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afreakingdork · 2 days

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Weak Spot - Chapter 69

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Donnie is anxiously waiting for this week's penultimate chapter with art by @aimike17

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

“The make-up artist canceled!”

You sighed heavily as you tucked against the wall you’d ducked behind.

“Last minute! Absolutely absurd, this is exactly why I put a no-show clause in their contract. We’ll wring them dry! They’ll never decorate another face again as long as I-!! This puts only the photographer and officiant on time, but without the proper preparation then what is the point?! I dislike excessive editing. I want our photographs to be authentic! If only I could-!” Donnie thumped something loudly and you heard other voices trying to talk him down.

You pinched your phone between your shoulder and cheek so you could check your ring.

“Don’t touch me! Of course I’m not dressed yet! Do you see how filthy this place is! You! That garland is sagging! You petulant pond scum! If you think for a moment I will allow you too-!”

It felt like needles were pricking your skin.

It was stress.

It was frustration.

It was anger.

It was all Donnie.

Your mate was breaking down as the wedding planner and you were stuck in some backroom at the venue.

You rubbed your ring and wished the feeling would connect to your partner.

It wouldn’t yet.

You needed to put his band on him first.

“Where did you store these flowers!? You need to get them into water, now!” His voice rushed the receiver. “Darling, I apologize, I-! LUKEWARM WATER, YOU IMBECILE!!!”

You could be out there helping.

You could offset the pressure.

Together you could bear the load.

Only your fiancé had mistakenly gone off the deep end after his visit to Lady Nagami for his final suit fitting. She had asked where he was going to stay the night before. From that moment on you believed Donnie had subscribed to just about every wedding superstition that existed. Not that he believed a single one of them, he refused to let even a hoax interrupt your wedding day.

Your wedding party didn’t particularly mind the sudden booking of a luxe hotel, but being apart from Donnie in this instance was a terrible one. The closer it had gotten to the date, the less your mate left up to chance. Besides being the titular planner, he had removed others from their roles because he no longer trusted the work unless he saw it with his own eyes. It meant he was scarce not only that night before, but the five leading up.

Now a wreck and several hours out from the ceremony, you weren’t sure he was going to be in any state of mind to enjoy the wedding he so painstakingly coordinated.

You wanted to be with him so badly it hurt.

Spinning your ring loosely, you knew he could feel it if he just had his matching set.

You should have been the one to propose, you thought then.

“My heart?”

You breathed in deeply. “You know what I have to say.”

“Know that if it were at all possible to see you, I would cart you from room to room on my shoulders.”

You smiled at the imagery.

“I can’t chance it.” Donnie spoke softly. “I will see you as you walk down the aisle and not a moment sooner.”

“I know.” You held not only your ring finger, but your entire hand.

For the first moment on the call, Donnie quieted.

You heard the rumble of others.

Workers decorated.

Kaleb murmured in hushed tones.

Old lady Nagami must have responded because there was a sliding ‘s.’

Raph’s bassy tones argued with someone.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. prattled off what sounded like an endless stream of numbers.

You looked around the room that smelled of oak and felt locked away. It was a glorified closet, yet there was nowhere to hook anything. For whatever reason, it had two door which you supposed were for amassing entrances and exits to get away. This was nothing more than a connecting nook and you’d squirreled away in here after texts no longer seemed to cut it.

“I love you.” Donnie spoke clearly through the phone.

“I love you.” That helped; he always helped. “Hang in there. I need you present when I get in front of you.”

“Oh.” The sound was rounded with a static puff against the line. “All else will fall away. All we will need is to follow the necessary cues.”

“Then don’t pop a blood vessel until then.”

You heard a rustle and just knew he was checking his tech gauntlet.

The silence spoke volumes. “What is it?”

“My blood pressure is a tad high…” There was a grimace to his voice.

“Have you eaten? Did you drink water?”

“He hasn’t!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. bellowed.

“Mhm.”

“Get off the line! What have I told you!?” Donnie hissed.

“’Weh weh, don’t tap my phone, son. I love you, sport. Let’s go play catch after this!’” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. mocked.

“I-!!!” Indignity took Donnie’s very speech away.

“Caterer’s here!” Kaleb called and you heard sharp shoes click against hardwood.

“I… need to oversee this.” Donnie returned, regretful.

“At least they’re on time too.” You told him. “Get one of them to make you something plain. For me?”

“Alright.” He relented. “Soon. So very soon.”

“Soon.” You agreed and lingered until he hung up the line.

“Big green baby.” Coral’s voice drifted in behind you.

You didn’t have to turn to know she was reclined in one of the doorways. “I’m assuming your hair didn’t cooperate?”

“Shut up!” She spat, clearly scathed. “I’m last up! Don’t rub it in! I look bomb otherwise!”

You turned to give her attention and she struck a pose in a lilac dress.

It matched the color scheme and you approached.

She held out for a second before she came in as if there was a secret to share. “How’s he doing?”

“Not great. He’s worried.” You showed her the ring. “Nauseous, dehydrated, and tinges of vertigo.”

“You can tell all that from that thing?”

“Yup.” You closed your hand. “The make-up artist canceled.”

“Shit.” She clicked her tongue. “We could get by with what we got, but…”

“Yeah, Don does the best make-up I’ve seen but…”

“Still can’t believe he’s being all superstitious.”

You raised your brow in commiseration.

“Okay.” She clapped her hands. “Contacts. Let’s gather up all the phones and exploit people we know! Someone will know someone who can get their ass in here!”

Your ex-roommate turned with a pumping fist and you followed after her to what you dubbed the parlor. Another equally darkly stained wood room, there were a litany of leather chairs. The entire room almost seemed like something out of a Chesterfield catalog. Off to one side, Nelson and another of your bridal party members were trying to get a foosball table to work. In a corner near a window, Eugene and one of your cousins were doing their best to break into a liquor cabinet. You knew this was a space supposedly built for men to busy themselves while the bride prepared, but it had been passed to you for entertainment purposes. It was the safest hideaway while Donnie needed to rove the venue. It ensured he wouldn’t run into you.

You sat on an uncomfortable sofa and watched as Coral rounded up the room.

She had this, you decided.

You’d done most everything you needed.

You were dressed up.

You were otherwise primped minus make-up.

You were free to sulk.

There was a sharp stab in your finger and you winced.

Before you could even wonder what was wrong, your phone was out and you were typing out a message to ask.

Donnie’s text of having dropped a chafing dish on his foot appeared before you finished.

You typed out affections and for him to get it checked.

You could have done that for him.

You should be with him.

“Where are the parents?!” Coral seethed in a voice that broke the monotony.

You looked up to find everyone now gathered and furiously at work on their phones. “I heard your mom say something about the gardens.”

“That bitch.” Coral gave a crazed look and turned it on Nelson.

He had long grown from the nervous man you once knew because he didn’t break a sweat as he typed into his phone. “That bitch is more connected than any of us. She’s bound to know someone. You go. I got things here.”

Coral stamped her foot, clear emotion throttling her before she hugged him tight.

It took all of Nelson’s self control not to drop his device as his eyes shot wide.

Coral released and fled in a way that didn’t allow anyone to see her face.

Nelson stood a lolling figure as if Coral had wrung him out.

That was new.

You smiled and knew exactly how you were going to interrupt her speech during the dinner.

Nelson rebooted and whipped himself into shape. “Alright! We’re looking for a beautician! What have we got, people!?”

You should help.

You should stay here.

You should continue to sit on this terribly hard sofa.

You stood.

You meant to go over to them.

The room had gathered.

Without you.

Getting that make-up artist would help Donnie.

You wanted to help Donnie.

No.

You wanted to be with Donnie.

You craved his side.

You didn’t care about the missing professional.

You barely cared about the photos.

It seemed like a waste without him.

You flittered toward a door without realizing it.

“Hey…” Nelson warned.

Coral had been minding you since yesterday night.

She’d gone above and beyond in her honorific role.

She’d gotten your favorite dinner.

She had games ready for the nervous and lonesome night before.

She’d forced everyone to bed at an appropriate time.

She woke everyone up the next day.

She’d fielded an incredible breakfast spread before you piled into a van for the venue.

Everything.

You also hadn’t been alone once.

You hadn’t gotten a moment’s peace.

It helped in a way.

Of course she knew you wouldn't want to be alone.

She knew you’d break the superstitions in a moment’s notice.

In this way, she helped Donnie.

You loved Donnie.

You also very much needed a hit.

The texting wasn’t enough.

The call wasn’t enough.

You blamed the ring.

He was upset and you weren’t with him.

You needed to see him.

That would do the trick.

If you could catch a glimpse of him, it might help.

Who was the addict between you?

“Bathroom.” You decided without really knowing where you’d land.

“I’ll go with you.” Nelson tried to rush whatever he was typing.

“Yeah, not happening.” You tilted your head and challenged him with your gaze.

He lived with Coral.

He sent a similar look right back.

The stand-off pulled your cousin in and they looked back and forth between you.

“I can go to the bathroom by myself!” You threw your hands up. “Two doors and on the left. If I’m gone for more than 5 minutes you have permission to restrain me!”

Nelson studied you with narrowed lids before he found truth there and nodded once. “Fine. Anything else and it’s not my neck.”

“Yeah…” You turned and yanked the door too hard to get away.

Two doors.

One took you through that weird nook you’d taken your call in.

You went right.

Down a short hall that led to where you’d once seen a bunch of men congregating.

More family.

Family was crawling out of the walls.

You heard a voice and ducked toward the closest knob.

It surprisingly turned even though you weren’t sure this room was being used.

The voice’s drew closer and you closed yourself inside.

Your hand loosened as you took in the space.

It had a dreamy lilac tint to it and fine dust particles filtered through light pouring through the window panes. For a room that appeared neglected, there was also a sense of purpose. Fine wood furniture came in a matching set and was arranged like a set piece. You walked into it and felt like cameras could line the wall you had come in from to shoot this period piece. It would run on black and white televisions across America and you trailed a doily sitting on an end table. It was marked with a piece of aged porcelain that had finely painted details. You followed its pointed handle toward a mantle and looked over the scant knick-knacks there.

This was a room for photographs.

You knew your venue served all sorts of clientele. It had been part of the spiel during the initial interview. It was a conversation that had turned into a battle of wills between the employee and Donnie, but it had worked out. Their garden space was a stunning one and it was the rare moment during the many appointments where Donnie had taken a moment that wasn’t calculated. You could both foresee yourselves exchanging vows here and that was all that mattered.

You took one last stale breath.

You shouldn’t have felt settled.

You looked down at your hand.

Donnie was momentarily pacified.

Something was going right.

Each minute took you closer to one another.

A silly agreement in the scheme of things, it was yet another page in your life together.

You’d be alright not seeing your mate for now.

Today was good.

You felt buoyed and headed towards the door.

You’d make a pit stop in the hair dresser’s room and see how things were going.

You could see what make-up was in the vanity you had seen there.

You rounded a chair to leave when a disc of blue light appeared in front of the door.

Leo clad in a suit with an untied tie hanging around his neck then stepped through talking backwards through it. “No, there’s protocol! They’re separate, but they aren’t! Just like how hair is attached to your head! You know? Where the face is!? You need to talk to the hair person, you can’t just drop a make-up artist on them and expect-!”

He tried to stall, but both his legs hit the ground due to momentum.

He looked up at the ceiling and toward a corner of the room you weren’t in. “The hell? This isn’t the prep room! This place is a maze, I swear-!”

He rounded your direction and you only watched as he caught sight of you.

The portal behind him disappeared.

You knew the look on his face and gave a smug smile.

You’d seen yourself in a mirror not too long ago.

You knew you looked good.

Dressed in expertly tailored finery, you were a vision.

You supposed make-up was the finishing touch that would enhance the image, but still.

You’d gone through the whole process of getting ready otherwise.

You’d be standing beside Donatello after all.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Leo tipped his head with an appreciative eye. “If you took my breath away, think of what you’re going to do to that jackass.”

“There’s a bet on whether he’ll cry or not.”

“Oh, don’t you know? I’m running it.” He had a scoundrel’s smile as he walked over. “You pulling a Julie Roberts?”

He made it obvious he was checking your footwear and you tutted him. “You watch too many movies.”

Leo mimed jogging. “Then you’ll know how prepared I am for this wedding!”

“What’d you watch?”

Leo made an excited trill and held up his fingers to count. “Four Weddings and a Funeral, My Best Friend's Wedding, The Wedding Singer, The Wedding Planner, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and Mamma Mia! Duh!"

“Missing a few key ones.”

Leo scoffed so loud you could see the spittle in the air.

“Found a make-up artist?” You folded your arms.

“Yeah, me.” Leo waved his hands dismissively.

“No.”

“Yes.” Leo chirped like a know-it-all.

“You cannot do make-up.”

“I absolutely can.” In a swing of his arm, his phone appeared along with photos already up of drag performers. “Long story, but I helped out with some shows because I needed a hospital hook-up.”

“Show me yours.” You demanded and stalked towards him.

He pulled his device back only for a second before it was in your hands.

There you saw an image of Leo in a blond wig smizing his way out from the other queens he was framed with.

You couldn’t even laugh.

You smiled and blew out a harsh breath.

He was an oddity.

He was a pain.

He was a handful.

“You’re really our only choice?”

“With two hours, 27 minutes and 16 seconds, scratch that 15, or did I say 14? And, what was that? Like 15 people who need their faces painted? Uh yeah, I’m the best you got.” Leo pinched his device back up.

“Drag make-up is-!”

“Hup, hup, hup!” Leo held a quieting hand out. “I’m not trained. I’m not gonna pretend, but I have the steady hand of a surgeon and I know how to do an elegant, but understated look. I swear. You think the rancid raisin would let me do this otherwise? I did Mikey’s make-up in demonstration!”

You frowned deeply before you tore out your phone to text Mikey.

Within seconds you got a selfie of him clearly chewing something where his lackadaisical expression was contrasted by the soft glow of his skin and lovely accentuated eyes.

“Okay… he does look good.”

“Right? It’s not fair with that damn hair of his!” Leo was behind you and admiring the photo.

You flapped him away and he scurried out of your arm’s length. “Why do you need to talk to the hairdresser?”

“There’s code!” Leo scoffed and turned towards the door. “C’mon! Show me where it is! Clearly my portal map was not accurate!”

“Hmph!” You followed after him.

He caught the knob, but didn’t turn it. “You look amazing, by the way. You’ll hear that all day, but from me it’ll mean something.”

You slowed and studied how he wouldn’t look at you.

“If you weren’t doing the whole, on the aisle thing, I’d say you should have let him see you in here. I thought I’d fallen out of space time.”

“Leo…” He was so earnest his cheeks burned.

He chuffed faintly. “From soaking you in hand sanitizer to this.”

The dousing steam brought with it irritation.

He ruined everything good.

You would never trust this annoying man.

“Life’s a funny thing, ain’t it Y/N?” There was something carefree about the way he turned.

His smile honestly wrinkled his crow’s feet.

There was no deeper scheme.

This was just Leonardo Hamato.

At a wedding.

Your wedding.

“Thank you.” You told him with the same unrestrained tone.

“Yeah, well, same. I’m doing this and you pay me back by holding up your end of the deal. I want to ride out my pseudo-retirement on purse snatchers and the occasional bank robbery, nothing else, got it?”

You pushed him and he chuckled as he finally opened the door.

Everything flew by after that. From you getting your make-up done to Coral screeching as her unruly locks were eventually set, a photographer came through and began to document last looks. You were shot with family members and the party members now in a strict alternation in the garden. You hadn’t quite gotten to view the ceremony area in full yet, but glimpses of it through bushes made it look lush.

Finally, you were in place outside giant doors and a venue attendant came through to remind you all of the procedure. Music started up and the procession began. You watched person after person trickle out and away from you until you and another were left behind. You weren’t to be escorted out and given away, but instead you would be led to your destiny.

For maybe about the thousandth time, but who was counting?

Your feet edged pooling light and your arm was taken.

You stepped into the door frame and on cue there was a gentle gust of air.

It flittered a few loose flower petals from their toss earlier in a guiding line.

They settled in front of highly polished oxfords and you moved up tapered white pants.

Pressed with creases so sharp they could cut glass, they led into a similarly stark white tuxedo colored only with lilac accents.

You knew that Donnie had chosen to wear white, but seeing him in it now made the vision of him a warbled one.

You were getting closer to him and when your eyes met his, you felt the crowd fall away.

There was only the leading carpet and you walked it to him.

You were left and made the last step of your own to where neither of you had broken eye contact.

Someone was talking, you guessed, but you were mesmerized by watery eyes and a fateful smile.

Your finger throbbed with yearning and you reached out to adjust Donnie’s lapels as coyly as you could.

His arms ghosted up to support yours as if your breaching the space between your bodies broke the spell on him.

He coasted up and down your arms with eager digits that needed more.

Words spilled a backdrop, but there were only the two of you as he stepped in closer and tucked his beak into the crown of your head.

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

You tilted your head to peer at him against the proximity.

“I had every adjective to describe you, but I can’t remember a single one.”

A grin split your face and loosed a few of his tears.

He didn’t bother wiping them and you felt someone that was very much not your partner touch your arm.

The officiant looked scolding and mentioned the vows.

You blinked wide.

Your wedding was happening all around you.

You went to look at the crowd, but as soon as you caught Donnie’s eyes, you were alone once again.

He oozed palpable affection and opened his mouth for a speech.

You waited.

Nothing came out.

His mouth closed silently and his eyes opened sorely haunted.

He then checked with you before he searched his person.

“Left breast.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. leaned in from behind Donnie.

Your son was smartly dressed in a suit of his own and you wanted to appreciate it.

Donnie slipped his hand into his tux and pulled out some cards.

His hands shook.

Without thinking, you cupped to support them.

The moment the words steadied, he looked at you.

You smiled and squeezed his palms.

“A vow.” Donnie didn’t project in the slightest. “Noun. A solemn promise.”

He wasn’t looking at the cards.

“We’ll do the pre-written drivel last, but we decided to start with our own.”

You nodded.

The notes fell from his hands in favor of taking yours. “What can I pledge to you that you do not already have?”

“I don’t know.” You responded cheeky and the crowd giggled.

“You have it all.” Your hands weren’t enough and he caught your waist to pull you flush to him.

He took great care in placing one of your hands over his heart and held it there.

“I forgo this process. I have nothing more to give you. You own it all and this is merely a formality so I may say I am yours in yet another means. I would go through this hellish process a million times if only to sign the paper again and again. I would stand in line at the county clerk’s office as my purgatory if only to renounce my single being to a duo again and again. I have no speech. None of the hours I spent in writing it matter. Nothing I say will be comparable to all we’ve gone through or even the most inconsequential thing you’ve said to me. Instead, I wish only to declare my intent.”

He gave you one last squeeze before he looked out at the crowd.

“You wretches!” His fangs glistened as he grinned with every fiber of his being. “However you are known to me by association or cruel fate, I pledge thus…”

He left you completely and stared out as if someone would defy him.

You were sure there were reactions, but you couldn’t look away from your mate.

He was yours.

“Let it be known, from the moment I hatched to my dying breath-” Donatello turned toward you. “I was destined, am, and will forever be yours. In all forms and states of mind. In yours as well.”

You held your hand out to coax him back.

He took it, suave, and brought it to his lips, but did not kiss. “I love you.”

You signed it back and he scolded you by slipping back into his spot with a gentle nudge to your hip with his.

Anticlimactic, he addressed the officiant who didn’t seem to realize that was the end.

You knew.

They were words that in no other realm would he ever state so publically.

To anyone, no matter how close.

Only now.

Only for you.

You responded.

You said your vows and heard none of them.

You’d practiced them so many times you would be able to repeat them in the next lifetime.

They felt meaningless.

You weren’t even sure Donnie was hearing them.

He was only watching you.

For all intents and purposes, this event was already over.

Then came the classic lines.

To have and to hold from this day forward

You scarcely heard the officiant struggle.

For better, for worse

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. produced a ring.

For richer, for poorer.

Words.

In sickness and in health.

You didn’t need them.

To love and to cherish.

Action.

Until death do us part.

It was useless.

Donnie only mimed putting your ring on.

You had been wearing it and it was never coming off.

His ring, however.

Three nights ago you had imbued it with a drop of your blood.

Its mere existence had put Donnie on edge.

He wanted to wear it.

If anyone else chanced putting it on, you were up for grabs.

It had taken literally opening S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. up and placing it securely within his circuitry before Donnie would calm.

Now you took his hand and felt how assuredly steady it was.

He brought his digit up incrementally so you could slip the band on.

The moment it hit his knuckle, he twitched and stalled.

He felt you.

Felt how you had already written off the ceremony.

Felt how you were hungry.

Felt how you had the faintest nerves about the photos you’d been taking while the spaces were switched out for dinner.

All wholly new data that had never once been truly accessible to him, he might have given over to it had you not one more thing to do.

The officiant spoke those final words.

You moved into a kiss.

It was a cover.

As your lips met, the importance was your wedding bands.

Between your bodies and with cheers all around, your left hands met.

In a twist and lock, the two bands interacted.

You had seen mysticism.

Mikey’s chains.

Leo’s portals.

Donnie’s construction.

Raph’s form.

But you had never truly felt it until that moment.

It rushed through you on a cellular level and felt like an untamed thing.

It probed your worth.

It tested your bond.

It saw truths you held dear and ones you hadn’t committed to yet.

It then convened with ancient unknowable counsels.

It deemed you worthy and withdrew into your mystical item.

You were with Donnie.

Donnie was with you.

You parted from the kiss and it hadn’t been more than a few seconds.

You felt lifetimes intertwined as his forehead rested against yours.

His entire knowledge base wasn’t exactly yours, but you could sense it.

He could finally rest.

He had someone else to bear the load.

He would never be truly alone again.

You were rushed.

You had no idea who started it, but someone ran up to the stage and the other’s followed.

Friends and family, if whatever had occurred between the two of you was too much, it had somehow translated outward.

Decorum was lost and you were swarmed.

Lifted and cheered, you were surrounded by love.

In a physical sense it separated you both, but you were not parted.

You looked over the jostling bodies and found Donnie’s eye.

He met yours with a wrinkled one of his own.

Your Donatello.

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My betas joined me with Weak Spot and they will carry on with the next work! @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

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whiskygoldwings · 8 hours

Text

Letting Go

Fox stares at his feet.

When they’d arrived here, Rex had insisted, with a mischievous curl to his lips, that they removed their boots before stepping onto the beach. Fox had protested, loudly and at length. But Wolffe had knocked shoulders with him and told him to trust Rex’ika.

He did. Trust Rex. Just… None of the Corries had given up their armour yet. It still felt like they were on eggshells, waiting for this mirage of peace to be ripped from them. Even when Chancellor Organa had gently insisted on the Coruscant Guard taking leave off planet, Fox hadn’t actually believed that it was anything less than a mission, just neatly packaged with promises of reconciliation with his batchmates.

Fox stares down at his feet; the naked, bony truth of them. Heels cradled by damp sand, and toes lapped at by froth-tipped waves. He stares and thinks: Oh. I get it.

There’s excited voices all around him, but Fox feels removed from it all. There’s something… Intangible, in this moment. In the feel of bubbles moving between his toes. In the soft play of wind through his curls. Something that unfurls in his chest and flows into all the empty spaces Coruscant had dug into him.

Senator Amidala had offered boarding for the Guard on Naboo, and with the memory of her kindness spurring him on, Fox had accepted. It had taken time, planning and compromise, but the 212th had been positioned on Coruscant to take over their necessary tasks for the duration, and Cody had positioned himself as Acting Marshal Commander of the Guard.

Fox had been tired. He probably should have protested more, but Thorn had curled up with him on one of the evenings at the beginning of the planning, and whispered about everything they’d ever heard about Naboo.

And Fox… Fox didn’t really understand. Hadn’t really wanted anything in a long while.

But Thorn wanted. And Fox would give Thorn, after the years of suffering and standing solid beside Fox against the abuses of the Senate, pretty much anything they wanted.

So here they were. Here Fox was.

Staring at his feet.

Actually… He probably looks a little bit ridiculous, like this. In full armour, except for his boots, shin guards and bucket, with his body suit dragged halfway up his calves. The sun’s warm on the back of his neck, and the salt in the air is definitely playing slow havoc with the seals that hold his armour plates on.

He could just. Take it off.

There’s no one other than Vode on the beach. Senator Amidala had arranged that for them, so they could feel relaxed. There’s members of the 501st and 104th tentatively mixed in with the Guard, and it suddenly strikes him that the Guard are the only ones still wearing armour. The Vode of the other battalions are so strikingly, vividly different from them, in their casual clothes and relaxed postures.

Fox looks back at the horizon, and with a slow breath out that feels like it takes something with it, begins to remove the rest of his armour.

He starts with the guards on his forearms, disconnecting the latches that hold them snug against him with an air of calm he’s not entirely sure he’s felt in a long time. There’s nowhere to stack the pieces, no cleaning items on hand to polish them with, so he simply – drops them.

They fall in the tide washing over his toes with soft thumps and splashes, and he breathes.

He continues in this fashion, methodically removing pieces of armour and letting them fall to the ground beside him. It’s strange: the plastoid armour is lighter than one first expects, designed for long use and wear and trimmed as much as possible to keep costs down. But it feels like each piece takes something unbearably heavy with it. They clatter against each other when they drop, but he doesn’t flinch at the harsh noise, doesn’t feel that flash of panic that a natborn might have heard.

He watches the horizon. And listens to the hush all around him. There’s the sound of rolling waves, a low roar that sinks into his bones. Some form of indigenous bird calls as it hovers on thermals, drifting through the open sky.

It’s… Peaceful.

He finishes with his chest plate, and starts to reach back to remove the armour pieces still attached to his back, when a pair of hands softly catch his. He starts, and glances back to find Thorn behind him, something open and peaceful on their face.

It’s then that he realises all the other Vode have gone silent. They’re all stood, watching him as he sheds the pieces of his duty.

Fox looks back, and sees tears and relief and pride and fear and thinks.

I get it.

He turns back to watch the horizon, and Thorn removes the last of his armour.

There’s the sound of latches disconnecting, and plastoid hitting plastoid for a few minutes, and then Fox feels Thorn step up beside him. They’re clad in just their bodysuit, like him, legs rolled up as they look down in wonder at the water that now flows over the tops of their feet. Thorn’s pulled their hair out of the braids they kept it in, and it tangles around their face in a halo of shining blonde under the sun.

Stone’s next, and as he steps up to Fox’s other side, he reaches a hand out to Fox. Fox takes it, and looks over to find Stone staring out at the sea before them, face wet. Stone visibly swallows, and turns to Fox with a smile Fox has never seen him wear before. He’s gone one step further than Fox, undone the clasps on his bodysuit so the neck hangs open, exposing the shadows of ink creeping over his collar bones.

Thire’s last, joining them on Thorn’s other side. Thorn flings an arm around the ever-so-slightly shorter man’s shoulders, and Thire rolls his eyes before leaning to sling his own arm around Thorn’s waist. The younger clone sighs deeply, and sags against Thorn, who tucks him carefully into their side.

Fox reaches out his own hand to take Thorns, and they all share a gaze before looking back to the horizon.

The War ended several months ago, but finally, on this beach, with the people he loves around him, the cool sea at his ankles, and the chill of the breeze reaching his skin where plastoid always covered it, Fox believes it.

#I started this thinking I was going to write hijinks #Instead #The Corries needed something peaceful #I hope they got it #Rex has absolutely taken a holo of them all stood there #And Wolffe cried #But Rex was too busy trying not to cry to notice #commander fox #marshal commander fox #commander thorn #commander stone #commander thire #Coruscant Guard #star wars: the clone wars #My fanfiction #healing #Corries

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television-overload · 15 hours

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 27/34 - roll of film

[Read on AO3]

Scully’s mom stays until dinner, and promises to stop by with some meals for their freezer once they’ve settled in at home. As soon as Scully had returned, they’d behaved as if their conversation had never happened, and Mulder tried to put it out of his mind. Whatever Scully may or may not feel for him isn’t the most important thing right now. She needs him to be focused, to help her with the baby. He knows himself—he’s a one-track mind kind of guy. The last thing he wants is for her to think he can’t handle this just because he’s distracted by something else.

Before she leaves, Maggie goes down to the gift shop and purchases a disposable camera and a plush fox with the softest fur Mulder has ever felt. He smiles at her joke, introducing the animal to a wide eyed Madeline who clearly doesn’t know what to make of it.

Grandma Maggie then spends the next thirty minutes or so taking pictures of everything and everyone until the entire roll of film is full. She insists on taking several of all three of them together, in various poses, which she assures them they will thank her for one day. It reminds Mulder of the time they’d had to take pretend pictures for their undercover assignment in California, only this is on another level.

He wonders what the film will reveal when it gets developed. Will the poses be stiff and forced, like they had been in Arcadia? Or would it look real? Would an unknown observer believe them to be a normal family, if they didn’t know any better?

He finds himself hoping so. He’s tired of pretending. So, so tired.

He walks Maggie down to the entrance of the hospital, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. All things considered, their surprise had gone over fairly well. It remained to be seen how the rest of the Scully clan would react, but at least they had the matron of the family on their side.

In this way, maybe it was a good thing the IVF hadn’t worked. There would have certainly been a threatening letter headed his way if he’d actually impregnated Scully, however clinically they had accomplished it.

“Drive safe, Mrs. Scully,” he says, the automatic doors sliding open as they approach.

“Maggie,” she reminds him, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

He nods. “Maggie.”

He expects her to go, then, but instead she turns to face him, pulling him into a motherly hug. It surprises him at first, but his mind quickly catches up and he returns the embrace.

“You tell her how you feel,” she says softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze before pulling back. Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, and her eyes shine brightly at him with a fondness that makes his heart feel warm and fuzzy. “Okay? She deserves to hear it.”

He doesn’t want to commit either way, so as not to disappoint her, so instead of responding, he merely presses his lips together and gives a sheepish nod/shrug combo.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me today,” she says. “You take care of my girl, alright?”

This, he can agree to without question.

“Always.”

She gives one final nod, then reaches up to press a kiss to his cheek. He smiles, unused to this kind of motherly affection, but glad to receive it.

“Bye, Maggie.”

“Goodbye, Fox. I’ll see you soon.”

-.-.-

By the time he gets back to their room, dinner has been delivered, and Scully is giving Maddie another bottle. He’d feel bad eating without her, so instead he walks to the window, peeking out at the golden hue that the sun is starting to cast on the otherwise boring landscape. He sighs, pulling out his cell phone and hovering his thumb over the keypad. Maggie Scully gave him a lot to think about.

He punches in the number he knows by heart and waits as the tone sounds once, twice, and a third time before the line connects.

“Hello?”

"Hey, Mom," he says. In his periphery, he can see Scully’s head turn toward him, but he tries to ignore her watchful gaze, instead focusing on the people down below in the parking lot.

"Fox?"

"Yeah, how you feeling? You doing okay?" He really does not know how to start this conversation, but he doesn’t want to put it off any longer. Small talk with his mother is among the most uncomfortable things he can imagine, but it’s really all they know how to do these days. Maybe they’ll get better at it with practice.

"I'm doing fine,” she answers. “What is it?"

"Sorry if I’m interrupting your dinner,” he says, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. “I can call tomorrow if that's better."

He hears the rejection before she even says it. "I have an appointment tomorrow. What’s this about?"

"Right, um." He pauses, pacing to the right into the darkened corner of the room and then back toward the window. "I just wanted to let you know that, uh– Scully and I decided to adopt a baby. She was born this morning, we're with her now."

"Scully?"

"My partner,” he states. “At the FBI."

"Right, yes. You… adopted a baby?" She sounds understandably confused, probably wondering many of the same things Mrs. Scully had asked about, though without the same level of investment in their answers.

"Yeah, uh, it's kind of been in the works for a while. And—" he pauses again, glancing back at Scully from across the room. "We got married."

The other end of the line is silent and for a moment, he begins to wonder if the connection went dead. But he can just hear the faint ticking of that irritating cuckoo clock in the kitchen that he’d always hated, so she must still be listening.

"To help with the application process, you know," he adds, as if that made their actions any more comprehensible to a rational human being.

"That's– wonderful news, Fox,” she says at last. “I didn't realize that was something you were interested in pursuing."

"Well, with everything going on, there wasn't really a good time to tell you," he says, letting out a sigh of relief now that the secret was out. "But, we're really happy."

"That's– that's good to hear."

He remembers how she’d wanted him to let go of Samantha—to make a life for himself outside of the search for his sister. He hopes she’ll be proud of him now that he’s doing just that.

Even if she isn’t, and can’t be there for him like he wishes she was, he’ll be happy. He has a family of his own now, and his mother is alive. That’s all he can really ask for. They can work on mending fences in the coming months, even if it’s slow going. The important thing is that he didn’t lose her. Not yet.

"Well, I should let you go,” he says awkwardly, the stale silences between sentences making him increasingly anxious the longer he spends on the phone. “I just thought you should know you have a granddaughter. Madeline is her name."

"Madeline,” his mother repeats. “I'm glad you called. Give my regards to– to–"

"Dana," he fills in.

"Yes, give my regards to Dana."

He goes to hang up the phone, his finger hovering over the end call button, but before he can, he hears a final, "Oh, and Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever decide to make a trip up the coast..."

She trails off, and he senses that she doesn't possess the words to finish that sentence, even if she means them. Reaching out to him has always been hard for her. He has to meet her halfway.

"I'm sure we will soon," he says, a hint of a promise in his words.

"I'd like that," she says, and it really does sound like she means it.

"Bye, Mom."

"Bye, Fox. Congratulations."

With a distinct click, the line disconnects, and he snaps his phone shut, frozen in deep thought.

“How did it go?” Scully asks from behind him.

“She's thrilled,” he answers.

“Really?”

He chuckles. “As thrilled as my mother can be about anything, I think.”

“Ah.”

He looks at the two of them there, Scully and Madeline, and pictures them sitting on the couch in his mother’s living room. It’s not as crazy to imagine as he thought it might have been. Maybe his mom would bake those lemon cookies he and Samantha used to like when they were kids. Maybe Scully could squeeze the recipe out of her, and he could learn to bake them himself.

“Hey– how would you feel about going to visit her someday?” he asks, trying to keep the question casual in case she has no interest in doing any such thing.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, looking at him with a sympathetic eye. “She's your mother. Of course I'd like to go.”

He plays it cool, but her answer warms his heart. None of Scully’s interactions with his mother have been particularly pleasant, even the most recent one, and sometimes he feels that she got the raw end of the deal. While he has gained a loving mother-in-law who is sure to spoil their baby rotten, Scully gets a broken family that has been almost completely eradicated by a shadowy government organization. He wishes he had something better to offer her.

“Not scared of the dreaded mother-in-law?” he asks, hoping it comes across as teasing instead of revealing the insecurity he truly feels.

To his relief, she smiles. “I can handle her,” she says.

Yes. Yes she can.

-.-.-

By 9:00 p.m., the exhaustion of such a long and eventful day had started to catch up to them. It had been a challenge to keep Madeline up for the last hour or so, but Scully insisted that she needed to get started on a sleep schedule as soon as possible, and she had read every recommendation in every book, so he deferred to her expertise.

Now that it has officially been declared bedtime, however, Maddie seems determined to stay up, too busy looking at her surroundings with great interest.

“Here, do you want to try to get her to sleep?” Scully asks, shifting the baby in her arms. “She just keeps staring at me, like she's not even tired.”

Mulder gladly agrees, setting down the book he had been reading on the table he was sitting at. “You know what they say. Those who can't do, teach. And I can never sleep.”

Scully laughs, raising Maddie up as high as she can without standing to make the transfer easier.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Mulder says, reaching for the infant and lifting her into his arms. It takes some adjusting, but once her blankets are all smoothed out, her tiny body relaxes into the cradle of his arms.

Scully was right. Her eyes are wide open, just taking in everything around her.

“You gotta close your eyes if you want to sleep, darlin’,” Mulder coos, bouncing her back and forth in what he hopes is a sleep-inducing motion.

“At least she's not crying,” Scully points out, watching them with a smile on her face.

“Nah, she's happy as a clam. Aren't you, Maddie?” he says.

She sneezes in response.

“Bless you!” Scully says, laughing. “Mulder, make sure the blanket isn't tickling her nose.”

He adjusts it down below her chin, smiling at the confused expression on her little face.

“That was the tiniest sneeze I've ever heard, Scully,” Mulder says in awe, love practically dripping from his voice. He runs a finger over the baby’s warm, rosy cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin.

He can't help it, he cranes his neck down to reach her, pressing his lips to the squishy baby fat of her cheek, dropping near endless kisses there.

“Her cheeks are just so kissable,” he says, laughing at himself.

“You're riling her up, Mulder,” Scully says disapprovingly, though her smile says something else. “Now she's wide awake.”

She stands, taking the few steps over to where he's standing and presses a kiss of her own to Madeline’s cheek.

“You're right, though,” she speaks.

When she looks up at him, he takes a chance, bending to brush his lips against her cheek, dangerously close to her lips.

“Your cheeks are pretty kissable too, Scully,” he says as he pulls back, delighted to see said cheeks turning ever so slightly pink in the dim light.

He can’t tell her, not yet. But that doesn’t mean he can’t show her. Maybe once she’s collected enough evidence, she’ll come to the right conclusion on her own. She is a woman of science, after all.

They look down at the little infant in his arms, and breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief when they see her start to heavy blink. Mulder finds that walking her around in circles helps, so he does a number of laps around the room, checking with each lap to see if he’s been successful yet.

By lap six, her eyes have fallen shut, and a moment later, her soft breaths even out. With all the carefulness of defusing a bomb, he sets her down in her plastic bassinet, and feels immense pride when she doesn’t immediately wake up and ruin all the progress he’d made. She shifts a little, and then settles, a look of pure contentment on her face.

Scully comes up to stand beside him, both peering down at the little girl who will be theirs to love and cherish for the rest of their lives.

“You know, I always felt like something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was,” Mulder muses, his voice a mere whisper. “Is it crazy if I say it was a baby?”

Scully’s lips pull back in a soft smile, and she leans her head on his bicep, unable to tear her eyes away from the sleeping child.

“It’s not crazy, Mulder,” she says, intertwining her hand with his. “I think you’re right. This is exactly what we’ve been missing.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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nikethestatue · 2 days

Text

A Ballad of Sorrow and Love

TW: Extreme sexual content, graphic violence, language, death

Part II

Death

Azriel sighed sleepily and shifted against the sheets. Birdsong was coming from behind the tall windows of the Moon Palace. It was still early in the morning, the sun just beginning to gently touch the snow-capped tops of the mountains. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sunrise coloured everything in bright pink, in gold, and in purple. His Ellie’s colours. He loved this place specifically for the colours, because they always reminded him of his wife. He didn’t mind the quiet and the isolation either.

What woke him up was the sensation of his sweet Ellie tonguing his asshole. He did not mind being woken up like this. No, not at all. He smiled into the pillows and moved his thigh, to give her better access and she took advantage of it immediately, gingerly parting his ass, her hands eager and careful as she stroked his skin. She thought that he was still asleep and was determined not to wake him. Which basically meant that she was licking his ass for her own pleasure. He usually slept on his stomach or his side because of his wings, so he lay flat on his front and tucked his hands under his cheek.

He felt her settle between his legs, spread him widely and start licking slowly and wetly from his balls to his asshole. At first, she couldn’t resist sucking his balls, popping each one between her lips and sucking it in deeply.

How lucky was he to be married to a girl who loved sucking his balls? And suck she did–slurping and lapping on them, smacking her lips as she went along. But today, he really, really wanted her to give some attention to his ass, so he jerked his hips and she released his balls and dipped her tongue between his cheeks. Perfect. She swirled her tongue wetly around his hole and then began to lick on it excitedly.

When Azriel was rough and authoritarian, preferring to force her and have her submit, Elain was the opposite–she was joyful and willing, licking energetically, before she forced her tongue inside and started to suck at his hole.

Azriel barely stifled a moan, but she didn’t even notice it, entirely too busy tongue fucking him, while she caressed his balls in her hand.

Mother’s tits! He wanted to lay here like this for hours, but his cock was aching now like a motherfucker. So he reached behind him and buried his fingers in Elain’s long messy hair, pushing her face closer so her tongue could get a little deeper, and said, “good moring, beautiful girl!”

Holding her head tightly, he rose onto his knees and she followed him, gripping his hips and sucking on his hole. He groaned with pleasure and pressed his forehead into his hands, muttering ‘take my cock’.

She reached around him and fisted his hard dick and began rubbing it, her pull strong and firm–just like he liked it. His wings limply fell by his body, and he didn’t have it in him to lift them. It felt incredible–the whole thing, the array of pleasurable sensations, her tugging on his cock, the motion of her wrist smooth and practised, her little tongue in his ass, her lips around his hole, her other hand stroking the side of his body.

“Princess, I need to fuck you,” he begged.

“Mmm,” she managed, but it was a ‘no’. She was busy. And he shut his mouth and attempted to relax his tense, wound up body and simply enjoy what she was giving him.

He lasted almost fifteen minutes.

Not bad, but it felt torturous. Tortuously good that is.

At last, he couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly beneath him. She tumbled on her side, and he hefted her hips up, while pushing her head down. His favourite position, no contest. His cock was going to explode if she wasn’t going to get it inside of her right then, so he pulled her ass cheeks apart and then sunk inside her ass all at once.

Pushing down on her shoulders, he grabbed her wrists and crossed her arms on her back, immobilising her.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” she cried pitifully, wiggling her hips and her ass against his pelvis. “Azzzzz,” she growled, struggling to accept the enormity of his swollen cock.

“Relax and take it,” he suggested casually, thrusting roughly in her, pulling out almost to the end and then shoving himself back in.

“I can already barely walk from yesterday,” she complained, pouting. “My ass is so sore. I can’t stop leaking cum either,”

He smiled smugly and nodded, though she couldn’t see it.

Instead, he slapped her buttock harshly and added some speed to his thrusts.

“But look how well I fit inside of you,” he commented, observing his shaft inside her well-used hole, “You were made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to love me. Made to submit to me. Every hole of your body was made for my dick. You will take what I give you, and you will thank me in the end. And then you will ask for more.”

His tone was stern, but it didn’t need to be. She softened beneath him, sighing with content and closing her eyes.

“Mmmm,” she murmured under her breath, “more please.”

“More of what?” he stopped moving, and sunk his whole shaft inside of her, making her squirm and moan, her soft ass shaking against him, while he waited for her to answer.

She licked her lips and then begged, “more cock, please. Please, Az, my love, please. Fuck me.”

“Fuck you where?”

“Everywhere,” she screeched, gritting her teeth from the pressure inside of her. “My ass. Fuck my ass right now.”

“Good girl,” he spanked her hard again and she yipped loudly. He pulled her cheeks apart, so he could watch and began pounding her asshole like a demon that he was. Merciless.

Nothing gave him the sense of utter power and domination over her than taking her anally. He wasn’t sure what it was about it that he enjoyed so much, but her rectum was just for his pleasure–there was something about possessing her in that way that was intoxicating. Especially in this position, where she was completely at his mercy and he controlled every part of her body. She could do nothing, and only accept. It drove him crazy.

And even though she could heal herself easily, she rarely did, preferring to be sore and aching after he was done with her. That was a special gift that she offered him that he knew he could never repay.

“Awww, aauuu,” was all that she managed to utter, sinking her teeth into his foot, since he propped himself on the bed to gain better purchase. “You are riding me so hard,” she moaned.

“Shouldn’t have licked my ass if you didn’t want to be ridden,” he chuckled and suddenly, pulled out completely, watching her groan and raise her ass high up in the air, flexing her hips with desperation.

“Fill me up, fill me up,” she begged, “I want it back!”

He smirked, watching her writhe and beg him to fuck her. He reached down and pressed her head into the pillow, holding the back of her neck before landing a sharp blow on her pussy with an open palm.

“Oh Mother!” she screamed. “Please…oh,”

“Please what?”

“Hit it again,” she gurgled. “Please, Az, I want more!”

He held her down and slapped her pussy with firm, broad, sharp slaps. With every smack, her pussy lips reddened more and more, and her little gaping anus sucked in air, taunting Azriel with its swollen pinkness.

“Come on, treasure, beg me for it,” he ordered. “I want you to plead for me to slap this pretty pussy. Do you want more or should I stop?”

She shook her head, though rather unsuccessfully, pressed into the pillow by his iron grip.

“Please keep going. Please. It hurts so good,” she pleaded.

“You like it when I make it hurt?”

“Yes,” she nodded instantly. “I love it. Only you. When you make it hurt, it’s so gooooddd,” she slurred the last word, because Azriel thrust his dick back inside her ass, propped his palms over her hips and began fucking her with unrestrained vigour.

“Aahhhhaahh,” was all she managed to scream, grabbing his foot and lacing her fingers with his toes, as she winced and grimaced from his deep thrusts.

If he wasn’t lazy, he’d turn her on her back right now and slapped her pussy while riding her ass, but he was too comfortable right now and didn’t bother.

“You were a sweet girl, waking me up like you did, licking my asshole,” he said with approval, fucking her steadily, slapping her once in a while.

“I love it,” she confessed, “I love you so much. I love tasting all of you. Az, Az…”

“Yes, treasure, what is it?”

“It’s so hot,” she whined, “why are you so big?”

“You make me this big, pretty girl. You drive me insane with lust.”

“It hurts a little bit,” she complained unconvincingly.

“I know,” he agreed simply. “But you love the pain. And you love being mine. So take it, and then thank me for it. My cock, my seed, the pain, and the pleasure.”

She nodded in agreement and whispered, “thank you, my love.”

He stroked her hip and her buttock tenderly for once, and whispered, “Love you, Ellie.”

“I love you too,” she told him and looked up at him over her shoulder. “I love you. I love you.”

She wrapped her arm around his calf, holding on, looking at him with a dazed, love-filled, lusty gaze. She started orgasming on his dick, her tight passage squeezing him almost painfully, but oh-so amazingly. She was panting loudly, clinging to his leg, begging mindlessly, “harder, Az. Please. Harder. Please fuck it, my love.”

He indulged her of course, his pretty little fuck-doll. Her anal orgasms were always shuttering, and she tugged and clenched on his dick for minutes, shaking and crying with her release.

At last, as the first wave subsided, she asked shyly, “Do you like fucking me?” as if unsure.

“Love fucking you, sweetheart. Love licking you. Love slapping your puffy pussy. Love fisting you. Love getting my wings and my cock in you. Love doubling you down. Love making a mess of your holes. Love watching you stretched all over me. Love it all.”

Suddenly, the door to their bedroom opened and in stepped no other than Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows burst out–covering Elain’s naked body and shielding her from his brother’s eyes. It was a rare occurrence now that the shadows–the shadows appearing when not summoned–but here they were, protecting their master. Now, granted, Cassian’s seen Azriel fuck Elain plenty of times. Over the centuries, the lines blurred, and there was little by way of modesty between all of them. Cassian’d seen Elain with Azriel’s dick down her throat, and Azriel’d seen Nesta ride Cassian on more than one occasion. Still, Azriel didn’t necessarily need for his brother to watch Elain’s pretty asshole full of cock.

“What the fuck, Cass?” he bellowed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Cassian raised his hands defensively, looked around in confusion and then added, ‘sorry El.”

“Get the fuck out,” Azriel ordered, as he kept pumping into Elain smoothly. “Let me finish, have my wife come on my cock and then I’ll be out and talk to you.”

The door closed and Elain giggled, “do you think Cass saw?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you want him to watch?”

She considered, biting her lip and then said, “no, not him. I like it when others watch.”

Azriel laughed and pumped harder, “Dirty fucking girl with an ass full of cock. You like being watched, don’t you?”

She looked at him playfully and nodded. Then she reached for his wing and pulled his claw to her mouth.

“I need to suck something while you are destroying my ass.”

He laughed again, and proceeded with the anal destruction.

Azriel lifted his axe high in the air and then brought it down on the wood with an audible thud. The reverberations in his arms from the force of his hit were intense, but he loved the jolt and the pain that his arms felt when he struck the log again and again, trying to split it.

“Do you even need firewood?” Cassian asked logically, watching Azriel heave and raise the axe again, before bridging it down with a loud thud. The wide round log cracked at last. Azriel began striking the spot with almost clinical precision, which impressed Cassian to no end. The edge of the axe hit the same spot over and over again. Azriel’s massive arms bulged, the muscles and tendons shifting beneath the inked skin as he laboured over the stump with incredible focus and determination.

“Ellie likes it,” Azriel explained simply and glanced towards the garden.

There wasn’t a garden here before Elain arrived and put her stamp on the palace. Now, one side of the grounds was a tangle of rose bushes, fat hydrangeas, azaleas, dahlias and flowers that Cassian didn’t know the names of. The garden was vast, overgrown, but blooming. It felt as if someone had loved it, but forgot to tend to it on a regular basis.

Elain was wearing her floppy hat and a linen dress, as she pulled weeds out of the ground. Her thin arms were tanned and muscular, her skirt hiked up into a sash, exposing her long slender legs. Azriel watched her for a long while, mesmerised. At last, Cassian cleared his throat, reminding Azriel of his presence.

“Ellie and I like to light a fire and cook dinner together,” Azriel explained then. “We eat, watch the sunset, and then sit by the fire.”

Cassian sighed and said, “that’s nice, Az. Sounds really nice.”

Azriel raised his axe again and whacked the split log.

“So, why are you here and why did you interrupt me fucking my wife in the ass?”

Cassian rolled his eyes and rubbed his hand over his jaw.

“Thanks for the visual, Az,” he grumbled.

“Your fault for interrupting us,” Azriel shrugged.

“So you fuck her then?”

“Every day,” Azriel said proudly. “Yesterday I had to punish her because she was not careful on our last mission.”

“She still lets you do all that crazy shit you do? With slapping and ropes and shadow dicks and claw fucking?”

“She likes it just as much as I do. She loves getting the claws in her.”

Cassian's never ventured into the claw territory. He knew it was possible. Had heard about it. Then, one day, he saw it. Elain, riding Azriel outside by the pool, his cock in her cunt and one of his claws in her ass. Apparently, it was possible. But one needed to be a sexual deviant like Azriel to propose that to his woman, and that woman needed to agree to allow Azriel to jam a claw up her arse. Only one woman was capable of that much trust and devotion, and possessed such a wicked sexual need for extreme experimentation–and that was Elain. Nesta would probably incinerate Cassian for even mentioning it. Not that he wasn’t curious, but he wasn’t going to venture there.

“Speaking of missions,” he said gently.

“What now? Rhys sent you, didn’t he?” Azriel frowned.

“He is worried that you’d be going alone. You shouldn't. You,”

“Does he need a reminder that I don’t work for him?” Azriel asked coldly. “I work with him. I associate. I don’t serve him. So while I appreciate his unnecessary protectiveness, I will make these decisions myself.”

“Brother, I am just here as an advisor,” Cassian told him mildly.

“Yes. And I was and am, as far as I remember, a former spymaster and a seven-syphon Illyrian warrior. So perhaps I can take care of myself?”

“No one is arguing that,” Cassian assured him. “But we just want to make sure that you don’t get yourself in a difficult position. After everything’s happened, I think it’s,”

“Cass. I am fine. Yes, I’ve taken some risks before, but now I am much more calm. I know what I am doing.”

Azriel turned his head and peered towards the garden.

Morning sun was beating down and it was warm. The mountains around them glistened with perfectly white snowcaps, but there, it was like late spring.

Cassian knew that spring was Elain’s favourite season–she loved it when everything bloomed and the air smelled of peonies and jasmine. Cherry blossoms hung heavily on the branches, bursting with colour. Long ago, before she married Azriel, some in Prythian even whispered that she might be a good match for High Lord Tamlin, so she could reside in Spring Court. What they didn’t understand was that Elain loved the process of growing. She loved getting her hands dirty and cut, and loved nurturing her flowers and plants. She didn’t need Spring. She needed Azriel and her gardens–the Garden of White in Hewn City, where she planted and cultivated white flowers exclusively, and this place. Now, her garden where it was suspended in perpetual bloom, just like Elain liked it.

“There is a traitor in the midst of your Court,” Azriel said calmly, waving his hand at Elain. “Someone you’ve trusted for a long time. But he’s been selling the information to the gangs,” he continued.

Cassian gawked at him.

It was the first time he’s heard of any traitor.

“What? Who?!”

Azriel thrust his axe into the log and went to get himself a glass of water. He chugged it in one go, and then grabbed a cloth to wipe the sweat from his neck.

“That’s why it would be better if you and Rhys and the Night Court aren’t privy to it,” he said at last. That’s why I want to go with my crew, the girls and Ellie and keep it quiet. If we just disappear him, no one will know.”

“Who is it though?” Cassian insisted, pressing his elbows to his knees and leaning forward.

Fucking Azriel–so like him to just spring something on them. So casual too! ‘Oh, by the way, you have a traitor!’

Once he was Chosen by the Power, Azriel took Elain and fell away from the Inner Circle and Night Court as much as possible. There was a certain level of power struggle between him and Rhys, with Cassian stuck in the middle. Rhys had more cardinal magic and more land in his Court, but Azriel had more magical power, all sorts of magical items of immense capabilities and objects of untold powers, the Darkbringers, the beasts and Elain, the Cauldron-Made Seer and Lifegiver. Out of loyalty and love for Rhys and Feyre, Azriel didn’t just leave them hanging and maintained his vast network of spies just like always. Any important information that was discovered, he shared with Rhys and Feyre, and when they needed him to, he assisted them to the best of his abilities. Azriel’s only condition–Elain was off limits to the Night Court and its rulers. He forbade Rhysand from ever approaching Elain in regards to her powers or asking her to do favours for them. Elain was the Princess of Hewn City, Azriel’s wife, and her loyalty and her abilities, if she chose to use them, belonged to her own Court and not to her brother-in-law. It was a point of contention for centuries between Azriel and Rhysand, but Azriel never budged.

“Do you want breakfast?” Azriel offered.

“I want to know who the traitor is!” Cassian exclaimed impatiently. “Quit fucking around!”

“So temperamental,” Azriel chuckled and then grabbed his shirt and said. “Come, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Eris. Fucking Eris Vanserra, the High Lord of Autumn.

Traitor.

Was Cassian shocked? He didn’t want to admit it, but he was.

After all these centuries and seemingly good relations between Night and Autumn, Eris went rogue.

And Lucien.

For some reason, Cassian was less surprised about Lucien.

Lucien Vanserra, the heir to Day Court, but still only the consort to a (formerly) human Queen.

Lucien lived a good life–he was powerful, influential and popular.

“He never forgave Elain for severing the bond with him,” Azriel said simply, piling a heap of scrambled eggs and a few slices of ham onto a plate.

“But he didn’t even want her!” Cassian exclaimed, throwing his hands.

“No,” Azriel agreed, as he filled his plate as well, “but his pride took a hit. He could’ve had a Cauldron Made mate, who was basically gifted to him because the Cauldron thought that I was dying. And yet, even with the bond, he couldn’t convince her to love him.

“She chose me, without a bond, over her mate. That must have been a mindfuck.”

Cassian sipped his tea and considered.

Even though it’s been hundreds of years, did Lucien still feel scorned? Perhaps. Lucien was a High Fae after all, a High Lord’s son and he was prideful, haughty and expected others to treat him according to his station. Especially after he found out about his paternity and went from being the seventh son of a High Lord to an Heir of a Court.

And then there was Elain Archeron. Barely into her twenties, a very newly minted Fae, who didn’t understand the ramifications of her actions and what they might lead to if she rejected the bond. Or maybe she did know, but didn’t care? Whatever it was, Elain chose a lesser Fae, an Illyrian, over her mate. Love trumped the mate bond.

“So what’s their angle exactly?”

“Fairly rudimentary, it seems,” Azriel said, buttering his toast. “Eris hires gangs to raid the humans. They attack, rape, pillage, burn villages. Lucien then sweeps in as a benevolent king-consort and offers them assistance and promises of retribution. Sometimes, it’s Eris who sweeps in–the benevolent Fae High Lord, who cares about the humans. The same gangs burn the ships of aid that the Fae send humans. Only them empty them beforehand, and then Eris gets the goods, loads them on his ships and sends them as if his own,”

“Mother’s tits,” Cassian breathed.

“Yeah,” Azriel sighed.

“What’s the endgame?”

“I think Lucien wants to dispose of Vassa and become King. He can’t do that without Eris’s help. But, if he becomes King, then Eris also gets a foothold in the Human Lands.

“My guess is that Lucien is tired of playing second fiddle in life. Helion is alive and well, and Lucien won’t be becoming High Lord of Day any time soon. He isn’t a king even–he is a Queen’s husband. That probably doesn’t do many favours to his ego–a Fae prince needing to walk behind Vassa all his life, unable to make any decisions, having no political clout. It’s frustrating.”

Cassian was shaking his head, his breakfast unfinished on his plate.

“What a fucking mess. Two of them too. That’s going to break Feyre and Rhys. They really thought that they could trust those two.”

“They shouldn’t have,” Azriel said coldly.

His dislike for Lucien never subsided.

Lucien had a claim on Elain, and that was a no-no for Azriel. No, fucking, no. Azriel was always extremely possessive of Elain, and in a way that was borderline psychotic. He wasn’t jealous–not at all. But he loved Elain in a way that a normal person would’ve found frightening.

Cassian readjusted his topknot and asked, “So, now what? Is that why you didn’t want Rhys to know?”

Azriel shrugged indifferently. “I don’t care if Rhys knows. It’s his headache. I am not getting involved in this drama with Eris. But I will take care of the mercenaries and the gangs. That’s why I didn’t want to take anyone other than the people who work with me and for me. I trust them.”

Cassian rose from his chair and said, “I got to go. I have to tell Rhys.”

Azriel waved his hand and offered a parting nod.

“You sure you will manage?” Cassian confirmed.

Azriel nodded, “don’t worry, Cass. Ellie and I will manage. The twins will come and some of my men.”

Cassian stopped by the door and queried, “You and El–you two good?”

“Really good. Yes, we are,” Azriel assured him.

“Well, that’s good. You say ‘hello’ to her from me, alright?”

“Of course. And she says ‘hello’ to you too.”

Cassian tied his jacket and asked, “are you planning on attending Rhys’s reception for the Vallahan ambassadors?”

Azriel scrubbed his chin and explained, “truth be told, don’t think Rhys wants me there,”

“Nonsense!” Cassian argued. “Feyre would want you there. Me, Nes. We want you to attend.”

“I’ll see. Will depend on whether we’ll be done with our mission.”

The man did not know what was happening and where he was. His eyes were covered, his ears too, and there was a gag in his mouth. All he knew was that he was being dragged somewhere, by two strong, burly males. There were muffled grunts and whispers all around him, sounds of other people shuffling, being pushed, falling, and cries of despair.

He was shaking, hoping he wouldn’t piss himself from fright. By the gods…how did it come to this? High Lord Eris promised protection! He promised complete anonymity. He promised that no one would ever find out.

He promised.

Did he break the promise or did someone find out, despite how hard they tried to hide their tracks? All the planning, all the careful preparation, all the discretion seemed to have been or nothing. They were found out. And now, they were about to pay the price.

He told his men–told them–not to touch the human women. But no. They didn’t listen. The last outposts that they had attacked, they had raped the women. Killed some, dragged others back to Prythian, to be sold on an underground market for human slaves. These slaves–female mostly–were a hot commodity. Numerous in numbers, there would never be a shortage of them. Kill one, buy another. The High Lords ‘officially’ looked the other way and did not condone or permit any abuse of humans. Fae and humans were ‘friends’ after all. What a load of crock. Fae and humans could never be equals. Fae were born to rule the humans and that was the end of the discussions. High Lord Eris, High Lord Tamlin, Lord Lucien and many others understood that. High Lords Helion, Kallias and Thesan were ‘neutral’. They never expressed their opinions on the matter, and played the part of mediators and allies to the humans. High Lord Tarquin was the ‘revolutionary’ (silly pup), who didn’t seem to understand that nothing would ever change in Prythian. That left High Lord Rhysand, and High Prince Azriel both of whom were married to former humans. Their positions were clear–humans were off limits.

And now he wished he’d listened. But the money was so good. Impossible to pass up.

Gods, where the hel were they??

The cruel and stealthy wraith twins were the ones to overpower him. How they did it, he still couldn’t figure out. But they did. It only took a few seconds and it was obvious that whoever trained them was an expert in extraction and ambush.

Suddenly, the hood was pulled off his head and he squinted in the sunlight.

He had no idea where they were. In the forest, but also, in the middle of an ancient, crumbling stone amphitheatre. What shocked him immediately was the people in the stands–mostly males, all Fae. They were talking loudly, making bets, coins being exchanged quickly, arms waving.

Was he going to fight?

Well, if he was going to fight, he stood a chance. He was 314 years old and most of his life, he’s been a fighter. Taking him down would not be easy.

He dared to exhale, a glimmer of hope worming into his chest.

Fuck. He might yet survive this.

Whatever ‘this’ was?

“Gentlefae, place your bets!” someone announced loudly. “You have another minute! Then we’ll greet our lady with a minute of standing silence!”

“Lady”? What lady?

The bets were placed in the din of noise and shoving and yelling, and he looked around, seeing his comrades chained to the iron rings which studded the walls of the arena.

Suddenly, a hush fell upon the crowd.

All the males lined along the seats and stood up.

They were like soldiers awaiting their general. Stiff and quiet and deferential.

He didn't know where the winged male came from, but there he was, strolling into the ring.

He was massive. Absolutely one beast of a man, his dark, leathery wings making him even taller. He walked slowly, his movements surprisingly graceful and almost delicate, considering his immense size and the aura of violence and savagery that he emanated. He was shirtless, his body stacked with muscles and decorated with tattoos and a multitude of scars. His hands and forearms were covered in a network of burn scars which looked absolutely brutal.

By the Mother!

No.

It was him.

High Prince Azriel someone cried out loudly and the men raised their fists in greeting.

Oh shit.

It was him, wasn’t it. Truly.

Lady Elain Archeron, High Princess of Night Court and the Court of Nightmares

What?

She was here too?

The men stood unmoving, watching the Prince.

“You’ve been found,” the Prince said clearly, his voice deep and dark and menacing. “You’ve been judged. And you’ve been found guilty.”

“On what charges?!”

The Prince cocked his brow and chuckled.

“Where to start? You’ve violated the peace treaty with the humans. You’ve taken bribes. You’ve committed murder, theft and rape. You’ve sold women into slavery. You’ve murdered children. You’ve sacked and burned seven villages and three towns. The financial devastation that you and your gang have caused is immeasurable. Shall I continue?”

“Who are you to judge me?”

“Oh, Shand, I am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.”

The Prince shrugged irreverently and then said, “but enough talking. My Princess demands a show, and is craving justice. And I shall give it to her.”

His Princess? What the fuck?

Shand looked around, feeling lost.

“Well, I demand a proper arrest, a trial and a real judge!” he tried.

“Believe me, sometimes, we don’t get what we want,” Azriel said softly. “Princess!!” he bellowed then, “shall we commence?!”

His men roared and banged their weapons and feet, eager for the show.

Azriel turned on his heels and said,

“You have three choices. You can fight me. With a weapon of your choice, if you wish. You can cut off your arms. Or you can cut off your penis.”

“What the fuck?” Shand gasped, stumbling over the uneven surface beneath his feet.

Azriel shrugged that horrific shrug again.

“Your choice. Fight. Or unman yourself, so you won’t be able to hurt another female or child. Or cut off your arms, so you won’t be able to kill or maim again.”

“No!”

“A fight then?” Azriel asked nonchalantly.

Panicking, Shand looked around and saw a table which was lined with all kinds of crude weapons. Pipes, and saws, hammers, and axes. Sprinting toward the table, Shand grabbed the first thing he could, which was a hammer, and swung it towards the Prince.

And the fight commenced.

He should’ve cut off his arms.

Hel, he should’ve cut off his cock.

But he didn’t.

Instead, now he was gurgling in the pool of his own blood, watching in sheer horror the Prince’s massive fist ramming through his chest, breaking the breast bone. And then, the last thing that he was aware of in his life was his lung begging ripped out of his chest cavity and squeezed like a sponge.

“Next!” Azriel announced, his hands bloodied up to his forearms, a savage smile on his lips.

The next male attempted to put up a decent fight, which lasted about seven minutes. Azriel liked indulging him. Up until the moment he ripped his head with his bare hands right off his shoulders.

It was chaos after that.

Some of the males rushed for the knives–not to fight, but to mutilate themselves.

Arms and penises were soon littering the ground, and males, collapsed over their own bodies were screaming and crying.

“That’s what happens when you touch human women,” Azriel said thoughtfully, looking at the carnage around him.

Six more males opted for a fight and Azriel gladly took them on. One fought poorly, and annoyed the Prince with his lack of skills, so he ended with a swiftly broken neck. Another had his throat slashed.

Azriel disembowelled one of the men with his dagger, the guts spilling with a wet thud onto the ground.

And so it went.

His men jumped into the ring as well–his most trusted soldier, eager for blood.

He stepped back and pressed against the wall. He was hot and sweat was rolling down his abdomen and his chest. He wiped his forehead, and then opened his arm.

Elain slipped into his embrace, unbothered by the blood and the gore.

She smiled at him lovingly and proudly.

“How did we do, treasure?” he asked.

Her eyes glinted with malicious light and she reached up and kissed him.

“Perfect, my love. Absolutely perfect. You’ve avenged them well.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you too, Elain.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elain #A Ballad Of Sorrow and Love #Elriel fanfic #Elriel canon #Elriel fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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oneofthosebells · 8 hours

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Sunday Snippet

From the next chapter of Incognito Mode, which I'd hoped to get out today but it still needs some editing and my brain's hit a wall - might be up tomorrow, brain fog co-operating!

“Nice,” is Wille’s only comment as they stand in the living room together, but it doesn’t sound sarcastic. He’s looking round with interest, his eyes lighting on Simon’s keyboard and a pile of papers next to it, then flitting over the posters on the walls. Simon is suddenly glad that he’d taken the time to redecorate and scrub any trace of Marcus from the flat. Well, the crockery in the cupboard is all his, and he’d bought the TV originally too, but Wille doesn’t need to know any of that. Everything else is all Simon though, and there’s a nervousness flitting at the pit of his stomach about letting Wille see it.

“Cosy, anyway,” says Simon with his own touch of sarcasm after the silence has lingered a little too long. But Wille shakes his head.

“I love it.” He turns back to Simon, smiling softly; and there’s that warm glow in Simon’s chest again. “I can picture you here.”

He wanders over to the keyboard, Simon trailing behind, and runs his fingers over it before picking out a simple melody.

“You play?” Simon asks with surprise, wondering why he doesn’t know this.

“Yeah. I had piano and cello lessons for years before they finally let me give it up,” he says casually, as though this is a completely normal statement. Simon, who’d scrimped and saved from summer jobs for years to afford private tuition so he could reach the standard he’d needed to get into his preferred music degree, doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure if he wants to smack Wille around the head for his obliviousness or hug him tight and never let go as though that could make up for any of the things he’s heard today.

He settles for moving closer, his shoulder pressed against Wille’s as he tries – and fails – to copy the same brief melody Wille had played. Wille laughs before taking Simon’s hand in his own to move it to the right starting note. They play the tune again together, Simon very conscious of the goosebumps on the back of his arms, then Simon takes over with both hands, modulating the chord before transitioning to one of his own pieces, playing just a few bars.

“I don’t know that one. Did you write it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s lovely. Would you play one of your songs for me?” Wille asks lightly, hooking his chin over Simon’s shoulder.

“Hmm. Maybe.” He turns his head so that he’s looking in Wille’s eyes, noses almost touching, and murmurs, “Later.”

“Later?”

“Later."

#young royals #yr fanfic #my fanfiction #sunday snippet

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cassiopeiasara · 2 days

Note

"Not exactly what I expected." for Bobby and Athena?

Early dating days:

Bobby surveyed her messy living room with raised eyebrows. “This is not exactly what I expected.”

Athena squinted up at him with her head tilted. “What did you expect when I told you Harry’s hamster got loose?”

Bobby’s cheeks reddened as he looked down as his feet. “Well I thought it was code for,” he paused and shook his head as he gestured around them, “anyway let’s get to it.”

Athena put her hands on hips. “Wait, Bobby, what did you think it was code for?”

Bobby crouched behind Athena’s couch. “Got him.”

He stood up with the wiggling furball between his hands.

Athena grabbed the little creature’s cage and opened it before she secured the latch. “Thank you. I at least owe you some coffee or something.”

Bobby smiled, a soft one that always made Athena’s heart ache with tenderness. “It’s late.”

He turned to go but Athena stopped him with a hand on his arm. She gave it a small squeeze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Bobby looked at a point past her shoulder. “Uh, what question was that again?”

Athena smiled. A flustered Bobby was one of her favorite versions of this man who was quickly becoming so important to her. “What did you think my call was code for?”

Bobby shrugged. “Well, you know someone calls you late at night urgent with the need to help with some emergency but it sounds a little odd and you think it might just be, well, suggesting something else.”

Athena let out a soft chuckle. “Hence your surprise when the hamster was real?”

“Yeah, but I’m glad we caught him and I can go then—“

“Or you could stay,” offered Athena. They tended to default to Bobby’s place but the children were with Michael and he wouldn’t be by till mid morning for Harry’s class pet.

Bobby’s eyes widened. “You sure?”

Athena slowly took his hand. “Yeah, I think there’s a lightbulb out in my bedroom that could use a fix.”

She tried not to laugh as Bobby almost tripped while following her into the bedroom.

#bathena #athena x bobby #bobby nash #athena grant #my fanfiction #anonymous

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theonlymom · 1 day

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"Stunning View" Chapter 2 Teaser

Smell that?

I just figured, "what the hell?" Why not continue this little tradition I have created for myself?

(Since I'm still polishing up my editing, these are subject to change, but I'll try to choose excerpts I'm 99% sure will remain intact.)

“D’you smell that?”

Aziraphale concentrated and took a very long sniff. “Perhaps? I can't place it or describe it much, it's rather weak. Not unpleasant though, or I think I'd notice that. Did you use perfumed soap today?”

“Nah, then I would've smell…smaay-elll ..smelt? smelted? …”

“Smelled,” Aziraphale deadpanned.

“— Yeah, that one — it all along. This is new. But I have good smell senses. Snake, after all - so I can work it out.”

Crowley huffed through his nose repeatedly, drawing aromatic molecules in to be examined. With a lilt of curiosity which always led him to excitement, (excitement being the only logical thing for curiosity to lead to, after all), he ruminated, “Ooohh I know it, I know this one! It smells…it smells…really sweet and nice, like …well, like you, angel, you always smell really sweet and nice. But I already know what you smell like and this isn't that. So…..”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut in almost painful concentration.

“OH! I know! I have it!” Crowley jabbed a finger in Aziraphale's direction with great finality, and declared confidently, “It's…"

.......

(Some true teasers have to include "cliffhangers" of sorts, don't they?)

Bonus points to anyone who spots the movie quote reference in this excerpt! (Not the easter egg from two TV shows simultaneously, though that's fun too.)

Read chapter 1 first, OBviOuSLy:

#Stunning View #off my head on laudaddy #science always belongs in fanfiction #the resurrectionists #good omens minisode #laudaddy #good omens 1827 #good omens #good omens fanfic #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #aziraphale x crowley #my fanfiction #good omens after dark #writers of after dark #my posts #good omens fanart

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nobodys-hekatonchires · 16 hours

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I was writing a thing where the Autobots get Orion before Megatron does in TFP S2 but I need to make Orion far more feral

#transformers prime #orion pax #optimus prime #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 days

Text

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 4x1: A Tale of Two Sisters

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 447

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @brooke-to-broch

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma

@daxx04 @nickillian @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst

@kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes

@hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Other Chapters:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: Okay, I know that in canon, after this scene Emma went to talk to Regina, but I think that was stupid, so I changed it.

“So what precisely is this Netflix you mentioned?” Killian asked as they ambled through the woods, hands entwined, his thumb absently caressing hers.

She smiled to herself, there was nothing quite so entertaining as Killian trying to wrap his mind around the modern world–although to be fair, she likely provided him similar levels of entertainment during their Enchanted Forest adventure.

“It’s this…thing…on the TV,” she said, struggling to find words to describe it. “Let’s you watch movies and TV shows and stuff.”

“The moving pictures you and your lad are so fond of?” he asked.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said. “Anyway, I thought we could, you know, make some popcorn, pick a movie and just snuggle together on the couch. My parents have plans for a date night tonight, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

His smile was bright, joyful. “I’ll happily agree to those plans for the evening.”

“Any idea what kind of movie you might like?” she asked, realizing their choices were nearly unlimited, as he likely hadn’t seen ANY movies.

He shrugged. “Anything you pick is more than fine, Swan,” he said. “I’ll enjoy anything, as long as I’m with you.”

There were those butterflies in her stomach that had been dancing more and more ever since he found her in New York. He could be so incredibly romantic, and the thing was, these weren’t just lines. She knew that. He meant every word.

Last night had changed things. Last night, when she’d kissed him outside of Granny’s she’d acknowledged to herself and to him that she wanted this….whatever it was…between them. Things had become complicated when Marian had been revealed, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted a relationship with Killian.

So she’d asked him to be patient, and she knew he would be. He’d been endlessly patient with her ever since New York, and she’d finally come to not only realize but accept that he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. He chose her, with all her faults, with all her struggles, with all her walls. He wanted her and he was staying.

She only hoped that she could find a way to open up enough to let him know she felt the same.

Suddenly his grin turned wicked and he waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, “And might this ‘Netflix’ experience involve–what’s the phrase common in this realm?--making out?”She laughed, enjoying this–enjoying the flirting and the fun that came with dating. “If you play your cards right, pirate, it just might.”

#once upon a time fics #season 4 rewatch drabbles #a tale of two sisters #my fanfiction

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dizzyhslightlyvoided · 6 months

Text

Ramona: Yeah, uh, Roxie and I are both trans women.

Scott: Oh! So that's how she's one of your "evil ex boyfriends" despite being a girl!

Roxie, six inches from slicing him to bits depending on what he says next: Oh?

Scott, oblivious: Not "ex ... boyfriend", but "ex-boy ... friend!"

Roxie: ... y'know, that's the funniest way I've ever heard any "cis" person describe it.

Scott: Oh, really? -- Wait, why was "cis" in quotes?

Ramona, as innocently as she can manage: What do you mean in quotes?

Roxie, ditto: Yeah, this is a verbal conversation.

Scott: Uhhh, never mind.

The catgirl speedrunner from the High Council of Trans Women who was ready to clip through the wall and deck Ramona or Roxie in the face if either of them tried to violate the Trans Prime Directive, like with the Vegan Police: (retreats)

#shenanigans #scott pilgrim #ramona flowers #roxie richter #trans scott pilgrim #trans ramona flowers #trans roxie richter #trans stuff #microfiction #my stuff #my writing #my fanfiction #rhoda pilgrim

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tragedybunny · 9 months

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My Starry Sky - Astarion x F!Reader

Reader and Astarion have their first real argument and have to go through the aftermath.

“Come to bed early, spend some time with me?” Astarion whispered in your ear, crimson eyes still a bit watery.

There wasn’t any other answer to give. “Of course love,” you took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze, desperate to reassure him after what had happened earlier.

Going into this, you knew how he could be, how he lashed out sometimes, and why. That hadn’t made the first time he directed it at you after your mutual confession any easier. Maybe you had thought finally sharing your feelings would change that part of him, a selfish wish. “Damn it, are you just going to ignore me all day!” He snapped at you on the road, drawing questioning looks from your other companions.

“What?” You’d turned back to him, confusion knitting your brows together.

“You heard me.” Around you, you could sense everyone stepping away, wisely giving the two of you space, despite the fact that you were in a desolate, cursed place. The locale was probably not helping the tension.

“I’m not ignoring you!” The first mistake you made in that conversation, a sharp tone, fire returned.

“So I’m just imagining that you’ve hardly said two words to me for hours but have been more than happy to prattle on with everyone else.” He doubled down, and you could tell he wasn’t going to hear you. “Or you're lying.”

The accusation stung, did he think so little of you? Maybe this was all a mistake. And just like that, all the worries, the struggles, and this blasted place boiled over, and you were the one who lashed out. “This isn’t going to work, we’re not going to work, if you’re going to act like this!” The second mistake.

Eyes going wide, his posture changed in an instant. It was like he tried to make himself smaller, to get away from the pain of your words. “Please no, I’m sorry.” His voice shook and if he had any need of breathing he would have been gasping. “Gods, I’ve already ruined it.” Tears had started to spill down his cheeks.

With horror, you realized what you’d done. You’d threatened him into compliance, even if you had done so out of hurt. Were you no better than Cazador? In a rush, you threw your arms around him pulling him close, frantic to relieve the hurt you’d caused. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” After a second of hesitation, you felt his arms encircle you as he sniffled into your hair. "That was wrong of me."

It took a few moments of soft whispers and soothing until he would let you go. "Let's just forget this," you prompted and he readily agreed.

The hurtful words and accusations stuck with you though and you excused yourself as soon as dinner was over. Taking you by the hand, Astarion leads you to his tent, where you'd been sleeping most nights lately. With a soft gasp, you note small enchanted motes of light, dancing at the top of the tent. "Gale's work," you ask, staring at them with enchantment.

"I don't want to know what he's going to ask me in return," he chuckles but it’s strained and struggling.

“At least he’s not looking for magic to eat anymore.” With a quick brush of your lips against his cheek, you lower yourself down to the waiting nest of blankets the two of you spend your nights wrapped around each other in. Your hand still in his pulls him along with you.

An open bottle of wine and two glasses were waiting and you readily take one after he pours it. The two of you sit close enough that shoulders and thighs touch, a small comfort after the harshness of the day, and you lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you, you know that right?” Desperately, you want him to know it, even with all the complications, you sincerely love him.

“I know,” he finishes the glass of wine, and you note that he seems off still. “I love you too,” he pours another and drinks deeply. It was a rough day all around though, and you don’t want to push it.

Moments later you’re surprised as a pale, slender hand reaches down to tilt your chin up off his shoulder and kiss you. The taste of the wine lingers on his lips and you drink in the intimacy of it on your tongue. Your glass is taken from your grasp as the kiss deepens, lips parting invitingly to him. Hands wrap around your waist and your stomach flutters, you’ve missed being touched like this by him. A trail of soft bites is traced from your lips down your neck as his hands work their way under your shirt caressing the sensitive skin of your breasts. Reaching up, you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a soft moan escapes you. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs against your throat and your blood runs cold.

That isn’t him, he sounds a thousand miles away, and so empty. “I thought you weren’t ready for this.”

A thumb brushes over a nipple and his teeth dig into your flesh just hard enough to thrill. You swallow the cry you almost make, not wanting to encourage this. “I’ve been thinking it’s time to move on, let go of the past,” his voice tremors and you can tell he’s lying even as he tries to kiss you again.

“Astarion, stop,” gently you push him away and see the panic in his face. “Why are you doing this?”

He looks anywhere but right at you, eyes hazy and unfocused “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Astarion…”

He sighs heavily, breaking down at last. “Well, I thought after today, perhaps you were tiring of me, and that I should do something to win you back. And I can’t seem to get this right either.”

Pain slices through your chest and you feel as though your heart is being torn in two. Carefully, you put your hands on his cheeks. “Look at me,” it’s not a command, but a plea, and he finally brings his eyes to yours. “I love you, and I’m not going to tire of you. Understand?” Wordlessly he nods. “But you are never to try to buy me again with your body, you are worth so much more than that.” A loving kiss on his forehead punctuates your words and you hear him sniffling again.

“I can try, it is so hard to leave behind.” Arms open, you beckon him to you, and you both collapse into the waiting blankets. “It feels like the only thing I know, the only thing I’m good for. And I just want to keep you but I don’t know how else to do it sometimes.”

“Just love me, that’s all I need.” You yearn for nothing but to cover him in soft kisses and hold him forever, so he can know how loved he is, how cherished. “My Starry Sky.”

With his face buried in your neck, he murmurs softly, sounding like his true self again, “my Sunlight.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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lizthewriter · 4 months

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messy / regina george

PAIRING regina george x fem!reader

SUMMARY you and regina have been secretly hooking up for months, but she breaks up with you when you ask for more. after she gets hit by a bus, you fear for her life and whatever relationship you have left.

TAGS regina george x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, queer!, reneé rapp is so fine 😫😫, internalized homophobia, use of d-slur (lesbian slur)

QUOTE "half of all my exes regret me, / but none of them will ever forget me, / loving me gets really messy," - messy by reneé rapp

WRITTEN 1.13.2024

WORD COUNT 1.3K

A/N everytime reneé showed up on screen, i literally started banging my fists against my seat because she SERVED CUNT!!!! SHE WAS SO FINE!!!! literally after the movie, my best friend said to me: "i think you're just gay. i think you're a woman kisser. you might just have a little fruit in your cup."

slammed up against the wall, you felt regina's teeth clash furiously against yours. it was all hot passion - how your lips ran feverishly against hers as though you'd never get to feel her touch again, the way her hands ran up and down the sides of your body as though she needed to memorize the shape of you. days the two of you had gone without a moment to yourselves. days you had spent fantasizing about her pressing you up against the wall. it wasn't that you didn't want a normal relationship. it wasn't that you didn't want to kiss and hold hands and go on cute dates, but . . . that wasn't regina's style. she was closeted. heavily. actually, you weren't sure that she even understood that making out with girls was perhaps the most gay thing she could do, but you were willing to take what you were given. it was regina george, after all.

she pulled away from you by biting gently down on your lip, letting go when she could no longer stretch it any longer. "god, you're so hot," she whispered with a smirk, unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt. she reclaimed the control she had over your body, pressing her lips to your collarbone. your hands somehow found their way to her beautiful blond locks, scraping her scalp with the sharp edge of your nails. fantasy was nothing like reality. you had forgotten how good it felt, but how terrible it was all at once. as her warm breath tickled your skin, doubts that had been haunting you the past few days filled your mind slowly. was this healthy? didn't you deserve a healthy queer relationship, one that would be open and free and full of love, real love?

you wanted it all. you wanted the life you saw other queer girls have all around the world. going on cute picnic dates with homeade muffins and favorite books, sitting in the lap of your partner and doing their makeup, snuggling on the couch while watching a movie. holding hands while strolling the town center. it was hard to keep these thoughts back any longer. they overflowed.

you felt regina freeze as you gently pushed her away from where she had latched onto your upper chest. "can we, um, talk?" you ask. she could hear the tone in your voice. you knew she could. the way her eyes met yours made your stomach twist with discomfort.

"talk?" she asked in an incredulous tone, pulling away.

"it's just that, well, hear me out first. i like you. i really like you, a lot! that's why i really want us to be more than . . . making out in the custodian's closet after school and sneaking into your room while your mom's asleep," you explained nervously, stumbling over your words. finally able to meet her eyes, all hope was shattered as you felt her icy stare fixed upon your flushed face.

"i thought we made a deal when we started this. nothing more than this." she barked out a bitter laugh and fluffed out her hair. "what, did you think i was some kind of dyke or something? this was supposed to be fun. nice job stamping out that fire." she opened the door to the closet and waltzed out like nothing had happened. as if you didn't spend the entire last three months building a bond. heart: broken.

fear couldn't describe the emotion you felt driving to the hospital. it was gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, heart-tearingly excruciating. the rumors swirling around made your sick with worry. could she really be dead?

you weren't there when it happened. you had been driving home and then doing homework, hiding your phone away in a drawer somewhere to keep you distracted. it wasn't until hours later that you checked your notifications to realize she had been admitted to the er.

you rushed into the hospital, demanding to hear about her condition.

"are you immediate family?" the nurse at the desk asked. of course you lied. of course you said yes. she gave you the room number and told you that you could wait in the hall - the doctors were talking with her mother and you would need to wait until she woke up herself.

when you arrived at the door to her room, you were afraid to look inside. you weren't sure why. she was alive, yes. maybe you were afraid she was still upset with you. or worse, she had amnesia and forgot about you completely. dejected, you collapsed into the very comfortable plastic chair next to her room.

a few minutes later, the door opened and the doctors and mrs. george exited the room. you stood up suddenly, expectant in your expression.

"she's fine. she's going to heal 100%, she just needs to wear a corrective neck bracelet for several weeks," the doctors assured you. you could relax, just a little. they walked down the hall, chatting softly. mrs. george grinned at you - you had met before, of course, being introduced as one of regina'a friends.

"well, look who we have here! did you hear the news? they said my name on the evening," she told you excitedly, as though her daughter weren't stuck in the hospital from injuries resulting for being hit. by a bus. "head on in darling, those cute boys said she'd be awake soon." her eyes trailed down the hall to the two doctors that had revived regina. with a mini-wave and a "toodle-doo!" she was down the hall and full on flirting with men much younger than herself.

the doorknob to regina's room stared back at you with intimidation so strong you almost turned around and drove home. you reached out a closed your hand around the cool metal, slowly turning it until you were passing through the doorway and standing feet away from her bed. it didn't feel as scary as you thought, entering her room, staring over at her bed. she looked more at peace then you had ever seen her, she looked prettier than you had ever seen her. without her mean-girl face, she seemed a lot more genuine. a lot more like the regina that opened up to you that one chilly night in december.

you silently pulled a chair next to her bed and sat there, waiting for her to wake up. you didn't mind the wait, in a way. because she was sitting there next to you, and she was going to be okay.

when regina awoke, she seemed more confused than anything. her brows furrowed as she looked around the room, her eyes finally landing on you.

"hey," you said all of a sudden, sitting up straight. "you're okay, you're fine. you're . . . in the hospital."

"what are you doing here?" not snappy or bitter or angry. genuine.

"i heard you got hit by a bus," you said, biting your bottom lip anxiously. would she yell at you? tell you she never wanted to see you again? "i heard . . . i you died. i just had to see for myself, to make sure you were okay. i'm sorry, if you don't want me here, i'll -"

"don't leave!" she shouted, grabbing your hand. you stared down at the place where her skin met your hand. this wasn't happening. this couldn't be happening. her fingers intertwined with yours and you find her eyes to be pleading you. "please, just don't leave."

"regina -"

"just shut up and listen, okay?" she told you, sounding upset, but it didn't seem to be an emotion she was directing towards you. you sat back down and scooted your chair closer to her. "i want us to be something more too . . . okay? i like you, loser."

you narrowed your eyes at her. "is this regina george trying to be nice?" you asked dubiously.

"don't ruin the moment or i'm taking everything i said back."

"no," you said quickly, shaking your head with a smile. you placed your other hand on the one clasped in hers. "it's a good look on you. really."

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]#regina george x reader #regina george x you #mean girls 2024 #mean girls musical #mean girls #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #renee rapp #reneé rapp

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embracetheshipping · 10 days

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Commissioned this beautiful Zolu art from the lovely @crezz-star for a fanfic I'm working on. Isn't it gorgeous?!

Thank you so much! ❤️🥰❤️

#one piece #zolu #luzo #my fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #zoro #luffy #luffy x zoro #zoro x luffy #art commissions #one piece art #zolu art #artist commission #@crezz-star #do not repost

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television-overload · 3 days

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of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 25/34 - rosebud lips

[Read on AO3]

Below them, the baby starts to fuss, her eyes shut tight against the bright lights as she squirms in Scully’s arms.

“Shh, it’s alright,” she hushes, rocking her back and forth. Mulder’s hand drops from Scully’s arm to cup the baby’s back, rubbing soft comforting circles there. She’s so soft and warm, it’s like touching a warm loaf of bread. Not that he’s about to compare their newborn baby to something as silly as a loaf of bread minutes after meeting her, but that’s where his head’s at.

The baby quiets, settling into the crook of Scully’s arm again. She’s a natural, just like he’d known she’d be.

“Oh, you’re gonna love your mommy, hon,” he coos, marveling at the way she’d instantly calmed her.

“Mulder, look at her!” Scully says in awe, tugging down at the blanket so her face is fully visible for the first time. “She’s so perfect!” The image of their daughter blurs through another bout of tears, and Scully clutches her close. The baby sleeps peacefully, her tiny pink tongue peeking out through her little rosebud lips every so often.

“She’s beautiful,” Mulder says, laughing a little at his own inability to hold it together.

Scully looks up at him again, finally beginning to compose herself.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks.

There’s quite literally nothing in the entire world that he would like more, right now.

He reluctantly lets go of Scully, lifting his arms to accept the transfer of the baby. His hand cups the back of her downy-soft head and he pulls her oh so carefully into his chest, laying her in his arms. Something shifts inside him and falls into place.

It takes his breath away.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her tufts of wispy dark brown hair. “I’m gonna be your daddy.” Scully hangs on to him, her hands resting on his shoulder so she can keep staring at the precious little face now cradled in his arms. “She’s so small,” he chuckles, glancing at Scully for a second, then back to the baby as a few more tears escape. He’s blinking rapidly in an effort to be able to see her through the sheen of tears, but his efforts are proving fruitless. “I didn’t know anything could be so small.” Ten tiny little fingers. A button nose. Perfect fluttering eyelashes. Rosy red cheeks.

Scully leans her cheek against his bicep. “We have a daughter,” she says in awe, the full weight of those words hitting them for the first time. She rests her arm along Mulder’s, feeling the subtle rise and fall of the baby’s chest under her hand. “Oh, we love you so much already.”

It’s then that he turns to look down at her, and it hits him. He can’t hold back anymore. Not only does it not make sense, but he feels like he genuinely might spontaneously combust if he doesn’t do something.

And there’s only one thing to do, really.

He tilts his head down and pauses. She catches his movement out of the corner of her eye and shifts her gaze up to his, her eyes swimming with joy. He sees nothing to dissuade him.

Resolved, he adjusts his hold on the baby, then ducks his head and presses his lips gently to Scully’s for their second real kiss since their wedding. It’s different than the one they’d shared on New Year’s. Her lips are soft and salty with tears, but she kisses him back, eyes closed and relishing in the moment. When they break, he swallows thickly, feeling more fulfilled than he has in his entire life. He’s reluctant to open his eyes, wanting to live in that moment forever.

He loves her. He is absolutely, undeniably in love with Dana Scully, and by some miracle, she’s gone on this incredible journey with him. He still doesn’t know exactly where she stands. The plan never involved love of this kind. She didn’t sign up for this. But he hopes she might feel the same way—if not now, then someday. He wants to believe.

She’s smiling up at him when they part.

“Congratulations, Fox and Dana,” Brenda says, a beaming smile lighting up her face. “I’ll be back again before you're discharged to finalize some paperwork. Until then, you enjoy getting to know one another. I know you’ll do great.”

-.-.-

The silence in the wake of the ladies from the agency leaving is almost deafening. There’s still a ringing in his ears from when he’d kissed Scully, losing all sense of time in the few moments that their lips touched.

A tiny gurgle escapes the baby’s mouth, and it draws both of their attention back down to her. Mulder chuckles at the sight of her smacking her lips, rooting around for something to satisfy her most basic needs.

“She’s hungry,” he says, proud of himself for being able to recognize her signals already. He had worried that he wouldn’t know what he was doing, or how to take care of her, but it’s true what they say. Instincts kick in pretty quick, and your baby will tell you what they need if you know what to look for. “You want to feed her?” he asks Scully. He knows it would mean a lot to her, even if she can’t do it with milk from her own body.

She nods and gracefully takes the baby from him, settling into a rocking chair. He grabs a pillow from the bed and puts it under her arm for support, handing her a ready-made bottle of formula that one of the nurses had left for them. Then, he crouches down in front of her and just watches. The baby suckles greedily, pausing every so often like she’s falling asleep, before the motion picks back up.

“Mulder?” Scully says after a moment, her eyes not straying from the baby’s face.

“Yeah?”

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

His lips curl upward in a smile, and he places a hand on her knee.

“I’ve had some pretty brilliant ideas over the years, but I think you might be right.”

She’s going to be the best mom, he thinks. It’s such a relief that they were able to make this happen. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if this, too, had failed. She’s had enough heartbreak because of this—her infertility, Emily, the IVF… Then at some point, he’d realized his fate was tied up with hers, and if she was never destined to be a mother, then—well—he’d never be a father either.

To that, he had said, “Never give up on a miracle,” and this might be it. Scully’s God works in mysterious ways, after all.

“We don’t have a name for her,” Scully says, her voice tinged with just the slightest edge of sadness.

He had tried to bring it up to her once before, but he could tell Scully hadn’t been ready for that conversation yet. She may not be a superstitious person, but when it came to their prospective parenthood, it was like she was afraid they’d jinx it if they got too excited too soon.

But they can’t put it off any longer. As much as he likes the sound of “Baby Girl Mulder,” that can’t stay her name forever.

“Well, are there any you want to rule out?” he asks. “What about your mom or your sister?”

Scully shakes her head, gazing contemplatively at the baby’s face. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Missy… well, she was one of a kind, I don’t think it fits anyone else.”

“Mmm,” Mulder hums in agreement.

“As for my mom,” Scully continues, “she means so much to me. But I want her to have her own name, not just a copy of someone else’s.”

“It could always be a middle name,” Mulder suggests, and Scully blushes, focusing intently on keeping the bottle upright.

“I’ve– um…” she starts. “I’ve actually got a middle name in mind already.”

Mulder’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, do you?”

“Yes, but she needs a first name first.”

He breathes out through his nose, pursing his lips and nodding in thought.

“I’m assuming small woodland creatures are out?” he says, waiting for the expected eye roll from her, and he’s not disappointed. “Well, how about this? Something that starts with an ‘M’, that way you can honor both your sister and your mom, while still giving her something new.”

He sees her mull over the idea in her head, testing it out probably a hundred different ways in the span of a few seconds.

“I’ve always liked Madeline,” she says thoughtfully. “Maddie.”

“Maddie,” Mulder says, trying it out on his tongue.

He looks down at the baby in her arms, and tries to imagine that name belonging to her. Her mouth loses suction on the bottle for a second and she coos adorably while flailing her tongue around in search for the nipple. He takes that as a sign.

“I like it. I think it suits her.”

“Maddie,” Scully repeats.

“And the middle name?” Mulder asks, looking curious. She’s got him in suspense now. He has no idea what name might be on her mind.

She bites down on her lip, cocking her head as she observes the tiny infant. “I was thinking… Samantha.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes flashing up to hers in an instant. She’s serious, of course she is. This isn’t something she’d joke about, like he’d joked about the woodland creatures.

“Really?” he asks.

She nods. “It’s a beautiful name,” she says, forcing her eyes away from him shyly. “But—only if you like it. Only if you think your sister would approve.”

His sister… She’s been on his mind a lot lately, to no one’s surprise. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have known how to answer this question. What would his sister think of all this? He’d been in denial back then, unable to move on with his life and his search for the truth. They couldn’t have used her name, because it would mean admitting to himself what he’d denied all along. He hadn’t been ready to let her go.

But now, he does have an answer. He’s seen her. He thinks back to the way she’d smiled at him in the forest when he told her he was going to be a father—how thrilled she had been to know he's happy and in love.

He knows without a doubt that she’d be honored to have this child carry her name.

“I think she’d like that,” he says, his voice strained by a sudden influx of tears. “She’d like you, too.”

Scully gives a wobbly smile, then ducks her head to compose herself.

A minute passes before either of them is able to summon up the strength to form coherent language again. Mulder stands to his feet, settling his weight on the side table next to the rocking chair, not wanting to part from them even for the time it would take to pull up another chair.

“Madeline Samantha Scully,” he says aloud, looking down at the little girl who would carry that name.

“Not Scully,” his partner says quickly, glancing up at him seriously. “Mulder.”

For the second time in as many moments, he’s shell shocked by the words that she says.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. This was her dream originally, after all. He's just riding her coattails.

But she nods, her gaze unwavering. “There’s plenty of Scullys already,” she says. “The world needs more Mulders.”

Something blooms like a sunrise somewhere beneath his ribcage, and he suddenly wonders if it’s possible to die from the sheer force of the love you have stored up inside you.

“Scully… this is– this is your baby. You’re the one who’s wanted this for so long…”

“What I want is a Mulder,” she says, smiling sadly at his own self doubt. “I thought with the IVF, that was obvious.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thinks she’s saying. But then again, he recalls a time several years ago when she’d asked him about his genetic makeup.

Well, this child doesn’t share his DNA, nor Scully’s, but she’s theirs in all the ways that matter. Of course, he’ll be happy to give her his name.

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” he amends, marveling at how it sounds spoken aloud. It’s perfect. And it means more to him than Scully will ever know.

“You know what else starts with ‘M?’” Scully asks, in a lighter tone than before.

He senses she’s about to tease him, so he beats her to the punch. “Mothman?” he guesses sarcastically.

She smiles in fond exasperation. “You, Mulder.”

“Hmm,” he hums happily, then pokes her in the shoulder with his elbow. “You know what else starts with ‘S?’”

“Please don’t say Skunk Ape,” she says, drawing a genuine laugh out of him. Her quickness of wit is one of the things he loves most about her. He doesn’t need to give her the correct answer to his question. They both know his favorite word of all time is ‘Scully.’

“A lovely name for a lovely little girl,” he says, reaching down to play with her tiny socked feet. “Welcome to the world, Maddie.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

#how are we feeling?#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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superhaught · 27 days

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Sweetest Girl

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warning(s): slight reference to bad home life for reader?

Word Count: 1700, Part 1/?

Anonymous Asked: hello! I was wondering if I could request a regina x fem!reader fic where the the reader is known as the sweetest girl in school that everyone loves and regina is like “what’s so great about her” and just ends up falling in love with her

Enjoy! I intend to keep this one going :D

Regina knew that she wasn’t excelling in her chemistry course this year but she certainly didn’t think she was failing. But the teacher asked her to stay behind after class and gave her a solemn look as she explained that with Regina’s most recent test score (which was, admittedly, abysmal), her overall grade in the class would drop from barely passing to failing.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I’m a senior, it’s not like I can retake this class!” Regina griped, beginning to feel her stomach turn over in panic.

“Calm down, Miss George. You still have time to improve your grade. I’d recommend that you start working with a tutor. One of your classmates is available for such an arrangement as it turns out. She’s a very gifted student who is doing quite well in this class. She will likely tutor you not expecting anything at all in return. Are you willing to reach out to her?”

Regina crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Regina’s teacher formed a thin-lipped smile, “No, Miss George. You don’t.”

Regina took the slip of paper with the tutor’s contact info scribbled on it from the teacher and left the classroom for her locker in a huff.

Gretchen and Karen were waiting for her and immediately, Gretchen was hounding the blonde in concern, “is everything okay, Regina? What did the teacher want?”

Regina sighed, “I’m failing. I need a tutor, I guess.”

“Oh no!!!” Gretchen exclaimed.

Karen tapped into the conversation in a brief moment of focus and said, “don’t worry, Regina. I failed chemistry last year and had to be tutored, too.”

Regina rolled her eyes, “yes Karen, and you fucked your chemistry tutor instead of studying.”

Karen smiled, “oh yeah!”

Gretchen chimed in, “well, it’s going to be okay Regina. I bet you’ll do really well if someone can take their time to explain the concepts to you. Do you know who will tutor you?”

Regina nodded, “yeah, the teacher gave me this name. Someone in my class.” Regina passed the slip of paper to Gretchen.

When the small brunette read the name she made an excited sound, “oh! I know her, she’s the sweetest ever! You’ll like her Regina. She’s like, the nicest girl in the school.”

Regina narrowed her eyes and snatched the paper back, “why would I like the nicest girl in school? She sounds like a try-hard… What makes her so great?”

You were enjoying your lunch outside in the courtyard because it was a sunny day out. You scrolled through your phone and an email notification caught your eye so you opened it right away. The email read: Hey, I need a chemistry tutor. Teacher gave me your name. Can you? -Regina George

Oh, wow. You thought. Regina George wants me to tutor her?

You typed your response back and sent it off with a whoosh: Hi Regina, I’m happy to help! Do you want to meet to go over logistics today after school? I’ll be in the library if you want to swing by :) you can also feel free to text me if that’s easier

You sent Regina your phone number at the end of the email and in a few minutes, you got a text from, presumably, Regina. She said, “okay whatever” then another few seconds passed and she sent another text, “this is Regina, obviously.”

You responded, “haha yes, I figured!”

The little bubble that indicated she was typing popped up for a long moment and then disappeared. Then it popped back up and turned into a simple text, “k.”

Later that same day, you were sitting in the library doing your homework in the welcome peace and quiet. As you were working, you saw the blonde out of the corner of your eye.

Regina walked down the half staircase into the library and flipped her hair over her shoulder, her tote bag hung from the crook of her elbow, and her other hand held an iced latte notably not from the student-run cafe but instead from the Starbucks down the road from the school.

Regina approached your table and plopped her bag down on the floor and pulled out the chair across from you, “went to get a coffee before meeting you, hope you don’t mind. You didn’t want anything did you?”

You smiled and shook your head, “I don’t mind, and no thank you, I’m okay. I don’t drink coffee.”

Regina raised an eyebrow as she sat down, “you don’t drink coffee? How do you survive?”

You laugh lightly, “I guess I’ve never really needed it, and I prefer tea anyway.”

“Huh…” Regina didn’t seem satisfied with your answer but she dropped it, “so, do you just stay here to do homework after school?”

“Usually, yeah! I like to get as much done as I can before the library closes.”

“Why would you want to spend more time in this godforsaken school?”

You swallowed hard, “Oh, um… just ‘cause.”

“Kay…”

“So, do you want to talk about tutoring for chemistry?”

“Sure.”

“Okay great, do you know how often you want to meet or how many hours you want to do per week?”

“Christ, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay!” You assured her, “let’s just start with two hours a week for now. We can meet twice a week for one hour each and see if that feels good or if we need to work more or drop down to just an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Does this time work for you?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about another day in the week?” You asked.

Regina shrugged, “Thursdays?”

“Perfect!” You jotted down a note of the schedule in your planner.

“Do you tutor a lot?” Regina asked, then sipped her coffee.

“Not super often. When I do, it’s usually because a teacher recommended me.”

“Are you like a teachers pet or something?”

“I don’t know, I just like helping.”

Regina was silent for a moment. She was considering you. Examining you.

“So for chemis-“ you began.

“You know, it’s like weird how nice you are. Like, it’s off putting.”

“Oh… off putting?”

“Yeah, ya know. Like you don’t have to be nice all the time, or for free. Not everyone deserves kindness.”

“I mean, I disagree, but-“

“I can pay you, you know. For tutoring me, I mean.”

“You don’t have to, though. I don’t need you to.”

Regina scoffed, “you’re just gonna give me your time and energy for nothing?”

“Yes. I just want to help. It’s not transactional.”

“Oh, you sweet thing. Everything is transactional. Maybe you don’t want my money but you expect to get something out of this, don’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t.”

You were frustrated, “how do you know that? You don’t know me or what I’d do!”

“No one does anything for free. No one performs a service for free. No one is that nice.” Regina took another drink of her coffee.

“Are you trying to ruin this?”

Regina raised an eyebrow again but was quick to respond, “am I making you mad?”

“You’re frustrating me. I’m just trying to do a nice thing.”

“So you don’t want me to question your motives?”

“No! I mean…” you huffed angrily, you felt your cheeks grow increasingly red and hot, “there is no motive.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Look, do you want my help or not?”

“I want to be tutored. What I don’t want is to owe you anything.”

“You don’t owe me anything!”

Regina’s expression turned into the slightest smirk as she stood up from the table and grabbed her tote bag off the floor, “I’ll meet you again on Thursday to review this week’s course materials. When I see you again, I expect an answer about what exactly it is you hope to get out of doing this for me.”

With that, Regina turned and left the library, her hair swishing behind her.

You hadn’t noticed until then, but you had crumpled up a piece of paper in your hand during that conversation.

Thursday came around too soon for your liking. You had no answer for Regina’s demand, other than the truth, which you didn’t want to tell her.

At 4:05 pm sharp, Regina waltzed down the stairs into the library once again, tote bag in hand, removing her sunglasses in an elegant motion, a drink carrier from Starbucks with two drinks in her other hand.

You watched as Regina gracefully spit her chewing gum into a trash can on her way while walking up to your table.

She took one of the cups out of the drink carrier and set it down in front of you, “chai latte. Is that okay?”

Your jaw dropped open a bit as you stared stupidly at the drink and then back up at her, “y-yeah… that’s really nice, thank you.”

Regina didn’t sit down, “do you have an answer for me?”

You sighed, “you really won’t accept that I just want to help you out?”

Regina wordlessly shook her head.

You looked down at your hands and saw that they were shaking slightly, so you hid them under the table in your lap and kept your eyes averted from Regina as you whispered, “I do what I can to avoid spending time at home.”

Regina remained silent.

You looked back up at her. Her jaw was set and she had a severe expression. You watched her exhale a heavy breath through her nose, nostrils flaring, then she sat down across from you and dropped her bag onto the floor.

“Okay,” she said simply. “Let’s get started then.”

You spent the next hour reviewing that week's chemistry lessons with Regina.

When you decided to stop for that evening, Regina reached across the table and wrote something into your notebook.

“There, that’s my address. You don’t have to check in with me, or anything, you can just come over whenever you want to.”

“Regina, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. My mom loves having company to entertain, and there’s plenty of space in my room for you to be comfortable and do work.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘thank you?’”

You laughed and nodded, “thank you, Regina. Really.”

The blonde stood up and returned her notes to her bag, “‘course. See ya tomorrow in class.”

“See you then…”

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