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aperrywilliams · 11 months

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Under the Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Spencer fucked up but Reader loves him.

A/N: It's winter on this side of the world, and the rain makes me kind of sad.

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Is there anything worse than your boyfriend standing you up in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary? Yes, being stood up by your boyfriend in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary day while outside it’s raining cats and dogs.

That's worse. And pathetic.

You feel pathetic, sitting in that chair, all dolled up and waiting. You arrived at 19:30, and now your watch reads 20:45. No sight of Spencer.

What the fuck?

He was the one who suggested a romantic dinner in this very restaurant. He was the one who told you to make reservations. How could he forget it? You knew there wasn’t an active case. The very Penelope told you it was paperwork day when you texted her in the afternoon.

In the past hour, you dialed his number several times. You were worried at some point: what if something terrible happened to him? But you know bad news travels fast, so you assumed he didn’t show up just because he forgot. Deep down, you wanted there to be another explanation because if he only forgot, that would strengthen the idea of how little you mean to him.

Sensing the pitiful looks the hostess and the waitress sent you occasionally, you only wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When the clock marked 21:00, you gave up. You asked the hostess for your coat and left the place completely silent.

The rain pouring outside was the perfect scenario for your current mood. You thought about calling a cab in front of the restaurant, but you only wanted to be far from that place as soon as possible, so you started to walk in the rain.

Goodbye to the stylish hairstyle that took you hours to achieve. Goodbye to the makeup you put so much effort into doing.

Striding along the sidewalk, you made sure to step on each water puddle you found along the way as you recalled every moment in the past months you felt Spencer away from you. And not only physically as when he was in a case. It was more than that. It was each morning he didn’t say I love you before leaving your shared apartment. It was each text he didn’t send telling you he was coming home or leaving for a case. It was each coffee you didn't share in the morning. It was each animated chat in the middle of the night you didn't have.

Were you being dramatic? You knew Spencer’s tendency to distract and engage in whatever his job could present him. In any other circumstances, you could have understood. Not tonight, though. Not when it was supposed to be your night together celebrating this milestone. The two years of love you thought were strengthening your relationship. How blind you have been. How naive.

You kept wandering on the streets with no destination. You didn’t want to come back to the apartment. You didn’t know where else to go either. So you kept walking.

Spencer Reid is a man with an eidetic memory. Everybody knows that. He can remember every piece of information people usually wouldn’t recall. He knows almost everything about anything. But even with his big brain, he sometimes has trouble keeping track of his own life. Like today.

Engrossed in a pile of manila folders from old cases, he lost time. A task meant to take just an hour or so kept him occupied and entertained for almost four hours. Emily’s voice was the only thing that brought him back from those files to reality.

“You still here?” Emily asked with a frown. Spencer looked at her oddly.

“Yeah. I was looking for patterns in our last cases in the northwest. What Tara said about the mixed murder weapons sounded familiar to me,” he explained before rubbing his eyes. He didn't notice how tired he felt until Emily interrupted him.

“Spencer, it’s almost 10 pm. And there is no active case. You can resume this tomorrow. I even thought you had plans today?”

‘10 pm’ and ‘plans today’ was enough to bring Spencer to realization.

“Fuck!” He yelped, jumping from his seat and freezing immediately, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Emily asked, seeing the panic in Spencer’s eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated over and over as he reached for his phone in his satchel.

“What is it, Reid?”

“Emily. I was supposed to be in a restaurant with (Y/N) tonight! It’s - uh - it’s our second anniversary,” he, visibly embarrassed, finished the sentence.

Emily shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Reid? How on earth do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know! I - I don’t really know. Fuck. I’m an asshole!” He checked the phone: twenty missing calls. Why he left it on mute?

“Stop complaining and do something! Come on! Move your ass out of here if you want a chance of not being precisely kicked in the ass by her,” Emily instructed. She knew Spencer needed directions when he was freaking out.

Spencer rechecked his watch. It read 10:05 pm.

Swearing under his breath, he dialed your number, which went straight to voicemail. Putting his coat on, he tried again while rushing to the elevator. Maybe you were still at the restaurant? Getting in the first cab he found, Spencer headed there.

Once he arrived, he asked the hostess about you. The girl told him you left after 9 pm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He called you again with no success. This time you turned off your phone. Spencer’s stomach was a knot, and his heart hurt imagining you sitting alone, waiting for him.

Were you at home? Spencer guessed you wouldn't want to see him, so it was less probable. Should he go there anyway and wait for you? No. You deserved better than that. He would look for you even if it could take all night. Taking a cab, he decided to check the apartment - just in case - and grab his car keys.

As expected, you weren’t in the apartment. Spencer faced the darkness and coldness of the place, and a chill ran down his spine—the fear of losing you forever.

In the car, he thought, where you could be. It was still raining, and Spencer feared you were getting soaked and frozen, God knows where.

It was at this kind of moment Spencer wanted his eidetic memory, and all the knowledge in his brain could help to compensate for the dose of common sense he lacked.

‘Come on, Spencer. Think. For once in your life, do it for what is really important for you.’

Spencer parked and rushed out of the car, hoping his hunch was correct. He was in a park. Not any park, though. It was where he met you three years ago—where his life changed forever and for the better for once.

You were in a swing, moving softly back and forth, your feet touching the ground. Your eyes focused on the rain collecting in the nook you created with your feet in the mud.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer called once he spotted you. The rain muffled the sound of his voice.

Your eyes didn’t leave the ground. At first, you thought you were imagining things. It could have been wishful thinking that your boyfriend really cared about you. He called again, and now your brain obliged your eyes to look toward the voice’s source.

Spencer was in a corner where the park's playground began. He was looking at you and wanted to run to you, but the fear you could run away made him stay there, as the rain dampened him.

The sight of you broke him. You were utterly soaked. Your coat and lovely black dress were ruined, and your face with traces of smeared makeup. He could even spot your bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying.

He caused that. And Spencer hated himself for it.

Seeing you didn't say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, Spencer dared to take some steps forward. Your numb body didn't even flinch.

“(Y/N). I’m sorry,” were his first words. Expectable but useless for you. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I wanted to be there with you,” he apologized, giving a few steps closer to you. Not looking at him, you mumbled.

“But you weren’t. And if you really wanted to have been there, you would have.” Your voice was low and husky. You sounded tired and defeated. It was worse for Spencer. For him, you should be yelling. Telling him how hurting you were. How an asshole he was.

“Baby, there is no excuse for what I did. The last thing I want in my life is to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Spencer’s voice broke with each word.

What had he done? Why? How can he be so stupid? He loves you. You’re the most important person in his life, so why did he do that to you? How can he fix it?

Still not looking at him, you spoke again.

“I can’t understand, Spencer. It was our anniversary. You were the one who suggested doing it,” you remind him. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. It didn’t matter the mud, and it didn’t matter the rain still falling. Spencer needed to look at your eyes to explain himself.

“I’m an idiot. I lost track of time and forgot,” he mumbled. You held up your head and finally looked at him.

“You forgot? So it's true I’m not that important to you,” you concluded sadly. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No! Don’t say that!” he pleaded.

“Am I wrong? I don’t think so.” Your chin wobbled, but you needed to say it. “I know your job is important, Spencer. I do. And I never wanted to compete with that because I thought I didn’t have to. But after these past months, I think I need to get used to the idea I lost you already,” you acknowledged with a pained sob betraying you. It was the pang of the meaning behind your own words.

The memories of the past months flashed before Spencer's eyes. And there he saw it. The kisses he didn't give you, the 'I love you' he didn't tell you. The nights he didn't sleep by your side—all the things he has been missing.

He realized that although he never doubted his love for you, he stopped nurturing it and took it for granted.

Crying, he took your hands, and by divine grace, you didn't push him away.

No words he could say would be enough to convey how sorry he was. But he needed to try because he didn’t want to lose you. You needed to know he loved you and that you owned his heart. You needed to know he just realized he made a mistake, and he wants to fix it.

“The first time I saw you in this very place, you were slowly swaying in this exact spot with your eyes focused on the book in your hands. I was so mesmerized that I never thought I would get the nerve to talk to you, you know? But I did. And when I saw the warm look you gave me when I asked you if you had read the author's biography, I felt my heart warming as never before. And when I heard your laugh after I clumsily tried to flirt with you? I swear it was the sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life,” Spencer confessed, eyes sparkling at the memory. You fondly recalled it too. You never liked to talk with strangers all of a sudden, but with Spencer? It felt natural and right.

“You let me in in your life. You opened your heart to me and taught me how to do that too. You realized I’m not the best student in those matters, though,” he chuckled, seeing your nod.

“Despite that, you believed in me. You gave me a chance to love you, and I swear loving you has been the most natural thing that has ever happened to me. You have made me so happy (Y/N). You have no idea. And that is the problem. I have not known how to love you the way you deserve. I hadn't realized what I was doing. I'm sorry. I spent much of my life fending alone, not walking with anyone by my side. And I know that does not excuse my behavior. Even so, I dare to ask for an opportunity to prove you do not have to compete with my job. Give me a chance to prove to you I can be better. I can be the man who deserves your love. Please let me gain back your love and the privilege to hear you laugh again."

Spencer was almost out of breath when he was done speaking. You mulled in his words as his hands enveloped yours, patiently awaiting your response. Would you give him a chance?

As the rain continued pouring down, your eyes focused on him, still kneeling before you with hopeful eyes.

You know he loves you. Even if he needs to be better at proving it to you. And you love him even if you feel hurt for what he did. You both would have to work to make it work. You both deserved the chance, though.

The answer to his question was clear then.

You hopped off the swing and kneeled, not releasing his hands grasp and pulling him to catch his lips with yours. He kissed you back with everything he had. When both parted, you smiled at him, and Spencer was trying to figure out what that meant. You spoke to make it clear.

“Please, just don't make me regret being in this same place three years ago.”

Spencer earnestly shook his head.

“I won’t. I promise,” he told you before kissing you again under the rain.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #under the rain #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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unreliablesnake · 6 months

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Big reputation (Simon Riley x reader)

Summary: You got injured on the field and now Ghost feels bad. Well, maybe it's not just guilt...

Note: The people have spoken. Soft!Ghost. Fluff. Short story.

In your previous team you managed to enrage a general that you shouldn’t have, and apparently kicking you out of your comfortable position was his way of punishing you. So now you came to meet your new team at the base, already having ideas of who’s who based on rumors circulating in the military.

There was Price who was fair and relatively calm, Gaz who was loyal to the fault and was a surprisingly nice guy in general once he warmed up to you, and you couldn’t forget about Soap–whose call sign you found utterly ridiculous–who was a big mouthed but reportedly funny Scotsman.

And then there was Ghost, the man who was a mystery to most. No one has seen his face from the people you talked to about the team, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t get to see it either. But that was okay. Him being a big and scary guy wearing a skull mask that every single person was terrified of was more than enough to make you cautious around him.

Fast forward to four months later, when Ghost became your shadow after a fucked up mission where you got hurt. It happened under his watch so he was probably blaming himself, but he never really gave you a reason why he was always near you. Soap was the one who mentioned him possibly feeling guilty, and since you had no better idea, you believed it to be true.

The big scary guy didn’t seem so scary anymore. He was more like a loyal guard dog that followed you everywhere and scared off people you didn't want to be around.

“You should go to bed, it’s late,” he said one evening after a briefing.

It was only the two of you in the room, everyone had left already, but he was going through some reports before taking them to Price. You let out a sigh and leaned forward to rest your elbows on your thighs as you observed him. He had left the room before, but after it emptied and it was only you in there, he came back with the files. Out of nowhere. Without a warning. He mumbled something about needing a quiet place, but that was a terrible excuse considering he had his room to go to.

For some reason he glanced over at you every once in a while, watching you as if there was something he wanted to say to you. But every time your eyes met, he returned his attention to the papers in front of him. He didn’t speak up and you weren’t about to bother him with questions. Ghost was usually pissed if someone asked too many questions, this is how Soap got burned a few times in the past.

Then something changed. He closed the folder and turned his attention to you again, this time not shying away from making it obvious he was staring. You raised an eyebrow in question, hoping he would say something, but he remained silent. With a groan you stood up and walked over to him, gently pushing the folder away so you could sit on the edge of the desk next to the lieutenant.

His hand inched closer, just enough to let his little finger brush your thigh. “It’s late,” he repeated his previous statement.

“I’m not sleepy,” you replied with a shrug. “Why have you been watching me like this? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then?”

Ghost sighed under the mask and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He was toying with it for a few moments, his eyes focused on the item instead of you. “You’re causing me quite a few sleepless nights, Rabid,” he muttered as he pulled out a cigarette from the box. He called you by the nickname that awful general had given you a few months back, and you knew he never did that without a good reason.

What were you supposed to say to that? I’m sorry? No, that wouldn’t be right. So you chose to be careful with your next words. “You can’t sleep?” you asked him, genuinely interested.

“Not when all I can think about is you and what I’ve done to you,” he replied quietly.

“Why, what have you done to me?”

He shook his head, mumbled something like ‘fuck it’, then pulled his mask to his nose and lit the cigarette. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him getting in trouble for this. Price would be angry, because he believed if he could refrain from lighting a cigar indoors, so could others. So now that Ghost was inhaling the smoke with closed eyes, you didn’t know what to do or say. He would eventually speak up, right?

Just when you were beginning to think he wouldn’t talk to you, his amber eyes landed on you and he said, “I sent you in there. You got hurt because of me.”

Soap had been right, he really did blame himself. Interesting. “Ghost, that wasn’t your fault,” you assured him. “Shit happens, it comes with the job. Don’t blame yourself.”

His free hand moved to take yours in his, and his long, thick, and gloved fingers wrapped around it gently. “I’m not blaming myself for you getting hurt, I know it comes with the job. I just can’t stop thinking about the what ifs. What if you died? What if you got so injured you would be discharged from the force? What if you were mad at me? What if you left me behind?” This last one made you raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t considered this after what happened,” he told you.

“Never thought about leaving you behind,” you admitted. “You would mind? If I left and we never met again, I mean.”

Instead of answering, he raised your hand to his lips. “You and me… That would be quite a conversation, wouldn’t it? With your reputation and mine… Well,” he said, and you could see the shining in his eyes that gave away he was smiling.

It took you a minute to realize he was talking about the two of you being in a romantic relationship. He was right, this would be huge. You were also a lieutenant, he wasn’t your superior, but people feared you both for different reasons. Ghost was… Ghost. All he had to do was stare at someone for five seconds and they would run away screaming. You, on the other hand, were feared because you were unpredictable. One wrong word and you would be at the poor bastard’s throat.

So yeah. If there was anything to know, people wouldn’t shut up about it. You wondered if he was aware of the bets recruits were making about you. If there was anyone from base you slept with, it would be Ghost according to most of them. Maybe they were right. Maybe that was bound to happen. But maybe Ghost was taking part in the bet for fun.

“I don’t care about that bet,” he suddenly spoke up. You were terrified for a moment since you had no idea how he figured out what you were just talking about. “I care about you. Would you mind if I kissed you?”

You were too stunned to respond, all you could think about was the fact he dared to ask you this. You weren’t that close, not with him keeping a comfortable distance all the time. “Right now? Yeah, I would mind. Let’s just get to know each other first, yeah? Maybe over a drink.”

Ghost placed a soft kiss on your hand. “Anything you want,” he told you with a smile before pulling down the mask and getting rid of the remains of his cigarette.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare #mw3

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imtryingbuck · 8 months

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Divorce Always Comes With A Price.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky confesses to having an affair and wants a divorce

Word count: 1023

Warnings: Angst. That’s all.

A/N: there’s going to be a second part.

Masterlist

Part 2

The skies start to turn dark even with the sun shining brightly, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was forewarning for what’s to come.

Taking a deep breath, you look up at the sky to see the birds flying freely with no care in the world. Looking around there’s two paramedics sitting in the van waiting for another call to come through, seeing two young new parents with their bundle of joy waiting for a car to pull up. You smile. Then your pushed to the side. A man in a suit on his phone talking rather loudly about how long he had to wait to be seen. You still smile. That’s when your phone goes off and you see the notification that your Uber has arrived.

Marty your driver talks about his wife and three children with so much passion and love you just simply can’t wipe the smile off your face. When it’s time to depart you tip him twice the charge and wish him all the best. Walking into the lobby of the huge building, smiling at everyone you come across. With the news that the doctors told you, you just can’t stop appreciating everything and everyone. Stepping out of the elevator your heart soars seeing your family gathered around.

Bucky shoots straight to his feet and before you can say anything he hands you a folder.

Not looking at you he speaks in a voice you can only describe as detached “I want a divorce I need you to sign these. I’ve been having an affair for the past 4 months and I love her”.

The smile you’ve been wearing drops along with your heart. The air is cut off. The room is spinning. Your world has ended. Trying so hard not to strutter which fails as you ask “y-y-um you l-lo-ve her?”

This man who’ve been your husband for the past two years boyfriend of three, the man who promised to spend the rest of his life with you, is same man that can’t even look you in the eyes as he breaks your heart in to smithereens. He nods. With your his families eyes on you, you do the same. With a shaky hand you take the pen out of James’s outstretched one. With a stuttering breath you sign your name.

You dare yourself to take one last look at his handsome face before you fall backwards and walk out, no one utters a single word. It feels like time stands still as you wait for the elevator doors to open.

It’s only once you’re outside you realise there’s tears pouring out of your eyes. How long they have been falling is unknown to you. You have no idea how long you’ve been standing still like a statue in front of the building doors. It’s only when you hear the mighty rumble up above you take notice of the rain, its only then you take a step forward then the next and the next. You don’t even realise you’ve walked all the way back to your home drenched head to toe and shivering but you barely flinch.

How you’ve done it is lost on you but you’ve packed all your things up. This isn’t your home, it’s Bucky’s he brought it. Your best friends at the door helping you get everything out, he brings you into a tight hug whispering ‘everything going to be ok’ it’s not. And you’re the only one who knows it.

It’s been a month since that day, and it’ll be the first time today that you’ll be seeing him again. Staying with Matt for the past four weeks has been okay, you just wish you could wake up from this nightmare and be at home with your husband. Not your husband idiot, he’s with someone else now. He’s divorcing you to be with her. He loves her not you. Idiot. Wishing the voices in your head would leave you just like your husband did.

He still looks the same, still smells the same. Still not looking in your direction which you’re grateful for, if he did you’d break down in a fit of tears.

“—I don’t want anything in the divorce, he can keep the house the money, everything. I will have no use for that stuff” you speak in a soft way. And with that it’s done. You’re no longer Y/N Barnes, you’re no longer married to James Buchanan Barnes. You take your leave as fast as you possibly can. You can’t bear to spend another minute around him. As you begin to walk down the corridor with Matt and Foggy on either side of you, you seem them. The people that were your family sitting there on the benches waiting for your now ex-husband, they all bore sad expressions but it’s not them you pay attention to no it’s the brunette-haired woman you’ve never seen before. She’s gorgeous. You take a wild guess and assume she’s the woman Bucky had an affair with. Your heart breaks. But you can see why he loves her. Your feet start to slow down on their own accord Matt notices so ever so gently he grabs your hand and gives a small smile.

Getting back to the apartment where you’ve been staying with Matt you finally let the floodgates open and you make no effort at all to make them stop. Matt stands there not knowing what to say or do, nothing he can say will make this pain go away. So he does the same thing he’s done for the past month, he holds you, he holds you so tightly hating the universe for doing this to such a beautiful, incredible loving person. Hating James for causing you grief, hating the other woman even though he doesn’t know her, hating the all mighty avengers for not doing anything for you. Hating how even with the pain and turmoil you’ve been feeling this past month you can’t find it in yourself to hate the person who’s done this to you. He continues to hold you long after you pass out.

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

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miinatozakiii · 9 months

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i don't know what you mean to me,

detective!jihyo x spiderwoman!reader (pt.2)

summary: jihyo completely ignores what the chief had told her not to do, she can't help it when it involves working with spiderwoman.

wc: 6k

warnings: cursing ; brief mention of a scar ; that's it i think ; lesbians flirting ; rushed proofreading

pt.1, pt. 3

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs for a while, tried to make it a bit exciting! I wasn't planning on making this a series, but here I am. enjoy!! hope it lives to your guys' expectations (T-T)

“how’s your job?” the chief asks, swirling the coffee in his cup.

“it’s good. they said they were impressed with my work.” you mumble against the cup of coffee before taking a careful sip, trying not to burn your tongue.

“that’s good. you’ve always been so smart like your parents.” your uncle says, his eyes softening. you smile, though it’s a small, weak smile and your heart aches a bit at the thought of your parents.

would they be proud of you now? and your side ‘job?’

you had a cliche backstory for someone with powers, a "hero" backstory. life was great until middle school, your parents died around that time. you were also too smart for your own good; sure, it was a plus in school, but it was not a plus for your teenage social life. you had pretty comic-worthy trauma and yeah, it hurt to think about it here and there, made you ponder and sulk at the ungodly hours of the night, but it was a while ago and you learned how to cope.

despite the emotional damage it caused, it definitely made you stronger, shaped you into who you are today, and is the reason you play "hero." bad experiences give you good lessons, that's what your mom had told you. your dad had told you something similar, something along the lines of "with great power, comes great responsibility," your dad always had a way with words.

the loud sound of a folder making contact with the wooden table is made so abruptly and you flinch a bit, looking up to see who had slammed it down so aggressively: park jihyo–the same person who had patched you up two weeks ago.

the detective wore a stern expression on her face, something mixed with anger and worry as she furrowed her brows while also deepening her gaze on your uncle, eyes filled with a certain flame of authority. park slides the folder toward your uncle: the chief of the police department.

chief l/n isn't the best guy to be related to when your part-time gig is swinging around the city as the person he's not too fond of. unlucky you.

“chief, this one is… just look.” jihyo sighs. your uncle's brows crease as he pulls the papers out from the orange, paper folder. jihyo continues to speak, “5 people dead, and fourteen severely injured.”

jihyo looks at you for a split second, and you look back at her. it's not the best time to start reminiscing, but theres a sudden memory of you that she recalls—the first time she met you.

the first interaction she had with you was four months ago; the impression you had left on her was a great one—it really piqued her interest in you. it's really not time to start having flashbacks to when she had met her boss's niece, but here she is.

“jihyo, this is my niece y/n.” chief l/n had introduced, smiling and patting you on the back.

chief l/n had always forgotten to bring lunch, and your aunt hated that. your aunt turned you into a personal messenger, a cheap (not even, you got scammed) delivery woman, so you were forced to drop off lunch for your uncle, some type of udon soup thing with fishcakes scattered around in the thermos (you couldn't lie, it smelled good and you were a bit jealous that she hadn't made you any lunch the first time you started living with them and working on your own).

the first thing jihyo noticed was that you had the chief's brown eyes, and you two were similar in the way that you were taller than most – your uncle being 6’4 inches of pure muscle and strength, a whole tank for a chief and his build fit the role. jihyo had guessed you were around 5’8, you also seemed to have some muscle from what she could tell, a prominent build with broader shoulders and toned arms, you seemed rather fit and active. there were common similarities in physical features and body language; you two were definitely related.

the detective had also noticed that you were particularly pleasing to look at.

your face looked like it had been sculpted to perfection: you had a strong, sharp jawline, and prominent cheekbones that rivaled even some models she had seen in the magazines at the local grocery store. your eyes were similar to your uncles, they had a softer look, though, and were noticeably striking. your lips were a dark peach color, beautiful and plump. every aspect and feature on your face was put together to construct such a captivating sight, it honestly shook jihyo up slightly.

“it’s nice to meet you y/n,” jihyo had greeted, “i never knew you had a niece, chief.”

“ah, well this little one-”

“i’m 24.” you sighed, furrowing your brows as your uncle chuckled playfully.

“whatever, whatever. you’re still very young,” the chief responds, “she landed a great internship at minatozaki industries, so she’s been staying at my place for the time being, probably a long time.” he adds proudly, hitting your back again and it makes you tense up a bit from the unintentional strength in the contact. your eyebrows crinkle and you wince—just for added effect.

“you’re a scientist?” jihyo questions,

“i’m a researcher for them.” you simply reply, “i journal and edit sometimes too, well—i've only written one article, actually.” you add with a shrug.

“that’s impressive,” jihyo says, and it really is because you’re a year younger than her and somehow you've landed an outstanding internship at one of the most thriving corporations in the city. you nod and end up transferring a bit more eye contact, which communicates a shared understanding and fondness between the two of you, there’s an exchanged interest.

the eye contact breaks when a repeating buzz is heard from your phone,

“oh, i have to go,” you mumble, “it was nice meeting you jihyo, hope we can talk more."

"me too, y/n," jihyo responds. you simply shoot another awkward grin.

"i’ll get going now. uncle, i’ll be home by six.” you finally add, waving while fixing the bag that slings across your body.

jihyo thinks you’re impressive.

“chief,”

“jihyo?” he says, still holding the paper of the report, but looking up at jihyo. the shorter woman sighs and bites the inside of her cheek,

“listen to me, just hear me out okay,” jihyo says. the chief focuses all his attention on the woman in front of him, all 5’3 inches of stubbornness and authority: his most outstanding employee, his favorite detective.

jihyo lets out a small breath.

“the suspect was reported to have been a lizard, chief. you think we can fight a man-sized, not even—it was bigger than a man, taller and bigger than you, apparently.” jihyo sighs, “i think we should find a way to contact spiderwoman-”

“absolutely not.” the chief says almost immediately, almost breaking the pen he had been holding in his hand. “i’m not letting that criminal ruin anything else.” he used the word criminal, it made your heart sink just a bit.

“chief, i don’t think you get it. this is a lizard. it’s something out of a comic, or movie. this isn’t some secret operation or regular thief, numerous officers were injured and people are dead l/n. one of the sergeants had lost his arm, and he barely made it.”

“what?” the chief voices in disbelief, his eyes widened. jihyo looks down at a spot at the coffee table,

“sergeant moon l/n. moon taeil, his arm…” jihyo trails off, looking down and biting the inside of her cheek.

your uncle pauses for a moment, looking down at the paper in his hand with incredulity. he darts back up at the woman and leans back in his chair, staring at the desk still perplexed. his jaw tightens up again as he closes his eyes, letting out a stressed sigh whilst pinching the bridge of his nose.

“i don’t trust that spiderwoman at all, detective. i know she saved your life twice, and yes i'm glad she did, but you shouldn’t trust so easily.” he starts. you seem to be a bystander, they seem so invested and heated in this conversation. you listen carefully.

“look, if you think about it: the lizard and that spider girl are the same, they have those special abilities. you might think ‘spider girl’ is good now, but she has the power to do as much harm as that lizard, and assumably more brains too. she could be extremely dangerous, what if we were to trust her? what if she takes advantage of us and boom, everything goes to shit.” the chief exaggerates the last part a bit, it takes both you and jihyo by surprise at how much emotion he uses as he expresses his distrust for spiderwoman.

“you really think we can take that lizard?” jihyo questions, her eyebrows crease and the hand that held her up as she leaned on the table tightens its grip on the edge of it. you take a sip from the banana milk in your hand as you listen, impressed and surprised at how heated your uncle is about his distrust for your other identity.

“jihyo, i get where you’re coming from, but it’s just not safe. i don’t trust her, especially after that damn drug operation incident. i mean, how would she have known about that? she just showed up and fucked up our plan, she could fuck up more than that and we’re just lucky it happened to be a crime scene that she had ‘tackled.’ do you get what i’m saying, park?”

jihyo nods, but she doesn’t make eye contact with the head of the police.

“yeah, i get where you’re coming from,” jihyo responds, “just a suggestion.”

you sit there in silence and stare at your uncle, a bit bewildered that he hates you that much, imagine if he knew that spiderwoman had heard him talking so much shit about her—you kind of want to laugh, even if it's belittling.

jihyo has this expression mixed with defeat and concern, it makes you frown. you don't like seeing jihyo so beat, especially because of your unwavering uncle. the chief of the police and you are close enough so that you can scold him playfully and talk to him like an adult, but this matter would leave you in an argument that you could never win. your uncle was stubborn and scary, even with you occasionally.

you wanted to talk to the detective as spiderwoman, you know she trusts you and you want to reassure her, it sucks to see her getting shut down like this. if it were just the two of you right now, you'd go on about how persistent and ridiculous your uncle is for shutting down this suggestion, you know you could work this out, but not now, not with chief l/n present.

“alright, i’ll get back to investigating this. let me know if you um, have any better suggestions that don’t involve her.” jihyo mumbles, voice getting smaller as she mutters the ‘her.’

before departing, detective park adds one more thing, “also, um, they’ve already planned to have a gathering of some sort for the victims, it was moon’s idea. i forgot to tell you, but it might be in your inbox." jihyo chokes out. "i’ll get going now.”

detective park can deal with rejection, and detective park can deal with her tenacious boss.

jihyo looks at the chief for a bit before her gaze sets on you. eye contact is made and you shoot her a "sorry about that" smile, and she replies with an “it’s okay” smile. you’ve always had this way of communicating quietly, at least in front of your uncle—no words needed—even though you two had known each other for only a bit.

detective park walks away with the papers she had taken back, her shoulders sink a little as she strolls out the door.

“that was kind of harsh.” you chide, almost glaring at your uncle with narrowed eyes.

“i just can’t stand that spiderwoman.”

thanks, you almost reply.

“i trust jihyo—don't get me wrong—she’s always been one with great ideas and plans, but this one… god that vigilante…”

“she can’t be that bad, what if she’s just doing it because, i don’t know,” you’re trying to frame your response as best as you can because how does one who isn’t spiderwoman word her motives for doing what she does? they'd either have to know her personally, or be her. “maybe she just feels a sense of responsibility with her abilities.”

“or maybe she’s a threat to us.”

“well,” and you almost continue, but this is chief l/n.

you stop trying after that.

jihyo almost died right then and there from shock.

“hi.” spiderwoman had said so casually—too casually for someone who had appeared behind the marble counter in the center of jihyo’s dimmed kitchen area.

“you just love breaking the law do you?” jihyo says in a stable tone, though her heart had been beating a little too fast from your unannounced visit (she tries to excuse it with how you shocked her, but it might just be from being able to have your stupidly charming self in her home).

“you’re not the chief, and i know you love me. i'd like to call my ‘law breaking’ a friendly surprise.” you beam, moving so you can sit on the counter. detective park can tell you're grinning, even with that stupid mask on. jihyo sighs and sits on her beige couch. she leans into it with a small, exhausted groan.

“what do you want? did you hurt yourself again?” the detective says with annoyance, but deep down there's some worry laced in the question—she’s also been wanting to see you again, especially after she had been rejected so harshly by her boss.

you shake your head. “no, just wanted to see my favorite worker in the police force.”

“yeah sure.” she groans, “how are your injuries?”

“aw, you care about me?” it comes out as almost a chuckle.

“never mind.” jihyo says, rolling her eyes playfully. a laugh leaves your lips and it’s a heartwarming moment, but it's strange to the both of you because you’re spiderwoman, a whole ‘criminal’ in jihyo’s apartment and you converse as if you’re two good friends.

“my injuries have been healing well,” you begin, “they closed up three days after you patched me up, it’s like they weren’t even there—kinda,” you explain. maybe you were lying a bit, there was still that faint scar that most people get after getting cut (in this case, you were cut much more than the average person would've been). the detective sits up from her seat and looks at the vigilante wide-eyed, her brows furrowing, and eyes narrowing as she looks at you in disbelief.

“are you serious? let me see, there’s no way.”

“hey, woah woah, usually women would take me out to dinner before they undress me.” you tease, laughing to yourself and jihyo knows you have that stupid grin on your face—though, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to see it again.

jihyo crosses her arms then leans back into the beige couch, you’re unbelievable.

(her heart warms up a little, she's extremely intrigued.)

“what are you here for? there’s no way you broke into my apartment for no reason.” jihyo probes, and she says it with such authority that it kind of makes you nervous, her tone makes you tense—it's kind of hot.

“the lizard thing,” you mutter, “i wasn’t there in time to stop him from hurting all those people.”

there’s a sudden guilt that takes over—the whole mood of the room shifts slightly, but you compose yourself even as your jaw tenses. the floor suddenly looks a bit more appealing now because you’re doing anything to not look at the detective before you, feeling at fault.

“you can’t save all of them, i know how it feels.” jihyo mutters softly, her voice is deeply comforting and you fold a bit. “did you manage to do anything about that giant reptile?”

“no, but i think i know what it is, and how it, well… how it turned into that."

“what? i honestly thought it was a science experiment gone wrong, maybe some lizard accidentally drank something, i don't know, i'm not a scientist. i was actually going to ask the chief's niece since she’s a science genius, very smart.” jihyo shrugs. your mood is lifted again after being complimented, after hearing the words "science genius."

she thinks of your alter ego like that? well, technically spiderwoman is your alter ego, not that nerdy minatozaki industries employee. you hold back a snicker.

“you’re not one hundred percent wrong on the science experiment part, i guess.”

“can you just get to the point?” jihyo groans.

“alright alright,” you make your way over to jihyo, standing slightly closer to the tired detective and leaning against the wall. “i’m this way because i’m technically a science experiment gone wrong, but at least i’m not a hideous monster. anyway, i got bit by this spider, it wasn’t a normal one, it was more of a science experiment that turned me into one.”

jihyo quirks a brow. “so you’re actually a spider?”

“well, no detective.” you scoff, “do i look like i have eight legs? well if i were a guy maybe i’d have three-”

“i hate you.” jihyo complains, “so much.”

“sorry sorry, it was funny.” you joke (you have the humor of a thirteen-year-old). “anyway, that spider basically lets me shoot webs out of my wrists, climb walls, stick to things, a sixth sense? hmm, i think i'm missing something...oh! i can turn invisible too-”

“you can what?” jihyo says in utter disbelief. you just keep surprising her more and more with every word that escapes your mouth.

“i can turn invisible yeah yeah whatever, it's cool i guess—but that’s enough about me. what i'm trying to say is that i’m a science experiment gone right and that lizard is one that went wrong.”

“harsh," she murmurs, but she's entertained by your amusing little explanation, "but how so? how do you know you won't go wrong?” and now jihyo’s really interested in your little backstory.

“that's a harsh way to put it detective." you pout, but continue nonetheless. "well, i didn’t turn into a spider and i ended up with some fun little abilities. this guy must’ve gotten bitten by a lizard or something? i don’t know, but instead of getting some cool fun powers, he became the lizard. i’d be crying on the ground if i were a were-lizard, must suck.” you finally explain. jihyo giggles at your last little remark.

“so what do you think we can do? how does this help at all?” the detective’s head tilts, and you think to yourself, humming for added effect.

“it’s probably like a werewolf, just without the full moon. maybe it will turn back to normal again?"

“and what if it’s permanent?” jihyo adds.

you shake your head, “a giant lizard can’t fit into many places without being noticed.” you respond, “i think if i can lure it or something, maybe even capture it with my webs—we can wait for it to change back: we can stop it from killing any others.”

jihyo nods and you both take a moment to consider.

the detective’s face lights up as she figures out a plan, and she almost laughs thinking about how this is everything the chief had told her not to do. she didn’t care though, this was the best option, the most effective one (and she also just wanted an excuse to work with you more often).

“there’s going to be a ceremony soon for that incident, three days from now i think. i bet you that lizard is going to sabotage it.”

“elaborate,”

jihyo's brows crease again, “half the police force is going to be there, including some civilians. if i were a hungry, ugly, big reptile, i think'd target that for sure.”

“glad you’re not a reptile because who knows what you’re capable of.” and jihyo scoffs at your response. “you’d probably be a small reptile though.” you exaggerate that last remark by putting your hand out, pretending to compare your height with her; detective park narrows her eyes again, and you think she might consider turning you in soon.

“how can i let you know when to show up? what if you’re not there in time again?”

you shrug your shoulders. “i’ll be there. i have my ways.”

“you’re so ominous it’s annoying.” park scoffs,

“just admit that you want to take me out on a date, i know you want to know more~ i mean personally, i’m up for it.” you smirk. "what about something simple, a coffee date? i'm a latte person-"

“i’ll take you out and turn you in soon,” she scoffs. you simply laugh at her response and make your way to the opened window to leave, much to jihyo’s disappointment (she kind of (really) enjoyed your stupid flirting and company).

“it’s a date then?” the tone of your voice is filled with hope, excitement, and wonder. your tone is extremely inviting. “maybe you can undress me after since you've seemed so eager,” you add with a chuckle. "i'm not against skipping to that part."

jihyo is about to get up to actually chastise you, even if her cheeks are flushed and her heart skips a beat. she really can’t believe you’re putting the image of a naked spiderwoman in her head right now, she doesn’t even know who you are or what you look like under that suit and mask—except for the bottom half of your face—but fuck you're really making her want to.

you leave before she can do anything, or even respond.

“dear, you have to come, it’s respectful and i know you’re free today.”

how the hell are you supposed to swing in to save the day as spiderwoman at the ceremony when you’re also being forced to sit near the big, buff chief and his highest-ranking men?

as much as you’d like to argue, you really can’t win this argument because that would make you sound like a really big asshole for not attending a ceremony for the injured and dead. would you be a bigger asshole for not being able to save them at that same ceremony? you’ll figure it out (you hope).

you’re not able to win an argument with the 6’4 tall, incredibly built chief of police, you'd never be able to in this type of situation.

now, you stand in front of the mirror buttoning up a white dress shirt to cover the little spider-shaped device that turns into a suit. the person in the mirror is looking at you with eyes that say “please don’t fuck this up”

you stare back with a look that responds: “trying my best.”

how the hell are you going to be two people at the same time, same place, while being near the people who hate your guts?

the venue is this random building a couple of minutes down the street from the police station.

various tables with white cloth surrounded by brown chairs are scattered across the room; there are already people dispersed across the room in their respective areas, chatting with each other. your uncle leaves your side and decides it’s okay to leave you in a place filled with strangers, great.

as you wander around the room some people seem to recognize you by the way they greet you so warmly. various people who you’ve seen once, or maybe twice greet you formally; you blame your uncle for why you’re being treated like someone with slight authority.

you’re finally alone about ten minutes later at the drink station and you fill your plastic cup with some iced lemon water. it’s a little less overwhelming in the mellow corner, away from the people who are a little too lively for the reason it’s even being held.

“hey.” a voice says, and you flinch, spilling some water on the dress shirt you have on. jihyo stands there next to you after tapping on your shoulder and making you look like a fool.

you pat down your shirt with the napkin on the table, “hi.” you respond, trying to sound a little leveled.

“did i scare you? sorry about the shirt, let me help.”

“just startled, haha.” you wish you could be as smooth as spiderwoman would in this interaction. jihyo helps you out by grabbing a napkin and patting at your chest, she’s literally patting near your boobs and your face is probably red from the way she does it so obliviously. spiderwoman would probably, no–she'd definitely be making a comment about jihyo wanting to be near your chest–something like that.

“so, how is everything so far?”

“it’s just really strange.” you sigh, finally patting down the button up dry, there’s just a big patch of water that hasn’t dried off yet. “i feel a little too respected.”

jihyo laughs and you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

“well, if i didn’t know your uncle as personally as i do now–i’d probably be the same.” jihyo confesses. “your uncle can be scary.” and she exaggerates the last remark by widening her eyes and raising her brows slightly. you laugh.

“and if you didn’t know me personally?”

“well, i’d be a bit skeptical of how this tall, striking woman had spilled water all over her chest just from me tapping on her shoulder.” jihyo jokes.

“you think i’m striking?” and you send her a grin. the grin sends a shiver down her spine and the detective pauses in her place as she watches the way your lips curl, almost identical to the vigilante's stupid grin. jihyo is a bit shaken up from the similarity and it takes her a bit to respond.

“a little.” she admits.

ever since you had met jihyo, something in that interaction sparked a casual friendship. a friendship that was so similar to one between people who had known each other in college, or maybe something close to that.

it always started with comforting, regular greetings, and there wasn't any awkward small talk. there was slight joking here and there, some teasing remarks, small ‘gossip’ about your uncle and anyone else that you two knew. it was a refreshing and friendly relationship that you had with jihyo—even some mutual attraction; in fact, you’re the reason jihyo had been hesitant to flirt with spiderwoman, she would be lying if she said she didn’t have a slight crush on you—though it could never work out—your uncle would kill her (probably).

“you know what my uncle said to me earlier? he’s a strange one.”

“and what was it?”

“he told me to sock any guy that tried to ask me out, it’s so weird.” and it really is, because everyone here is present for the events that took place a couple of days ago. why would it be someone’s first instinct to ask out the niece of the chief?

jihyo laughs at your remark, shaking her head. “honestly, i’d listen to him. the guys in the force that are single can be pretty strange.”

you nod in agreement, “yeah… what was his name… mark? he asked me out with the worst pickup line i’ve ever heard. something like ‘usually coffee is the thing that wakes up my senses, you seem like you’d wake them up too.’ the laugh i had to hold back…”

jihyo laughs upon hearing that very amusing information (which, she’ll likely use against her colleague). “he’s like that.”

the conversation is cut short when you hear the noise of someone tapping against a microphone. a familiar voice is heard throughout the room, it’s one of the sergeants who had welcomed you so warmly: taeyong. the guy seemed young for his position, maybe 3-4 years older than you, all you knew was that he was young for someone so highly ranked.

he cleared his throat before speaking. “welcome everyone. we’d like to thank every guest for attending.”

jihyo taps your shoulder and tilts her head to signal you to a table, just so you two can look like you’re listening. the two of you pull chairs out and sit at a small, round table that seems to be unoccupied. jihyo scans the room subtly, there was one thought that had been occupying her mind the entire time she had been in the venue: where is spiderwoman?

the detective knew that the lizard showing up wasn’t necessarily guaranteed, but she sort of wished it were. she wanted to see you, even if it meant a giant lizard barging in.

park jihyo should not be thinking of this. maybe the chief thought you could've been a bad influence, jihyo believes you might be a terrible one with how she's thinking right now.

taeyong had been finishing up his speech, that’s about the same time the low, goosebump-inducing rumble was heard and felt.

the entire building trembled.

jihyo looks around frantically, this should be your cue to show up, this should be your time to swing in and piss off the officers.

this should be the time she gets to see you again.

to be fair, you had shown up, just not as your little arachnid alter ego. just yourself, though jihyo didn’t know that.

the building shudders again and overwhelms all your senses, and everyone in the room. goosebumps creep up your back, and your so-called “sixth sense” starts acting up.

all the guests who had been in the venue started to chatter quietly; hushed whispers and sudden panic filled the room. the building shakes again and everyone seems to get the message that this isn’t normal, that something is happening and the fact that they don’t know what the hell is happening disturbs them greatly. worry and fear start to crowd the room when a piece of the ceiling falls, it makes you instinctively scan the room—keeping your guard up.

“y/n,” jihyo mutters. she’s observing the space with her narrowed eyes, the other cops seem to overlook with caution too. “stay close.”

“what’s going on?” you question, but you know the answer to your query as soon as another piece of the ceiling falls over and splits into pieces, leaving some dust. jihyo looks at you for a second, panic and worry in her eyes. all you can think is: i need to get out of this damn place.

taeyong turns around and as soon as he does the wall in front of him completely breaks down. the enormous (and really ugly) lizard invites itself in, emerging (more like barging and breaking in). taeyong falls back, no, he's practically flung away from where he was before; he lands with a blunt thud.

terror fills the room completely. jihyo’s eyes widen at the sight of taeyong on the floor, some blood seeping out of him as he lies there hardly conscious.

the guests scream and run towards the exits while the officers pull out their guns hurriedly and point them at the lizard in sight, their hands quiver and their bodies tremble in fear from just seeing this unbelievable monster.

you gulp at the sight, it really is an enormous lizard, maybe ten feet tall. the lizard was an ugly, swamp-green shade, it’s really disgusting to look at and its eyes are something out of a nightmare–gross.

the spider-shaped device under your button-up practically calls out your name, it’s almost screaming in your ear “press me! press me!” and as much as you’d like to listen to it so you could magically turn into a so-called “hero,” you can’t risk people knowing, especially not the cops that are scattered around.

you’re hidden from a few cops, though it would definitely be noticeable if some random suit had been wrapping around you out of nowhere, someone would notice. despite the commotion that goes on and the panic that's heard from various screams and whimpers, someone would certainly notice the chief’s niece turning into the “friendly neighborhood spiderwoman!”

and that wouldn’t be good, especially if your uncle found out.

there are two options: run away with jihyo and let her find out about your little secret, or let people die. you don't have much time to think—or plan for that matter—maybe you can risk letting jihyo know, it’s about time. it’s your last resort anyway,

shit.

a groan leaves your mouth and you scan the room impatiently—there are broken chairs, tables, and debris all over—you’re trying to think of how you’ll escape this very inconvenient situation. you spot the sign that says “restrooms” from the corner of your eye and quickly pull jihyo by the arm, rushing over. jihyo’s expression turns into one of surprise and confusion, she looks at you with worry and furrowed brows while you drag her, almost debating whether she should fight against your grip on her.

“what the hell are you doing?” jihyo questions, looking at you distressed as she hears a sudden high-pitched scream and another sharp, loud sound from outside. your fingers work at the button-up you wear, and jihyo quickly turns away as you do so, “y/n? what the hell is wrong with you? why are you stripping now? we have to help-”

“fuck, jihyo.” you mutter, and you give up as you rip the dress shirt open, showing your bra-covered chest. this is not the time for jihyo to be checking you out right now, but shit, your body is like a magnet—one with toned abs and an incredibly satisfying physique that pulls her look towards it. you glance at the quivering bathroom door and continue, “i can’t explain everything now, but i swear i will soon, and please don’t get mad at me. there’s too much going on and i just, i have to go.”

“what the hell do you-” jihyo starts, but her question is quickly answered as you press on the spider logo.

your suit stems out from it and covers your body in seven fleeting seconds. the familiar suit covers your body, and she realizes it's you. her eyes widen and her mouth opens slightly, she looks at you in such shock and nearly stumbles back.

“i told you i’d be here,” you say. jihyo is left speechless, though she manages to choke out a broken, stuttered response to your "big reveal."

“y/n, you- what the hell?”

“let’s talk later yeah? help gather the people that aren’t cops, bring them somewhere safe,” you say, and jihyo is still baffled by everything that just happened at the last minute. you put a hand on her shoulder and start again. “jihyo?”

“you can't just, you can't just leave like that? you can't-”

"i have to help them, detective," you say. your eyes lock with hers as if they could convey a certain understanding.

"god y/n, you... you have to explain everything, i swear to god." she manages to sputter out. you nod at her,

"it's a date then, on me." you joke, trying to lighten the mood and calm her nerves so she can assist you in dealing with this situation. now jihyo knows it's really you. the detective watches you leave the bathroom quickly, though you stop at the door to give her a small thumbs up before departing.

jihyo is at a loss for words—she's not even sure if all her senses are working properly. there's too much to process, but the detective has to do her job, she has to try and save these people, she's going to do what you told her to do.

detective park can do this, detective park can overcome anything, detective park can do her job and compose herself—so that's what she does, and she's completely disregarding whatever the chief had said a couple of days prior:

jihyo is going to work with spiderwoman, she's going to do what spiderwoman says.

#kpop x reader #twice imagines #twice x reader #jihyo x reader #jihyo imagines #park jihyo #twice jihyo

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cranberryjuice-posts · 2 months

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could make a Korra x reader where reader is an engineer for future industries and has been working nonstop with Asami to help rebuild republic city after the events of book four. So since reader is always out Korra plans something like a mini date for when she gets home.

- date night! -

Pairings - korra x fem! Reader

An - I’ll be taking a break from clarisse fics for rn but I will get all the request in my inbox for her out eventually it’ll just take a while 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 but please do request for other wlw characters!!

“Right and if I move this here it’ll clear out this section for this” you mumbled to yourself moving the pawns across the board. The map of republic city before you casted different locations that were in need of repair.

The wooden doors behind you opened, figuring it was just some secretary you payed them no mind. “Set the plans on the desk beside the window” you aimlessly spoke waving your hand off.

“I would do that-” a feminine voice chuckled. “-If i was an assistant.” Turning around quicker than you should of you shockingly looked at asami. Her sweet smile making you feel a little embarrassed. “When did you take a break?”

Smiling cockily you stood up and crossed your arms. “Actually, I took one at 12”

“Am or pm”

You rolled your eyes which gave her the answer she assumed. She shook her head disapproving, leaning on the table she examined the work you had started. Flicking the pawn down asami brought her eyes back to you. “The office will be closed for the weekend.”

“I’ll still be coming in if that’s fine, I just need to finish a few plans an—“

“Do you ever take a stop working?” She laughed. “Whatever plans you have can wait.. besides the avatar has been a quite worried about you” her playful teasing made you hold your head down in shame.

It had been a few months since you began your relationship with Korra. Her only writing you and asami letters for months help build a strong connection between you all, but her getting encouragement and advice from the beautiful woman made her eventually ask you out.

Throwing your papers into a folder and grabbing your bag you left the office embarrassed. If she wanted you to take a break you were going to do it by choice not force.

———

Taking your shoes off and setting your bag aside you sunk down onto the couch. The apartment you shared with Korra had been decorated in water tribe style.

It took only a minute before you felt an all to familiar weight lean beside you. Opening your eyes you saw Korra with her back pressed against your arm. She wore a pair of pajamas with her hair wet.

“Hey” you tiredly smiled.

“Hi” she smiled, moving to fall into your lap. Looking down you couldn’t help but fall in love with her childish yet charming grin.

“Hungry?” She eventually pulled herself up. “I ordered some takeout” walking to the kitchen Korra brought out two containers, one filled with your favorite order.

Sitting with you again she happily ate her meal. It was sweet how she was always thinking about you. “So” she spoke with a mouth full. “How was today?”

“The normal, making adjustments here n’ there, making new plans and changing the budget when needed” you sighed. Even with the spirt world being connected with yours and the multiple improvements you were making after the Kuvira invasion it sometimes still felt like too much. “And you? Any new avatar business”

She shook her head with a smile. “No, actually I spent today doing about the same with you”

“Really?” You playfully went along.

“Yeah” she grunted setting her food on the table in front of you and grabbing a stack of papers. Shuffling through them she handed brightly decorated flier.

Confused you looked down, examining the blue and purple paper you read what you as written in bold ontop.

I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND

My beautiful and wonderful girlfriend has been working so hard to rebuild republic city, so in as a Thank You! She will be receiving a relaxing and soothing spa weekend

“A spa day? Baby you know I can’t do something like that, I have work” you sighed with a heavy heart. It was clear from how her excited expression went flat that she was clearly looking forward to it. However from her smile you knew she wasn’t done just yet.

“About that… the papers that you brought home today asami switched. So for the entire weekend while the office is locked you get to spend time with me with no distractions”

At first you didn’t believe her. Then you got up and ran to your bag, digging through the folder. It was just as Korra said everything you had brought home was just scratch and blank papers.

Giving into her you returned beside your girlfriend. “Fine.. Well do the spa day” her happy cheer made you quickly become content with letting everything go. Only for the weekend though, that’s all you could spare.

———

Laid back you groaned in satisfaction as Korra gently placed the hot stones along your spine. Using her bending she helped adjust the temperature.

“Fuck I needed this” you let out a heavy breath that had been kept in a while. It felt nice to let everything be bygones.

“It’s ok to admit I’m the best” she cockily smiled, setting yet again another stone on your body.

Her comment made you giggle “mm yeah but if I did then who would tell you when your wrong?”

Her scoff like laugh proved you won the banter. Turning your head to the side you watched as the avatar set a group of rocks into the water, using fire bending she created heat around her hands to make it boil.

“Have i ever told you how beautiful you look when your concentrating on your bending?” You mumbled out, falling asleep.

“Yeah but telling me again can’t hurt” her cocky streak was going to be the death of you. Bringing the bucket over she took the now cooled stones off your bare skin. Before placing the newer hotter ones on she kissed you quickly on the lips. Almost like an attempt to embarrass you but it only made you happy.

“Just relax” Korra’s strong voice lulling you to sleep. At this point you couldn’t fight it anymore, maybe she was right you did need the break.

#lesbian #wlw #korra x reader #tlok korra #legend of korra #korra x you #korra x fem!reader #the legend of korra

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aestheticaltcow · 5 months

Text

What Happens in Vegas Doesn't Always Stay in Vegas

A four-part series about a drunken mistake and realizations starring our favorite neurotic chef.

Part 1 - Those are legal?

“I’m sorry, what do you mean ‘I’m married’?” Ellie questioned the FBI agent in front of her. “Well, with Jack’s security clearance, we took his marriage license application very seriously. Elanor Marks, you’ve been married to a man named Carmen Berzatto for the past eight years.”. Ellie turned to look at Jack, who was just as dumbfounded as her, “You two got married in 2016 at Quickie Vows in Las Vegas.” the agent handed Jack a folder. “Here’s all the information, sir.” Jack nodded without saying anything.

“How did you not know you were married?” Jack laughed as he got into bed that night, “I didn’t think those Vegas weddings were like real marriages.” Ellie sighed, sinking deeper into their mattress. Jack frowned, realizing just how upset his fiance was, “Hey, get over here.” he opened his arms. Ellie sighed and scooted closer to him in bed, “This is one of the things I love about you, Ellie. You’re spontaneous and eclectic. You love life and have never said no to anything.” he kissed her head making Ellie sink deeper into his chest. “When I met you in Germany, I knew you were goin’ be my wife one day. This whole Vegas marriage thing is just a hiccup. I’ll call Bren, and we’ll get all of this figured out… you’ll get your spooky October wedding, I promise.”

Ellie opened her locker the next morning and shoved her backpack in before sitting on a free chair to change into her non-slip shoes. “There she is, the blushing bride.” Ellie rolled her eyes at her friend’s greeting. “Hey, Maddie.” “You good?” “I’ve been better…”

Maddie shot her a quizzical look. “Wanna talk about it?” Ellie sighed “Do you remember Carmy Berztto?” “Wow, that’s a blast from the past…” “Yeah, that’s what I said… we’ve been married since that Vegas trip.” Maddie was lost for words, “You know what I have to feed my sourdough…” she awkwardly laughed, scratching at the back of her neck. “Lunch break?” Ellie laughed, knowing Maddie wanted to know what had happened that trip “Yes. I have so many questions.”

“CAB, you’re like the best.” “I don’t know ‘bout that, El.” Carmy laughed, taking another swig from his bottle of tequila. Ellie snaked her arm around his waist as the two walked down the Vegas strip. The two found themselves separated from the main group of friends they’d come to Vegas with; it wasn’t something unheard of for the two of them. “You’re a kid but got the fuckin’ James Beard! You’re the best.”Ellie hiccuped. Carmy rolled his eyes, “You’re only like a year older than me, babe.” Ellie giggled and playfully hit his chest.

The two ended up sitting on the edge of a fountain, exchanging stories of childhood trauma and fears of the future between kisses. “My mom used to call me a whore back in high school-” “You’re my whore…” Carmy whispered as he kissed down Ellie’s jawline, making her giggle and hit his shoulder “You’re so stupid.” “Fuck I love you.” Carmy laughed, burying his head in her shoulder nipping at her collarbone. Ellie giggled and gently tugged at his hair “I fuckin’ love you too.”

In New York, this evening would end in sex on the kitchen floor or the ratty old couch in Carmy’s bare apartment. In Vegas, it was a different story. Neither Carmy nor Ellie realized who’d suggested it, but they found themselves at Quickie Vows. They both went through the motions, thinking it was the funniest joke in the world. The two returned to the group’s Airbnb and went to the backyard to get into the hot tub. The next day, Ellie got the call she’d been waiting for. She was going to Europe to be a commis chef. After a quick stop in New York, Ellie was off and thought she’d never be back in the States, at least until she met Special Agent Jack Aubrey.

The two met in Germany five years ago; it was love at first sight for Jack. Ellie took a couple of months to warm up. He was everything Carmy lacked; he actively made time to be with her. They weren’t together out of convenience; Jack was proud to be seen with her. He encouraged her to be herself and grow as a person. But of course, Carmy needed to make one last appearance before Ellie could live happily ever after.

#carmen berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto #the bear fan fiction #the bear fan fic #the bear imagine

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shubblelive · 1 year

Text

— CUT THAT

summary : being an editor for the sorry boys means you witness a lot of embarrassing moments. but there’s no one tommy would trust more with them.

genre : fluff

warnings: swearing, just general tommy-ness

pairing : cc!tommyinnit x gn!editor!reader

pronouns : they/them

featuring : cc!tommyinnit, cc!wilbur soot, cc!sorry boys (mentioned)

request : @gaytoadwithapopsicle can you do being a feminine reader (they/them or she/they) in sorry boys! and it’s tommy x reader (romantic)

word count : 966

note : i made reader an editor cause i had this cute little idea and it’s not really something you see in fics a whole lot

it was late. everyone else had gone home, it was just you, tommy and wilbur. you and wilbur in your separate booths editing videos, tommy sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest as he scrolled through his phone. wilbur was working on the first video and you were doing the colouring for the second, and the three of you had lapsed into a comfortable silence in the few hours you’d been there.

but of course tommy’s calm state had an expiration date that allowed approximately three hours of quiet, and now he was getting bored.

“can we go home?” he huffed. “i didn’t even get a chair. i don’t want to be a floor boy anymore,”

without even looking away from his monitor wilbur pointed at the couch behind him. you glanced at your boyfriend, giving a sympathetic smile. “i’ll be another hour or so, and then i still need to wait ‘till i get a reply. sorry, tom. you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

tommy sighed dramatically. “i offered you a lift home, i’d be a bit of a shit boyfriend if i left you here alone with him.”

“i’ll split an uber with you?” wilbur offered, spinning slightly in his chair. “make sure you get dropped of first.”

“oi,” tommy said from his position on the floor, pointing threateningly at wilbur. “back off,”

you rolled your eyes affectionately. “sorry, the lighting in this prison was absolutely abysmal. there’s a lot to fix.”

tommy finally pushed himself off the floor and almost tripped walking towards you, looking at your screen. the part you were currently colour-correcting was focused on charlie and wilbur, and tommy nodded resolutely. “yes, there is a lot to fix there. i don’t know how you stomach it,” you laughed quietly with wilbur rolling his eyes, but tommy wasn’t done. “like, look at his fucking hair. it’s too long, i hate it. i know something else that is too long.”

this time it was tommy sniggering at his own joke, but instead you looked up at him from your chair and said “how long we’ve been together.”

at that, wilbur burst into laughter, with tommy trying his best to hold back his own. he was spluttering while attempting to reply, and in the meantime, you decided to go back to your work. “anyway tommy. the amount of shit jokes of yours i have to cut out because they’re just not funny is so incredibly high, if anything it’s your fault we’re still here.”

“fuck you my jokes are funny.” tommy pouted. “at least my face doesn’t look like that.” he pointed to where you had paused on an unfortunate face charlie was making, and you scoffed.

“i have an entire folder of dumb faces you’ve made in videos that i’ve cut out,” you replied. “i just choose not to share them with you because i love you.”

“so you’ve been removing tommy’s face from the entire prison video, then?” wilbur asked.

you nodded. “the second you’re done with the courtroom cut i’ll go back and fix that one too.”

tommy was growing increasingly offended, hiding the fond smile he was directing at you. you’d been hired as an editor for the new group channel because of him, and while he’d known his friends would love you he had been a little worried. the two of you had only been going out for four months before you took the job, and at the time you’d only met wilbur.

but when you first showed up at the office on the day of the first full production meeting, he’d been relieved that everyone loved you. seeing you get along so well with wilbur filled him with comfort, and he resisted the urge to plant a kiss on your forehead, knowing it would break up the banter you were sharing.

“you can talk, wilbur.” he spoke up. “your face is dumb and if i were you i’d keep growing my hair out so no one has to see it.”

“says the kid who got the same haircut as me.” wilbur fired back.

“alright, you two,” you stopped them. “tom, give me half an hour and i’ll be done? then i am all yours for the rest of the night.”

tommy reluctantly nodded, and went to go sit back on the floor. but before he could, wilbur spoke up again. “nah, you guys are alright. you should go home, i’ll finish the rest of it.”

you shook your head, pointedly ignoring the way tommy’s face lit up at the prospect of getting to spend time with you after a very long day. “no, will. it’s too much for one person. it’s my job, i’ll do it. it’s fine, really.”

“whatever i don’t finish tonight, we can do tomorrow,” wilbur encouraged gently. “we’re way ahead of schedule thanks to you. take tonight off, go do what the youths do.”

“yeah, listen to him,” tommy nodded eagerly. “he’s old and wise like a president,”

you looked uncertain, but the fond smile wilbur was giving you both was enough to make you cave. “five minutes to finish up? then we can go home?” tommy nodded and pressed a kiss to your temple. that night, when you got back to your flat, tommy immediately pressed his face into the top of your head, holding you close to him.

“i missed you,” he mumbled. “i’m really glad you took the job. i love working with you.” his voice was low, and you knew he was being uncharacteristically earnest, but you couldn’t resist.

“i think i’m getting sick of you,” you tried, bringing a hand up to scratch his scalp gently.

“no you’re not,” he corrected, closing his eyes against your touch. he wasn’t wrong.

#wishing i could write my name on it #tommay #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit fluff #tommyinnit x reader fluff #tommyinnit fanfic

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milkratz · 1 year

Text

Gaz is going to blow himself up.

Not literally. Probably not. Maybe. But he is going to start taking some extreme measures if the two resident idiots didn’t get their shit together.

Yeah, idiots. Because he has been forced to watch some of the most trashy, unrealistic clichés happen before his very eyes; His daily life, he felt like a background character in one of his mother’s overdone romance novels, watching the main characters dance around each other.

And yes, he’s talking about Soap and Ghost. For highly-skilled and deadly operatives, they’re bloody stupid. And yeah, perhaps Gaz is being a little rude but hey. He’s seen shit that genuinely only happens in fiction.

Like the cherry blossom petals? They're on a rather secluded military base, where the most greenery they see is the treeline of the damn forest they use for practice ops. Where the fuck did the cherry blossoms come from.

Or when Soap dropped his folder of reports. Ghost had been right next to him and reached down at the same time. Their hands touched and Gaz swears to God, time stopped. For two whole minutes, Gaz had been frozen in time, forced to watch Ghost and Soap stare into each other's eyes, while some pop music played over the damn intercoms.

One time, Soap ended up in the infirmary. Nothing too serious, but he was in there for a good couple days. Gaz went in to cheer up his buddy, crack a few jokes, only to almost immediately bump into the still figure of Ghost. Ghost who he last saw four days ago. Ghost, who was supposed to be on an at least two week mission. Ghost who disobeyed orders, just to stand in Soap's room like a freaky sleep paralysis demon.

Gaz couldn't be bothered and immediately walked back out, ignoring Ghost's quiet inquiries as to where he was going. Away from this teenage romance bullshit, he thought, completely having given up.

The worst part? The two were completely, entirely, fully oblivious. It got to the point where Gaz and Price would sit together, watching the two fools pretend there was nothing between them.

Oh well. The way they were going, Gaz could bet on at least two months before one of them manned up, and make himself a pretty penny off it.

Unless some weird wacko romance-fueled supernatural bullshit happened again. Then Gaz might actually blow up.

#soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghostsoap #soapghost #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2

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linane-art · 1 month

Text

GF's AUpocalypse 2024 - Cinderella AU

Bonus fullsize Fili

MY OTHER EDITS

There's also a bit of a story to go with this one, some 5.2k of it. I've been sitting on it since April 2017.

However, before you read it, you should know that it's not great, in fact, I consider it to be sub-standard writing for me, and will not be publishing it on my AO3 or anywhere else. It's also unfinished and will not be getting finished - you should also know that.

Fundamentally, I wrote as much as I did and had a major disagrement with the concept of 'love at first sight'. You see, to my mind, it doesn't work for FiKi as a pairing (or possibly it just doesn't work, full stop). What my heart wants is about 80k-100k of a slow burn, covering the span of about 6 decades where they get to know each other, heaps of mutual pining, construct proper personalities for both Fili and Kili, unpack the blatant inequality of power between them etc. etc. I want to flesh out and develop plot-lines for Dis, Thorin and the Ri-brothers, and figure out how the magic works in this universe.

But the original Cinderella fairytale doesn't allow me the space for all of that. It's all: ball > marriage > happily ever after. Which to me, frankly, is utter nonsense. *Shrug*

But it fitted perfectly with the photoset I came up with and I'm glad to see it aired out and of my Writing Folder, so here goes nothing:

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

Prince Fili’s Third Coming of Age Ceremony took place at a tender age of 65.

It was early perhaps, but then these were perilous times: the Prince was not only battle-ready, he’d had some practical experience of it, having taken part in a number of skirmishes with orcs around the kingdom’s borders. He was a fierce warrior, a cunning diplomat and a hot-headed idiot in turns, which in the common folk was met with a mix of disgruntled admiration and exasperation. But he was liked well-enough and easily acknowledged as King Thorin’s heir both within the kingdom’s borders and outside of them. He’d inherited the position; but he made it truly his own with charm, charisma and hard work.

Had he fully understood what the Ceremony entailed, Fili himself would have perhaps resisted, but he was young and confident and used to getting his own way. Besides, the Third Coming of Age meant far greater freedom and independence from the Crown and, like any young dwarf, Fili pounced at the opportunity of having a longer leash.

The celebrations were planned to befit the grandeur of the House of Durin: there was to be a great ball of course, guests from the four corners of the world, tables laid full to the brim with good food and drink, music and entertainment, and even a firework display at midnight.

Once again, Fili graciously agreed, happy enough to share his own joy with others and delighted to have some merriment within the walls of a usually restrained palace.

The trouble started when Thorin let slip that he’d be looking for a bride for Fili during the ball. It was important that Fili was married as soon as possible and would be better yet if he had a bairn on the way not long after. Succession was paramount to kingdom’s stability and Thorin was nothing if not determined to have not only an heir, but also a spare.

There was a meticulously planned and researched list of eligible princesses, all lined up to be whisked away onto the ballroom floor, in appropriate order of course, sized up as potential brides, and romanced just enough to become an enthusiastic fiancée or an un-problematic rejection. The ball was now less than a month away and all invitations had been sent, with folk pouring into the mountain day and night, all excited to boot at this excellent opportunity to get utterly plastered at someone else’s expense.

In short: it was too late now to back out.

Luckily, Prince Fili, who at that point had 65 years’ worth of experience in dealing with his King and uncle, kept his cool.

“Yes uncle,” he agreed with a grin just wide enough to suggest to an ardent observant that mischief was brewing in that clever head of his.

Luckily, King Thorin, was not the most ardent of observants.

Fili bowed with just a touch too much charisma and left the Council chambers to the respectfully low murmur of voices.

And then he did what any young dwarf would have done in his place: he hatched a plan.

---

Kili gave a triumphant little grunt, as he finally managed to remove a particularly stubborn patch of soot from the inside of the fireplace. He’d been scrubbing at it for the past 20 minutes and had to admit that it felt good to be finally getting somewhere.

“You’ve missed a spot,” Dori supplied behind him helpfully, pointing to the opposite corner with a poker.

Kili sighed and crawled in that direction. When it came to cleanliness, Dori was a tyrant.

He started scrubbing anew.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that Dori was being mean per se. He himself had been polishing all the wooden furniture just feet behind Kili, which might have been a cleaner job, but no less labour intensive. It was simply that Dori had really high standards when it came to cleanliness of a respectable dwarven homestead. Higher even than Kili’s own mother and that was saying something.

Still, could be worse, Kili supposed: Ori had been relegated to cleaning the outhouse.

He sighed and attacked the stonework again. At least Nori was nowhere to be found, which meant that Kili couldn’t get into trouble. For now.

---

It took Prince Fili a while to weasel the right info out of the right people. It was important though that he got this right, and Fili took his time. He only had one shot at this.

It was only a week before the party when he finally managed to get away from the Palace for long enough to make the trip.

He pulled his hood tighter around his annoyingly-recognisable golden head, before stepping confidently into the light.

“Are you the one they call the Fairy Godmother?” he addressed the dwarrowdam by a cart, who was overseeing it being loaded with some heavy-looking casks by three burly characters.

She turned away from the wagon slowly, giving him a measured once-over. The scrutiny chafed somewhat, when directed at the royal heir without an ounce of respectful deference, but Fili stood his ground and offered what he hoped was a friendly smile.

“That depends on who’s asking,” she said and tilted her head curiously. Behind her, three sets of hands produced an array of heavy and sharp objects indicating that there was a correct answer to this question.

Fili held out his empty hands, hoping that the pommels of his daggers weren’t showing. “A simple, unarmed traveller, who has use of your… services and will pay for them handsomely.”

He produced a heavy purse of coins and offered it on his outstretched palm.

She arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘that’s what you’re going with?! Really?!’, but took the coin and gestured for the other three to stand down and get back to loading the barrels.

Fili attempted his best friendly smile once more.

“And what is it that you want from the Fairy Godmother? Fame? Fortune? Both?” her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Fili took a deep breath. “I wish to marry the one person in all my life that I will truly love,” he demanded. “And soon. Like… in the next week or so.”

The woman snorted. “Honestly, lad, in your position that’s hardly a sensible wish. Fame and fortune would have been easier.”

“Sensible or not, is it possible? Men in taverns all the way from the Mountain to the very ends of our lands swear by your name, so I understand you have the power equal almost to that of the wizards. Unless this simple wish is beyond you?”

Flattery, sprinkled liberally with a hefty dose of goading. He’d honed that particular technique on the Elven delegations.

“Son, I sell spirits,” the dwarrowdam deadpanned. “Spirits happen to be exactly what men in the taverns wish for more than anything. Sometimes they call me the Fairy Godmother for it. That is all.”

It was an unfamiliar feeling, as if he had lost his footing all of a sudden, but Fili recovered quickly. “Fine spirits too, as I see. Is that blue absinthe seal that my eyes see on those barrels already loaded?”

“What’s it to you?” the sorceress’ eyes narrowed and, as if by some unspoken command, the sharp implements behind her manifested themselves once again.

“Nothing,” Fili took a step back in a minor tactical retreat. “Only if I am to have my heart shattered, I should very much like to purchase one of those. You know, to soothe the pain.”

“They are not for sale. Already paid for and going to the Ceremony,” she gave him a Look that was more of a threat than the blunt tools she indirectly controlled.

Contrary to the popular belief Fili did have a self-preservation instinct. He just wasn’t very good at consulting it.

“Oh, I see! Only, I happen to know that the royal requisitioners are out of the invoice forms for these,” he said. “Something to do with the printing presses and a mucky contingent of ink, I believe. So that would make this little operation of yours technically… um, black market.”

The sorceress glared and Fili had to admit that the glare was rather impressive.

Still not completely sure he had the upper hand, he gave her his best dimpled smile, the one that made people drop things sometimes.

Finally the Fairy Godmother sighed, rolled her eyes, unceremoniously grabbed Fili by the elbow and pulled him away from the others. “There may be a way, but it doesn’t work well on young, hot-headed fools,” she hissed ominously once they were out of the earshot.

Fili nodded seriously, reassured that he was at least eligible. “Excellent.”

“The Spell of True Love. It will work regardless of whether you agree with your heart’s choice or not. People often overlook that last point.”

Fili nodded again.

“There is a price to pay.”

“I was expecting that.”

“For every moment you spend with your love when you first meet them, you will spend years and decades apart before you can finally be together.”

“… Years or decades?”

“A long time! It’s not exact science!”

“Right, right. And how long do you consider to be a moment?”

“Seriously?!”

“This is quite important,” Fili protested.

The sorcerers spun on her heel and made to walk away.

“No, wait! I accept!” he decided on the spot.

The dwarrowdam stopped.

Turned.

Looked him up and down.

Fili, once more, withstood the scrutiny.

“Alright then,” she said finally and the Prince breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, truly. Now what do you need for your spell? Some of my blood? A lock of hair? A black chicken to sacrifice at midnight?”

She stared at him again. It was getting unnerving. “Your heart is young yet, but kind and likeable enough for someone who might find that cockiness of yours charming somehow,” the sorceress said finally, making him feel strangely flattered. “But you’re also an idiot,” she finished.

“Er…” Fili was not used to this kind of treatment. “Thanks. Mostly. Now, about the contract –“.

“No contract,” she threw over her shoulder, now almost back to her wagon.

“No contract?!” Dwarves felt strangely unnerved when they didn’t have a piece of parchment in their hand which clearly defined each party’s roles and responsibilities. “But then how will I know?!”

“You just will.”

“But when?!”

“Soon.”

“How soon?! It would have to be at the ball at the latest, otherwise I fear even your magic won’t be able to make my uncle change his mind.”

Fairy Godmother calmly climbed to the seat of her cart full of contraband booze. “You’re going to have to trust me,” she told him by the way of goodbye and clicked on her ponies to walk on.

---

Dis got back home later than she expected.

By then the house was mostly asleep, including Kili, who had somehow slotted himself, legs and all, into an armchair in front of the fire. He’d clearly been waiting for her.

She paused to watch her son for a moment. He had a smudge of soot on his cheek and dark stains, probably of the same nature over the knees of his trousers. He looked exhausted and his knuckles were scuffed.

She sat heavily on the sofa opposite from him and stared into the fire for a moment.

This was not a life she had envisaged for her son. When she and Myori fell in love, both of them widows – she, once, Myori staggering three times – it looked as if life had finally slotted itself onto the right tracks.

They both had families of their own of course, but with all four boys between them grown and close to leaving home, it seemed like they could make it work. Dis finally took over her father’s brewery full time and Myori dived head-first into her fledgling alterations business.

It felt like they were living once again and there was laughter in the house even if every now and then teenage boys sparked into some new drama.

Little did she know that they only had three short years together ahead of them. Illness took her love and there was nothing Dis could do about it. It was then that she promised herself never to dabble in love magic again.

Love – she couldn’t remember any more why people craved to be loved so much.

And now she was the only mother the four of them had left.

There was no backing out though, not when they all depended on her, not to mention all the families the brewery employed.

She wasn’t spending nearly enough time with Kili, and if she was honest with herself, that was the one thing that was eating at her the most.

He must have felt like an orphan at times, but he smiled for her all the same and did his best to be useful around the house. She knew he worked hard, perhaps harder than he should have, if Dori was involved. Dori, who was a perfectionist and had his own home for a time, but returned now to help her look after his two younger brothers.

Kili deserved better; they all did.

Dis sighed and licked her thumb so she could try and wipe the soot off Kili’s cheek.

“Wha -?” he blinked at her owlishly and stirred in his seat.

“Hey, there, Grasshopper. You should be in bed,” she smiled at him.

“Cooked you dinner. S’ on the stove,” he mumbled and returned the smile when she kissed the top of his head.

“Thank you. Now scamper off to bed.”

“No. I’ll sit with you.”

“Kili.”

Her son sighed dramatically in that peculiar way all teenage dwarves seemed to have, but obediently padded towards the stairs.

“Night, mum.”

“Good night, Kili.”

Dis didn’t move immediately. Instead she sat back for a moment longer and pondered the dubious problems of a princely life.

And then she blinked, as a terrifying thought gained momentum in her mind like a fully loaded cart with no breaks on.

---

Prince Fili made it back to his chambers just as the steps sounded on the corridor outside his door. Thankfully, this was hardly his first time sneaking out, so Fili kept a cool head: he kicked off his boots, ran his fingers through his hair and in one smooth move rolled under the covers.

“Fili?” his uncle peered into the room before approaching his bed.

Fili performed his best snore and tried to slow down his breathing.

Bed next to him dipped a little as his uncle and king sat on the edge of the mattress and moved to stroke Fili’s soft, golden hair away from his face.

“You must be exhausted from all the preparations,” his uncle’s low voice sounded in the spacious chambers. “Don’t you worry, sister-son. We will find you a worthy bride, I have taken all the right steps. In your position there will be times when she’ll be your only source of solace, so we’ll be sure to get it right,” he whispered, then tugged Fili’s fur-lined covers up to tuck his shoulder in.

Fili supposed that it must have been difficult, not having a child of your own, or a consort to share your life with. Thorin had had plenty of offers back in his time, but he’d always put the affairs of the kingdom first, until eventually the offers stopped coming. Fili was going to do it all in reverse: consort first, affairs of the kingdom second. Not because he was selfish, but because he thought that a good consort made for a brilliant king.

Blue eyes opened just as the door closed once again. “I have taken steps too, uncle,” Fili informed his chambers, before setting about pulling the rest of his clothes off and making himself comfortable.

---

Dis cast her runes.

She squinted, peering at the answer they formed.

“No,” she huffed, gathered them once more and cast them again.

Yes, the runes insisted.

Dis rolled her eyes and lit another candle. “Give me another option,” she demanded and cast again.

This time all of the runes bounced straight off the table, landing in a complete gibberish on the floor.

“Absolutely not,” Dis insisted with emphasis, focussing all her energy and causing the six candles around her to burn blue for a while. “Tell me.”

The runes, perhaps fed up with the stubbornness of dwarves, bypassed the subtle hints and suggestions and simply lined themselves into neat, straight lines of a name:

KILI

---

A lazy Saturday morning, some 6 days later found Kili fighting with his tunic.

“This is way too fancy, mum!” he whined, when his hair caught in the elaborate lacing around the neck.

“Nonsense, you have to look your best. It’s the Royal Palace, Mahal’s sake!” she snapped and helped him find the edge of the collar only to reveal the desperate state of his hair.

“Fancy clothes or not, I’ll be standing out like a sore thumb,” Kili huffed, but finally managed to fit all his various limbs into the right holes. “I don’t belong there! They probably won’t even let me in.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! The posters clearly invited everyone who wished to attend ‘with good will in their hearts and best wishes for the Prince’.”

The rest of the household was still asleep when Dis slipped into her son’s room with a little parcel in her hands – which was just as well, since they only had the one set.

The clothes had been made by Myori, as one of her most lucrative orders ever, and then returned for some petty reason or another. The tunic was a beautiful navy blue shade, embroidered in real silver thread, free-flowing from the waist down. The trousers were made out of fine, dark fabric and had a flattering cut.

Thank Mahal, although Myori would have wanted to alter it here and there, for the most part the clothes suited Kili great.

“But why do I have to go?!” Kili whined for the umpteenth time and attempted to sort out his hair, which only made everything worse.

Dis huffed and took a brush to it yet again. “It’s fate,” she told him once more, matter-of-factly, like the previous five times. “Besides, there will be free food and drink for all. All the high society, the great and powerful of our kingdom. Who knows, you might even find the love of your life there!”

“Amad…” he gently caught her wrist and half-turned to look her in the eye.

“You’re going, and that’s final,” she told him sternly, ushering him out into the corridor. “Come on, your carriage awaits!”

“My carriage?!”

“You’re taking the cart.”

“I can’t take the cart to a Royal Coming of Age Ceremony!! I’d rather walk!”

“Which I would approve of normally, if we had about 2 days to spare. But since we don’t, you’re taking the cart,” she practically shoved him up onto it. “Now then. Mind your language and manners, always remember who you are and – oh. You must return the cart by sunrise. My other orders do not stop just for a fancy dress party.”

“By – sunrise?! But that’s -”

“You’ll need to leave at midnight at the latest.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, young man!” She gave him a look, which seemed just a tiny bit too harsh to be believable. “Now off with you.”

After that she slapped the pony’s rear and suddenly Kili went from naught to twenty in no time at all.

It wasn’t until he made it to the next town over that Kili realised that with all the ushering, grooming and cajoling, he was still wearing his comfortable, worn house slippers.

---

Prince Fili was certain that his legs were going to fall off any minute now.

He’d danced twenty dances straight. A lesser dwarf would have thrown in the towel by now, grabbed the nearest fair-bearded, highly-accomplished, delightfully charming, brilliantly-intelligent, exquisitely-well-connected beauty and called it a day.

But not Fili.

Fili could, and would out-stubborn Thorin, who was widely regarded as the most stubborn dwarf in the land. It was a point of personal pride, honed over long decades of his childhood. So instead he stomped towards the ale station and poured himself an entire tankard of whatever happened to be on the tap.

He’d chugged down about half of it in one go, which deprived him of a view of one excellently-dressed, yet utterly befuddled dark-haired youth stumbling in through the main entrance.

Fili licked his moustache and threw a desperate glance at a hall heaving with excellent opportunities.

Then blinked.

His heart beat faster and if Fili believed in such nonsense, he’d swear that the room fell silent in that moment, the candles twinkled around them a little warmer, the air smelled sweeter and –

The lad, with an unerring instinct of his young and thirsty dwarven blood, zeroed in on the drinks station and strutted purposefully towards it, with every intention of drinking the house down.

He was coming towards Fili. For Fili. To save him from a love-less life.

The lad reached for an empty tankard, and Fili, like a seasoned battle commander that he was, made his move.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

The dark-haired dwarf jumped and turned to look behind himself. Then to the sides. “What, me?!”

“Yes, you.” Fili cringed and then slapped himself mentally. “Forgive me, I’m being rude. I would have addressed you by your name, but I’m afraid I’ve missed it upon your arrival.”

“It’s Kili, actually,” the lad replied, head cocked to one side curiously. “And you are –“

“Prince Fili of the House Durin –“

Kili dropped his tankard.

“Excellent, now you have free hands!” Fili decided for both of them, practically threw his own tankard at the nearest servant and swept Kili right onto the dance floor.

---

“Oh, hell no!” Dis groaned, watching as a delicate silk ribbon, which up until a moment ago peacefully occupied one of the drawers of her dresser, now tied itself into a perfect, triple bow.

She yanked at one end, but it held. Beside her a candle flame turned blue.

Dis narrowed her eyes and breathed deeply. She supposed if she got her son this far, she’d have to get him the rest of the way too.

---

“You… look uncomfortable,” amused, but not unkind blue eyes watched him as they sailed across the sea of swirling couples.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on dancing with a Prince.”

Fili arched an eyebrow at him and Kili wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. “Would you have danced with any other dwarf?”

“Depends on the dwarf.”

That got him an incredulous smile and Kili stared at the dimples which peeked from behind a neat, honey-coloured beard.

He wasn’t prepared for the easy charm, strength and intelligence he saw. Something else underneath it all, quiet, but hopeful. He wasn’t prepared for the normality of it all. It didn’t feel like he met a Prince; it didn’t feel like he met any other dwarf either.

It felt like he met someone special, someone who might have been a friend if they had enough time together.

Kili swallowed, torn about what he should do next. He didn’t want to joke and flirt and try too hard to keep their conversation casual, when it simply wasn’t. Equally, he couldn’t very well plunge into any meaningful conversation, when they only likely had a few moments together.

“You look like you have questions,” Fili guided him gently, the same way he guided the movements of his body. “You should ask, even if only a couple. Otherwise you’ll forever wish you had.”

---

Thorin did a double-take.

Fili’s partner was beautiful and dressed in a way that spoke of pedigree, wealth and class. She was grace and poise itself, as they glided across the dance floor like they belonged together. They were also deep in conversation, real conversation, which was more than could have been said for any of Fili’s previous partners.

His nephew had been nothing if not courteous to all of the various assorted princesses and duchesses and ladies of appropriate breeding, and he’d danced with all of them in the pre-prescribed order, until Thorin was beginning to feel kind of guilty about the whole affair.

He knew Fili and he knew when he was being polite, but not invested. If he was honest, Thorin was expecting much more of a rebellion, so when Fili continued on his best behaviour, Thorin started to wait for the other shoe to drop.

But now… now the whole thing was beginning to look like it had been worth it.

He watched as one song came to an end with Fili swirling his partner in a wide arc, which landed her in his arms, with her rich, dark brown hair sweeping around his neck like a shawl.

Their eyes locked for a moment, their chests heaving as they held on.

And then Fili disregarded his next ticket and guided the mysterious lady into another dance.

Thorin allowed himself a single smug grin and then ordered another shot of the excellent blue absinthe they were serving.

---

“I saw a fire moon once. It rose over the pass near Dunland. Huge! Red and gold it was, it filled the sky.”

Fili was drowning in expressive brown eyes. Right in that moment he wanted to see the fire moon too, with Kili. He could have listened to him for days, describing the smallest and biggest of adventures.

Then the clock chimed midnight and the magical tales stopped abruptly.

“Oh shoot, I have to go!”

“What, now?!” Fili whirled them to gentle stop around the edge of the dance floor.

“Yes, right now! Mum will kill me if I don’t return with the – ah, carriage – on time!”

“The – what?!” Fili blinked. That sentence didn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry!” Kili threw him a pleading look and took off back towards the entrance, promptly disappearing in the throng of other guests.

“Kili!” Fili tried to follow, but was hampered by all those who spotted that he was finally free to engage once more. By the time he’d made his excuses and got outside, all he could see was Kili at the very bottom of the staircase –

- Tripping over his own feet and very nearly face-planting into the gravel of the front drive.

Kili waved his arms about and, through sheer witchcraft it seemed, managed to find his balance once again. Something flew off his person and he stopped to search for it briefly, but whatever it was, from his position Fili saw that it wedged itself high in a nearby hedge and got stuck there.

He tried to run down to help, but he was too far away.

Kili threw a few choice words in the general direction of the staircase, which would have impressed the Mountain’s mining community, turned on his heel and stomped away, somewhat unevenly.

Around Fili, who was only half way down the grand stairs at that point, a thousand brilliant fireworks exploded, making him duck automatically and try to take cover.

And somehow in that moment Fili just knew.

But Kili was gone. For several dreadful heartbeats Fili felt horribly alone, left with an array of princesses, all of them completely disqualified by the lack of the right laughing brown eyes.

And then he remembered that he had had a plan. A brilliant plan, which so far had been executed flawlessly.

Fili moved. He had a shoe to find.

---

Thorin rolled out of the grand banqueting hall as soon as he realised that he couldn’t see Fili and his lady dancing anywhere.

This proved to be a bit of a challenge, since the floor decided to resist him, what with the copious amounts of blue absinthe he had ingested during the course of the evening.

Thorin snarled. He was the King, damn it; he had people for just such things! He called for Dwalin and together with his best friend and a loyal companion of many other such battles, they defeated the evil forces of gravity just enough to make it outside after his nephew.

---

Fili sat on the stairs and stared.

The shoe was – there was really no other way to put it – a worn, falling-apart, slipper. It was stretched, discoloured and if he was honest with himself, it didn’t smell too good either.

He held it cautiously at arm’s length and debated his options.

In all fairness, Fili wasn’t paying enough attention to Kili’s feet to be able to identify if it was the same sort of footwear as he had been wearing right from the start. He was certain however, that the brunet left sans one of his shoes and the slipper happened to be the only shoe available.

Perhaps it held some sort of sentimental value, like a treasured family heirloom, to be worn only on special occasions, Fili tried to reason with himself, when his uncle and the Head of is Personal Guard both barrelled down the stairs towards him in a slightly life-threatening manner.

“Well, where’d she go?!” Fili’s King and uncle demanded.

“She?!” Granted, Kli’s beard hadn’t grown in properly yet, leaving him with an adorable stubble, which made Fili want to run his fingers all over it, but that was an uncalled for remark.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me now, it doesn’t suit you. Your lady! Dark blue dress with silver bits. Dark hair – we are taking that one, I hope you agree. Now, what was her name? We shall send for her within the week.”

Fili hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone being sent for on his account. Perhaps Kili didn’t want life in the palace at all. Perhaps he preferred his fire moons and the freedom that came with them.

“I don’t know. I didn’t catch it when she first arrived, and it seemed silly to ask for it later, when we danced” he lied smoothly, without batting an eyelid.

Thorin gaped.

Fili stood his ground, metaphorically. If he was going to marry the person he loved, he was going to do it because they loved him back and not on the orders of a King, damn it. Somehow. This was going to happen. He just needed to… aid his spell a little.

Thorin sat down heavily next to him on the stairs. “Do not fret, nephew. We will find her. At least we have this –“

He took the slipper from Fili’s hands and stared, mesmerised, at an exquisite, petite crystal pump which seemed to fracture the moonlight like a diamond.

Fili stared too, at a shoe which changed between one glance and another, and silently kicked himself for not having insisted on a proper contract when he’d had the chance. With a Sorceress no less!

He had no idea what the terms and conditions of this romance were.

---

Dis’ son arrived with the first rays of sunshine and missing one shoe. He looked exhausted.

“Well, how was it? Did you get to meet the Prince?” she issued a quick-fire round of questions.

Kili threw her a Look and in the warm, golden rays hitting his face at a low angle, he looked like nothing less than a King himself.

“Like I left a piece of me behind,” her son told her and slipped heavily off the wagon, throwing her the reins.

---

#GF AUpocalypse 2024 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #durincest #the Hobbit #Cinderella AU #My writing

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stayevildarling · 4 months

Text

Wilhemina Venable x Reader - Who knew?

A/N: Hello everyone 💜 I'm back with another Mina fic. It's inspired by the song ,,Who knew'' from Pink.

tw: angst, sad, very mild mention of drinking and drug using

word count: 3.7k

taglist: (if you wanna be added or taken off, send me a dm or an ask):

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily,@kenzbro, @minaslittleone,@httpfiftyshadesofgay,@whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax ,@fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime

Sighing, you walk down the long corridors of your workplace. Today was unbearable for some reason. You had been an employee of Kineros Robotics for four years now. Sometimes it felt like you only just started there but today it felt like an eternity.

As you walk towards the meeting room, holding a folder in one hand and your coffee cup in the other, hoping the caffeine would help you wake up a little and somehow make this day end faster, you suddenly spot her. Graceful as ever she walked into the meeting room, her cane hitting off the floor hard, echoing through the walls.

You stop for a minute, taking in her beauty. The red hair, the perfect pony tale, the granny glasses that you used to make fun of, her beautiful makeup and the colour purple plastered all over the slightly taller woman. ,,Whats up, seen a ghost?'' one of your male coworkers giggles as he walks past you. You shake your head and roll your eyes before entering the room.

,,Good Morning'' you say as you enter, trying hard not to look at the redhead now sitting at the other end of the room. You take a seat as you wait for the meeting to begin. As per usual, your bosses Jeff and Mutt were late. It annoyed you how they never valued your time, or anyone elses for that matter as you still had a lot of work on your desk. You didn't realize until now that everyone was staring at you and you couldn't figure out the reason why. Just as you tried to speak up, your bosses walked in and the meeting started.

,,How is that project coming along?'' your thoughts are interrupted when one of your bosses addresses you. You swallow the lump in your throat before talking about the current status of the project and what you had worked on so far. You look around the room while explaining and try hard not to glimpse at Wilhemina. You knew that one look was enough to make you weak.

,,Sounds really good Ms. Y/N'' your boss announces before the male coworker from before agrees. ,,Don't you agree Ms. Venable?'' he questions and this takes you out of your thoughts.

,,Very good'' she coldly states as her brown eyes pierce straight into your soul. You had avoided eye contact with her for a long time. In-fact you don't think you had bared to really look into her eyes up until now as the past few months had been filled with too much pain.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when everyone gets up and your bosses saying how productive this meeting had been. You couldn't focus on anything that had been said as your thoughts kept wandering back to your past.

As you get up and gather your things, everyone had left and the redhead was just getting ready to leave when your male coworker stops you by the door. ,,What happened between you and Venny Bear?'' you swallow hard as you look at him and completely miss how fast Wilhemina had turned around at hearing those words.

The office had always suspected that you two had a thing going on, Wilhemina was usually very closed off at work, barely ever smiling or talking to anyone unless it was about work and absolutely necessary. However, when you started, her demeanor had changed slightly, despite it taking almost a year until she was open with you. Of course your bosses and coworkers had noticed as they suddenly saw Wilhemina as an actual person and not another robot they worked with.

,,Didn't last did it? we kinda always said that'' he carries on. Suddenly you are overwhelmed by anger and grief. Anger at his words. If you had known all those years ago when you first started seeing her, that someone had told you now it wouldn't last, you would have lost it completely. Grief overtakes second as the end of your relationship still haunted you to this very day. Her last words as she explained just why she couldn't do this but that she didn't want to hear you say a word about quitting. As you had worked too hard for you to just leave the position now. Equally you both knew she couldn't quit either having built the company from the ground.

As all of your emotions overtake you, you take a step forward, your eyes turning a darker colour. Wilheminas eyes widen as she sees your reaction. ,,How about you shut your mouth before I-'' you start, your fist clenching before you feel a hand grabbing yours. ,,He's not worth it Y/N'' you suddenly hear the redheads voice as you turn to face her. Your coworker had left as quickly as he could, intimidated by your sudden change of behaviour and definitely scared of Wilhemina and the fact she overheard the whole thing.

It feels as if time freezes right there, outside of the meeting room. Her brown concerned eyes meeting your angry ones. Slowly they turn a softer and calmer tone. Wihemina quickly lets go of your hand as she realizes she is still holding onto you? or holding you back? she isn't quite sure. As you feel her hand letting go, sadness washes over your face, despite your best efforts to hide it. Who knew that not having her hold your hand anymore would have such an effect on you? You miss her, her soft hand on yours, when she wasn't wearing her gloves. Her steady hand always finding yours whenever you needed it.

Wilhemina quickly clears her throat as her gaze averts yours. You try to think of what to say but somehow you can't find any words. You aren't sure whether to apologize for your behaviour or whether to be angry at her for hers in the past. As a result you simply give her a little nod as a thank you for keeping you from what was about to happen and the consequences of your actions before returning to your desk. Wilhemina walks the other way, towards her office and somehow the sound of your beating heart and her cane hitting the floor are in sync.

As you sit at your desk, trying to focus on your work, your thoughts keep travelling back to your ex lover, your Mina. Flashbacks wash over you like a hurricane and you drowning right in the middle of it. You remember how she took your hand and showed you how to do it all. She showed you how to love, taught you to laugh and how to not take everyone's crap all the time. She made you a lot stronger, you believed every word she had told you, every love confession and every single time she made you feel special.

Your relationship was quite the cliche. You had met her at work as she worked in HR. The first week was practically spent with her as she showed you around, or you heading to her desk every day dropping off some files. For the longest time you thought she was a bit strange. As she never really said a lot and the only times she did she insulted you but somehow you had liked it. You fell for her from the moment you first laid eyes on her but you thought she despised you, as she did with every other human being on the planet.

But suddenly it all changed, when she would drop by your desk, invite you to lunch at work, despite that being spent in utter silence the first couple of times. You had found out she never ate lunch other than alone in her office so you thought maybe she was ready to make a friend. However to Wilhemina you were always more than a friend. She saw something in you she hadn't really seen in anyone else before. She liked how you two could spend time in silence, how you wouldn't judge her or feel offended at her comments and how sometimes you even went along with it. Other than your looks, your humour but utter kindness were attractive to the woman, usually such a stranger to any type of affection, let alone the word love.

Wilhemina knew it wasn't a good idea considering this was both of your workplaces, however she couldn't keep herself from asking you to go get a coffee with her outside of work or inviting you to work on the projects your bosses had messed up, as a result you both having to work on the weekend. Even suggesting her own home just to do that. Her home was sacred to the woman and you knew when she first let you into that, that she had opened to you and the idea of you.

When she first kissed you, you felt like your feet were swept off the ground, thankful for the steady hand on your back, keeping you from loosing balance. Mina loved every single second she got to spend with you, especially the ones outside of work. Suddenly the usual loneliness she preferred was replaced by your presence. Usually quiet and lonely dinners were replaced by you sitting there, sometimes cooking for her and the late hours of the evening usually spend with a glass of wine, spend with you and two glasses of wine of course.

Suddenly the redhead enjoyed when you kissed her, she enjoyed holding your hand, the feeling of protection over you as she was ready to kill if anyone ever tried to hurt you in any way. Who knew that she would be the reason for your pain in the end?

,,Y/N?'' the sudden calling of your name interrupts the waves of flashbacks and pulls you back to shore. ,,Are you coming to lunch?'' another colleague asks. You think for a second before replying ,,I'm think I'm gonna skip today, still got a lot of work'' you point towards your computer. Your colleague simply smiles and nods, unknowing that since the meeting you hadn't even turned your computer back on, nor done any work.

Slowly you tell yourself it will be okay and that you need to get on with your projects. For the next half an hour you drown yourself in coding and work, not once taking your eyes off the screen or your thoughts off work. Meanwhile everyone other than your bosses joined for lunch in the cafeteria. The room is filled with quiet chattering, the occasional laughing when it suddenly stops altogether. Some eyes widen as they see Wilhemina walk in, holding onto her cane.

,,What is she doing here?'' one of them dares to mumble before Wilhemina glances at them. She quickly scans the room but even quicker turns around on her heels and leaves as she couldn't find what she came in here to look for. you.

The redhead makes her way over to your desk but halts as she sees you staring at your computer screen and tapping on the keyboard. She had no desire of course to eat in the cafeteria or any reason to be down here, as her office provided her with everything she needed, she came for you. She is worried about you, you not being the only one flooded by waves of flashbacks of the past.

Wilhemina remains by the door, watching you for a while, trying to find some sort of indication as to how you are feeling. However she is interrupted when she hears chattering again, knowing lunch was over by now, so she retreats back to her office. Just as she leaves you finally take a glimpse, knowing she was standing there all along, before continuing your work.

Somehow the day ended quicker than you originally thought as by your usual finish time, you manage to send the final project draft to your bosses. As you check your emails and calendar one more time, getting ready to go home, you are interrupted by your bosses. ,,Hey Y/N, great work on the project, can you go and take it to Ms. Venable? we are going to go hit the city, considering its a friday yk?''

Internally you roll your eyes but on the outside you simply politely agree as they walk off, joking about something, by now already high and probably drunk. ,,Shit'' you mumble, knowing you had to drop the project off at Wilhemina's desk but also not wanting another encounter for the day. For a second you consider just emailing it to her and leaving but you also knew she hates when things aren't done the proper way and final projects that need signing she usually prefers on her desk.

,,Guess I'll do it the right way then'' you think to yourself before opening the file and reading it again, making sure there are no mistakes whatsoever. After a couple of hours and several coffee breaks you finally have the finished project printed off on your desk, placed neatly in a folder and you finish by signing the last document. As you look at the time, you realize it had been four hours since everyone had left and you now realize you only did this so you could drop it on her desk and leave without any confrontation or having to face her again today.

You sign out of your computer, turn the little desk light off, grabbing your things before you walk out of the offices and head upstairs to her office. As you walk towards her office, the automatic ceiling lights turn on and you assume that did infact mean everyone left. As you enter her office, a familiar scent of lavender greeting you, you walk straight towards her desk.

As you look up, ready to place the project on the desk in front of you, you jump as you see Wilhemina sitting there. ,,Oh my god, Mi- Wilhemina I'm sorry'' you mumble, your voice shaking. ,,I thought you would have left by now'' you quickly add, feeling terrible for waltzing in and not noticing her there. She turns slightly on her chair, a hand holding onto her cane, her head slightly tilting before raising an eyebrow. Her mouth opens a little bit before she counters ,,What are you doing here so late?''.

You take a deep breath before explaining ,,Jeff and Mutt wanted me to pass the project to you for finalizing and signing''. You try to look anywhere but her eyes as you couldn't stand facing that pain again today. ,,And what took you so long? you finished the project several hours ago?'' she suggests, her tone changing into HR mode. ,,How?'' you start confused, your eyebrows furrowing.

,,Did you forget I was one of the recipients of the email?'' she asks, her words feeling like a slap in the face. You curse in your head for adding her to the recipient list instead of just Jeff and Mutt and how you didn't even notice it. ,,It's a friday night Y/N, we both know they wouldn't have signed it tonight and would ask you to pass it over to me''. she finally adds.

,,So you waited for hours for me to print it off and bring it to you?'' you counter, equally adapting your voice and slightly snappy. Your comment takes her by surprise as she stares at you. You quickly feel bad and apologize ,,I'm sorry Wilhemina, I wanted to make sure to hand it to you properly and it took a while for me to-'' but she interrupts you again. ,,Please Y/N we both know you wouldn't have sent it to your bosses if it wasn't really finished, and we both know you don't need four hours for printing and signing''. she interrupts you yet again.

,,Fine, what do you want me to say?'' you snap, your feelings suddenly taking over and the little voice in your head telling you to stay professional fading word by word. ,,Admit it, you didn't want to see me'' she suggests. The silence that follows is louder than any words could ever be. ,,My my'' she simply mumbles as she looks at you with those brown eyes again.

This was one of the few occasions where you had no idea what Wilhemina wants from you. Does she want you to snap at her? lay out your feelings and confront her with them? Does she want you in trouble? Does she want you to admit you did something you shouldn't have?.

,,Who knew you would go through such lengths to avoid me?'' she adds after a long silence and this is it, the last straw. Your emotions suddenly take over you, in addition of the long day and encounter from earlier today you couldn't hold back the things you had been meaning to say to her for a while now.

,,Who knew?'' you suddenly snap repeating her words.

,,Who knew that seeing you every single day was this unbearable?, Who knew that after all these years you would be long gone? Who knew that your forever was a lie`? Who knew I would do anything to touch you again, kiss you again and feel you again?'' you say

,,Who knew you would be the one breaking my heart, after all the promises you made me to make sure to never let anyone hurt me?Who knew time makes it so much harder? seeing you every day at work and you visiting me in my dreams when I am not in this god damn building?'' you carry on

,,Who knew I would miss you this damn much? ''

As you finish, you realize all of the things you just said, the tears streaming down your face and your knees feeling wobbly suddenly. Your eyes widen a little bit as you look up to see the redheads reaction.

You missed her initial reaction when you started speaking, a smirk in the beginning that with every single word falters to sad smile and a frown. Wilhemina expected a reaction, she wanted you to react and even provoke you a little but not like this. The redhead never expected it to hurt so much, who knew?

Who knew that Wilhemina would also feel those exact words that came from your mouth. every single detail. Who knew Wilhemina in that moment just wants to pull you into her embrace, press her lips onto yours but she can't.. not now. Not after everything that had happened and how she hurt you and ended things.

As you look up, Wilhemina isn't sitting at her desk anymore, suddenly she stands in front of you. Her eyes meeting yours, sad eyes. Wilhemina pulls you in anyway, despite everything within her telling her not to do this, not make the same mistake of hurting you again. She almost loses her balance as her lips move closer and eventually meet yours. Her cane isn't in the right spot for her to stand and bend slightly, so in response you wrap your arm around her and feel her breath hitch.

Suddenly you feel her smile into the kiss as her lips finally meet yours, a wave of feelings overtaking you, the familiar scent clouding your senses, your lips moving in sync and hearts beating in sync as well. You aren't sure whether you are supposed to still be angry, confused even because you most definitely are. But her lips, her lips on yours again, the feeling that you have been craving for months now. After all this time. Something so intimate and personal, so.. not Wilhemina.

She does love you? Who knew?

#wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #writing #wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode #ahs #billie dean howard #cordelia goode x reader #ahs coven #sarah paulson imagine

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solitary-cutie · 3 months

Text

Darkness to our light. Part II

Part I

Part III

Part IV

prompt: you and coriolanus are married, it's unbearable for you, but it will all end soon

contains: dark, manipulative, controlling coriolanus. fem!reader.

And so you are sitting in the living room waiting for the only person ypu could talk to - the piano teacher. Sharing with desire to continue your once neglected studies, Coryo did not fail to fulfill whim of his better half and help Her. He would always help, even without asking. No matter if you needed this intervention. He would spend all the money on your wants without even mentioning it, as if forgetting, deliberately ignoring any checks in the stores, but you clearly knew that this wastefulness was another yoke around your neck, because one should be grateful. Especially if the checks came in the mail, and the history of purchases served him in calculating the spending for the month.

“Hello. Hey, you guys quiet today? Helpers’s a bit tense today. Not even tea! Can you believe it? Didn't offer! - The teacher laughed, putting out a folder with notes, a pencil, an eraser and an orange leather notebook from her bag on the snow-white piano.”

“Oh yes, He's planning a dinner party, everyone's getting ready. He's inviting coworkers, his sister. He's looking forward to the promotion.”

“Oh, wow. Who's coming from yours?”

You didn't say anything, was ashamed of yourself. “No, it is his night.” Silence. “Maybe you'll come?” Open hope in the voice of her student, almost her age.

“When? I had plans, but I'd stop by.”

“It starts at 7:00. I'll be waiting, you know! You can come when it's convenient for you.”

A weightless touch, as if you'd brushed something off the back of her hand. You ran your eyes around the room. He's not home. The teacher softened.

“Okay, I'll try.” She finally sits down on a nearby chair. “Come on, show me how you've been practicing. Have you tried to put both hands together yet?”

“I tried, but no luck.”

“Did you play the metronome?”

“Yeah, I got more confused.”

“All right, I'll do the math. Go ahead. E-e-e, one and, two and--“

The game began, with mistakes and quick, hurried edits.

“You've changed.” Said the teacher, stopping counting out the rhythm, because the student was already helping herself with the silent movement of her lips.

“He says the same thing to me.” She chorused the rhythm.

“You're not so much flirtatious, laughing. The author's depression? When was the last time you sat down at the pen?” She smiled.

“I miss it. Okay, wait, what's the best way to play this? I forgot.”

The teacher intercepted her hands and began playing the obscure part, counting out the rhythm aloud with intonation highlighting that "And three, And four, And one...".

“You're unhappy.”

“No, why?”

“That's not a question. I can recommend a psychologist, the best woman I know. She helped me let go of my resentments.”

“I'm not resentful.”

“Teach you to love yourself, so you don't deny those resentments, but accept them. Appreciate yourself, don't deny being alone, but accept being one with yourself. You are not alone, know you can walk away from where you want to walk away from.” The teacher did not realize how she had pushed the piano aside and how she had moved on to passionate speeches. She had been spared the resentment, but not the desire to save.

You looked around the room again out of habit.

“At least he doesn't hit you?”

“No, God, of course not.” You caught the doubt in her eyes and a second frown furrowed her brow. “No, seriously, I wouldn't stand for that. I'm not leaving him. I can't.”

“There's no word for "can't."

“I mean, what dictionary can I give you to back that up? I don't even want to leave. We are one and the same, and he won't just let me go. The only way I'm getting out of here is with my feet up. If I'm lucky and he dies before I do, I'll have a few years of pleasure.” She smiled, starting the composition from the beginning.

“In the left hand hurry a little. And how can you reason like that about a man you're married to? And if the children come, what will you do?”

“The later they come, the better, God forbid now.”

“Does he want them now?”

You hesitated, not stopping the game. It was embarrassing. Again.

“Well he hasn't talked about them yet, though I don't know how he plans to.”

“So even your body doesn't belong to you? You don't talk about your plans, not your plans, but his.”

“My soul doesn't even belong to me. Look, my arms are tired, can I take a little break?” Nod. “What's the best way to pedal here?”

“First learn to control both hands.”

Silence.

You wonder if you could call it a pun. If your body and even the imperishable substance of your being belongs to your husband, a white-haired angel raised in hell and invited into the ether of paradise, a world of powerful, fully-endowed people, will you be able to control what you lost access to on the date that the calendar refers to as the "Anniversary of Dating"?

The remaining hour of class passed in silence, resulting in the learning of a new sonata, even with the use of a pedal to stretch the sound, giving it a smooth flow from one bar to the next.

“I have a question here: when will you finally learn the bass clef? Will you stop signing notes?” The teacher mocked, marking in the diary the next lesson for January.

“It's a rhetorical question.” You looked at the Interlocutor. “Oh man, I don't like that bass clef, I can't memorize it. The only thing I know is what the C note looks like. That's it.”

“Don't forget the "B."

“Oh yeah, and then..." She made a long road to nowhere with her hand.

“And then let the Snow land on top.” He stood at the white archway that opened the living room, leaning lightly against the blue wall with gilded patterns and trees.

You shuddered, nerves to no avail, you were easily frightened, which could not be said of your teacher, - a girl strong-willed. Nevertheless, the fright laid a heavy stone on her heart, sinking it into her heels, and she dropped her pencil and, looking at him confusedly, hurried to pick it up.

“I didn't mean to disturb you, much less frighten you.” The ice-cold eyes flashed over each of the girls, burning their insides with cold.

Coriolanus knew you were partial to this pianist. From the first time you met her, He had noticed the glint in your eyes. Gross, He didn't approve of it, but He also knew it was certainly not worth worrying about. You amuse yourself as best you can from lack of socialization with Him. Yes, maybe you complain about Him, suffer, but you won't leave Him because you don’t want to. These reflections might have reassured Him if He had once experienced a semblance of even doubt, let alone anxiety.

“Ginny, my wife and I are organizing a dinner party tonight. We'd love for you to come.” His eyes darted to you, looking at your teacher. What will you do? If you start coaxing her “friend”, this conversation never happened between you, but if you walk up to Him and...

“What a great idea!” You whispered, flying up to your husband and hugging him by the forearm. He smiles, it all became clear, you had already invited her, but was it scary to ask Him? “I was afraid to invite Ms. Ring because of the possibility of rejection.”

Now you are on His side, snuggling up to Him to get hers. Manipulative. And who are you trying to bend to your will is unclear.

“Yes, of course, thank you for the invitation, I'd love to come. But I'm afraid I'm busy, so I won't be able to make it to the beginning of the evening.”

“I didn't tell you the time, in case you get there.”

You both looked at each other. The pianist was confused.

“Dinner starts at 6:00 or 7:00 in the evening. Ms. Ring apparently skips a lot of dinner.” She tried to put the question into an impromptu justification for the two of them, but it came out badly. The answer to his line didn't work anyway.

“It starts at seven o'clock, but knowing some of the guests, they'll be a little later.” He looked at his wife. “Play the new composition you've learned for me.”

“We haven't played it all the way through yet. We need time.”

“Play it.” Demand…

#coriolanus snow #coryo x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo x you #fanfic #coryo snow #president coriolanus snow #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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cherrycola27 · 1 year

Text

Star Spangled Seresin

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Political situations. Unrequited love, one night stand, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 2: Six Months Later

Jaycee couldn't believe this was happening. It was like the universe was trying to punish her for standing up Jake Seresin six months ago. She sighed as she finished her meeting with her editor about her next assignment.

The Bradshaw-Seresin ticket was celebrating one hundred days in office this month, and she was tasked with having a sit-down interview with both the president and vice president about their plans for the next four years. It was bad enough that she had run into Jake in the White House a few says ago and pretended like she didn't know him, but now, she was going to have to have a one on one conversation with him.

She sat nervously in the waiting area outside of his office. She tapped her pen against the leather cover of her notebook as she waited for his assistant to come and collect her. Jaycee did a once over of her makeup on her phone screen before looking over her outfit. When she realized what she was wearing, she silently cursed herself. It was the same dres she'd worn at the debate. The same one she'd gladly let Jake peel from her body before he rocked her world.

"Ms. Marchetti? The vice president will see you now." His assistant called before escorting you to his office. "Have a seat, Mr. Seresin will be back in a moment." Jaycee took a seat on the plush sofa in the room. She set her things down on the small table in front of it before making sure her questions were in order.

She tried her best to calm herself as she waited. After a few minutes, she checked her phone to see that she'd been in Jake's office for almost ten minutes. Maybe he'd been pulled into a meeting, she thought, but surely someone would have let her know, right?

Soon, fifteen minutes had gone by, then twenty, then twenty-five. By the time the thirty minute mark rolled around, Jaycee had enough of the waiting. Clearly, Jake wasn't coming, and someone r had forgotten to inform her. She was just about to collet her things and leave when the side door to his office opened and Jake strolled through while whistling the national anthem and reading something in a file folder.

He went straight to his desk without a word. Jaycee turned to say something but before she could, he looked up from the folder and jumped at the sight of her. "You're still here?" He asked like he wasn't expecting her to be there.

"Yes, sir. Your assistant told me to wait here, so I did." Jaycee replied, slightly irritated. "Hm. I figured you would have left after thirty minutes. Guess you're more stubborn than I realized." Jake said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Excuse me?" Jaycee said with a tone of disbelief. "Did you know I was waiting here for you the whole time? Did you purposely keep me waiting?" She asks him.

"Yep, sure did." Jake replies. Jaycce scoffs and rolls her eyes. "It's no fun when you're left hanging, is it?" Jake says with a hint of anger in his voice.

"Oh, so that's what this is about. Jake, it was six months ago. Can't we just move on and be professional about this?" Jayce says with an irritated tone.

"You know, I don't think I can. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal for you, but it was for me. A woman I could really see myself caring about stood me up and ghosted me without any rhyme or reason. I waited for you for over a half hour that night. I texted you. I called you. Hell, I had flowers for you—and you never showed up. Then you just dropped off the face of the earth." Jake almost yells at her.

"And then, just when I think that I'm over it, you show up here last week with Wise-woman! It was like you had stuck the knife right back in my chest. And to make matters worse, you pretend you didn't know me!" He shouts.

"What was I supposed to say, Jake? She doesn't know that we hooked up. I never told her. I mean is there a right way to tell your best friend that you fucked her boss?" Jaycee shoots back at him.

His gaze falters for a second. He hadn't really thought of it that way.

"I'm sorry for what I did, Jake. Believe me, it didn't make me feel all warm a fuzzy inside when I did it." Jaycee tells him. "Now, if you're done being petty, can we please do this interview and get it over with so we never have to see each other again?" Jaycee says with a sigh.

"No." Jake says firmly. "No?" Jaycee parrots back to him. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean, I won't do the interview until you tell me why you stood me up and ghosted me." Jake states as he crosses his arms. Jaycee scrunches her nose and knits her brows. "I don't have time for games, Mr. Vice President. I'll call my editor and have them send over someone else to interview you." She states before collecting her things.

Jake chuckles before sitting down and kicking his feet up on his desk. "And I'll tell them that I refuse to be interviewed by anyone aside from you." He says as he stretches his arms behind his head.

Jaycee jaw drops, and her mouth hangs open at his statement. Jake sighs and has a shit eating grin on his face.

"You want to play games? Fine. I'll bite. What do you want?" She asks him.

"I want what I wanted Sox months ago. Dinner with you at Marcel's." He says as he leans forward, placing his elbows on his desk.

"Are you serious?" Jaycee asks in disbelief. "As a heart attack." Jake smirks at her.

Jaycee flares her nostrils and bites the inside of her cheek while she thinks it over. She has to get this interview. Her boss will kill her if she doesn't. And the thought of going on a date with Jake does make her heart race. And you had been in her ear about the way Jake wad checking you out the other day—if only you knew—"

Knowing she isn't going to win this battle, begrudgingly, Jaycee agrees. "Fine. One date. Then I get my exclusive."

"We can start with one date. But I guarantee I'll have you begging for more." Jake smirks.

"Would say I'd text you the details, but that would require you to unblock my number" He tells her.

"I never blocked your number." Jaycee admits.

"Perfect. I'll send you the details and I'll arrange for a car to come and get you the day of." He says in a matter of fact tone. "Wonderful." Jaycee replies.

"Well, I hate to run, but I have some calls to make. My assistant will show you out." Jake says as he gathers a few folders and leaves. Jaycee shoves her belongings into her bag and follows Jake's assistant out. She can't believe what she's gotten herself into.

The next day, true to his word, Jake had texted her with the details. He would send a car for her on Friday night, and she would be escorted to a private room at the restaurant. She sighed, praying that she would be able to make it through this.

She spent the majority of Friday deciding what to wear. She settled on an emerald green wrap dress with gold accessories and nude studded sandals. At seven on the dot, a car was waiting for her in the garage of her apartment complex. The driver helped her in before taking her to the restaurant. Once there, the car pulled around to the rear entrance and met with a member of the secret service. The agent led her through the kitchen and into a private dining area where Jake was waiting with a bouquet of flowers.

"Thank you, Anderson, I can take it from here," Jake said as he offered her his arm to escort her to the table set up in the room. He pulled out her chair and helped Jaycee get settled before gifting her the flowers.

"Thank you. They're lovely." She smiled as she set them to the side. Before Jake could say anything, a waiter came and filled their glasses with water before asking if they wanted to order some wine. "We'll take a bottle of Colombo 2018 Vallon de l’Aigle Cornas Rhone Valley." Jake says before Jaycee had even had a chance to look over the wine list. She nodded in agreement before the waiter clapped their hands. "Excellent choice, Mr. Seresin, it pairs lovely with our braised short rib or our filet." They tell him.

Jaycee and Jake thank the waiter before opening their menus. "I have to say, I'm impressed. I've heard it's pretty hard to get a reservation here." Jaycee says. "It can be, being the vice president definitely helped me get it." Jake quips.

Jaycee looks up from her menu and smiles at him. Moments later, the waiter returned with two glasses and opened the wine. After pouring some for each of them, he quickly takes their order. Jaycee and Jake take the waiters' recommendation and decide on the short ribs and a filet, respectively. After the waiter disappears once again, Jake asks the lingering question— "Why did you do it?"

Jaycee choked on he wine from being caught off guard. She sets her glass down and bites her lip. Debating on what to tell him.

"Honesty—because I have a lot of baggage. I'm what a lot of people would call 'damaged goods,' and I didn't think you would be willing to deal with that." She tells him. It's almost the whole truth. She's only omitted the part about how her ex had ruined love for her, firmly engraining the idea that she didn't deserved to be loved into her brain.

"That wasn't fair to me. That's not fair to me." Jake says as he leans forward to meet her eyes across the table. "We all have skeletons in our closet. You don't know what I can and can't handle, " Jake tells her.

If only he knew, Jaycee thought. If only he knew the terrible thing she had done. Or the awful things that her ex had done to her.

"I have a lot of skeletons." She tells him. "And I'm not afraid of them." Jake responds without missing a beat.

Soon, the two of them fall back into the easy conversation they had shared six months ago. By the time dessert had rolled around, Jaycee found herself falling for him. Those butterflies from months ago were creeping back into her stomach. How could they not.

By the time dinner was over, she knew that Jake was different from everyone else before him. After finishing their meal, he paid the bill and escorted her out the back. He joined her in the car to take her home for the evening. The ride back to her apartment was the quietest the two of them had been all evening.

As they pulled up to her complex, Jake spoke. "I'm a man of my word. I'll have my office arrange for you to come in around ten on Monday for a sit down. After that, we can part ways." He said before helping Jaycee out of the car.

"Could you walk me up?" She asked him shyly. "Sure." Jake agreed. He placed his hand on the small of her back as the two of them walked into the building and took the elevator to her floor. He walked Jaycee to her door and sighed when they stopped in front of it.

Jake opened his mouth to speak, but Jaycee cut him off by pressing her lips to his. He eagerly kissed her back. When the need for oxygen became overwhelming, she pulled back breathlessly.

"I had a really great time tonight. Would you like to come in?" She asked him.

"No." Jake said with a sigh. Jaycee looked down dejectedly. "Oh, okay." She mumbled.

"Not tonight. Ask me again after our fourth date." Jake tells her. She looks up at him. "Our fourth date? Is this our first one, or did breakfast after the debate count as one ?" She asks him with a chuckle. Jake laughs. "I'll have to think on that one." He tells her before kissing her again.

"I have to go. But I'll see you Monday." He tells her before leaving.

"See you Monday." She says before unlocking her door and closing it.

She steps inside and presses her back against the door. For the first time in a long time, Jaycee can't wait for the weekend to be over.

Chapter 2 is here!

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literary-motif · 3 months

Note

could you write a scenario where Listener gets a panic attack after being overwhelmed by work and Isaac helps them through it? hurt/comfort tropes are my favorite 💕

Same, hurt/comfort for the win! I hope this is to your liking. Have a lovely day <3

Never Falter

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: panic attack, mild self-esteem issues

The work you normally so loved left you hollow inside. You had been staring at the pages in front of you — bills, pictures, legal documents, printed-out emails — for a good half an hour without understanding a single word of what was written on them. The letters seemed to blur together, the words not making sense in your head.

It was a shame, really, because this was only the second case you had looked at today, and there was a whole stack of manilla folders resting at the edge of your desk, taunting you with their towering presence.

You felt the overwhelming urge to send them all flying to the ground, spilling their contents over the green carpet in Isaac’s office, but that would only increase your workload and you were not keen on undoing yesterday’s work and falling even further behind.

It would all be so much easier if you could close some of the cases, but there was not enough evidence to make sense of all the loose information you tried desperately to piece together. They all needed further observation and further research you did not have the time to give them because of the sheer amount of them. It did not help that you were supposed to look for new evidence as well, making it impossible to piece together the scraps you already had and puzzle the new pieces into the bigger picture of the case because there were just too many of them.

There was too much to do, and you had spent the entirety of the previous night sitting at the desk, leafing through papers to revise the old evidence in the few hours where — at least in the US — there was nothing to observe because your targets were fast asleep.

At around four in the morning, your exhaustion had crept up on you, making you nod off, awoken only by Isaac’s gentle touch on your shoulder a few hours later, his brows furrowed as he asked you if you had fallen asleep on your work. You had brushed off his question, hurrying to the kitchen to follow your primary duties of housekeeping and making him his signature cup of coffee.

If he was disappointed that you had not had the time nor the energy to bake something, he did not let it show, instead suggesting almost offhandedly that you both could take the day off and try out his mother’s old recipe for crema catalana, a desert he had loved in his youth but never got around to make for himself.

Practically seeing the amount of work on your desk double, the stack of documents increasing, the folders thickening by the amount of new evidence and potentially new connections you would have to catch up on if you slacked off for a day, you politely declined his offer and returned hurriedly to your desk, adamant to get more done today, to catch up with the development of at least a few cases and finally cross something off of your to-do list.

It had gotten increasingly long over the past few months, and you did not know how much longer you could keep up with the world around you spinning without cause, all the people doing what they did while you were supposed to keep track of it all.

Every dawn brings a new day, yes, but every new day brings more work, and you were so tired of it. You needed to process the information, you needed to look at the evidence, and research it thoroughly so you could solve the cases and reduce your workload — close some cases. But it was impossible.

The world kept spinning, the evidence kept piling up and you were slowly drowning in the flood of information, no longer understanding any of it, unable to comprehend what the case was about anymore.

“Pickle?” Isaac asked, popping his head into his office in search of you. He had been going from meeting to meeting for the past week, absent from home for a long time to converse with employers and partners. He had told you about Asirel and his acquaintance, supposed to keep him safe, but you had only listened halfheartedly to his retelling of their meeting and the ensuing conversation they had had about his ‘pet’ as your eyes remained fixed on the documents before you, shifting through them in the hopes of understanding what you were even supposed to be looking for.

You were so tired that reality seemed to melt away. “What is it, Isaac?” you asked, not raising your head despite being mildly surprised that his meeting with the ‘troublesome’ client had finished so soon.

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt,” Isaac said sheepishly, causing you to glance up at him briefly at the unfamiliar tone. He was loosening his tie, suit jacket already discarded, and hair a mess. Isaac looked about as exhausted as you felt, and the worn-out smile on his face did nothing to hide the faintly purple bags under his eyes. “I see you’re still busy, just— where’s dinner? I’m off to sleep after. I swear that man took all that was left of my energy, talking in circles for hours!”

Your heart dropped, and you raised your eyes to look at the big pendulum clock next to Isaac. It was late, already well past eleven at night, and you had grossly miscalculated the time, losing yourself in your reflections and the amount of work on your desk, on which you had yet again failed to make a dent.

More importantly though — and the thought crashed through you as your wide eyes met the questioning tilt of Isaac’s head — you had entirely forgotten about making dinner.

“I—” you began, throat suddenly dry and eyes watering at failing to do your work.

You had failed in your most important purpose. Isaac was sure to be disappointed, realizing that you were entirely useless and pathetic and nothing but a burden, and finally kicking you out, asking you to leave in the coldly professional tone he usually reserved for particularly bothersome clients. You were nothing but a burden to him. He hated you.

“Oh god,” you choked, tears streaming down your face as your chest started to burn, feeling like a fire was scorching you from the inside out, something inside of you trying to claw its way out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t— I—”

There was not enough air in the room, you suddenly realized. There was no air at all as the sensation of being pulled underwater overtook you, contrasting strangely with the fire burning inside your chest. Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense anymore, and you were struck with the thought that this twisting, bending of reality and the feeling of levitating through the air while simultaneously being pulled down to crash against the hard floor had to be what dying felt like.

At least that way you did not have to face Isaac’s inevitable scorn, nor the heartbreak that would come with being forced to leave him as he told you he had no need for your assistance anymore. You had never been a good assistant anyway, nor a good housekeeper. Perhaps this was for the best.

“Hey, look at me,” the words reached you from far away, sounding like a faint whisper on a field with howling wind, “Open your eyes. Look at me. It’s alright, everything’s alright. Breathe.”

The voice was growing louder slowly, but the feeling of being pulled under, swallowed by something — a big mass of nothing hiding deep inside your chest, the void reclaiming what belonged to it — made it hard to concentrate on the words.

“Pickle! Hey, breathe. I’m— I’m going to touch you now, alright? Don’t be alarmed, just—” The voice was gentle and calming despite the uncertainty and faint underlying alarm you could hear in the spoken words. It was strangely comforting, and you felt yourself slowly surfacing from the deep well you had unknowingly sunk into.

The world around you started to feel less wrong, and you slowly became aware that you were shaking like a leaf, gasping for breath on the floor while someone — Isaac! — was soothingly stroking your hand, which he held pressed against his chest with a firm but gentle grip.

“That’s it,” he exhaled in relief as you opened your eyes, vision still blurry with tears, “Breathe with me. It’s alright, you’re safe. Just copy me. Breathe, Pickle. Yes, just like that.”

You tried your best to follow the steady rise and fall of his chest but lost the slow rhythm again and again. The pain in your chest made you whimper, choking on a sob as you were unable to take in a deep lungful of air that you so desperately needed.

Isaac shifted closer, tentatively releasing his grip on your hand to gather you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest, making sure you could feel the rhythm of his breathing.

“Just like that,” he whispered against the top of your head, rubbing small circles into your back as your breathing gradually slowed. “You’re doing so well. Keep breathing. That’s it. I love you. Keep breathing. You’re alright. I’m right here.”

You lowered your hand, not having the energy to keep it up anymore as you slumped against Isaac’s chest, going boneless with exhaustion. The panic had subsided, leaving you utterly drained.

“Isaac?” you murmured against his shoulder, eyelids dropping as your heartbeat slowed and you caught the unmistakable scent of Isaac’s cologne.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer against him as he felt you relax completely, drifting off to sleep in an embrace you knew would keep you safe. “Sleep, Pickle,” he said, taking a deep breath himself to slow his heart hammering against his ribcage, “We will talk about this tomorrow.”

The next morning, you woke up in a soft bed, which you had neglected for an unacceptable amount of time, Isaac’s arms securely wrapped around you and keeping you close to him, as if he was worried you would slip through his fingers again.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #isaac rhoades x reader #isaac rhoades

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 11 months

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A Rose Without A Thorn (ao3)

Behold! Baby’s first Elucien fic. (For @elucienweekofficial day one)

Growing tired of all the barriers between them, Elain finally snaps during one of Lucien’s visits to the River House. Set post-acosf.

(The idea for this fic has been sitting in my wips folder since November, so it has been such a long time coming, but I'm a tad nervous because this is not my usual wheelhouse. It’s inspired by Sam Ryder’s song Tiny Riot, and the title was taken from and inspired by, of all things, Henry VIII. I’m a historian. What did you expect?)

The first Elain heard was his voice.

As warm as the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen window, and as soft as the butter she spooned into the mixing bowl, Lucien’s honeyed voice drifted down the hallway— so damned familiar and yet still so foreign. His voice was a song she ought to remember, a melody she thought she might once have heard in a dream— but still he was a stranger to her, no more solid to her than the wind, slipping through slack fingers.

Elain stood frozen, rooted to the spot, and as the string of polite words exchanged at the front door echoed, still she remained unmoving in the kitchen, static, trying to remember what it was to breathe.

In her dreams she heard that voice.

Every night when she closed her eyes she heard him speak, and in her dreams they spoke like friends, like lovers, like they had known one another forever. In her dreams he laughed, his tongue sharp and wicked, and in her dreams she blushed, smiling at the glint in his eye. Every night he spun her stories, weaving tales of romance and beauty whilst she slept— but every morning Elain woke alone, her heart sinking as if yearning for the beat of his.

Her dreams were pretty, but the reality…

The reality was this— the stark truth of it laid bare as Elain remained tucked away in the kitchen, up to her elbows in batter, unable to take a single step forward. He stood only in the hall, separated from her by just a handful of feet and a few wooden doors, but the distance felt like so much more, a stretch made impassable, uncrossable, by every awkward meeting and each stilted conversation, by all those times they’d sat politely across from one another, Elain quiet in her chair, knowing nothing but his name.

Every month he came, like clockwork, to meet with Rhys and Feyre and discuss whatever it was he’d been up to in his role as ambassador. Every month Feyre insisted Elain be present, and every month the four of them sat down to lunch at the river house. Elain always made cake, and she spent every single moment of every single luncheon trying not to notice the gleam in Feyre’s eyes, the way she looked at her as if she was wondering if this might be the month that Elain would offer Lucien more than just a perfunctory greeting and a small, subdued smile.

And every month all they shared was small talk, mild pleasantries exchanged with tight, straining smiles.

Elain might have been a seer, but she didn’t think her dreams were anything but figments of her imagination, the fractured pieces of a life she might once have had. She didn’t think they were any sort of glimpse into the future— how could they be? There was simply too much disconnect between them, like she and Lucien weren’t just on different pages— they were reading from different books altogether, and it hadn’t bothered her at first, back when she hadn’t really wanted to know more than his name.

But something had shifted lately, changed with the seasons, and with the deepening spring Elain found herself with every passing day growing… curious.

She heard the telltale sound of Feyre leading Lucien into the sitting room, the door closing behind them, and questions unasked and unanswered balanced on Elain’s tongue. She thought of him— how he’d spent so long in the Spring Court, surrounded by flowers and sunlight.

What was it like, she wondered?

What was he like, when the air smelled of roses and blossoms? In the bright light of day, in the summer heat— what was he like? What did that red hair look like beneath the midday sun, and who was he, outside these walls, beyond this court? Who was he really, the man that fate had bound her to?

He was an enigma, and as she cracked an egg against the side of the mixing bowl, Elain huffed. It sent a small cloud of flour rising from the countertop, and throughout the kitchen silence reigned.

All of those questions burned within her chest— but how could she ever ask, how did she even begin, when she was only ever forced to endure tea parties and elegant lunches when he visited, with Feyre always lingering? Or Rhys, or Nesta?

It was ludicrous. Suffocating— exhausting.

She was twenty-three years old, and her every move, every breath, every look was examined and analysed like she was a debutante at her first ball, barely cut from her governess’ apron strings. It was the weight of others’ expectations sinking them before they could hope to swim, and the most ironic thing - the most infuriating - was that Elain spent every luncheon trying not to study the lines of Lucien’s face. Trying not to notice the way his lips curved when he smiled, or how he tucked his hair behind his ear when he laughed. Trying, too, to pretend she didn’t see the way he looked at her, like she was a secret he was trying to figure out.

Slowly, she drew a breath, one made heavy by exhaustion and exasperation. Maybe, just maybe, Elain would like Lucien, if only she had to space to decide for herself.

Maybe.

She gritted her teeth now, that deep breath swelling in her lungs, coalescing with something bitter, and when she cracked another egg into the bowl, the shell shattered.

It was just… impossible.

Lucien was only ever polite, but every time Elain found herself in a room with him the conversation was forced— like neither of them quite knew where they were supposed to fit together. He looked at her like she was porcelain, breakable, afraid of saying the wrong thing, and though Feyre had broken the curse and freed him from the mask he’d worn for so long, Elain couldn’t help but feel he’d merely exchanged one mask for another when it came to her. He hid, now, behind those manners and that charming smile, that devastatingly polite exterior, and she couldn’t blame him, not really.

After all, her guileless smile was a mask of its own, wasn’t it?

One she had hidden behind for years— that demure and delicate little smile, the one Greysen had liked so much, so wholly appropriate for a woman of society, meant to be seen and not heard, to be looked at and admired. She had let that smile carry her through every social season, and though she’d once thought it as much of a weapon to her as Feyre’s bow and arrow…

It was different now.

It wasn’t a comfort or an asset— it had turned her into something fragile, something to be protected, like the smile on her face somehow made her weak. She hadn’t minded so much at first - Rhys and the others had always been so kind to her - but now… it was becoming an effort to curve her lips when they held their meetings behind closed doors, as though convinced she couldn’t handle it.

She plucked up her wooden spoon now, and as she began to mix the batter in the bowl she gripped the handle so hard her nails dug into her palm, tiny crescent moons marking the soft skin. She let out a single embittered huff - the last she would allow herself - glancing towards the doorway that separated them, the hall that stretched beyond.

Lucien was just as bad as the rest of them.

He looked at her like he didn’t know what to do with her, how to approach her, like she was a startled deer in the forest. In her dreams, he looked at her like he knew every inch of her, inside and out. Like he had committed every part of her to memory, knowing her as keenly, as acutely, as he knew himself. As the timbre of his voice resonated from the sitting room, for a moment Elain wished he would look at her that way now, in the bright light of day. She wished, too, that she knew what that voice sounded like in grand halls and marble ballrooms, in small spaces and quiet corners. For a moment she wished she had the courage to find out.

Furiously, she mixed that batter.

It was a mess— everything was a mess, and she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to fix it, how to make it better.

And then—

“Hello, Elain.”

Every nerve in Elain’s body stilled.

He’d come upon her silently— or had she just been so lost in her own thoughts that she’d stopped hearing his heartbeat through the walls?

Her hand went slack around the wooden spoon, her mind emptying as that voice filled the silence that stretched through the kitchen. It was a lilting voice, so elegant it was almost musical, with the hint of an accent softening his words, rounding out the edges of her name. Elain let her eyes slide closed for the briefest of seconds, feeling those smooth tones echo in her bones, warming her right the way through like a shaft of pure, brilliant sunlight. For just a moment - spare and singular - she let herself feel the bond in her chest, the warmth of it wrapping around her ribs, dancing as he spoke her name. It almost stole her breath, and Elain caught herself before it got stuck in her throat, righted herself before she could fall. She straightened her shoulders, plastered that stiff and stifling smile onto her face and lifted her eyes, catching sight of him in the doorway.

Gods, she almost wished she hadn’t.

Her dreams might have been wide of the mark when it came to their conversations, but even they had not exaggerated Lucien’s beauty. He stood, effortless and immaculate, in fawn coloured breeches and a loose white shirt, his long hair shining like burnished amber in the sunlight. His golden eye glinted as he clasped his hands behind his back, the golden hoop in his ear winking as the sun danced across his skin. He was lovely— lithe and graceful and elegant, and as Elain let the spoon fall with a clatter against the side of the bowl, she cursed herself for being so distracted.

As though only now remembering that she was supposed to be making a cake, she reached for the measuring cups as her mouth went dry, her tongue heavy. That feeling behind her ribs swelled, tugging the way it always did, and as Elain dunked the measuring cup into the sugar, she took a breath and somehow found the will to say,

“Hello, Lucien.”

Something flashed briefly in his eye when she spoke his name, a momentary spark, but she didn’t have time to study it. He buried it, hid it quickly as he dipped his chin in a courteous, practically genteel bow, a polite smile drifting across his lips.

Polite— he was always so damned polite, and though Elain didn’t doubt his manners for a second, sometimes she wished he would let his composure slip— let her see the sharp-tongued fae who had, by all accounts, suited the fox mask he’d been stuck in for half a century.

Silence crawled back into the kitchen, settling thick as Elain dumped the sugar into the mixing bowl. She was all too aware of his presence at the door as she added another cup, her eyes flicking up to find him watching her intently, following her every move.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

She shook her head, biting her tongue as she filled another cup with sugar. She forced an easy smile on her face, accommodating and bland, the kind her mother had always told her worked well in high society. Lucien nodded, and Elain poured the sugar in the bowl, trying to remember how many cups she’d already added.

Was that the second cup? Or the third?

She couldn’t remember, his presence in the doorway a distraction so complete she couldn’t remember anything from the past five minutes.

Lucien cleared his throat. “Well, then,” he said, unlinking his hands from behind his back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Elain nodded, wiping her hands on her apron as he gave her a long, searching look before turning on his heel and heading back to the sitting room. Once he was gone, Elain let out another disaffected sigh, one that was heavy in her lungs. She looked at the doorway, at the space absent of him now, and felt something like regret curling uncomfortably within.

Cursing softly under her breath, Elain huffed sharply and added another damned cup of sugar to the bowl.

***

Too much sugar.

She’d put too much sugar in the cake.

Elain’s hand tightened around the silver cake fork, one so dainty, so tiny, it was a wonder it didn’t snap. The cake wasn’t… bad. Not exactly. It was just…

The icing was too thick, the sponge far too dense from where she’d over-mixed it, and sweet, it was so, so sweet.

Lucien’s fault, she thought as her entire body recoiled from the sweetness on her tongue. It was his fault— him and that stupid smile of his, that stupidly lovely face that had seemed to glow in the sunlight. She’d lost count of the sugar she’d put into the bowl and just added another three cups anyway, and now there was a cloying taste clinging to the back of her throat, making her teeth ache and her gut twist, and as she did the maths… Oh gods— there were six cups of sugar in a recipe that called for three.

She glanced around the table, gritting her teeth as Feyre swallowed, pasting a smile on her face as she took another bite. The cake was terrible, and yet they wouldn’t tell her— too afraid of upsetting her, like they didn’t think she could handle it. Feyre practically winced as she closed her mouth around her second bite, and Elain glared down at her fork.

Lucien seemed more interested in his tea than in the cake that he had delicately taken only a small bite of, but Feyre smiled blandly as she forced a swallow, and at her side Rhys cleared his throat, silver fork cutting through the icing Elain had done an inch too thick— the glaze she had made whilst trying not to think of the look that had flashed in Lucien’s eye, wondering what it was and why he’d hidden it.

“Lovely as always, Elain,” Rhys said, masking a grimace as, with effort, he swallowed. “It’s sweet,” he added. “Just like you.”

He offered her a winning smile, but Elain couldn’t see the bright side. She half wanted to throw something. It was a joke, a comment made in jest to lighten the mood, but… she scowled. A Nesta scowl, an expression she’d seen on her sister’s face a thousand times and yet never once allowed to grace her own.

“A rose without a thorn,” Rhys finished.

And Elain… snapped.

“If it had no thorns it wouldn’t be a rose,” she countered flatly. “That’s not how roses work.”

Rhys paused, fork an inch from his mouth, and on the other side of the table, Lucien choked on his tea. Elain put down her own fork, hands lying flat on the table.

Wasn’t she allowed to have thorns, just for a day? To make a cake that wasn’t perfect and lovely? Why must she always be gentle and kind and sweet— why must she be coddled and cosseted?

Couldn’t she, just for once, make a mistake?

Vexed, she pushed away from the table.

Her chair scraped roughly against the polished floorboards, and Lucien’s teacup rattled against his saucer as he set it down, but Elain only tossed her napkin to the table, letting it lie in a pile of crumpled ivory fabric, half lying across her porcelain plate still laden with inedible cake. Honesty— it was all she had wanted, to be treated like a person instead of a child. She couldn’t bear it, and she didn’t look back at the table, at the cake half unfinished or the shock that cross her sister’s face as Elain made a beeline for the hall, for the kitchen, for the back door beyond that would take her out to the garden.

Feyre called out her name, but Elain didn’t stop.

She wanted her garden— wanted the peace and quiet of her garden, the only place she ever felt at home, but—

The breath sawed from her throat as she pushed open the door, gasping as the air kissed her cheeks.

It wasn’t hers, was it?

It was just a plot she tended in Feyre’s garden. In Rhys’ garden. It wasn’t hers, even though she’d cultivated every single bloom in every single bed. She could lay no real claim to it, no ownership, and as she breathed in the fresh air, drawing it deep into her lungs, Elain felt part of herself splintering, cracking beneath the pressure.

At the roses, she stopped.

She came to a halt, looking at the flowers - at the thorns - and reaching out, she traced one with her finger, feeling the sharp edge press against her fingertip, knowing it would take only the slightest bit of pressure to break the skin and bring blood blossoming.

Regret fluttered in her stomach.

The irritation she’d felt turned sour, and as her heartbeat calmed… Elain knew she ought to apologise to Rhys for snapping. To Feyre for ruining her lunch. To Lucien for… everything. For being so stand-offish, for closing herself off when all he’d ever done was try and get to know her.

But how could he ever succeed, Elain thought bitterly, when she didn’t even know who she was herself? She’d been lost— whoever she’d been before having vanished with the cauldron, dried up when she came out, dripping and freezing on the cold stone floor. Lucien had given her his jacket then, and ever since she’d plastered on that unassuming mask, only to find that, like poison ivy, it had burrowed its way beneath her skin and wound itself tight around her veins.

Who was she, without that bland little smile?

She didn’t know anymore— the answer always escaped her, snatched by the wind.

As if she’d conjured him, Elain heard footsteps on the gravel path behind her. Instinctually, she knew who it was. It wasn’t that she recognised the tread— no, it was the way the thread behind her ribs began to vibrate, to tremble, and she knew without needing to turn that Lucien had found her.

She turned, expecting to find a face lined with concern— but instead his expression was calm, like the afternoon sky after a morning storm, and he looked at her with a kind of ease Elain had never seen before. He stood with his hands so casually in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. His head tilted an inch to the side, and Elain had never once seen him so… relaxed. He gave her a small smile, and for the first time it didn’t seem contrived. His eyes were alight - both the russet and the gleaming gold - a fire beneath the afternoon sun, and when that smile turned wider, showed teeth, for the very, very first time he wasn’t looking at her like she was some dainty, fragile little thing.

He didn’t look afraid that she’d break.

And for the first time he didn’t look like the kind of man who would buy her gardening gloves. No— he looked like he’d let her get her hands dirty, let her feel the earth, and sit right beside her as she did. His golden eye shone in the sun, and as Elain dragged her gaze over his face, the look he’d buried earlier in the kitchen flashed again, a flare in his single russet eye, and this time Lucien didn’t bother to hide it, to mask it. This time he let her see it, and Elain found… interest there, sharp and glinting, mingling with appreciation, with something that seemed an awful lot like attraction.

He looked at her like he wanted her, and Elain suppressed a shiver.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning her gaze to the roses, to the thorns. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Lucien cut in, interrupting her. He’d never interrupted her before, always let her finish. Elain suddenly felt like some pretence was dropping away, both his mask and hers eroding at last. “Don’t apologise.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Lucien snorted, taking another step closer until he was there looking at her roses too. He reached out, brushing a finger along the petals, velvet soft. Elain wondered what that touch would feel like against her skin, the drag of his hands on her waist.

“For the record,” he said softly, his voice carrying the hint of smoke, like he knew where her mind had gone. “I like roses.”

There was something heated in his gaze, his eyes lowering as for the first time he let himself look at her, really look at her. He dragged his focus over her cheekbones, across her jaw, lingering on her lips, so blatant and brazen she almost couldn’t believe it. Oh, Lucien was a gentleman, of that she was sure— but not all the time. There was a streak of something else in him too, something a little bit rakish, a shade of daring, and here it was at last, coming out to play as they stood between the roses.

He gave her a knowing smile, a sidelong glance that had the bond between them thrumming, alive in a way it had never been before, and Elain didn’t pull away or put space between them, even though this was the closest they had been since she’d been tipped out of the cauldron, when he’d draped his jacket over her bare shoulders. He was so close now that his arm was brushing hers, and when she breathed she could smell him— could feel his scent being pulled into her lungs as though it were the only kind of air she needed. It was something sweet and warm with a sharp undertone, and in her rose garden it was delectable, all sugar and spice and crackling embers. He was so close, all she’d have to do was tilt her head and—

His hand fell away from the flower, and he canted his head to the side as Elain looked up at him, suddenly feeling the world narrow until it contained nothing but this little square of the garden. His eye sparked, and as she watched… Lucien winked.

There he is, Elain thought. There’s the man Feyre told me about.

“And I like my roses with thorns,” he added in a whisper, almost conspiratorial.

Elain let out a surprised laugh as her heart kicked in her chest, and with the way his eyes widened, it shocked him almost as much as it did her. His eyes glinted as his lips split into a bright smile, and it was… lovely. Gods, how had she not noticed before, how utterly lovely he was when he smiled?

“And did you like my cake?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

It was Lucien’s turn to laugh now, a shocked bark escaping him as he shook his head, auburn hair cascading over his shoulder.

“No,” he said, apologetic. “No, I didn’t.”

“At least you’re honest,” Elain sighed. “I didn’t like it either.”

Lucien laughed again, softer this time, and as he dipped his head his hair fell across his face, masking the scar and the golden eye.

“Apologies, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered.

Not now— not yet. She wanted him to call her my lady when his lips were against her skin, wanted him to whisper it against the crook of her neck as his hands roamed. In her dreams, the only time he called her my lady was when he made love to her. Now— now it was only another barrier between them, a formality she couldn’t stand.

And she’d had enough of formality.

Suddenly Elain wanted to push that hair back, wanted to see his face— the face of the only one who had given her honesty when she asked for it. She wanted to run her hands through that hair, burnished by the afternoon sun. Wanted to see how warm his skin was beneath her fingers, how soft, and something began to build inside her, some kind of desperate anticipation, and even though she knew she should probably keep her hands to herself…

Tentatively, she lifted her hand, eyes growing wider as her heart began to hammer in her chest. Lucien stilled, his smile falling away as slowly, agonisingly slowly, Elain curled her fingers and brushed the hair back behind his pointed ear, feeling the strands between her fingers. Both of his eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

It was silent, but this wasn’t the silence of all their other meetings, where they had nothing to say to one another.

No— now there was too much, and Elain didn’t know where to begin.

“Call me Elain,” she said at last.

“Elain,” Lucien whispered, his eyes shuttering as though her name on his tongue was an unexpected pleasure, a delicacy he’d just discovered and didn’t ever wish to be without. His lips parted, and when he murmured her name again, it was as though he found it to be a balm to every one of his burns, spoken with a kind of wonder that made her shiver, made her feel like the world was shaking.

And gods— Elain felt the tremble in her blood and smiled.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, barely able to hear her voice beyond the pounding of her heart, “you could call again next week and I’ll have a better cake for you.”

Lucien didn’t mask his smile this time. He met her eyes, gaze boring into hers as he held her wine-eyed stare. It started small, a soft smirk playing at the corners of his lips, but as he scanned her face it spread— like a wildfire, catching. His fingers rose in the space between them, his eyes turning bold as he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

“I’d like that,” he said, his smile so easy Elain couldn’t understand why he’d ever hidden it, ever kept this part of himself back.

She leaned into his touch, feeling his fingers against her skin warm and light, like the first kiss of sunrise after a long, dark night.

“I’d like that too,” she said, before pausing and looking back towards the house, to the windows lining the kitchen where everything had gone so decidedly wrong earlier. “But you should probably stay out of the kitchen until it’s done,” she added.

Lucien frowned as confusion flitted across his russet eye, and Elain shrugged.

“It’s your fault I lost count of the sugar,” she explained.

Lucien laughed again, and with the sound something inside Elain began to unfurl, and for the first time… For the very first time, she felt like maybe this mating bond wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

#elucien #elucienweek2023

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niqhtlord01 · 1 year

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Humans are weird: The price of faith

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“As you can see here,” Dr. Sasha Rebick said as she held the x-ray up to the light, “the tumor has grown close to one of your lungs, and as it has grown it has pushed into the lung resulting in your labored breathing.”

Sitting across from the good doctor was her recent patient, Oma. She had never treated a Parcoren before but she had read the research file about them. Humanoid in shape one could almost be forgiven for mistaking them as humans were it not for the series of bone spikes that protruded from the back of their heads down their neck.

Sasha had expected her Thursday for her schedule appointment but had been awoken early Tuesday morning when a local hospital had contacted her saying Oma had just been admitted to their ER and they needed her expertise to operate.

Twenty minutes later Sasha was in the ER operating on Oma to save her life and after four hours of grueling surgery her patient had gotten through the worst of it. Or so she had hoped until she saw the first x-rays.

Pointing to a mass on the x-rays Sasha continued. “Your shortness of breath, coughing blood, and feelings of drowning are all results of this tumor’s proximity to your lung, and I’m afraid the symptoms will only get worse the longer it remains.”

Oma’s spines twitched at this and they looked at the x-ray in disbelief. “But you save me now.” She spoke softly, her every word a ragged labor. Dr. Sasha shook her head at her patient’s optimism.

“It would be incorrect to believe that what we did tonight resolved the issue.” Sasha said regretfully. “The biochemical we used to restore you airways is a temporary solution.”

At this Oma’s expression only further darkened. “Can you remove the tumor?”

Sasha took a look at the x-rays once more and gathered her thought before answering. “The tumor has grown to such an extent that it is no longer possible to separate it from your lung.” She pointed to the mass itself and dragged her finger across the deadly vein like tendrils that spread out over the entire lung itself. “Even if we removed the largest mass of the tumor, any one of these offshoots could develop into a full grown tumor itself within a matter of months.”

She leaned back into her doctor’s chair, running her hand through her red hair as if to clear her thoughts of impending dread. “The fact that this hasn’t spread to the rest of your internal organs is nothing less than an act of god to be honest.”

Her patients head shot up at this and Sasha had realized her mistake. Though she knew little of the Parcoren as a species, she did know that they were heavily spiritual and by extension their faith seeped into nearly every aspect of their day to day lives. She had once her it joked that a Parcoren would not take a bite of breakfast without first consulting their holy book.

“So you are saying this is god’s will?”

Sasha looked at Oma and saw a mixture of emotions washing over her patients face. Fear, disbelief, disdain, anger, sorrow; one could hardly blame her with the idea Sasha had just put in her head about her current situation being part of their god’s will.

“Forgive me,” Sasha spoke up quickly, “I meant it more as a passing expression than a religious statement.”

This seemed to confuse Oma. “Your people use your god’s name…so recklessly?” To which Sasha shrugged as she opened a file cabinet underneath her desk and searched for a particular file.

“If you’d hear half the words shouted at a world cup finale you’d understand.” She replied drily as she found the file and pulled it out. She opened the folder on the desk and began spreading its contents out for Oma to see.

“We may not be able to remove the tumor itself from your lung, but we do have alternatives to combat this.”

She laid out a picture of particular importance right in front of Oma who looked down at it silently.

“Cybernetics has advanced by leaps and bounds within the last twelve years and it is now possible to give you a new biomechanical lung that will restore your health.”

Oma picked up the picture and examined it. It was a promotional page sent out by cybernetic implant companies showcasing their latest models. It detailed which species they could manufacture for as well as boasting that they could replicate any organ to the extent that one could not tell the difference between it and a biologically grown one.

“So you would…” Oma spoke up through strained breaths, “give me this cybernetic and I would be healthy again?”

She sounded like she couldn’t believe her fortune so Sasha leaned forward and rested her hand on Oma’s. “You’d be swimming across the crimson seas, dodging nerve sharks again in no time; give or take a month or two of rehabilitation to get used to the implant.”

Behind those darkened eyes of despair Sasha saw the spark of hope rekindled as a smile crept on to her face. Her eyes were barely holding back her tears of joy as she clutched the flyer tighter between her fingers.

“That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed loudly, before her glow shrunk somewhat and she followed up with, “But will there be enough room?”

This was something Sasha had not expected. “Room for what?” she asked.

“For another lung.” Oma said directly. “I already have two so if you were to give me a third lung I do not believe my body would have enough space for it.”

Sasha had to control her facial expressions as she pondered how someone from a species lightyears ahead of humanity could be so dense.

“Oma,” Sasha spoke up clearly and slowly, “we would need to remove the entire tumor lung from your body to ensure the operations success; you would not have three lungs.”

Her patient said nothing at this clarification. She withdrew her hand from the doctor’s gentle grasp and let the flyer fall to the desk as if it was burning hot.

“I’m sorry, but that is not an option for me.”

“I assure you,” Sasha began, “that the surgery is completely sa-“

Oma cut off the doctor by pushing her chair back loudly. Her behavior had gone from joyous relief to now acting like her mother had just been called a series of horrific words.

“It is against our faith that any portion of our body be willingly removed.” Oma stated as if quoting a book.

“Oma,” Sasha began calmly, “it is not a matter of debate between scripture and science.” She tapped the x-ray still hanging behind her showcasing the tumor. “If you do not have this lung removed you will die.”

“Then it is god’s will that my time will end.” Oma replied without hesitation.

This was not the first time Sasha had come across religious restrictions for such procedures. Yet it was still surprising all the same to hear someone be given a lifeline to continue their existence only to throw it back so casually.

“Tell me,” Sasha began, “did your god gift you with intelligence?”

This question took Oma off guard. “Intelligence?” she repeated, and Sasha nodded. “The ability to adapt, to learn, to improve yourself in the face of adversity,” Sasha clarified, “that is what I mean.”

Oma nodded. “It is written that our lord chose us as their favored creations and bestowed the gift of knowledge to our humble vessels.”

“So it is not against your faith to solve problems that are presented to you?” Sasha asked. Oma nodded again in agreement and so Sasha continued.

“Then by that logic this is no different. You have bene presented with a problem that you are capable of solving.”

Oma stood up suddenly, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. “It is not the same.” She loudly declared. “We are created in our lord’s image and to pervert it with foreign objects would be the most unforgivable offenses!”

“But you just said that your god gave you knowledge; do you not think they would be more offended that you did not use their gift to continue your existence?”

She ripped the x-ray off the wall and slapped it down on the desk. “Was it your god’s plan that you should die today? And if so why did you come here for treatment?”

“That is not the same!” Oma shouted again, though this time with less fervor. Sasha pressed on and continued to barrage her patient with questions.

“Why then is it okay for you to use medicine sometimes but not others? Why is it your faith allows good Parcoren’s to die when they could have been saved? What sort of spiteful god would deny his favored creations happiness?”

Oma said nothing in response and simply stormed out of the room with what vigor she had left. The spines along her neck vibrating in irritation loudly enough that Sasha could hear her walking all the way to the end of the hall and out the doors leading to the hospitals exit.

Sasha fell back into her chair and stewed while replayed the moments out again and again in her mind. Her assistance came into the room several minutes later and found her as such.

“Shall I remove Ms. Oma from your patient list?” they asked with data pad in hand, but Sasha shook her head.

“She may have given up on me, but I will not give up on getting her the proper treatment.” Sasha said as she cleaned up her desk and prepared for her next appointment.

“How very honorable of you.” Her assistance remarked as they stowed away the data pad. “I never took you for a faithful one seeking to save the lost souls.”

Sasha looked down at the x-ray one last time before placing it back into Oma’s folder and putting it away.

“One does not need faith to do the right thing.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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barelytolerabled · 1 year

Text

Part 03

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: you are assigned to your first big case with the team in this chapter, which is a high-profile investigation involving missing children. We see your passion for the case and your growing obsession with finding the killer.

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The BAU team sat around the conference room table, ready for their next case briefing. Agent Hotchner stood at the front of the room, a folder in his hands.

You sat beside Reid who handed you a coffee.

"Good morning, everyone," Hotch began. "We have a new case. Four girls between the ages of 12 and 15 have gone missing in the past month. All from different states, all with similar physical features. Same hair, same eyes, and same frames."

He placed the folder on the table and flipped it open, revealing photos of the missing girls.

"Local law enforcement has found no connection between the cases, but we believe that these abductions are the work of a single unsub. The girls were likely targeted because of their physical similarities," Hotchner continued.

Agent Prentiss spoke up, "Do we have any leads on the unsub?"

Hotchner shook his head, "No, not yet. The local authorities have asked for our help in profiling the suspect and tracking him down. We leave for the first crime scene in two hours."

As the team stood up to leave the conference room, you lingered behind, staring at the photos of the missing girls. You felt a sense of unease wash over you, as if you had seen those faces before. You knew you had to be a part of this case, to help find the girls and bring the unsub to justice.

As the BAU team delved deeper into the investigation, they discovered that not only did the missing girls share similar physical features, but they also had similar family situations. All of the girls came from working-class families, with parents who struggled to make ends meet. Some of them were single-parent households, and others had parents who worked long hours and were not able to spend as much time with their children as they would have liked.

The team realized that the unsub may have been targeting these girls because they were vulnerable and potentially easier to abduct. They began to dig deeper into the family dynamics of the victims, looking for any clues that could lead them to the suspect.

You were sitting at her desk, pouring over the details of the case. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about the missing girls. As you studied their photos, a sense of unease washed over you.

Then you remembered something Reid said to you at the bar. When he was just enumerated some facts. You stood up and went to sit on Spencer’s desk.

“Do you remember what you said about thinking of knowing someone when you actually don’t?” You asked him.

Spencer started talking about the phenomenon till something caught your attention. “Yes! That just that!”

“People tend to perceive others as more familiar than they actually are, particularly if they share some common characteristics or traits?”, he looked at you confused. You signed for him to continue “People may feel like they know someone because they share the same hometown, went to the same school, or have a similar physical appearance.”

Suddenly, it hit you. The girls reminded you of yourself when you were their age. Your heart began to race as you realized the implications of this realization. You knew what it was like to come from a working-class family, to feel vulnerable and scared. You knew that the trauma of your past had never fully left you, and now you were faced with a case that hit close to home.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself . You knew that you had to compartmentalize your feelings and focus on the investigation. But as you gathered your things and headed towards the conference room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. This case was personal, and you were determined to do whatever it took to bring the unsub to justice and find closure for yourself and the families of the victims.

You had always been passionate about your job, but this case hit particularly close to home. As you delved deeper into the investigation, your interest quickly turned into an obsession. You found yourself spending every spare moment analyzing the evidence and trying to piece together the puzzle.

You would stay up late at night, pouring over crime scene photos and witness statements, trying to find any clue that could lead them to the killer. You were consumed by the case, and it was beginning to take a toll on your mental health.

Your colleagues had started to notice the change in your behavior. You were distant, irritable, and seemed to be on edge all the time. Spencer had tried to talk to you about it, but you brushed him off, insisting that you were fine.

Despite your insistence that you were okay, your mind was in a constant state of turmoil. You were haunted by the faces of the missing children, and the thought of their suffering kept you up at night. You couldn't bear the idea that there might be other victims out there that they hadn't yet found.

As the case continued, your obsession with it only grew stronger. You spent all your free time researching and analyzing the evidence, even going so far as to start visiting the locations where the children had last been seen.

Your colleagues became increasingly concerned about your wellbeing, but you were too caught up in your quest for justice to pay much attention. You were determined to catch the killer, no matter what the cost.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, you began to realize that your obsession was becoming dangerous. You were neglecting your own needs, both physical and emotional, and you were becoming more and more isolated from those around you.

Despite your growing fears, you couldn't bring yourself to step back from the case. You were too invested, too driven to let it go. But as the stakes grew higher and the clues became more elusive, you began to realize that your obsession might be leading you down a dangerous path.

Your obsession with the case had become all-consuming. You had been working tirelessly, analyzing every piece of evidence and questioning every witness, but still, they had no solid leads.

Frustrated with the lack of progress, you began to take risks. You even started tailing potential suspects, hoping to catch them in the act.

Spencer had noticed the change in your behavior and was growing increasingly concerned. "Yn, you can't keep doing this," he said one day as you sat in the break room. "You're putting yourself in danger."

"I have to do something," you replied, your voice tinged with desperation. "We're not getting anywhere with this case, and I can't just sit around and wait for something to happen."

"I understand that," Spencer said, his tone soothing. "But you have to be careful. We don't know who we're dealing with here. They could be dangerous."

"I can take care of myself," you replied stubbornly, but even you knew that it was a lie. You were so consumed by the case that you were blind to the risks you were taking.

It wasn't until you found yourself in a dark alleyway, face to face with a potential suspect, that you realized just how dangerous your obsession had become. The man had cornered you, and you knew that you were in trouble.

But just as you were about to call for backup, the man suddenly bolted, disappearing into the night. You stumbled back, your heart racing with fear and adrenaline.

It was then that you realized just how far you had gone in your quest for justice. You had put yourself in danger, and it was only a matter of time before you got yourself hurt.

Returning to the office the next day, you knew that you needed to change your approach. You couldn't continue to take such reckless risks. It wasn't just your life on the line; it was also the lives of your colleagues and the potential victims they were trying to protect.

Taking a deep breath, once in your appartement, you decided to call Spencer. “Yn? It’s the middle of the night, are you okay?”

"I need your help," you said, your voice shaking slightly. "I can't do this on my own anymore."

“Everything’s fine Yn”, he tried to comfort you.

“Can you come over to my place please, I…I need someone”

"I’m on my way"

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #mathew gray gubler #slow burn

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