window, I kept mine firmly trained on my shoes.

The screams were different that time around, they were more excited than anything else, certainly not scared. I flinched as kids pushed their way to the side of the bus overlooking the river. They yelled and pointed and laughed, but Mason and I stayed quiet.

I knew he was there. I didn’t have to look. I didn’t want to. I never wanted to feel his eyes on me again. I buried my face in my hands and waited for the screams to die down before I looked up again. When I did, Mason wasn’t staring out the window anymore. I knew he’d seen him again; his wide eyes gave that much away. I could’ve said something then, offered some words of comfort, but I didn’t. I wish I had.

Over the next week, every morning we crossed that bridge, and every morning we watched him jump again. Eventually it got so bad that the adults couldn’t ignore it anymore. Of course, they didn’t believe us, who would, but regardless, they split up our classes, changed the bus routes, and eventually people forgot about Mason’s dad. I didn’t though, Mason didn’t either. We remembered him, everyone else remembered the ghost.

But that was all a long time ago.

#nanowrimo

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kingsuckjin · 3 years

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Company Policy -JJK

- Pairing: coworker Jungkook x reader

- Genre: established relationship? Sort of

- Rating:18+

- Words: 5k

- Summary: Eight months. Eight months you have regretted breaking off being fuck buddies with your hot coworker. You were so afraid of being caught with him but now that you’ve had time to think, would it really be so bad as long as you could have him all to yourself again? Does he even like you anymore? Has he moved on? All you know is it’s been eight months since you’ve had sex, he’s been all you could think about. Now he’s looking pretty hot at this office party.

- Warnings: pining, explicit content, public sex, they fuck on a coworker’s desk, public sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, heavy dirty talk, brief mention of oral sex and a ton of other past sexual acts like thigh riding and hair pulling, kind of jealous tattooed kook, not voyurism but someone else is there at some point, and finally a dash of fluff.

- A/n: This post is a commission for the ARMY for AAPI Justice and Advocacy Event. Please click >here< to find more resources and consider donating to the cause! Thank you so incredibly much to the donor @lcksndkys for donating and commissioning this, you are an absolute angel, I hope you know that. I might’ve gotten a bit carried away and wrote a few thousand more words than planned, but you deserve it.

“Morning,”

“Morning.” Was the greeting between you and Jungkook every morning when you stepped into the elevator, coffee in hand.

That was it, that was all you ever said to each other anymore. His smell always floated around the confined space making your mind flashback to what once was before you quickly pushed it away from your brain.

Neither of you ever said anything about it, it was like it had never even happened and sometimes you wonder if it even had or if your brain had made up everything that had happened eight months ago from your frequent dirty thoughts of your coworker. It felt like a lifetime ago. The familiarity of him, his smell, his smile, his voice along with the cold distance, avoidance to even look at you, and the constant wonder of him having someone else made you a little sick at your stomach.

You had decided to break things off… as if either of you were any more than fuck buddies. You knew that if anyone at work had ever found out about the two of you, you’d most likely both be fired. No banging other employees was a pretty strict policy there and you remembered the two nice ladies that were fired last year for it, you remembered it because your boss had made such an example of it.

You had been more than paranoid when you and Jungkook were boning for a whole month, you both had been so secretive even going as far as to have each other park down the street from your houses when the other came over. It didn’t help that you lived with your sister and didn’t want her to know you were sneaking someone in the house and screwing them. It also didn’t help that his roommate worked there too and didn’t get along at times. It didn’t seem like all the effort to sneak around was worth it at the time, but now you felt like you had a mistake.

As you took your seat behind the reception desk and began to put away your things for the morning, you just kept stealing glimpses of him doing the same at his cubicle. Every morning he would put his black messenger bag under his desk, turn on his computer, and roll the sleeves of his white button-up shirt up to reveal one very tattooed arm. His wavy hair was usually put back into a half ponytail for professionalism and probably so he could see, but there were always strands that managed to escape his hair elastic throughout the day. It was painful mentally at times having a view of him but trying not to look, it was painful knowing he wouldn’t look back at you anymore. You could still feel what it was like when he had glanced at you and smiled at you, your heart sped up at just the thought.

“Ugh why are you always here so early, you leave before I even wake up.” his roommate,Jimin, had walked in, looking great as usual but a bit tired in the face. He was lingering around Jungkook’s desk with his things still in hand.

“I like to be prepared, unlike you.” Jungkook joked back with a smile but you knew it was just more than a joke, Jungkook really didn't care for Jimin, he was a bit too spiteful towards him sometimes.

He had always come in early, you both were typically the first ones here besides the janitor. You had to be, your boss liked you here nice and early to greet everyone as they walked in.

“You coming to the thing tonight? The boss is letting us have booze.” Jimin asked him.

You felt like you really shouldn’t be paying attention to the conversation so you went back to sipping your coffee and getting ready to start the day.

“Hey.”

It nearly scared you to death as you rummaged through your bag under the desk for your chapstick. Your body jolted up to see Jimin leaning one arm on the reception counter.

“What?” you asked in confusion, wondering what he was now doing hanging around you with such a sly smirk.

“Well good morning to you too. Are you going to the party tonight? Boss is having a thing to celebrate meeting our yearly product sales goal.”

“I… haven’t thought about it, why?” you were honest, it didn’t mean anything to you.

“I know we have this policy, but you should think about going with me.” he gave you a wink that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “We could come here and have a few drinks and a good time, then we could go back to my place and-”

“How about we don’t? We could just not do that.” you gave him a very fake smile.

Sudden loud coughing erupted through the room making you both look over at the source.

Jungkook was doubled over with his coffee still in his hand.

“You good?” Jimin asked him casually and Jungkook gave a thumbs up to show he was fine, even though his big eyes were slightly teary before holding up his coffee cup to signify he had strangled on his coffee.

“Anyway, if you’re worried about someone saying something about us, you could just come separately and we could just see what happens…”

“I’m not worried because there is no us, Jimin. I’ll come, but let’s not see what happens, and let’s not even speak.”

“Your loss. At least I’ll have Jungkook there with me.” Jimin responded along with a shrug to your savage words before walking away.

You looked over to Jungkook to make sure he hadn’t died because he was no longer choking, you just wanted to make sure he was still breathing but your eyes were met with his. He was giving you this gaze before he raised his eyebrows at you with a slight momentary smirk, it all only lasted less than a split second before he adjusted his black tie and turned back around to face his desk.

How could he be so casual with a look like that at you? How could he be so casual with everything that had happened between you? You had no idea what that look was about but it had your brain so frazzled. It could’ve been nothing, but it was the most interaction you’ve had with him in so long, all it had done was remind you how starved for him you were.

You looked down at your desk feeling your face get a little warm.

Images of that very shirt he was wearing right now, being unbuttoned rapidly with those tattooed fingers in some dark, sketchy hotel room ran through your mind.

“I wish you knew how much I’d go through to be this close to you, to be inside of you.” The memory of his words and hushed voice into your skin gave you goosebumps.

The same man who had said that now sat right over there, not even having tried to flirt with you in the past eight months as you sat here and wondered why you do this to yourself.

Did he still feel that way or had he just meant it at the moment? There were plenty at the moment things that he had said that would flood into your mind just to hurt you when you saw him.

You glanced at him throughout the day as you often did.

You avoided each other on your lunch break, stepping around each other to get to the vending machines in the break room.

You ate at your desk alone while he ate with Jimin in the break room.

Things were the same as they had been, the look he had given you earlier meant nothing, maybe nothing that had happened in the past meant nothing to him too.

Maybe it was all just fun like you both had planned for it to be, if so, why were you still so stuck on it? Why were you stuck on him? You told yourself it was just because he was attractive, the most gorgeous man in the office, but there were just these little things about him you couldn’t get over. The way he stretched and grunted in the morning, you knew the way he liked his coffee, you knew his parents’ names. You had both shared so much of your lives for an entire month almost constantly until you ripped it away from yourself so stupidly. You had both agreed to delete each other’s numbers, but the truth was, you still kept his name in your phone with little hearts by his name. You needed this to end, you needed to stop being so hung up on him because he wasn’t with you. You decided to go to this thing tonight and at least hope for some answers, if you failed to get any you would do your best to stop thinking about him.

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

You had talked yourself out of this more than five times already, but you had gotten dressed and ready and made the drive over.

You now sat in the office parking lot just picking lint off of your black dress, not looking forward to how awkward this might be. In your years of working there, you had mostly just kept to yourself… until the thing with Jungkook happened.

“Are you nervous? You look nervous” he gave you a little smile from across the table from the coffee shop. He had asked you to get coffee after work and he could see right through you

“A little.” You had admitted.

“Don’t be shy, it’s just me. It’s just Jungkook, we work together every day.”

“Don’t be nervous.” You found yourself saying out loud to yourself as you gazed out your windshield at the building. “I shouldn’t be. I work with him every day and nothings going to happen anyway.” You hurt yourself a little with the last part. You put a lot more care into how you looked tonight than you wanted to admit.

“It’s just a stupid office party,” you grumbled to yourself before unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car, if it was horrible or boring then you could just go home.

-----

You didn’t know what you had expected, but it wasn’t this. You had followed the signs to the floor that had held a large meeting room, but it didn’t look like a meeting room now.

It was just a room full of people with a snack table and alcohol. The room was dimmed but there were some cheap party effects lighting things happening. People were laughing and talking over some pop music that wasn’t eardrum-bustlingly loud but you still had to strain to hear over. You spotted a lot of coworkers you saw every day, more that you didn’t know from different departments though. You kind of just went and stood by a wall with your eyes searching faces, not stopping too long on any just in case they might think you were staring at them. Before you had left you wondered if you had been too dressed up, but now you were glad for your little black dress as you saw what the others were wearing. Everyone looked so nice and not at all what you were used to them wearing.

While your eyes were going over who was talking to who, you found him.

In the corner of the room on the opposite end, talking to some girl you had only seen a handful of times. She was touching her hair and smiling at him. He looked so dressed down in his ripped black jeans and a black t-shirt. His tattoos were freed as you had always liked seeing and his hair wasn’t being held back. You had seen him like this multiple times, but had anyone else? He had always looked so good like this, so himself.

Just seeing his hair down reminded you of all the times you had grabbed at it while moaning his name. Seeing him in those black ripped jeans reminded you of all the times he has made you ride his chiseled, hard thighs until you came multiple times.

You felt like you had been kicked in the heart as your brain went back to the present moment and saw her placing a hand on his shoulder.

He laughed at something she had said but took a step back out of her grasp smoothly before giving her a small wave. A few more words were exchanged before she apprehensively walked away from him, heaving him alone to stand at the wall on the other side of the room.

Your eyes darted away from him and over to the snack and drink table, you weren’t planning on getting any, but you wanted to make it look that way.

You felt nervous, he looked good and at least one other person had noticed. You told yourself that the lady who had just spoken to him didn’t know him as you did, she probably just saw a hot guy dressed in black with tattoos… just like you had when you both had started whatever happened. He was more than all of that, to you especially now after you had a lot of time to think about it all.

Although you didn’t want your eyes to, they had darted to him for a split second to see he had his phone out… until he looked up from it at you.

He had seen you, he had seen you looking at him from across the room, but he didn’t react. Instead, his eyes went back down to his phone, and yours went back to the table.

Your phone buzzed in your bag and you decided to fish it out thinking it could help you look busy.

“Hey, it’s Jungkook. I see you :)”

Your heart nearly jumped out of your mouth as you read the text.

He hadn’t deleted your number just like you hadn’t his.

You felt his eyes watching you but you didn’t look up. He was waiting for your reply, but you just stood there dumbfounded that he had just sent you a text from across the room.

“I know.” you had nervously typed different versions of this reply over and over only to erase each time before settling on the most simple reply.

“You look good.” it had taken him no time to reply in comparison to you. You stood there in shock and lost as to what to say to him. You were taking too long because he sent a second text.

“I know that dress. I remember it.”

You had been hoping he would. You had worn this dress on the first night you both had ever done anything. You made out in his car after your coffee date. He had just kept telling you how pretty you looked even with his hand in your underwear. It was hard to resist him from even the first date, you had no idea how you had made it eight months now.

“You look nice too, you always have.” You typed and sent it quickly before you could change your mind.

You watched him run his inked fingers through his hair as he read the text. You could swear you saw a flash of a smile on his face before his thumbs went to work on his phone.

“I miss you.” Popped up on your screen.

Part of you felt like crying a little. You felt his eyes on you once again and you looked up away from your phone to see that your feeling had been correct. You were sure your mouth was open as you locked eyes from across the room. Your phone vibrated again in your hand.

“We should talk.”

“Hey, gorgeous!” Jimin stepped in front of you making you lock your phone. “I know you said let’s not talk but-“

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“How could I not? You’re the prettiest one here.” He smirked but you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes.

“Oh hey! I’ve been looking for you!” Jungkook now walked up with a smile at you. “You found her for me and didn’t even know I was looking, thanks, man.” Jungkook seemed to be thanking an equally confused as you Jimin.

“Sorry to bother you about work stuff at a party, but I forgot to earlier. I need the contact info to a client I’ve been working on to sell more products to. It’s wild, it’s like I went to the bathroom one day and the info to this big buyer just kinda… disappeared I guess. So weird, almost like someone has it out for me.” Jungkook gave the fakest joking laugh you had ever seen and Jimin looked a bit wide-eyed. “Anyway, You’re the receptionist so I know you have the contact info for everyone anyway so I was wondering if you could maybe help me out and get it for me? It’s kind of really important and I need it ASAP. Already asked the boss and he said it was cool.”

Jimin had just kind of slinked off silently, but you knew what Jungkook was doing.

“Yeah, Uh of course.” You nodded.

He tilted his head in the direction of the door before you followed him out.

He led you towards the elevator in absolute silence and even as he pushed the button for the floor you both worked on he said nothing.

You were beginning to think he was wanting your help. And then you thought about it more in the silent ride and you felt so stupid. Of course he was wanting your help, he had never said he actually didn’t, not even when Jimin had walked away.

“I can’t believe that asshole sabotaged me like that. My roommate sabotaged my sale.” He mumbled before scoffing as the elevator door opened.

“I-I’ll help.” You said but he passed right by your desk.

“I’m glad you said that.” He replied as he walked over to Jimin’s cubicle.

“What are we doing?” You finally asked.

“Depends…” he raised an eyebrow as he looked back at you. “What do you want me to do?”

You swallowed the lump of nervousness in your throat to speak as you looked into his mischievous-looking dark eyes.

“Whatever you want I guess.”

He lifted you in almost an instant and sat you on Jimin’s desk.

“You know he’s always liked you, right? He would tell on us if he ever found out. You were willing to risk it, right here right now?” He dared.

Instead of speaking you grabbed a fist full of his t-shirt and tugged him down until his lips met yours.

God did you want it. You have wanted for eight long months. You were willing to risk everything after so long without his lips on yours.

You were still nervous but his kiss brought it all back for you and how natural it felt.

“Fuck me.” You pleaded against his lips.

“You need it? Tell me you need it.” His lips moved to your neck as he ran a hand through the back of your hair.

“Ah, fuck I need it. I haven’t fucked anyone since you.” It slipped out of your mouth and got a second your body went rigid.

“Me neither.” He nipped at your neck.

The second thing he had done tonight that had stunned you.

“Wait.” You stopped him and he backed up to look at you.

“I missed you too. Not just… not just this, I missed you. I don’t know if you feel the same but-“

“What did you think I meant by I missed you? I didn’t just mean the sex or your body. I meant you as a person.”

“I-why didn’t you just say?” You wondered out loud.

He dropped to the floor on his knees between your legs.

“Cause you dumped me.” He let out a snort “you told me to delete your number, which surprise, I didn’t. You wouldn’t look at me. Plus this went two ways you know. You didn’t contact me either.” He stated as he looked up at you while ghosting his fingers over the skin of your thighs as he spoke.

“I dumped you?” You were surprised by this news. You know neither of you had had the relationship talk before.

“I mean, I like to think we were together.”

“Then we should be again,” you decided. You were tired of wanting him and not having him and something told you that he felt the same.

“I think so too,” he whispered, inching his lips closer and closer to yours before smashing into them.

His hands squeezed at the meat of your thighs before trailing them up the sides, up under your skirt, and hooking them in your panties. Your tongues whipped together in each other’s mouths. You managed to move so that he could get your panties down, but he only pulled them to your knees. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the table, so close you thought you might fall off if he wasn’t right there between your legs.

His fingers now slowly ran from your inner thighs to your folds. As soon as he touched you, you unlocked your lips from his and let out a shaky breathed whine.

“I can tell you missed me. You're so wet for me,” he whispered so quietly just for you to hear even though no one else was in the room.

You did your best to stay quiet as his fingers teasingly and slowly ran over your clit and back down to your cunt.

He lifted his slick fingers to his mouth and you watched with a slightly open mouth as he let them slide past his lips and then out of his mouth altogether, coming out more glossy from his spit.

“I missed the way you taste”

His even more wet fingers that now teased at your pussy were making you want to grab his hand and force it to do something more. You were practically shaking under even the slightest of his touches. You were nervous for someone to walk in at any given moment and all he was doing was drawing things out and letting his fingers kill precious time playing in your folds.

“I'd love to make you cum right now with my mouth” he pressed a kiss onto your neck where his face had been camping out while his fingers tortured you. “But I know how that makes you scream and we have to be very…” another kiss to your neck “very” his fingers finally slowly slipped into your cunt “very quiet.” his whispers tapered off to quieter and quieter, so much so that your shaking breaths felt loud between the both of you.

You were doing your best not to break out into full-blown moans so that maybe if someone walked in you could play it off as just talking or something else, as long as no one heard your moans on the way up the both of you could have time to look normal.

His fingers curled inside of you with his palm grinding down onto your clit slowly.

“Oh God.” you breathed not knowing how you were supposed to survive this. He was all you wanted for months upon months and now that you had him here, tattooed hand knuckle deep in your pussy, his lips on your skin saying nothing but filth, you felt like you couldn't even let go as much as you wanted to, but you were trying.

His hand sped up its movements as you could feel how hard he was now in his jeans against the inside of your thigh.

Your lips squeezed together but it couldn’t stop the small whimpers he forced out of you. You could hear him breathing in your ear along with the wet sounds of your pussy. You were close but so scared. Doing this out in the open was such a thrill but it also made you paranoid.

“Cum for me. I hear the way you’re whining, you’re so close I know it. Just cum for me. Cum around my fingers, no one will know.”

You couldn’t stop it now.

You grabbed a hold of his shirt and forced his chest harder against yours, you wanted him closer, impossibly close as you came undone, clenching around his fingers rhythmically as each wave of pleasure pulsed through your body.

He let out a little moan at the sound and feel of you coming.

“I missed that too.” He whispered to himself before pulling his fingers out of you slowly.

He reached between you and you felt him quickly yet nervously fiddling with his button and zipper with his hand that wasn’t soaked in your wetness.

He made a show about taking his thick, veiny cock out of his pants and rubbing your juices from his hand over it.

In seconds he was back in your ear.

“Can I fuck your brains out?” The whisper was soft, his voice was sweet but the words themselves were as hard as his dick he still stroked in his hand.

“You're always allowed brains out.” You whispered back “just do it.”

You felt his head run over your folds teasingly as he continued to play with you and himself.

“Do you still think about me fucking your brains out?” He asked. You could hear how much wetness had spread from you to his cock with each pump of his hand.

“Every time I need to get off.” You admitted. “So give it to me so I don’t have to keep wishing anymore.”

He pushed into you slowly, letting out a deep sigh and throwing his head back for a moment so you could see his perfectly sculpted throat.

You missed how full he made you feel while he was inside of you.

He pulled out almost entirely, the head of his cock was the only thing left inside of you, pushing on your g-spot before the thrust back in hard. This was the way he fucked, pulling out almost entirely so his head hit where you needed it. You had experienced guys that just flopped around, but he knew you, he knew your body, he paid attention, he had a very special handcrafted way to get you off over and over until you were shaking.

One of his hands grabbed your hip while the other went to your clit to play with using his thumb.

“You miss this, baby?” You miss my dick between your legs?” His lips brushed with your parted and panting ones as he spoke.

You let out a whimper as you focused on your second orgasm, his hips were not letting up and neither was his lips that whispered pure filth.

“Want me to cum inside of you, make you not want to forget me and who you belong to? Right here on Jimin's desk.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you clutched at the fabric of his shirt as you were once again thrown into pure pleasure.

You couldn’t help it this time. The way he touched you, the way he felt inside of you, his grunts and words were all too much.

“Please, fucking cum inside of me, I want it all fuck you feel so good.” You cried out way too loudly.

“Oh my god, fuck.” He breathed through pants as his hips pounded into yours. You felt him release inside of you. Your walls clenched around him upon hearing his long deep guttural moan.

“I haven’t cum like that in…” he panted before letting out a little chortle of laughter “well in eight months.”

“So,” there was a loud voice in the room making your heads turn and your stomach’s sink. “You fucked on my desk.” Jimin looked beyond angry as he sat in an office chair across the room with his phone in his hand, pointing it at the both of you. You had no idea when or how he had come in, but you knew you were both beyond physically fucked.

Jungkook had already scrambled to pull out of you and zip his pants back up as you jumped off the desk, pulled your underwear up, and smoothed out your dress.

“That's fine, I have you both on video. I really liked you y/n. Jungkook, Looks like I’m moving out.” he stood from the chair and headed towards the direction of the elevator. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to speak to our boss about this. He probably won't be too happy to see you two are breaking company policy.”

“Fuck company policy and fuck you! You were an awful friend, roommate and you've always been jealous of me!” Jungkook yelled at him back.

“Not anymore, jobless.” Jimin turned back to give Jungkook a smirk before he stepped into the elevator.

With that, you were both just left there.

“I… I am so so sorry…” Jungkook began apologetically and just as stunned as you were.

“Don’t be, we’re too good for this job anyway, we can find new ones. It looks like you need a new roommate now though.”

You watched his face as a small smile grew on it.

“Yeah, looking for someone prettier and nicer, maybe someone willing to be my girlfriend? I don't know though, I don’t want to make too many demands.”

“Well I could meet all of those demands.” you played along. “We won't have to sneak around anymore.”

“Yes, please, yes. I uh- don't want to ruin the cute moment, but I think we should get out of here before Jimin brings the boss up.”

“Oh fuck, right. Uhh, we should probably just never come back too. Let’s just grab our stuff from our desks and make a run for it.”

“Let's go. You know, this is simultaneously the best, worst, most exciting, and most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me,” he said and you couldn't help but laugh and agree.

Maybe the both of you had made a big mistake, but perhaps there could be good that came from it. You had him back and honestly you didn’t feel too bad about trading your dumb job with its dumb company policy for him.

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orange-waterfalls · 3 years

Text

Ouch

I cut my fingy and panicked a lot so here’s a quick not-at-all thought out thing about how some egos would react to s/o cutting their finger while cooking and it like isn’t that bad but they’re freaking out

1.4k words

Enjoy!

Markiplier egos with an s/o who accidentally cut themselves hcs

Darkiplier

He was in his study, just thinking, while you made dinner

He heard a tiny “ow” and didn’t think much of it

He then heard a louder “OW” and a string of “fuck”s and got worried

He entered the kitchen, to see you gripping your wrist and holding your finger under the water from the sink

He thinks you burned yourself

Then you pull your hand away and he sees blood and immediately makes his way over.

“What happened? Are you ok? How bad is it?”

You don’t answer as you are too busy hyperventilating because goddammit it HURTS

He tries to take your hand to look at it but you won’t let him

You look so hurt and vulnerable and he feels so bad

If you’d asked him to help cook, and he didn’t take it, he’d feel a thousand times worse

Eventually, he gets you to sit down and calms you, just a bit, and goes to get band aids

He comes back to you looking like you’re about to have a panic attack

He quickly stands you back up, and you put your finger back under the sink.

He gently washes it with soap and apologizes every time you make a noise

He gives you the bandage and lets you sit on the couch

You calm down and lean on his shoulder

He lets you sit there for a bit, rubbing your arm.

You eventually look up at him

“I think I may have overreacted.”

He’d laugh and kiss your head and goes to finish cooking dinner

Wilford

He wasn’t even home yet

You told him you were starting dinner and he left wherever he was immediately.

He was picking up wine from the store when you called him

“Wilford please get bandaids”

He was confused and a little worried, so he asked why

“Please just buy some and hurry home please” and you hung up

Now, Wilford is hardly a reasonable man as it is. so when he ran out of the store (without paying) and sped down the road in his car to get home before you, like, died or some shit, you shouldn’t have been surprised

He may or may not have run into a pedestrian or two on the way

He threw the door open when he got home, gun in hand

“WHAT HAPPENED WHAT’S THE DANGER”

You’re sitting on a chair in the kitchen breathing heavily, holding your finger

He can’t help but laugh because, christ, he thought it was something BAD

But, to you, it was bad. and he was laughing at you.

You tear up, just a bit. you’re feeling a lot of emotions right now.

He sees and gets worried again because is it worse than he thinks?? is there another injury??? are you traumatized what’s happening?

He tries to look at the cut but you turn away, looking very upset

He tries to convince you to let him see but you won’t budge

You’re whining a little (which I do because I can’t emote properly) which makes him upset

He drops to his knees and holds out his hands

“C’mon, baby! Let me see! Let me help!”

He’s being overdramatic and stupid and it makes you smile. So you do.

He gently kisses the spot, as to not hurt you, and puts a bandaid over it, kissing that too.

He orders take out and lets you lay on his lap while he pets your hair

Yancy

He was practicing some dance moves when he heard you in the kitchen

You were cursing and breathing heavily

Logically, he should know that perhaps you hurt yourself making dinner

However Yancy is a bit of a dumbass so he thinks someone broke in or something

He walks in with a knife, only for you to stand there with your finger under the sink.

He sees the blood, so concludes that you cut yourself. But you look really upset?

He’s mostly confused.

He’s been through worse, you’ve been through worse, he KNOWS you have

So why are you so upset?

“Why are you so upset?” “I don’t know!” “It’s not that bad” “I know...” “What’s the problem?” “I don’t KNOW!”

You start to cry, just a bit, and Yancy panics

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to this!

He wants to tell you to get over it, but also he doesn’t?

Like, he knows it’s the easiest thing to say, but also not the BEST thing to say

So he says nothing. He gets a band aid, puts it on your finger, and hugs you.

He holds you for a minutes until your breathing is normal

If you tell him you don’t wanna cook today, he orders pizza

If you tell him you can, he’ll try to help

You have to kick him out because the man doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing

Illinois

He’s watching you cook and sees it happen before it does

Your finger isn’t in the right place, he saw you adjust

He tries to warn you but doesn’t do it in time

He winces because ouch

He processes what happened before you do, so he already has the band aids.

He turns the sink on, moves your finger underneath, and cleans it with soap

He puts the band aid on you and kisses your hand

He asks if you want to keep cooking or if you want him to cook

If you want to, he’ll help you with whatever you were doing first that made you cut yourself

If you don’t want to, he’ll finish what you were doing on his own.

He makes sure you’ve calmed down and holds your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles

“Im being overdramatic...”

“No, you’re not. It hurt. You bled. You got upset. You’re ok now.”

He’s a very understanding and responsible man ^///^

Magnum

None of that goddamn crew can cook for shit, so you always have to

Mostly fish and vegetables you buy at different ports

Magnum and the others are just drinking and laughing when they hear you yell and curse from the kitchen

Magnum goes over to see what’s happening

He sees you holding your finger and goes to hold you

He’s very. protective, I’m gonna say.

“Oh, poor darlin’... are ye alright? Are ye ok? Awh, sweetheart...”

He doesn’t have bandaids, so he cleans a cloth and covers your finger

He makes you rest in your room (even though it wasn’t particularly that bad)

The other crewmates check in periodically to see if you’re ok

Magnum decides he’s going to cook

Yes, the ship catches on fire. No, he will not say how he did it

You have to finish dinner, otherwise the others are gonna kill themselves trying

Google

He’s recharging on the couch while you cook

He hears you curse from the kitchen and concludes you’ve hurt yourself

He doesn’t really see one injury as too much worse than another. they’re all bad

He knows what happens if even the smallest wound gets infected

He wants it dealt with quickly and efficiently

He walks up to you and grabs your hand, pulling it under the sink

He cleans it with soap, puts a band aid on it, and leaves

Dr. Iplier who, bitch?

He likes to sit when you while you eat, just so he can talk to you

You, however, don’t talk to him at all and he’s a little upset

He figures he was a bit too rough with you at first when he reaches for you after you stand up and you pull away

“I apologize for my methods, I wanted to make sure the wound was dealt with posthaste.”

“Well... I guess that’s a good enough excuse.”

You hug him, and he (hesitantly) hugs back

Bing

Probably the reason you cut yourself lmao

He enjoys bothering you when you’re busy

He hasn’t recieved his Designated Bing Attention Hours today and therefore you have to deal with a very clingy and annoying Bing

He’d be less annoying if he’d stop fucking TOUCHING THINGS but w/e

He bumps into you and you yell

He doesn’t realize that you cut yourself until you start cursing

He turns around to see you frantically turning the water on and gets very nervous

Shit, that was his fault? He did that? Fuck, you’re angry, aren’t you. FUCK

He leaves, immediately, and you have to deal with it yourself.

He paces in your room for a bit, debating what to do

“Ok. Alright. What do people like. Phones? I could buy a phone. I could STEAL a phone. I could steal anything they want! Do people need graphics cards?”

He settles for walking back into the kitchen, apologizing, and walking back out

“nailed it”

You’re a little quiet the rest of the day, and he’s still nervous, but you hug him and kiss his cheek before you get ready to go to bed, so it’s ok

#i did 7 instead of 6 and i dont really care #i was gonna put dr iplier #but then i realized he's probably a competent human being and that's no fun #either that or he'd just say you're dying and walk away and that's no fun either #darkiplier x reader #googleplier x reader #bing x reader #illinois x reader #yancy x reader #wilford warfstache x reader #wilford x reader #captain magnum x reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #markiplier egos x reader #self indulgence babey

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

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atlabeth · 3 years

Text

everything happens for a reason part 5 - zuko x fem!reader

I can go anywhere I want, I can go anywhere just not home

part 4 | masterlist | part 6

a/n: this was hard to get going but once i got to the end the words just flowed. ive come to the conclusion that writing dialogue with katara is my favorite thing to do

warning(s): nightmare at the beginning, survivor's guilt from y/n, some internalized homophobia :-( but aside from that its mostly fluff

wc: 3.6k

chapter title comes from my tears ricochet by taylor swift!

She was trapped.

It was a prison of never ending hallways in some kind of infinite void, complete with the rank stench of death and an innate feeling of hopelessness.

Y/N knew this place. It had been the subject of her nightmares on countless occasions, because it was where she was supposed to be. She had no choice but to start down the pathway of cracked stone — she knew what awaited her, but it was the only way out. She had developed some sick sense of awareness in this nightmare and it didn’t do her any favors.

She began to walk hastily down the path, the itch of paranoia already plaguing the back of her mind. Countless times she had been here, and yet it never got better.

Before Y/N knew it, she had reached her unwanted destination. The first tangible thing in what felt like miles was a prison cell, and she pushed forward despite knowing what awaited her. It was the only way.

“It wasn’t the only way.”

She froze, inhaling sharply as the dreamscape seemed to pull her thoughts out of her mind, and she forced herself to take another step closer, the inhabitant of the cell now visible.

“You did this to me.”

It was her mother, but… not quite her. Her voice strained and stiff, a gaunt appearance with cruel eyes, hunched over in a prison cell. Any sign of the woman Y/N knew her as was gone, and it was her fault. She was the reason Kura was gone — a mother’s ultimate sacrifice because her daughter was too stuck in her head.

“How could you do this to me?” she asked. “How could you be so selfish?”

Y/N tried to respond, but she couldn’t. It was no use anyway — her words would’ve come out in broken, pleading rambles to someone who couldn’t hear a thing. She knew it was fake, she knew this was a nightmare, but it still hurt all the same.

She had imagined her mother saying those words to her so many times they had found their way into her nightmares despite knowing that Kura would never utter a single syllable true to her fears. She had all but killed her mother, and instead of remembering her for what she had done for Y/N, she appeared in her nightmares.

She was a horrible daughter.

She heard footsteps and whirled around, instinctively taking a step back and wincing as her back slammed into the bars. A tall, dark figure creeped towards her and her breath caught in her throat — as it came into the light, she recognized him as the Fire Lord.

He chuckled coldly as he neared ever closer, the path he walked turning to flames behind him. Her eyes darted around for an escape only to find that everything was on fire. It was suffocating, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, and when she turned to look for her mother she was gone. Everything was gone, her dark void now a prison of flames.

She turned around once more and Ozai was right in front of her, the fire in his hands glowing red hot and a cruel smile on his lips.

“Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

She shot up in her bed, a scream on the edge of her lips but just barely managing to hold it back. Ragged breaths were ripped from her chest, her eyes shooting around wildly as she attempted to find anything at all to ground her. It took a few minutes, but with repeated mantras of it was just a dream and you are safe, she was able to calm down.

She pulled her knees to her chest and exhaled long and deep before pulling herself out of bed. It seemed that her day was going to be starting much earlier than planned.

Four years had passed since her arrival at the Northern Water Tribe, but the nightmares never ceased. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself she had done the right thing, that it was what her mother wanted, that if she stayed she would’ve died — she was constantly haunted by her past actions and memories of the Fire Nation.

She hasn’t taken off the necklace since her mother gave it to her, no matter what she does. It’s almost become a part of her now — a memory of Kura and her selflessness that knew no bounds, as well as a grim reminder of what it cost to get her here.

The Northern Water Tribe itself held countless memories of her mother — after all, it was where she had spent the first eighteen years of her life. Her name was well known throughout the tribe with nobles and elders alike, and it amazed Y/N to no end the impact that her mother left everywhere she went. She loved hearing stories about her mother and what she was like as a child, but it was always bittersweet.

She always carried an inherent sense of guilt with her because of who she lived with — her mother hadn’t been lying when she said that the necklace would get them to help her. Kura’s parents still lived in the tribe, and they had taken Y/N in after she revealed who she was. They loved her unconditionally and never made her feel like a burden, but Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think they blamed her for the fate that befell her mother.

After all, she did.

She had never told anyone the full story of why she ran though. It was one thing to leave her mother behind for certain death because of the Fire Lord’s rage, it was another thing to admit that it was wholly her fault because she had fallen for a prince.

Zuko.

Not a day went by where she didn’t think of him. She still held the hope that she would see him again someday, but in lieu of travel she turned to letters.

Y/N had a shelf full of unmailed letters addressed to both Zuko and her mother — it was a way to get out her emotions whenever she was feeling particularly homesick or hopeless, and it did help at first, but after four years it had become something born out of habit rather than necessity.

She still wrote them though — Y/N had learned to hold onto any form of hope she could muster up, no matter how small, and in this moment she needed some.

She opened her shelf and rifled through piles upon piles of letters, some finished, some hardly started, and some crumpled from fits of rage, and her breath caught in her throat when her fingers brushed something different. Y/N pulled the material out and nearly started crying right then and there.

It was an unbelievably simple patch of fabric, but it meant the world to her — something that she had bought during her last night with Zuko, and one of the only pieces of material to have survived her journey to the Northern Water Tribe. She was forced to sell the rest of the fabric she had brought with her in order to make some easy money while on the run, but she had kept this as a memento. She could almost be brought back to the final sunset they shared if she looked at it for long enough.

Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stop the tears and shoved it back into the drawer before closing it and leaving her room in a haste. Sometimes she wasn’t strong enough to handle the memories.

She made her way to the living room and let out a sigh of relief when she noticed the silence. Y/N had never told her grandparents about the nightmares, and right now she just needed some time to herself. Never before was she so thankful for her grandmother’s gossiping nature and her grandfather’s work than she was in the mornings where she just wanted to be alone.

She sat down on the floor, not even bothering to get a cushion, and stared at her hands. Once smooth and untouched by the world, they were now rough and calloused with wrapped bandages resting just below her wrist. Permanent memories of what it took to get here. The ever present reminder that nothing came without a cost.

This morning seemed to be one full of yearning for the past. Y/N tried to shake her feelings off and got up once more, contemplating some steamed sea prunes before deeming it fruitless. Her appetite was lacking after her trip down memory lane.

She walked back to her room and got dressed hastily then ran out the door, but not before plucking a gift from her shelf. Today marked the birthday of a certain princess, and Y/N had to go fast if she was going to get it to her before class.

She was immediately hit by the frigid air of the North, pulling her anorak tighter around her frame as she began to run to the canals — one could always find Princess Yue there in the mornings — doing her best to avoid anyone else walking.

Y/N saw Yue just about to board one of the boats and sped up, waving one of her arms as a signal. “Yue, wait!”

She turned and her face immediately brightened up at the sight of Y/N, raising her open palm so the boatman would hold up. “Y/N! Would you like to join me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

Yue’s nod prompted a shrug as she dropped down carefully into the gondola, taking extra care not to drop her gift, and took a seat next to her friend.

“This is a nice surprise,” Yue smiled as the boatman began to waterbend, effectively moving their gondola through the canal. “But if I might ask, what brought you here so early?”

Y/N laughed, thinking her reason for coming here obvious. “It’s your birthday, princess! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to wish you well in person?”

Her smile grew even brighter, the corners of her eyes creasing up in the way that made some kind of warmth blossom in Y/N’s chest. “Thank you! That’s so sweet — I’m especially honored that you woke up early just for me.”

“Of course.” Y/N brandished the gift she had been doing her best to hide, unable to do the same for her own smile. “And here’s your gift! I sewed it all myself.”

Yue gasped as she took the creation, giving it a slight squeeze and a thorough investigation before absolutely beaming. “You made me an otter penguin— oh, you know how much I love these!”

She wrapped Y/N in a tight hug before pulling away, but it was just long enough for the heat to rush to her cheeks. “Thank you so much, really. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Y/N beamed at the praise and nodded, shifting a little in her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m glad you like it so much.”

The two girls grinned at each other then turned their gaze to the horizon, content to spend the rest of the ride together in comfortable silence.

Her friendship with the princess of the Northern Water Tribe was something that Y/N cherished with all her heart. She could confidently say that Princess Yue was her best friend, and she hoped it was a notion that Yue shared. As beautiful as she was kind, the princess always had a way of making her feel better on the hardest days — Yue was the only one who knew the whole truth of what happened in the Fire Nation, and she offered nothing but sympathy.

Y/N honestly didn’t know what she would do without Yue. She had been her rock during the whole process of getting situated in the tribe, always lending a helping hand when she stumbled in class or was completely oblivious to something in their culture, and she never made her feel stupid, or unwanted, or less-than for what she had come from.

The only thing that confused her about Yue was the feeling she got whenever Y/N was around her. The rushes of heat to her cheeks, the warmth blossoming in her chest, and the unusual happiness she felt anytime Yue smiled at her. The most peculiar of it all was the strange tug of jealousy any time a noble boy tried to flirt with the princess, and nothing but disinterest whenever they tried an angle on her instead.

She didn’t know what any of it meant, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was wrong. So Y/N did the only thing she could and suppressed it.

Soon enough, though much to their chagrin, Y/N had to leave. After some exchanged hugs and one last wish of happy birthday, Y/N took off for her morning healing class. But as she hurried down the icy paths, she caught sight of the most peculiar thing.

A giant flying bison was being led through the canals with a team of waterbenders, three kids that couldn’t be any older than her on its back. One had an arrow on his head and sported orange and yellow robes, while the other two looked to be of Water Tribe descent.

Her interest was irrefutably piqued, but she didn’t have any more time to waste with gawking. So she began to run once again, apologies spilling from her lips as she maneuvered through the groups of people all just as awestruck by the strange arrival as she was. Y/N made a mental note to ask Yue about it later, but for now she was running very late to her healing class.

Sure enough, a few hours later, Y/N was able to get the answers she had been craving. She met up with Yue outside of the palace, and during a short walk, she learned that the boy was the Avatar. He had come to the Northern Water Tribe to master waterbending, and the two kids with him were his companions from the Southern Tribe — much to her excitement, the girl was a waterbender.

Needless to say, Y/N was even more enthusiastic than before, and Yue made her day by confirming that they would be coming to her birthday celebration that night as honored guests. She had already talked to her father about allowing Y/N to sit with her and he had said yes, which meant that she would get to meet him and his friends in person — it just served as a reminder that Y/N had no idea what she would do without Yue.

After what felt like hours of passing the time with lost games of Pai Sho against her grandfather and failed attempts at finishing her homework, it was finally time for the banquet. Once she arrived at the front of the palace she bid goodbye to her grandparents and went to find the seat that Yue had secured for her.

She settled down in the empty spot next to what she assumed was Yue’s — it was her birthday after all, so a dramatic entrance wasn’t out of the question — and nervously glanced at the three visitors, trying to figure out how to introduce herself.

Thankfully, she was saved when the girl met her eyes and waved, offering a friendly smile. “Hi! I’m Katara; this is my brother Sokka, and that’s Aang.” She gestured in their direction with her head when she said their names and they both smiled and gave her polite nods.

She returned the sentiment gratefully. “I’m Y/N— I’m one of Princess Yue’s friends. Welcome to the Northern Water Tribe!”

“Thanks!” Aang said. “We’re here to find a master so Katara and I can master waterbending.”

“Well, you’re in luck. Master Pakku is one of the best there is, and even though he’s a total jerk, he’ll be able to teach you everything you need to know. And Katara, we have some amazing healing teachers— I can bring you along to my class tomorrow if you’re interested!”

Katara’s eyes lit up. “You’re a waterbender too?” When Y/N nodded, her smile grew even bigger, though slightly wistful.

“I’d really appreciate that,” she admitted, though her brows knit together. “But I’d like to learn from Master Pakku as well.”

Y/N frowned, about to correct her, when the distinct sound of drums began to echo throughout the hall. Her displeasure immediately disappeared as she grinned at them all excitedly, gesturing with her head towards the action.

Chief Arnook stood up from his spot and their table, his low voice booming. “Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of our brother and sister from the Southern Tribe. And they have brought with them someone very special, someone whom many of us believed disappeared from the world until now… the Avatar!”

Y/N’s own applause joined a symphony of others clapping and cheering as Aang waved bashfully, and once it died down, Arnook continued. “We also celebrate my daughter’s sixteenth birthday. Princess Yue is now of marrying age!”

She grinned as Yue walked out alongside her attendants — she would never get used to her beauty. Y/N noticed the way that Sokka’s eyes widened as he stared at her, and her stomach twisted at the act for some unknown reason.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “May the great Ocean and Moon Spirits watch over us during these troubled times!”

Arnook smiled at his daughter and directed his attention back to his people. “Now, Master Pakku and his students will perform!”

She could tell that Katara and Aang were enraptured by the bending, while Sokka’s attention was already on Yue as she walked over to sit between Sokka and Y/N.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Yue exclaimed, greeting her friend with a short embrace.

Y/N gave her a sideways smile. “If you think that I would miss your birthday and a banquet, then I’m afraid you’re out of practice on Y/N trivia.”

The princess laughed and nodded amiably then turned her attention to Sokka, ever the diplomat.

“Hi there,” he grinned. “Sokka, Southern Water Tribe.”

Yue returned the sentiment and gave him a slight bow. “Very nice to meet you.”

As their conversation went on, Y/N found herself tuning out a bit. For whatever reason, she had to actively stop herself from rolling her eyes at Sokka’s flirting, that same feeling in her stomach coming back. She made a mental note to see a healer about her issues.

“Hey, Y/N!” She snapped out of her self-imposed trance at the sound of Katara calling her name as she gestured for her to come over. It looked like Aang had gotten up to converse with Master Pakku and Chief Arnook, so she took the invitation and switched seats.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to finally be here,” Katara said once Y/N had settled next to her. “Back home, I’m the only waterbender. Here… it’s like paradise. It almost feels too good to be true. I mean, even seeing you is crazy — I’ve never met a waterbender my age.”

Y/N smiled, though not without a hint of sadness. “I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for you to be able to experience this. How are you the only bender left down there?”

Katara was silent for a moment, a flurry of emotions warring on her face, before she answered. “The Southern Tribe hasn’t fared half as well as the Northern Tribe during the war. We don’t have one big, huge capital like this, we’re all split up into small villages. The Fire Nation has just been relentless with their raids, and without support from the North and a lack of communication between our sister tribes in the South, they were able to wipe us all out. Except for me.”

“Spirits, Katara…” Y/N set an amiable hand on her shoulder and squeezed, hoping that her softened expression could say what her words couldn’t. “My village was invaded when I was young, too. I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.”

She nodded pensively but managed to meet her eyes with an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry about your village as well.” Her gaze drifted off, once again taking in the view around them, and when Katara met her eyes again she seemed better. “But we’re here now, and I’m planning to take advantage of everything I can, starting with all this food. Which one of these is your favorite?”

Y/N grinned as Katara pointed at the platter of various dishes in front of them. “Oh, you’ve got to try this. See that giant crab up there? That’s what this is, and you have not lived until you have tried Northern crab.”

Conversation flowed just as easily through the rest of the night between the two girls, occasionally switching to include Sokka and Yue and eventually Aang once he returned. Between the swells of pride whenever they laughed at her jokes, getting to learn about all three of them, and the almost palpable euphoria in the air, Y/N was sure of one thing:

This was the happiest she had felt in a long time. She could only hope it would last.

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895

atla: @marianne1806

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko fic #zuko x reader fic #zuko #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fic #avatar fic #reader insert #avatar x reader #sadie writes #ehfar #y/n is having bi panic when she doesn't even know wtf the fuck bi is #she can't help it that her friend is the prettiest girl in the world

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arctickat2400 · 3 years

Text

Grace - Part 2 <> Damon Salvatore

Ten years later

Grace looks so much like her mother. So beautiful and she turned into her mother each and every day as she grew.

And today is her 16th birthday. She’s been waiting for today for so long, and all these years she hasn’t asked about her mother once. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but she’s been so happy.

Our friends are coming today for her birthday. Caroline, Elena, Matt, Bonnie, Stefan, Alaric, and Jeremy.

Grace never liked to make a big deal of her birthday. It may have been ‘cause Y/N died on her birthday, but I never told her that. I never told her how her mom died or that Bonnie had to save her life.

We decorated the dining room in red and black, her favorite colors, and Caroline had set the cupcakes in the center of the table when she got here. Grace didn’t like having a big cake for her birthday. Always something small.

It was almost 12 in the afternoon and Grace should be waking up soon. Everyone was here and everything was ready.

I walked upstairs to Grace’s bedroom. When she was about ten, when she decided she wanted to redecorate, we painted her walls red, put a few posters up, she had a black leather bed and her room was mostly just made of red and black.

I knocked on her door, but received no answer.

I walked in, looking around. Her room was as clean as it always was, her bed was made with her bear set on it, yet she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

She wasn’t in her bathroom and she wasn’t at her desk, where she would usually be writing in her diary.

Just then, I almost fell to the ground in surprise as Grace fell from above and onto my back. She always did that, surprising me whenever and wherever she could.

“Hey, Dad.” She smiled at me as I looked back at her with a smile of my own.

She jumped off of me, walking in front of me as I took her hand in mine and spun her around. I always did that. She was my princess and I was her king.

I spun her towards me as I held her in my arms, kissing the top of her head.

“How is my stunning princess this fine morning?” I questioned her with a smile.

The weird thing is that whoever didn’t know that I was a vampire, which mostly every knows, they would think Grace is my age, or close to my age.

“I’m pretty good. I’m clean and energized and ready for the day.” She smiled.

Grace’s POV

Today was my 16th birthday and even though dad didn’t say anything, I know that he and our friends are planning a party for me.

I couldn’t hear anything downstairs, since I was human and I didn’t have vampire hearing, but I knew our friends were down there. It was always like I could read minds. Everyone believed I could.

Wearing a red and black sweatshirt with black jeggings, I slid on my glasses and some rings. I, then, picked up my bracelet with a music note on it and slid it on my wrist. But I noticed something.

There was a charm bracelet laying next to it. I don’t remember having this.

I looked to dad as he smiled at me.

“Oh, yeah. Happy Birthday.” Dad smiled, and I let out a little laugh. “It was your mother’s and she wanted me to give it to you for your 16th birthday.” He told me. I smiled at the thought of my mother. I’ve never met her or seen her, but from how dad described her, she seems incredible.

“Thanks, Dad.” I told him as he brought me into a hug.

I slid the bracelet along with my other, adding my red heart necklace on my neck. Dad had given it to me when I was old enough, maybe three years old, and he told me to never take it off. I never have.

“You ready?” Dad asked me. I nodded as he held out his arm for me to take.

Intertwining my arm with his, we walked out of my room, walking down the stairs and towards the living room.

We walking into the living room, but no one wa there. But, within the second, everyone jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!” Even though I hated surprises. I just smiled.

“Hey, guys. Thanks so much.” I told them, hugging them all. Caroline, Elena, Bonnie, Matt, Alaric, Stefan, Jeremy, they were all here.

“Happy Birthday, Grace.” Dad said, pulling me into a side hug as I set my hand on his chest and stared at all our friends.

We started with presents, everyone sitting in the living room. Gifts were piled up on the coffee table. I don’t see how anyone knew what to get me. I mean, I didn’t even know what I wanted myself.

I opened my first gift as everyone stared at me. Never liked to be stared at either, but no one cared.

This one was from dad. It was a new journal with a dark sky lit up with stars and mountains on it.

“I saw that you didn’t have many pages left in your other journal and I know I get you a journal every year, but I knew you needed it.” Dad confessed.

“Thanks, Dad. And I do need it.” I told him, leaning over and giving him another hug. Hugging was always our thing. There were always things that dad and my mom did to show their love for each other and dad did some of those things with me. It was our thing.

After maybe 10 minutes, I had opened every gift and most of them were small but there were also some big ones. Lots of jewelry, a sketchbook, pens and colored pencils and a new iPhone. And my favorite, a new laptop. Dad knew I needed a new one. My old one had lost one of its screws and was all broken and beat up. I kept telling him how much I needed a new one.

After I had hugged and thanked everyone for their very appreciated gifts, Elena passed out the cupcakes and after we ate, everyone just hung out in the living room.

“So, what should we do? Maybe go to the grill for some pool and burgers? My treat for Grace’s birthday.” Matt suggests as he looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.

“Thanks, Matt. That actually sounds great. But, I need to go do something first. I’ll meet you all at the grill in a few, okay?” I told our friends. They all agreed, heading out the door and to the grill. I headed upstairs as it was only dad, Stefan and I left at the house.

I snuck up to Dad’s room, hoping he wouldn’t find me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom lately. I never mentioned her to dad since the night after the incident, but I’ve always thought about her. I’ve always wondered what she looked like and who she was.

Dad must have a photo of here somewhere in his room, and it’s today that I’d like to see and know about her.

I looked through his bookshelves, looking in books that he always seems to have out and a few that he seems to never even touch. I looked inside his dresser and in his closet. I couldn’t find anything. Did he even have a photo of her?

Just then, I remember that one night I saw a box on the mantle of dad’s fireplace. It looked special. I didn’t want to go through his private stuff, but I just had to see mom.

I walked to his fireplace, taking the box down and walking to his bed. I sat down opening the box. There was so much in there. There was jewelry and then there was a note and a picture. I looked at the jewelry. There was a ring in there that had an engraving in it.

I love you. Always and Forever. Is what it said. I guess that was her wedding ring that dad gave her.

I, then, saw a necklace in there. It was a silver chain with a diamond heart. It was beautiful. I took out the note. It read:

My beautiful Y/N,

I love you so much. Nothing can describe the love I have for you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You make me a better person and I can’t thank you enough for the love you have for me. I will never stop loving you for as long as I live.

I love you, baby girl.

Always and Forever.

I wonder what the note was for. It’s sweet.

I, then, took out the photo and I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was so young. It was a photo of her and dad together. They looked so amazing together, with his arms wrapped around her as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

I ran into dad’s bathroom with the picture. I stood in front of his mirror and held up the photo. I look exactly like her.

I walk back to dad’s bed, sitting down as I stare down at the photo. A few tears come from my eyes as I hear someone coming up the stairs.

Dad steps through his doorway, staring at me with wide eyes.

I look up at him as we stare at each other.

“I look just like her.” Is all I could say. Dad sped towards me, sitting next to me and taking the picture from my hand.

He set it back in the box along with the note and the jewelry.

Out of nowhere, “What happened to her?” I went right out and asked.

He just looked up at me with sad, but sympathetic eyes.

“I guess it’s time to tell you now.” Dad admitted. He closed the box, setting it back on the mantle and walked back to me. He sat down next me and began telling me the whole story.

“So, her name was Y/N. She was the most amazing person in the whole world. One day, she had come home from Caroline’s house and it was a full moon that night. I was at the bar and when I came home, she was lying on the driveway… dead.” I could tell he didn’t want to say that, but he did. He went on.

“She was covered in blood and she had gotten bit by a wolf. By Tyler Lockwood. At that time, she was still pregnant with you, and we were able to save you, but we couldn’t save her.” He was almost crying now. I already had tears streaming down my cheeks as I stared at him in sadness and terror.

“We were able to get you out and Bonnie was able to use her power to bring you back. You were okay, but your mother wasn’t. When she died, and I wasn’t there for her, I could barely keep it together. I didn’t even want to live. But then, there was you. I couldn’t leave you. Your mom would’ve wanted me to stay for you. And I did and I made it my responsibility to protect you and keep you safe.” I could barely keep it together. I stared down at my hands as I was so close to breaking down.

“Grace, I’m so sorry.” He said to me, taking my hand in his.

Tears streamed from my eyes as I finally broke down. I cried my eyes out, bawling, as Dad brought me into his arms, holding me close as I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my head in his chest.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” He repeated. “She loved you. Even when she hadn’t met you yet, she loved you and she wanted so much to see you. And I know she can.” Dad added.

Damon’s POV

Grace has been upstairs for awhile. Stefan and I were waiting for her so we could leave.

I walked upstairs, going to check on her to see if she was okay. I didn’t hear anything except a steady heartbeat.

“Grace?” I called out. She wasn’t in her room, and the only other room up her other than Stefan’s was mine. I walked through my doorway only to see her sitting on my bed with Y/N’s box beside her.

I stared at Grace with sadness and sympathy.

I can’t believe she found it. She found the picture and now she knew. She looks exactly like Y/N.

Grace looked up at me and said, “I look just like her.”

I walked to her, gathering Y/N’s picture, jewelry and my note to her and putting them back in the box.

Just as I set Y/Ne’s necklace back in the box, Grace spoke.

“What happened to her?” I knew this time would come at some point. I knew Grace would ask about Y/N. She saw her and now she needs to know.

“I guess it’s time to tell you.” I told her. I set Y/N’s box back on the mantle and sat back down beside my daughter.

“So, her name was Y/N and she was the most amazing person in the whole world. One day, she had come home from Caroline’s house and it was a full moon that night. I was the bar and when I came home she was lying on the driveway… dead.” It pained me to say that. But, I continued.

“She was covered in blood and she had gotten bit by a wolf. By Tyler Lockwood. At that time, she was still pregnant with you and we were able to save you, but we couldn’t save her.” I almost couldn’t hold in my tears . It was so hard for me to talk about Y/N, but i had to be strong for Grace. She needs to know. Grace was already crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes filled with sadness and terror.

“We were able to get you out and Bonnie was able to use her power to bring you back. You were okay, but your mother wasn’t. When she died, and I wasn’t there for her, I could barely keep it together. I didn’t even want to live. But, then there was you. I couldn’t leave you. Your mom would’ve wanted me to stay for you. And I did and I made it my responsibility in life to protect you and keep you safe.” I told her. She looked so heartbroken and sad. I could understand that. She stared down at her hands, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Grace, I’m so sorry.” I told her, taking her hand in mine.

She finally broke. She was bawling now as I took her in my arms, holding her close as she wrapped her arms around my neck, her head buried in my chest.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” I repeated. “She loved you, so much. Even though she hadn’t met you yet, she loved you and she wanted to much to see you. And I know she can.” I added.

I held her in my arms as she cried.

After a minute or so, she sat up. I set my hands on her cheeks, wiping away her tears.

She put on a small smile as I did as well. She let out a small laugh.

“Thanks, Dad. I love you.” She told me and I loved hearing her say that.

“I love you, too, princess.” I told her, bringing her back into another hug and kissing her head.

“Now, let’s get to the grill. Everyone’s probably getting worried.” I told her.

We walked downstairs, meeting with Stefan by my car.

“Before we go, I have one more gift for you.” I told my daughter. I want Grace to have Y/N’s car. I had never taken it out of the garage and I’ve never shown Grace before.

I led her and Stefan to the garage, revealing Y/N’s 2014 Chevrolet Camaro.

“Oh my god! This is amazing!” Grace screamed in excitement.

“It was mom’s car. She would’ve wanted you to have it.” I mentioned.

“Mom had amazing taste.” Grace laughed. I smiled.

She hugged me once more before we got into her car, driving to the grill.

Grace’s POV

We arrived, answering everyone’s question to where we were and why we took so long.

For the rest of the night, we hung out at the grill, eating burgers for dinner and Dad even compelled the bartender to let me have a couple drinks. Not enough to get me drunk, but he let me have a drink or two.

I played a game of pool with each of our friends, the best game being with Dad.

He was my favorite person in the world. He’s always kept me safe, as he has wanted to for my whole life. He’s loved and cared for me and I couldn’t ask for more.

#damon salvatore #damon x reader #damon x daughter #damon salvatore imagines #vampire diaries #matt donavan #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #jeremy gilbert #alaric saltzman

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solomonish · 4 years

Text

you and me, we outlive even demons (solomon x reader)

Pros of being immortal: You have all the time in the world to do whatever you want - and, you can be immortal with Solomon. Cons of being immortal: You have to watch all your friends die, and it's Belphegor's time to go.

WARNING: major character death! all of the demon brothers are dead. belphegor is the only one to die on-screen.

ao3 link: here!

When Belphegor died, it was nighttime.

In the Devildom, it is always night, with varying shades of black painting the sky depending on the time and the weather. Once, a long time ago, you were able to distinguish between the slightest shades. Your time as an exchange student provided you with that sort of interesting skill set. But that was thousands of years ago, when the seven lords were all still young, when their scars still throbbed with the sharp ache of loss. You had been the mouse to pluck the splinter from the lion's paw - and now you were the one to see them off, holding the hand you had relieved of pain so very long ago, and watching as it slowly became limp as the demon you loved disappeared.

Demon death was nothing like human death - according to the others, it was a horrifying ordeal with lots of flames and disintegration during the cleanest affairs. However, with their power and the help of Diavolo, they were able to stave off these effects just enough to give you a final goodbye.

When you got the urgent message just minutes before midnight, your heart dropped to your stomach. Belphie had shown the signs of his death for a while, with his power growing dimmer and his sin nearly consuming all of his soul until he could barely stay awake for five minutes a day. His decline only sped up once Beel had gone without him - you knew he had secretly hoped they'd go out together, but fate had other plans and keeping up with Beel's appetite when he could barely fight through his gluttony under normal circumstances was becoming too big a feat to ignore. You were pretty sure the only reason Belphie hadn't allowed himself to succumb as soon as he could have was to give you a chance to recover from that loss.

That was almost more cruel, however. A fitting departure for Belphegor, all things considered.

When you arrived in the Devildom, your portal opening right outside the door to Belphegor's room (an exact teleportation spell that had taken you many more years to master than it rightfully should have, you remember), Diavolo and Barbatos were waiting for you. The king and his butler naturally had much longer lives than the brothers, and had taken upon themselves the death rites duties to ensure they were properly cared for. Their faces were stern, solemn, and they nodded wordlessly at you before opening the door for you.

You didn't need to steel yourself for this. It was your seventh round, after all.

The room was dark, but you could see Belphegor's shape underneath his blankets and pillows. Lying on the floor next to his bed was the cow print pillow he always had with him, and that was the first arrow that pierced your heart. The mementos they decided to leave for you would always have that effect, you supposed.

He was sleeping, unsurprisingly, so you sat gingerly on the bed and decided to wait for him to wake up on his own. You didn't want to rush this moment with him anyway - not now that it was the last one. So instead, you watched his steady breathing, smiling softly to yourself as he shifted and murmured just like he used to when you first met.

Death didn't come with old age for demons. Belphegor looked the same as he used to, if not a little more worn, if not with a few more smile lines. All of the brothers had looked almost the same when they parted - that made it harder, to see them smile at you like it was the early days just moments before they left you for good. Even if they made it no secret that their extensively long lives would eventually come to an end, you thought that you would be long gone by that time. Then, years and years after the exchange program ended, you wound up stepping into the world of immortality, taking your place at Solomon’s side to help guide the humans in their lives without ever showing yourself. (You really should have died that time, but having at least seven powerful demons that would tear every dimension apart for you had its perks. The story of your second escape from death was taboo for about a year, until it became a favorite joke at the table when you were all gathered around, Solomon included, for a holiday or just a dinner to reconnect.)

With a gentle groan, Belphegor shifted and turned to his back, bumping his leg into your hip and peeking at you with one half-open eye. He took a moment to pull himself out of his stupor, but the lazy smile he gave you once he finally realized it was you had your stomach twisting in knots. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Without you asking, Belphegor reached out to you and offered his hand. He was there last time, when Beelzebub had specifically requested that the both of you be there with him. He knew how you wanted to do this. You took his hand, rubbing gently over his knuckles. You were past the point where the size of their hands compared to you startled you, but now, it only served to make you feel a little smaller than before.

Some of the brothers had been chatty before they left. Mammon had been trying to cheer you up, a little shaken up at the prospect of death (and leaving you alone with his brothers - who knew what they would do without him to stop them) and talked to distract himself. Levi was quiet with occasional bursts of asking for reassurance, mostly that you would remember him fondly. Asmo wanted to know if he looked as stunning as he used to, a strange vulnerability in his voice when he said he just wanted your last memory of him to be as pretty as all the others. The others were quiet, having already settled their affairs and relishing in the last moments with their beloved human before finally allowing themselves to let go.

Belphie, it seemed, was a quiet one.

You sat there in comfortable silence, running your fingers over the smooth skin on his hand while he stared up at the ceiling. Not for the first time in your life, you found yourself wondering just what he was thinking. His face was still, showing no emotion that might tip you off. Perhaps that was better. You didn’t want his last day to be one filled with stewing over his regrets.

It took a while, but eventually he shifted slightly so he was turned towards you. That was how you knew it was getting closer - he was turning to say goodbye.

"Thank you, MC. If it hadn't been for you..." Neither of you wanted to think about that. If it hadn't been for your stupidity, or your nosy behavior, perhaps you wouldn't still be alive long past your intended lifespan. Perhaps Belphegor wouldn't be remembering his brothers so fondly now. Maybe they wouldn’t have survived all they’ve been through since your arrival. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. With a sigh, he looked at you one last time and squeezed your hand. "Well, let's just say this dreadful existence wasn't so dreadful at all."

You brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a gentle kiss on them, never breaking eye contact. "I love you, Belphie. Be safe wherever you're going next."

"No." That got you to chuckle. Maybe you WOULD miss his bratty side. Just a little.

"Say hi to your brothers for me."

"Now that I can do." He gave you a smug smirk and squeezed your hand one more time, a little weaker than the last. "Goodbye, MC. Thanks for coming. I love you too."

You stayed there on the bed with him until the gentle thrum of his magic now longer settled beneath his past mark, the pact mark you made sure would stay on your skin forever, long after his hand had gone limp. Then, you stayed a few minutes more before gently placing his hand down and covering your face with your hands.

With that, the seven demon lords were gone, and you sat pactless in their empty, too-quiet house.

After a while, Diavolo and Barbatos came in the room and ushered you out, murmuring a few sympathies and trying to comfort you while saying they needed to do their jobs. You nodded, grabbing the cow pillow and stepping outside of the door. They both offered for you to come back any time you needed, saying that the House of Lamentation would remain empty and protected for a while until they sorted out what to do with the Demon Lords’ material belongings. You, of course, would have a say in their decisions. It wasn’t until they said goodbye and the door to the twins’ room shut with a click that the grief threatening to bubble over started to spill.

When you stepped through the portal, back into the living room of the apartment you and Solomon decided to settle in for a while, you were greeted by none other than the sorcerer himself. He was in a formal outfit, having been out discussing something with the Sorcerer’s Society you still didn’t have the clearance to know about. From his messy hair and wrinkled clothing, he looked like he had been through a long day - but even more than that, he looked like he was on the brink of some small-scale breakdown. Once he saw you, his face shifted from panic to relief to understanding. You belatedly realized that the message made you drop everything and leave, not sparing a moment to text Solomon that you’d be gone and barely turning off the heat you were brewing potions over. No wonder he looked so panicked - who knew what he thought had happened to you?

Instead of admonishing you, he cleared off a spot on the couch in front of him. “It was Belphegor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Asmodeus was the only one who wanted Solomon to be there when he passed, but even then, he asked that he be alone with you in his true final moments. Despite not being personally included in their deaths, Solomon had been aware of the demon’s passing through you if not through his own snooping. Being able to feel your friends fade through their pact marks freaked you out a little, and you, of course, turned to Solomon when you needed to vent about it.

After the couch was cleared of his jacket and papers from the both of you, he approached you slowly. This time, you didn’t open your arms to accept his embrace - you were holding too tightly to the cow pillow, sniffling, worried you might actually fall apart if you dared to let go. Solomon got the message and placed one hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you to sit on the couch. He sat right next to you, so close that there was no space between your thighs, and lifted his arm so you could curl into him. Between the brothers and the people you loved in your original life, he had gotten surprisingly good at comforting you. You had a feeling this unexpected proficiency was only for you - Solomon hadn’t exactly been the best at comfort until you told him what you needed.

You made yourself comfortable, leaning into his chest and letting him gently run his hand up and down your arm. Other than your sniffling, the apartment was quiet. The sun was just barely beginning to rise, shining through the large window to your side. Even if not much was said, Belphegor’s death must have taken a long time, you thought idly.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you murmured when it felt like you could speak again. The strain in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by either of you, but Solomon had the wisdom to save any observations for himself.

“It’s alright. I only just got home. I wasn’t worrying for long.”

“They kept you for a while.”

“Yeah,” He started, running his free hand down his face. Honestly, he could fill the day with the ridiculous stories the old masters he had to deal with gave him. Between their obviously exaggerated tales and the stupid hoops Solomon had to jump through to get a straight answer (which never failed to make him wonder how you had the infinite patience to stay with him, though he’d never say it out loud), it was a wonder how he got out of the headquarters in a day. But he’d have those stories in his mind for a while, and distracting you now wouldn’t help anything, so he only repeated himself after his pause. ”Yeah.”

Your gaze fixated on a spot on the carpet, probably an old potion stain. Or maybe it was a wine stain from when the remaining brothers came over for dinner. With another clench in your chest, you realized Lucifer and Mammon never got to see this apartment. It was sleek, and definitely one of the nicer places the two of you picked out to live in - Mammon would have loved it.

“You were right,” You finally murmured. “It never got easier with them.”

“That might be a good thing. The younger brothers would have been jealous if you had been more sad about the older ones.”

You considered that and nodded, clutching the pillow tighter to your chest. “I just...I knew they weren’t immortal like us, but...it was just hard to imagine that they would actually die.”

Beside you, Solomon hummed and nodded as he shifted his free hand so it was placed oh-so-gently over his hip. He, too, decided to keep Asmodeus’ pact mark when he passed. Even with a few thousand years more of experience, it seemed Solomon was just as susceptible to the habits of sentimentality.

“What are we going to do?” Burying your face in the pillow, you fought off a shudder that threatened to shake you with your sudden dread. “The lords are gone. Will there be new ones? How will Diavolo be able to lead with just himself?”

“I doubt there will be any replacements coming anytime soon. Diavolo thinks of them as friends. Besides, Lucifer was really the only one who helped him out. He’s had a few hundred years to get used to doing things without him.” You didn’t lift your face from the pillow for a while, huddling in on yourself until you felt Solomon gently tap the side of your cheek, asking for your attention. Slowly, you lifted your head from the pillow and wiped the tear streaks from your face as Solomon gently tilted your face higher so he could make proper eye contact. “You’re used to fixing things for them, MC, we both know that. But everybody else has it under control. You need to take this time to...sort yourself out.”

You knew he was right - you had been nothing but a fixer since you met the demons (not that it was chore - at least, not in hindsight.) This wasn’t your mess to clean up. If anything, you felt like the mess that needed cleaned up. Sorting yourself out, though, picking up your pieces when you thought they were shattered in different quadrants of the earth...it seemed impossible.You shuffled so you were now sitting cross-legged and facing him, keeping your head up and ignoring the sting in your eyes as more tears threatened to spill.

“I miss them all, Solomon. So much.”

“I know you do.”

“It feels….it feels like I’ll never figure out how to get through this now that they’re all gone.”

“I can imagine.”

His tone was far from unkind, but you could tell he was practiced in his sympathy. Still, you knew that having him around to just tell your woes to was already helping you. At least you felt validated in being wrecked by the fall that was already hundreds of years in the making.

You could tell that Solomon noticed the way your eyebrows furrowed, but you beat him to speaking. “How did you do this on your own? This is terrible. I feel terrible.”

Eyes wide, and stared at you for a moment. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to turn the conversation on him. Even if he was much more open with you now than he’d ever been, even if he was fine with showing you how he felt...now wasn’t the time to let you in on the vulnerabilities of being immortal and alone.

“That...it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’ve got each other now. You’ve got me.” He held his arm out again, offering you to lean back into him. You took the invitation, burying the bottom half of your face back in the pillow. “When you’re feeling a little better, I can make you breakfast in a few hours.”

He could feel you cringe. Was he seriously going to make you supervise your own breakfast when you were this upset? But he knew what he was doing, evident by his gentle chuckle and the feather-light kiss he placed on the crown of your head. “Ah, I misspoke. I can get you breakfast.”

“You’re going to leave me like this?” To prove your point, you did your best to snuggle in closer.

“Only if you’re ready for me to.”

“...you might have to make it lunch, then.”

His thumb went back to gentle stroking your arm, soothing enough to convince you to even your breaths. You didn’t want to sob uncontrollably, but the longer you sat and stewed over your grief, the closer you felt yourself inch to that edge. But Solomon was right. You had him here, and he had been there all the other times. He would be there again, should you need him - and you swore you’d be there for him, too.

Maybe you would be okay after all.

#okay i SWEAR i'm pausing future solomon fics until i can write SOMETHING for someone else #i just have sorcerer brainrot #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me solomon #obey me swd #swd obey me #swd solomon #solomon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #mine #solomon angst #solomon fics

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Note

Hey there! You mentioned in the tags of the pining post that you wanted to write a lil som-n som-n~~ Prompt of Jaskier and Geralt, number 36? (If you want of course!)

36: Characters are tied together/shackled/forced to share a small space for a long period of time

I absolutely want to write that! Thank you so much for the prompt!

Ah, so this somehow got less pining-y and more angsty? Like, seriously angsty. As in, almost mcd angsty. I hope that’s okay tho

Word count: ~7k

Note: I will post this (and the other prompted fics) on AO3 once I have time to do some editing. But that’s going to take a couple of days

Summary: Jaskier wakes up tied back to back with Geralt. That wouldn’t be so bad. It happened before. But this is the time there is no hope of escape. And they’re running out of time before the vampire who is out for blood them will come back.

Content warning: injury, blood (both explicitly described), heavy angst, gruesomeness (no major character death)

"Jaskier?"

The voice came to him as if through a thick fog. His head was buzzing and it felt like tiny hammers were pounding against his temples from the inside. Simultaneously, the voice coming from somewhere behind him, urgent and almost afraid was too loud.

Jaskier tried to lean away, to put distance between himself and the voice, but all that did was send a strain through his chest, where something – a thin rope that kept him sitting upright? Binding him to something behind him? – cut into him with the movement, tight enough that it was hard to breathe.

"Jaskier! Are you awake?"

That voice was familiar. It was safe. Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head, trying desperately to get that fog in his mind to go away.

" 'm fine," he groaned and blinked against the dark splotches in front of him until they slowly receded. Not that that did him much good. He didn’t recognise the room they were in. The fancy furniture certainly didn’t belong to a room at an inn. The bed that stood at the wall was lavish and fit for a lord. Jaskier was rather certain that he would remember such a bed if he had seen it before. "On second thought, I might be having a problem."

Geralt huffed out a humourless laugh. "No shit." He sounded strained. As if he was trying his best and still failing miserable to keep fear out of his voice. Why was Geralt afraid? Geralt was never afraid.

Jaskier tried to move again, to turn to Geralt, but once again the ropes prevented him.

“Stop moving,” Geralt growled and only now did Jaskier recognise what he was leaning against. He was sitting – or rather bound– back to back with Geralt. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together tightly in frustration and looked down on himself. Sure enough, the ropes didn’t seem as if they would come loose by him wiggling around. He furrowed his brows when he saw something dark and crusty on his doublet. He had seen something like this too often to mistake it for anything else. It was dried blood. His blood.

His stomach churned and he had to suck in a deep breath to stop the bile from rising. It was a shame too. He had loved this deep blue doublet. Which was mostly because even Geralt had seemed to like it. The image of Jaskier presenting two doublets to him and Geralt telling him with a strangely fond look that the blue one fit his eyes would forever be seared into his mind. He could smell on himself that he had donned his favourite perfume – his favourite because it was the one Geralt had complimented once – thinking that maybe just this one time Geralt would notice him in the way he wanted to be noticed. As something more than just the bard that followed him like a stupidly loyal puppy. He remembered how excited he had gotten after that, knowing that Geralt would think he looked pretty when they got to the ball.

Wait.

The ball?

He squinted and searched the room again. It was true, the fancy decoration did look like it would belong to people rich enough to throw a ball. But that didn’t explain why Jaskier and Geralt were tied together and apparently left to rot in a different room from the jovialities. It also didn’t explain why Geralt had even gone to a ball without complaining in the first place.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth but closed it again fruitlessly, when too many questions stormed his mind – far too many to decide with which one to begin.

In the ensuing silence, muffled laughter reached him through the walls. Laughter and music.

Strangely enough, the thought that shot through Jaskier at the sound was That should have been me.

And that had been Jaskier, he was sure of it. As he listened to the music rise and fall as if accompanying a complicated dance, his fingers twitched as if finding the chords to the sing without having the lute in hand.

There was no doubt in his mind. He knew and had played this song. He could almost see it: The ballroom full of dancing couples, admiring looks and the feeling that maybe later when Jaskier could excuse himself for a while, he would be able to gather the courage to ask Geralt for a dance.

But Geralt’s golden eyes hadn’t been part of the crowd of people watching him in admiration. A sinking disappointment came back, more memory than real emotion. He felt his heart drop as he remembered Geralt turning away and leaving him almost as soon as they had entered the ball room. The last glimpse Jaskier had caught of him had been his face set in a deep scowl and his shoulders had been tense.

And suddenly Jaskier knew which question was the most important one.

“Did you come back for me?”

“Jaskier-“ Geralt sounded strangely strangled.

“Did you? Or are you here with me now because you were forced to be with me? Is it somehow my fault again that we are in danger?”

Geralt remained quiet for a long time. Jaskier was almost certain that he would remain silent, when he felt Geralt shift behind him.

“I did come for you. Just not in time. I – I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

His voice was almost broken and Jaskier was sure that if he had been able to look him in the eye, Geralt would have averted his gaze. Bound as they were, Jaskier could do nothing but press his back closer against Geralt, by however little that was possible and pray that the feeling of Jaskier’s heartbeat against Geralt was enough to remind him that Jaskier was still alive – they both were – and Jaskier didn’t blame him.

Now that he thought of it, Jaskier remembered distinctly how he had seen a head of white hair weaving its way through the crowd towards him.

For a moment his head sped up, before he remembered the eyes of the person that had come towards them. They hadn’t been the honey-gold he had hoped for.

But they had been unusual enough to make it impossible for Jaskier to look away. To make him think that for a little while he could pretend. And those eyes had looked at him almost hungrily. It had sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. He had relished in the attention and obvious interest.

It hadn’t been what – who – he had wanted. But it had been the closest thing he would ever get.

When finally the time had come for Jaskier to take his break, he hadn’t searched for Geralt to ask him for a dance after all.

He didn’t remember if he had been the one to approach the alluring white-haired stranger first of if he had been the one to be approached. It didn’t matter. He clearly recalled following the man willingly – no. That wasn’t quite the right word. Will had had nothing to do with it. He had wanted it, certainly, but thinking back on it now, Jaskier didn’t think he would have been able to leave this man, no matter how strong his will.

But who was he kidding? He wouldn’t have tried to leave anyway. Not when he had looked at Jaskier in the way he had longed for. Not when he had looked so much like the man he wanted to look at him in that way.

He remembered wanting whatever the stranger was willing to give him.

And then he remembered screaming. For Geralt. But not in pleasure. No, that had been the farthest thing from his mind. He had screamed and whimpered and begged in agony. A sudden, sharp, searing pain in his neck.

Now, that pain was little more than an irritated throbbing over his pulse-point.

He didn’t even notice that he let out a soft whimper as the memories of the stinging in his neck came back to him, but he felt Geralt tense and twist as if that he would be able to look at him.

“Jaskier?” Geralt grunted in frustration and flexed as if that could loosen the ropes. It must hurt him. The ropes must cut into him just as much as they did into Jaskier. And yet he didn’t stop, as if in this moment nothing was as important to Geralt than being able to see him. “Jaskier, what is wrong?”

Jaskier let out a dry laugh. “Do you want a list?”

There were too many things that were wrong, Jaskier was sure he didn’t even recall all of them, but at the very least he was here with Geralt.

He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. He didn’t want to be alone. Whatever was going on, Geralt’s presence at his back, his touch although involuntary, made it so much more bearable. But Geralt evidently wasn’t able to escape the bindings. He too was forced to sit on the cold floor and wait for whatever was about to happen. Maybe nothing would happen at all. Maybe they were to stay here until they died of thirst, forgotten by whoever had discarded them in this room.

It was simultaneously the worst and best thing, having Geralt here with him.

Geralt, who was still struggling to turn towards Jaskier.

And he wanted it too. More than anything did he want to be able to touch Geralt, to cup his cheek as he reassured him that he was alright. He wanted to see Geralt’s eyes.

He turned his head and sucked in a sharp breath. The wound on his neck had opened up again at the movement and Jaskier could feel a drop of warm blood trickle down his throat.

Geralt’s movements became even more urgent. It was only when they became harsh enough to jostle Jaskier about and making him cry out, that Geralt became deathly still, as if afraid to move even a single muscle.

“Don’t move, Jaskier. Don’t – I can’t risk you losing any more blood.”

“Don’t you mean I can’t risk it?” Jaskier teased, though his stomach twisted into knots at Geralt’s slip of the tongue.

Geralt remained silent for a long while. His reply was but a breath, so quiet that Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he had really heard it or if it was just his panicking mind hearing what it wanted.

“I can’t lose you, Jask.”

Jaskier’s breath got stuck in his throat. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to reassure Geralt that he wouldn’t lose him, that he would stay with him till the end – which might be nearer than he had imagined. He wanted to ask him what he had meant. He wanted to beg him to tell him that it meant more than just Geralt feeling guilty for Jaskier’s injury.

But no words left his lips. Instead he complied and stilled. He rested his head back against Geralt’s, relished in that contact as if it was something more intimate. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that the way their bodies were pressed together was because Geralt wanted it and not because they had no other choice than to stay like this.

Geralt didn’t move his head away. If anything, it almost seemed as if he was leaning into the contact as well.

It was most likely just wishful thinking, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Jaskier wished he too could hear Geralt’s heartbeat. As it were, he barely could hear his breathing. He knew it was there, but his own ragged breath and his own racing heart was too loud in his ears.

Geralt’s touch wasn’t enough. For years it had been what Jaskier had craved. Every evening, he had wished to be brave enough to breach the gap between their bodies as they shared a bed and press himself against Geralt. Every time Geralt was hurt by monsters or words, Jaskier had to remind himself not to let his comforting embraces linger and turn them into something unwanted. He had dreamed about Geralt not shying away from his touch.

Yet now that he had nothing but his touch, it was too little. His chest was aching with the need to see him; the small crease between his brows as he frowned, the slight upturn of his lips when Jaskier said something that Geralt wouldn’t admit out loud he found funny, the way his eyes would sometimes soften when their gazes met while Jaskier played slow songs by the camp fire.

He needed to see him and yet he couldn’t.

Jaskier had learned to love Geralt’s silences. There was a grace in his ability to move unheard and a beauty in the way he only spoke when he felt comfortable enough to do so. Jaskier had relished in the trust Geralt would show when he opened up and let Jaskier in.

But now he wasn’t comfortable and Jaskier had nothing. Nothing but his touch that was burning him and still could never be enough. He needed more, more proof that Geralt was still here, that Jaskier wasn’t alone in this, that Geralt was alright. He needed to hear him. Be it a rustling of his clothes or one of his grunts.

Jaskier’s tongue darted out as his mind raced, trying to come up with something that would get Geralt to talk.

“You know,” he began slowly. “I am surprised that I even have any blood in me at all. That man…he was a vampire, wasn’t he?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. Jaskier’s heart skipped at the beat and he held his breath, praying for something more.

Through some miracle, his wish was granted. But when Geralt spoke up again, his words were harsh and angry.

“Congrats on figuring it out,” he almost spat. “After you already let yourself be lured away by him. I told you to stay with the crowd. I told you not to follow me while I searched for the vampire.”

“I didn’t follow you,” Jaskier threw in meekly.

It evidently was the wrong thing to say, for Geralt let out a frustrated grunt.

“No you didn’t. Instead you followed the vampire. Why? Is it really so easy for everyone else to make you want them?” The angry words contradicted his earlier apologetic whispers, though the frustration in his voice stayed the same. Somehow Jaskier didn’t think it was directed towards him. “How could you not notice his eyes? They were gleaming as it got darker. He looked like a freak, he- “ Geralt’s voice broke off.

“He looked like you.” The words slipped past Jaskier’s lips before he had time to realise what they implied.

Behind him, Geralt froze. Jaskier could feel his muscles tense against his back and he knew if Geralt had been able to, he would have put distance between them.

“No, Geralt, that’s not – you know that’s not what I meant. You aren’t a freak. You are my friend. And I –“

“And you are in danger because of me.” He let out a frustrated grunt.

Jaskier huffed. “Really, Geralt? Are we doing this now?”

“Might not get any other chances.” Geralt sounded grim, all fight leaving him. “They are going to come back and finish what they started. And I can’t protect you. I couldn’t before and I sure as hell can’t now.”

“But you did protect me, didn’t you?”

Jaskier’s insides were cold and he knew Geralt must sense his quickly rising fear. Years ago, Jaskier would have said that Geralt was just being dramatic. That there was no way he wouldn’t be able to get them out of this situation alive. But a lot had happened since then. Too many times had Jaskier seen Geralt lying in a puddle of his own blood and on the brink of death. If Geralt said that they would die today…Jaskier trusted him. He trusted Geralt’s skill with a sword. But he also trusted his words.

At least they would be going together.

He closed his eyes, focussing fully on the feeling of Geralt leaning against him. He turned his head, not enough to tear the wound open once more, but just enough that Geralt would be able to feel the motion, that he would know that Jaskier wanted to look at him.

“I’m not dead.” Jaskier forced a cheer that he didn’t feel into his voice. The least he could do was make sure that Geralt wasn’t eaten up by guilt about this. Whichever way this ended, it wasn’t Geralt’s fault. “Granted, this situation isn’t ideal, but I am still alive and able to talk your ear off. So obviously you must have saved me.”

“I didn’t,” came Geralt’s harsh reply, almost like a bark. “I couldn’t. You are not safe.”

If Jaskier had been able to move, he would have put his hands on his hips. If Geralt had been able to see his expression, he would have made a grimace that made it clear what exactly Jaskier thought about Geralt’s self-deprecation

But he couldn’t. So he settled on putting as much challenge into his voice as he could.

“Oh yeah? Then why did the vampire leave? Because I very much remember being sucked dry by one – and not in the fun kind of way.”

Geralt let out an unamused laugh. “He said he left because your perfume was too bad.”

Jaskier really wished he could see Geralt’s face right now. He wished he could see his smile, even though he knew it wouldn’t be there. In any other situation, Geralt would wear a grin as he teased Jaskier about his perfume. Now though, Jaskier was almost certain that he scowled even as he told the joke.

Jaskier’s fingers itched to smooth out the crease of worry that was no doubt etched onto Geralt’s face.

“Oh haha, very funny,” he said instead, trying to put as much teasing into his voice as possible, a vain attempt to get Geralt to smile even now. “Come on. If this is as dramatic a situation as you believe, you could at least humour me. One last story to tell me. So, why am I not dead?”

“Because this vampire is a sick bastard,” Geralt bit out. “Likes to play with his prey.”

“Play?” Jaskier’s voice was squeakier than he would ever admit should anyone ask. If he even lived to tell the tale, that was.

Geralt hummed. “He likes his prey to be awake. So he can hear the screams and pleas.”

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Jaskier’s neck and he did all he could not to shiver at Geralt’s words.

“Alright,” he said, chipped. “So that explains why I’m alive. But what about you? Why didn’t he kill you? Not that I’m not very grateful that you’re alive, of course.”

Geralt hesitated and Jaskier could practically hear him think. When Geralt finally answered, his words sounded almost like a confession.

“Like I said.” Geralt squirmed; another useless attempt to free himself. “They want to see their prey desperate and begging.”

A snort escaped Jaskier that quickly turned into laughter. It was fuelled by panic and was bordering on hysteric, but it felt freeing to laugh nonetheless. Geralt didn’t join in.

“Why on earth would you beg? Remember Dol Blathanna? This is just like it was back then. It ends the same way it began. It’s almost-“

“If you say poetic, I will beg that vampire to kill me first just so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about making this into a song.”

“You wound me, Geralt. But this is exactly what I am talking about. Back then, you practically did the opposite of begging, what with your whole noble sacrifice act.” When Geralt didn’t reply, Jaskier tried to nudge him with his elbow. It didn’t work. “Come on, Geralt. Even you must admit that it’s hilarious that this vampire really thinks you would beg for anything.”

Geralt remained stoically quiet. There was a strange tension in his silence that froze Jaskier’s grin and made his chest squeeze painfully.

“Geralt –“ he began, but was interrupted by the doors flying open.

Without thinking, he turned his head to see what was happening. It stung and he pressed his lips into a thin line, but he barely registered the pain. There was no space for such a trivial thing when cold terror filled him instead at the sight of the white haired man striding into the room with an air of complete confidence.

Though man was hardly a fitting description anymore. Where he had possessed an almost ethereal beauty before, he was now grotesque. The hunger in his eyes had turned into starvation. His smile that had been charming before was too wide and filled with too many teeth. His fingers were more reminiscent of claws than human hands.

Everything about him screamed predator. Death.

He walked towards them in graceful, measured steps as if he had all the time in the world. He moved with the superiority that only came from nobility or a hunter that knew his prey was lying helplessly by his feet with no hope for escape.

A low growl rose in Geralt’s chest and Jaskier could feel the rumble in his back. It did nothing to soothe him.

They all knew that this was it.

Jaskier was staring death in the eyes when his entire being longed to see another pair of eyes instead. Maybe that was the worst part. Jaskier had never put much thought into his own death. But he had always hoped that in his last moments he would be able to look into Geralt’s eyes, maybe even see some hint of affection in them.

Now, he had not even this.

“Geralt,” he whispered. From the way the vampire’s eyes lit up in delight, it had been a pitiful attempt at keeping his desperation hidden from him. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was that Geralt heard him.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt answered, equally quiet, a bittersweet pretence that their would-be murderer didn’t hear every word. “I’m sorry, Jask.”

“I’m not.” Jaskier’s heart was pounding in terror and his palms were damp with sweat, but of this, he was certain. “I’m not sorry that I am here with you. I would follow you everywhere.”

Geralt didn’t answer, but he twisted in their restraints until Jaskier could feel callused fingers touch his hands. The ankle was uncomfortable, but Jaskier clutched Geralt’s hand with all his mind. Geralt gave him a light squeeze that said more than any amount of words could.

For an insane yet peaceful moment, Jaskier thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. There were worse things than dying with Geralt holding his hand.

“How adorable,” the vampire drawled as he took in their linked fingers with a mocking half-smile. “You two are disgustingly sweet. It’s almost ruining my appetite. Do you have any sappy last words too?”

Jaskier did. There were things he had never told Geralt, that he needed him to know. But he would rather die silent than let this vampire witness him baring his soul.

Instead he ran a thumb clumsily over Geralt’s knuckles, praying that he understood everything that Jaskier didn’t dare put into words.

“No?” The vampire looked almost disappointed. “I would have expected more from you, bard.”

“What can I say?” Jaskier gave him a falsely sweet smile. “I live to disappoint. And I can’t say you weren’t disappointing either.”

The vampire’s face twisted into something ugly and within the blink of an eye he had crossed the room. Jaskier flinched back as the vampire crouched down before him and caressed his face with a mockery of tenderness.

“Oh, quite the contrary, my dear Jaskier,” he said, honey in his voice but his eyes filled with ice. “You could never disappoint. Not when you beg so beautifully.” His fingers left Jaskier’s cheek to trail down to his neck, as softly as a lover would. A whimper escaped Jaskier when the vampire’s fingers caressed the wound his teeth had torn into him before. The vampire looked at it almost in admiration. “Do you remember how you screamed? How you begged your witcher to come save you?” He got closer, until his too sharp teeth were right next to Jaskier’s ears. “I want to hear you scream again.”

Teeth sank into his flesh, tearing him open. Obscene slurping noises and moans filled the air as the vampire drank Jaskier’s blood.

It was an utterly inappropriate thought, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Jaskier remembered the romance novels he had read when he was younger, about how sensual it felt to have a vampire drink from someone. About how they had special venom that numbed the pain.

What a load of bullshit. There was nothing sensual about this and the vampire dragged his teeth through Jaskier’s flesh as if he wanted to make this as painful as possible. If that was his goal, he was succeeding.

Hot fire raced through Jaskier’s blood and he could feel the tips of his fingers begin to tingle and the dark spots from before crept back into his vision.

He was beginning to lose all feeling in his hand and somehow, despite the pain, the fear, the certainty of his impending death, that was the worst part. That soon he wouldn’t be able to feel Geralt’s hand in his.

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt so much, but Jaskier pressed his lips together as tightly as he could, refusing to let a single cry leave him. He wasn’t a brave man and he wasn’t heroic. But he wouldn’t let Geralt hear his screams as he died. He couldn’t do that to him.

And yet, there were screams.

It took Jaskier’s sluggish mind a moment to realise that those weren’t his own screams. They were Geralt’s. For a moment, he almost thought they were but memories of Dol Blathanna, but no. Back then, Geralt had told the elves to leave Jaskier alone with no feeling other than responsibility and guilt.

Now, his voice was laden with fear and unbridled desperation.

The words he screamed didn’t make sense to Jaskier, but he knew the emotion behind them. It was the same thing he had felt every time he had seen a monster charge at Geralt or when he had been forced to press his hands against a wound in Geralt’s stomach, pleading with him to stay with him.

There was a word for it. Jaskier was sure of that. But he couldn’t for the life of him think of it now. Everything was too muddled, burning too hotly, agonizingly.

And then the vampire drew back. A sharp gasp escaped Jaskier and he would have fallen forward, had he not been held upwards by the ropes.

“Jaskier,” Geralt asked, panic surging through his voice.

“Still alive,” Jaskier panted with a crooked smile, though he knew that Geralt wasn’t able to see it. Perhaps he could hear it in his voice. “And by the looks of our new friend, my blood doesn’t taste too good.”

The vampire bared his fangs at Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, don’t you worry, pretty one.” The vampire’s tongue darted out to lick a stray droplet of blood from his lips. “You taste delicious.”

“Thank goodness,” Jaskier deadpanned through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you drink some more then? Maybe you’ll choke on it.”

“Jaskier!” Geralt warned him harshly.

The vampire’s smile widened. He ran a hand through Jaskier’s hair, almost soothingly, before he gripped his hair tightly and yanked his head to the side.

Jaskier braced himself for the sharp pain to pierce through him again, but instead of biting into him, the vampire took a long sniff at his neck before drawing back in disgust.

“You would be truly perfect, my dear,” he said coldly, “if it weren’t for that disgusting smell. I can barely scent your blood through it.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Really? You’re about to kill me and you complain about my perfume? Pardon me for not exactly being sympathetic towards your great woes right now.”

“No matter,” the vampire said, ignoring Jaskier’s words completely, “doesn’t change a thing about the taste.”

The vampire opened his mouth once more and Jaskier could already feel the teeth gracing his skin, when Geralt jostled him to the side.

“Spare him,” he growled and there was something broken about his voice. “Don’t kill him.”

The vampire tsked in disapproval. “Now, you know I won’t do that. Why don’t you try again, come up with a better suggestion?”

Glee stood in his eyes. Every sign of him enjoying this torture made nausea rise in Jaskier’s throat.

“Then kill me first.”

“No! Geralt, don’t say something like that!” Jaskier twisted his head. The movement sent piercing agony through his neck, but he fought back against it. He needed to see Geralt. He clutched his hand as tightly as he could, as if that could somehow dissuade Geralt from this madness. Quieter, barely louder than a breath, Jaskier added, “Don’t make me listen to you die.”

“Oh, now it’s getting interesting.” The vampire tilted his head to the side, his eyes darting from Jaskier’s wide-eyed expression to Geralt who must look as stoic and undeterrable as ever. “The both of you, begging for each other’s life. The question is only, who is begging more beautifully?”

“He’s a bard,” Geralt spat. “If it’s words you want, he has more of them than I do. And look at him.” Geralt’s head jerked back, nodding towards Jaskier. “He’s not going to make it long is he? I am a witcher. You can drink from me for longer.”

The vampire let out an appreciative hum. “You would do that to the bard? You would prolong his suffering and listen as I drained you for hours?”

Geralt hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was so unexpectedly soft that it made Jaskier gasp.

“I am sorry. I promised to keep you safe. This is the best I can do.”

“It’s not enough.” The vampire taunted, but his words were dripping with truth. “You will both die. But before he does, I will make him look at you, see how loud he can scream when he sees what I’ll have left of you.”

Jaskier whimpered, a plea leaving his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t stop the images of Geralt’s lifeless body from assaulting his mind.

“I’ll hate you,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt, if you make me go through this, I will hate you. I’ll never forgive you.”

A harsh breath escaped Geralt and this thumb brushed oh so tenderly over Jaskier’s knuckles.

“I’d rather you hate me than me having to live knowing that I could have saved you.”

Jaskier wanted to shake his head, to protest, but the vampire’s grip was still tightly holding him in place. Jaskier’s eyes burned and his throat was impossibly tight. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his chin, his neck and he could feel them mixing with his blood.

“I can’t,” he sobbed. He hadn’t wanted to say this. Not like this, not in front of their murderer who watched the exchange hungrily. But he couldn’t stop himself. He needed Geralt to know. “I can’t hate you. I- Geralt, I love you.”

Geralt let out a strangled noise, before he found his voice. “Then let me do this.”

Jaskier’s shoulders wrecked with his sobs, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up again. He had said everything he could say. Now the only thing he could do was let Geralt be the hero Jaskier had always known him to be one last time.

Jaskier’s silence must have been answer enough for the vampire. Ever so slowly, the grip in Jaskier’s hair loosened and the vampire stood to his full height.

“Don’t worry,” the vampire told Jaskier as if he was a parent calming their child. “I will make it slow. You will have your beloved by your side for as long as possible. And it won’t take you long to follow after him.”

Relishing in every second of Jaskier’s agony, the vampire slowly rounded him until he came to a halt before Geralt.

Geralt didn’t scream, didn’t even draw in a sharp breath, as if he didn’t want Jaskier to hear what was happening.

It was in vain.

There was no mistaking the stomach-churning squelch of the vampire biting into flesh.

It was the most horrible sound Jaskier had ever heard. He couldn’t listen. He needed to drown out those sounds. Words tumbled from Jaskier’s lips. Pleas, screams, whispered words he was desperate for Geralt to hear.

If Geralt were to die now, the last thing he ever heard shouldn’t be Jaskier’s cries. It should be reassurances of how he couldn’t have done anything different, of how Jaskier didn’t blame him for a single thing, of how much he was loves. That more than all else.

Jaskier had no control over his words. He couldn’t tell what else he was saying, only that time and time again, he repeated the words he had been too much of a coward to say before it had been too late.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It felt like hours. Geralt’s body was tense and Jaskier’s voice became hoarse, giving out and leaving nothing but the horrible sounds of the vampire killing Geralt.

But nothing was as terrifying as when the sound of the vampire devouring Geralt suddenly stopped.

Jaskier’s blood turned to ice and claws of despair plunged into his chest.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered into the silence. There was no reply. A pit opened up in Jaskier’s chest. He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg, but all of his words had dried up. What use were words anyway? They hadn’t been able to save Geralt and now that he was gone, there would be no one to listen to them other than the reason why Geralt would never again say another word.

The vampire must have held Geralt up, for when Jaskier now heard the rustling of clothes as the vampire stood up again, Geralt slumped over and dragged Jaskier with him to the ground.

Jaskier’s side hit the floor painfully, but he was too numb to care.

He looked up with all the contempt he could muster as the vampire came into his view again. But there was something off about the way he moved. He had been slow before, but there had been a regal elegance to it, perfectly controlled. Now his movements were sluggish and almost wooden.

He didn’t crouch before Jaskier as he had before. Instead he fell to his knees.

“It’s your turn again,” the vampire purred – no, slurred.

Jaskier’s brows drew together and he narrowed his eyes. They widened again when they landed on the blood that was smeared around the vampire’s mouth. It was black.

The same colour of Geralt’s blood after he had drank his potions. The potions that were toxic to anyone who wasn’t a witcher.

But why – the vampire should have been able to smell it. He would have never drunken poisoned blood. Except…he hadn’t been able to smell the blood, had he? He had said so himself. The perfume had been too strong, strong enough to even overpower the smell of the toxins.

A disbelieving laugh escaped Jaskier. The vampire whirled around as if to fix Jaskier with a death-glare, but his eyes were unfocussed. He bared his teeth and surged towards Jaskier.

He didn’t reach him alive.

With a heavy thud, the body landed on Jaskier, unmoving. Dead.

For a terrifying moment, Jaskier didn’t dare move. The only sound in the room was his own panting breath. The noises of the ball had long since subsided.

He was alone.

The knowledge sank into his chest like a stone dropped into the ocean. He was alone. Geralt had saved him – had given his life to save him – and now he’d have to save himself.

With more strength than he thought he still possessed, Jaskier twisted in his bindings, kicking at the vampire’s body until it moved.

Bile rose in his throat when his free hand found the vampire’s head and pried his mouth open. He fumbled and he cut himself on the teeth, but he persisted, yanking the rope as good as he could against the sharp teeth until finally, they snapped.

Jaskier rolled to the side, panting heavily, as his chest finally was no longer restricted.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he counted his own heartbeats.

Ten. Ten heartbeats he allowed himself, before he clenched his jaw and faced Geralt’s body.

Tears stung in his eyes and his face was contorted to a grimace of grief and pain as he grabbed Geralt’s heavy body and rolled him onto his back.

He wouldn’t be able to get him out of here. Even if Jaskier had normally been strong enough to carry him, there was no way, he would be able to do so now, with his vision swimming at the tiniest of exertions.

Still, his insides twisted painfully at even the idea of leaving Geralt all alone here lying next to the man – the monster - who had killed him.

Jaskier’s eyes darted frantically through the room before they landed on the bed. It wasn’t what Geralt would have wanted and it was worse than he deserved, but it was the best Jaskier could do.

Jaskier’s hands shook, as he grabbed Geralt beneath his arms and tried to hoist him up. As he more dragged than carried Geralt to the bed, his knees gave out under him more than once and he had to furiously blink away the darkness that threatened to swallow him once more.

When he finally heaved Geralt onto the bed, Jaskier nearly collapsed on top of him.

When he had gathered enough strength to right himself once more, he felt his heart jolt in his chest. Geralt didn’t look peaceful as he lay in a stranger’s bed. He didn’t look like he was just sleeping. Half of his neck was smeared with blood and his skin was deathly pale. Jaskier had seen him like this before, every time Geralt had taken his potions that had drained his face of all colour. But he had always known that sooner or later, Geralt would open his eyes again.

He wouldn’t ever do so again now.

For once he had gone where Jaskier couldn’t follow.

Taking a shaking breath, Jaskier reached out. His hand found the cool metal of the medallion. It felt wrong taking it from him. Geralt never took it off. Never.

But Jaskier needed to give it back to his family. They deserved to have this. And Jaskier was selfish enough that he wanted to keep something of Geralt’s with him too, for as long as he could.

His breath hitched. He would have to return to Roach alone. He would somehow have to make her understand that Geralt wasn’t going to come back to her.

His hand trembled and slid off the medallion, landing on Geralt’s chest, right above his heart. How often had he pressed his hand against this place and complained to Geralt that he could feel nothing? That his heart was too slow? Now, he would give everything to know that that was the reason why there was no beat beneath his hand.

After a too long moment of hopeless hope, Jaskier lifted his hand off of Geralt. It came away sticky with blood.

Jaskier worked almost mechanically. Wiping away the blood, first from his hand and then from Geralt’s neck. He used random pieces of fabric to bandage the wound as he had done so often before. He knew it was useless, it was too late, but still, there was a comfort in the familiar motions.

He didn’t know how long he worked like that. It didn’t matter. He treated Geralt’s wound as best he could until there was nothing left for him to do.

His mouth went dry, as he brushed a strand of Geralt’s hair behind his ear. He was so beautiful. Jaskier wished he had had the strength to tell Geralt before it had been too late.

The certainty that this was the last time he would ever see Geralt buried itself into Jaskier’s chest like a blade.

“You did it,” he whispered, a watery smile on his lips. “You saved me.” It was already too late. Geralt couldn’t hear his words anymore, but Jaskier couldn’t leave without telling him. He owed that much to him. “I don’t care what you said before. I am alive. Because of you.” A sob interrupted his words. “I will never forget you. I promise. I love you. I-“

His voice broke one last time. Too many things had he left unsaid between them and now he would never get to say them in any way that mattered.

His fingers trailed over Geralt’s face, desperate to memorise every scar, every feature, as if those weren’t already branded into Jaskier’s mind.

His finger’s came to a halt above Geralt’s slightly parted lips. Jaskier could almost imagine a faint breath ghosting over his fingers. But that was impossible. Wishful thinking, nothing more.

Still, he let his fingers linger and leaned closer, grasping onto this last impossible hope.

And then it happened. Geralt’s lips moved. No sound left them, but Jaskier could still understand the word they formed. It was a name. His name.

“I am here!” Jaskier’s other hand cupped Geralt’s cheek. “Geralt, I’m here. I am safe. You are safe. You did it, you – you’re alive!”

“’s loud,” Geralt mumbled faintly, but his lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. His eyes opened just the tiniest bit, but the sliver of gold they revealed was the most beautiful sight Jaskier could imagine.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice got stronger with the word, though his shallow breaths were laboured and it was obvious how much it pained him to speak.

“You bastard.” Jaskier let out a laugh that might as well have been a sob. “You made me think you were dead. Don’t ever do that to me again!”

“I won’t.” Geralt’s expression softened impossibly. “And I… I wouldn’t leave you without telling you…”

Geralt tried to lift his hand, but the effort was too much. Jaskier caught it mid-air and pressed it against his own cheek.

“What? Tell me what?” he breathed.

Geralt’s thumb caressed his cheek with aching tenderness.

“That I love you.”

Jaskier’s heart felt like it would burst, like all of the agony, all of the fear and despair had been chased away with just these four words that he had never dared to dream he would ever hear come out of Geralt’s mouth.

“Tell me again?” he asked with a shaking voice.

A glint entered Geralt’s eyes and his lips twitched slightly. “You first.”

“I love you,” Jaskier said without hesitation. “I love you. And you better not wait until the next time I think you’re dead to say it back again.”

“I won’t.” For a moment Geralt looked at him, searching his face as if Jaskier was a miracle he couldn’t figure out. “I will say it as often as you want to hear it. For however long you are willing to have me.”

“Forever?” Jaskier had aimed for a teasing tone, but instead it came out tentative and small.

He could see Geralt’s throat bob labouredly as he swallowed. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. I never want to lose you again. I can’t.”

“Then you’ll have me forever.” He paused. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned his face slightly, just enough to press a fleeting kiss against Geralt’s palm, but still holding eye contact. “Yes?”

“I can’t lose you either. I love you.”

#thanks for the prompt!#so this was not supposed to be that long #i thought it was going to be less than 2k #and yet here we are #prompt #my writing #geraskier #angst #injury #blood #geraltxjaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #fic #geralt/jaskier

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Text

Pierre Teillard de Chardin

* * * *

I'll never forget this story told by Jean Houston at a conference I attended as an MIU student. Very beautiful and moving, worth a read, especially if you're familiar with Teilhard de Chardin and his writings that got him in trouble with the church because he was way too cosmic for them.

"Mr. Tayer," by Jean Houston

When I was about fourteen I was seized by enormous waves of grief over my parents’ breakup. I had read somewhere that running would help dispel anguish, so I began to run to school every day down Park Avenue in New York City. I was a great big overgrown girl (5 feet eleven by the age of eleven) and one day I ran into a rather frail old gentleman in his seventies and knocked the wind out of him. He laughed as I helped him to his feet and asked me in French- accented speech, “Are you planning to run like that for the rest of your life?”

“Yes, sir" I replied. “It looks that way."

“Well, Bon Voyage!” he said.

“Bon Voyage!” I answered and sped on my way.

About a week later I was walking down Park Avenue with my fox terrier, Champ, and again I met the old gentleman.

“Ah." he greeted me, “my friend the runner, and with a fox terrier. I knew one like that years ago in France. Where are you going?"

“Well, sir." I replied, “I’m taking Champ to Central Park."

“I will go with you." he informed me. “I will take my constitutional."

And thereafter, for about a year or so, the old gentleman and I would meet and walk together often several times a week in Central Park. He had a long French name but asked me to call him by the first part of it, which was “Mr. Tayer" as far as I could make out.

The walks were magical and full of delight. Not only did Mr. Tayer seem to have absolutely no self-consciousness, but he was always being seized by wonder and astonishment over the simplest things. He was constantly and literally falling into love. I remember one time when he suddenly fell on his knees, his long Gallic nose raking the ground, and exclaimed to me, “Jeanne, look at the caterpillar. Ahhhh!” I joined him on the ground to see what had evoked so profound a response that he was seized by the essence of caterpillar. “How beautiful it is", he remarked, “this little green being with its wonderful funny little feet. Exquisite! Little furry body, little green feet on the road to metamorphosis." He then regarded me with equal delight. “Jeanne, can you feel yourself to be a caterpillar?”

“Oh yes." I replied with the baleful knowing of a gangly, pimply faced teenager.

“Then think of your own metamorphosis." he suggested. “What will you be when you become a butterfly, une papillon, eh? What is the butterfly of Jeanne?” (What a great question for a fourteen-year-old girl!) His long, gothic, comic-tragic face would nod with wonder. “Eh, Jeanne, look at the clouds! God’s calligraphy in the sky! All that transforming. moving, changing, dissolving, becoming. Jeanne, become a cloud and become all the forms that ever were."

Or there was the time that Mr. Tayer and I leaned into the strong wind that suddenly whipped through Central Park, and he told me, “Jeanne, sniff the wind." I joined him in taking great snorts of wind. “The same wind may once have been sniffed by Jesus Christ (sniff). by Alexander the Great (sniff), by Napoleon (sniff), by Voltaire (sniff), by Marie Antoinette (sniff)!” (There seemed to be a lot of French people in that wind.) “Now sniff this next gust of wind in very deeply for it contains.. . Jeanne d’Arc! Sniff the wind once sniffed by Jeanne dArc. Be filled with the winds of history."

It was wonderful. People of all ages followed us around, laughing—not at us but with us. Old Mr. Tayer was truly diaphanous to every moment and being with him was like being in attendance at God’s own party, a continuous celebration of life and its mysteries. But mostly Mr. Tayer was so full of vital sap and juice that he seemed to flow with everything. Always he saw the interconnections between things—the way that everything in the universe, from fox terriers to tree bark to somebody’s red hat to the mind of God, was related to everything else and was very, very good.

He wasn’t merely a great appreciator, engaged by all his senses. He was truly penetrated by the reality that was yearning for him as much as he was yearning for it. He talked to the trees, to the wind, to the rocks as dear friends, as beloved even. ‘Ah, my friend, the mica schist layer, do you remember when...?” And I would swear that the mica schist would begin to glitter back. I mean, mica schist will do that, but on a cloudy day?! Everything was treated as personal, as sentient, as “thou." And everything that was thou was ensouled with being. and it thou-ed back to him. So when I walked with him, I felt as though a spotlight was following us, bringing radiance and light everywhere. And I was constantly seized by astonishment in the presence of this infinitely beautiful man, who radiated such sweetness, such kindness.

I remember one occasion when he was quietly watching a very old woman watching a young boy play a game. “Madame", he suddenly addressed her. She looked up, surprised that a stranger in Central Park would speak to her. “Madame,” he repeated, “why are you so fascinated by what that little boy is doing?” The old woman was startled by the question, but the kindly face of Mr. Tayer seemed to allay her fears and evoke her memories. “Well, sir,” she replied in an ancient but pensive voice, “the game that boy is playing is like one I played in this park around 1880, only it’s a mite different." We noticed that the boy was listening, so Mr. Tayer promptly included him in the conversation. “Young fellow, would you like to learn the game as it was played so many years ago?”

“Well. . .yeah. sure, why not?” the boy replied. And soon the young boy and the old woman were making friends and sharing old and new variations on the game—as unlikely an incident to occur in Central Park as could be imagined.

But perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Mr. Tayer was the way that he would suddenly look at you. He looked at you with wonder and astonishment joined to unconditional love joined to a whimsical regarding of you as the cluttered house that hides the holy one. I felt myself primed to the depths by such seeing. I felt evolutionary forces wake up in me by such seeing, every cell and thought and potential palpably changed. I was yeasted, greened, awakened by such seeing, and the defeats and denigrations of adolescence redeemed. I would go home and tell my mother, who was a little skeptical about my walking with an old man in the park so often, “Mother, I was with my old man again, and when I am with him, I leave my littleness behind." That deeply moved her. You could not be stuck in littleness and be in the radiant field of Mr. Tayer.

The last time that I ever saw him was the Thursday before Easter Sunday, 1955. I brought him the shell of a snail. “Ah. Escargot." he exclaimed and then proceeded to wax ecstatic for the better part of an hour. Snail shells, and galaxies, and the convolutions in the brain, the whorl of flowers and the meanderings of rivers were taken up into a great hymn to the spiralling evolution of spirit and matter. When he had finished, his voice dropped, and he whispered almost in prayer, “Omega ...omega. . .omega.." Finally he looked up and said to me quietly, "Au revoir, Jeanne”.

“Au revoir, Mr. Tayer,” I replied, “I’ll meet you at the same time next Tuesday."

For some reason. Champ, my fox terrier didn’t want to budge, and when I pulled him along, he whimpered, looking back at Mr.Tayer, his tail between his legs. The following Tuesday I was there waiting where we always met at the corner of Park Avenue and 83rd Street. He didn’t come. The following Thursday I waited again. Still he didn’t come. The dog looked up at me sadly. For the next eight weeks I continued to wait, but he never came again. It turned out that he had suddenly died that Easter Sunday but I didn’t find that out for years.

Some years later, someone handed me a book without a cover which was titled The Phenomenon of Man. As I read the book I found it strangely familiar in its concepts. Occasional words and expressions loomed up as echoes from my past. When, later in the book, I came across the concept of the “Omega point." I was certain. I asked to see the jacket of the book, looked at the author’s picture, and, of course, recognized him immediately. There was no forgetting or mistaking that face. Mr. Tayer was Teilhard de Chardin, the great priest-scientist, poet and mystic, and during that lovely and luminous year I had been meeting him out side the Jesuit rectory of St. Ignatius where he was living most of the time.

I have often wondered if it was my simplicity and innocence that allowed the fullness of Teilhard’s being to be revealed. To me he was never the great priest-paleontologist Pere Teilhard. He was old Mr. Tayer. Why did he always come and walk with me every Tuesday and Thursday, even though I’m sure he had better things to do? Was it that in seeing me so completely, he himself could be completely seen at a time when his writings, his work, were proscribed by the Church, when he was not permitted to teach, or even to talk about his ideas? As I later found out, he was undergoing at that time the most excruciating agony that there is—the agony of utter disempowerment and psychological crucifixion. And yet to me he was always so present—whimsical, engaging, empowering. How could that be?

I think it was because Teilhard had what few Church officials did—the power and grace of the Love that passes all understanding. He could write about love being the evolutionary force, the Omega point, that lures the world and ourselves into becoming, because he experienced that love in a piece of rock, in the wag of a dog’s tail, in the eyes of a child. He was so in love with everything that he talked in great particularity, even to me as an adolescent, about the desire atoms have for each other, the yearning of molecules, of organisms, of bodies, of planets, of galaxies, all of creation longing for that radiant bonding, for joining, for the deepening of their condition, for becoming more by virtue of yearning for and finding the other. He knew about the search for the Beloved. His model was Christ. For Teilhard de Chardin, Christ was the Beloved of the soul.

Years later, while addressing some Jesuits, a very old Jesuit came up to me. He was a friend of Teilhard’s—and he told me how Teilhard used to talk of his encounters in the Park with a girl called Jeanne.

Jean Houston

Pomona, New York

March, 1988

#story #Jean Houston #Pierre de Chardin #people #spirit buddies #spiritual direction #quotes #Teilhard de Chardin #theology

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