#and watching her shift her pov for someone who hasn’t known her as long and shouldn’t mean as much for her

[thelilylav]

Oh to spend your life trying to change to yourself for your best friend only for her to get mad at you the second you finally make a decision for yourself…

[etherrealoblivion]

We Both Know

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer Reid is a virgin. Which he is totally fine with! The problem? He still hasn't told his girlfriend, Y/N, for fear of being teased. When he tells her, her reaction is ... surprising, to say the least.

A/N: Season two Spencer. Season two team. Prepare your self for all-knowing Gideon. Fulfilling this request. for @gublergirls​. “~” indicates a POV shift.

tags: Dom/sub, unprotected sex, choking, first time, Virgin!Spencer

RATING: EXPLICIT

Words: 7,014

MASTERLIST

~

Spencer Reid had never done anything remotely sexual before.

Okay, he’d kissed before. Once. In Highschool. On a dare. For half a second.

Okay … so he was pretty inexperienced. Which he didn’t mind at all! The one downside was he was now going steady with a wonderful, amazing girl who he was definitely falling head over heels for, and he had no idea how to tell her.

Luckily, they’d already been working together for about a year before they started dating, which made the shift to a relationship much easier. And them being together didn’t affect their job performance at all. For the most part…. So all Spencer had to do was avoid bringing up his … lack of experience, around her. Things were pretty good.

But things, in Spencer’s experience, had a way of turning sour.

“Hey, Spencer!” she found him standing outside of the elevator after work one Friday, standing up on her tiptoes and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Y/N! We’re at work!” he muttered, glancing around as a light blush formed on his cheeks.

“Nobody’s here! It’s fineeee,” she whined, pulling off his glasses and bringing him down into a real kiss.

Woah. She’d never kissed him like this before. They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks now - though their relationship felt much older— and she’d pretty much only given him chaste kisses with very little tongue. 

Not because she didn’t want to! In fact, she had said multiple times that she did, but Reid wanted to take things slow and he’d expressed this to her once they’d started dating. She had told him she respected his boundaries no matter what and she was ready to wait for as long as he needed.

Clearly, though, she was starting to get a little impatient.

“Let’s go home,” she said quietly, pulling him into the elevator, Spencer staying silent the whole way back to her apartment.

He was trying to think of another excuse that was reasonable. She had told him over and over again that they could take things as slowly as he needed. But still, there were scary thoughts lurking deep in his mind that kept telling him to hold back, to keep distance between them.

If he told her he was a … if he told her he’d never had sex before, surely she’d make fun of him. That’s what everyone always did. Would she be any different?

“Spencer?” she took his hand as they entered, very carefully leading him back to her bedroom. 

“I, um … I have to finish some paperwork for-”

“Spencer,” she sat on the bed, slowly removing her blouse, revealing a dark red brassiere with a beautiful lace pattern. He unconsciously licked his lips. “I know you wanted to take things slowly, but �� maybe we can try something … new tonight? If you want?”

She reached to the front of her bra where the clasp was, snapping it open and letting it fall down her shoulders, Spencer’s eyes feasting on her full breasts. 

His shock must have been very apparent on his face because she stood, slowly pulling down her work pants and moving to stand right in front of Spencer, her hands dancing down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this okay?” she asked, watching him carefully. 

His eyes were blown wide and his mouth slightly open. The words froze in his throat, terrified to say anything.

But he hadn’t said yes, so she stopped, waiting for him to answer.

“Spencer?”

“I … I can’t, Y/N.”

“Okay. Can I ask why? You don’t have to answer.”

He backed away, feeling idiotic and ashamed. She’d never want to be with him once she knew….

“I’m…. I’ve never….”

A look of realization glanced over her face, sending a spark of sadness through Spencer’s heart.

“I should go. I’ll see you at work.”

“What?!”

She had reached out, grabbing his arm and holding him back. Spencer sighed.

“You want to end things between us, I understand.”

Surprisingly, she chuckled very softly, pulling him down to sit with her on the bed, sliding her blouse back on.

“Spencer, why would you think I … Do you really think I’d want to end things just because of that?”

“Well… yeah,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing. You deserve someone who can actually make you feel good. I’ve never…. I can’t-I can’t do that.”

“Oh, honey,” she tilted his face up to hers, smiled warmly, and planted a tender kiss right on his lips.

What was she doing? Why wasn’t she laughing and kicking him out? 

“Spencer, I don’t care that you’ve never had sex before. I mean, I kind of thought maybe, anyway. You can tell me this kind of stuff, I’m not going to judge you. But, I understand if you aren’t ready. Spencer, I’d wait years for you. And don’t you dare think for a second that you don’t make me feel good!”

The neurons in his brain were firing at a million miles a minute. She really didn’t care? She still wanted to be with him?

“Really?”

“Yeah!” her smile could power every lamp in Washington D.C. “Plus, it’s not like there’s either having sex or not having sex. There’s a lot of in-betweens I’d be happy to work with, if you wanted to, of course.”

“What-um-what do you mean ‘in-betweens’?”

“Well, um … there’s-there’s oral-” Spencer jumped slightly at the word, bouncing the bed, “Or we can just touch each other? There’s so much between kissing and actual penetrative sex. Maybe, tonight, we can just kiss for a while, and if you wanna take things further, let me know, okay?”

Spencer nodded, following her as she pulled him further up the bed so they were lying side by side.

“Can I kiss you?”

He nodded his head and the moment he did, she surged forward, their lips meeting yet again.

God, she tasted so good. Spencer could do this for hours and hours and not go any further. She was intoxicating and he was addicted.

However, his hands moved under her blouse of their own accord, gently sliding up her stomach and hovering over her breast.

“Can I. . . ?”

“Yes,” she whispered in his ear, the sound sending a shock down his body to his groin and he moved his hand to cup her, moaning into her mouth at the feeling.

Unconsciously, his hips jolted forward, making contact with the top of her thigh. A low grunt left his mouth between them and he thrust again, gently grinding against her.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, baby,” she whispered, “Actually, just put … there,” she sighed as she adjusted so that his leg was between hers, now grinding up against her thin panties.

To Spencer’s surprise, and delight, she began moaning and writhing, pushing herself closer to him, throwing a leg around his hips and yanking him against her so their clothed crotches finally met. Simultaneously, they gasped, forming a steady pace of gently grinding against each other.

Emboldened by her sounds, Spencer dipped his head down to the crook of her neck and lightly kissed. At her insistence, he deepened the kisses, starting to suck on the skin, leaving little red patches behind as he went lower.

When he reached right where her stomach stopped, he looked up, asking for permission to continue. She simply nodded, lacing her fingers through his hair and pushing him lower. A plethora of curses and moans left her as he gently licked a stripe up over her panties, thighs tightening around his head.

“Fuck, Spencer,” she groaned, trying to pull him closer and closer with each swipe of his tongue. “Wait, you’ve gotta stop!”

He snapped away, terrified he’d done something wrong but was quickly met with her tongue meandering around his mouth, coaxing moans and gasps from him.

He gently pulled back and moved to the side of her.

“Did I hurt you?”

She laughed, not meanly, not teasingly, but warmly, like he’d said something endearing.

“No, baby. Actually, you made me feel really good. I, um, If you’d have kept going I’m not sure I would have been able to stop.”

“Oh… Well, um, we can-”

“Spencer,” she spoke sternly but with a wide smile on her face. “As much as I’d love to do some horrible, amazing things to you, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to do that tonight, okay?”

Clearly that was the right call, judging by the wave of relief that washed over him when she said it.

“Okay,” and they cuddled up to go to sleep, peacefully slipping into dreams of future possibilities.

~

Sure, you were surprised when he’d told you, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it coming. Countless times on cases, he’d freeze up at the word sex, or opt for a more clinical descriptor such as coitus or intercourse. At first, you assumed it was just to do with his innocent nature. It made sense; he wasn’t the type to go bragging about various conquests after a late night.

But, surely, he must’ve done something before.

I mean, he was twenty-four. The statistics spoke for themselves; for god’s sake, Spencer probably had them memorized. 

And even stranger, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. He’d been twelve when he’d graduated high-school. Went to college at fourteen. Probably never really had the opportunity to … befriend … people his own age.

Of course, he didn’t need to worry at all. You weren’t going to judge him one bit. In fact, you were ashamed to admit the prospect might have gotten you the tiniest bit excited. 

All the men you’d been with had done it before with countless women, including your very first time. The only serious boyfriend you’d had was the one you hadn’t gotten the chance to sleep with yet. Spencer.

The thing was, if he hadn’t told you, you probably wouldn’t have known. There wouldn’t be any reason to believe the way he’d touched you last weekend wasn’t the millionth time he’d done it. He had moved with such tenacity, such nimbleness. Though there was a sureness, a confidence that was missing from his movements. He wasn’t lying. He’d never had sex.

Actually, that wasn’t what he’d said. He said: I’ve never… and then trailed off. 

At work on Monday, as the elevator doors opened, you found yourself wondering to what extent that ‘never’ went.

“Hey, Y/L/N,” Morgan called from the bullpen, holding up a coffee and nodding his head. “It’s got your name on it.”

Thankful for the caffeine, you took the cup and gulped down as much as you could stand. The hot liquid went down your throat smoothly and produced a wonderful placebo effect of instant energy.

“Thanks, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Morgan slapped you on the back and said, “My woman! Who’s the lucky guy?”

Right. Neither you nor Spencer had told the team about the two of you yet. Hotch, of course, was aware, making sure you signed the necessary papers and had you assure him it wouldn’t affect your job performance were things to go south.

But the rest of the team was blissfully ignorant as to the true nature of your close relationship with the good doctor.

“It’s not like that, Morgan. A damn car alarm was going off until two a.m.”

At that moment, Reid walked in gulping down his own beverage, an extra one in his hand, dark circles under his own eyes which remained partially closed as he sat and yawned.

“Woah, looks like Pretty Boy, here, also had something keeping him up all night, though I’m hoping he got a little more action than a car alarm.”

Spencer and you exchanged a worried look. Because, in fact, he had also been kept up by a car alarm, the very same one you had. So he needed to think of another excuse before it became apparent that the two of you had very similar reasons for insomnia.

“No, sadly. Just a bit late because the bus was slow and the fatigue is due to noisy neighbors who were probably getting considerably more quote-unquote action than I. Prentiss,” he handed her the extra coffee cup which she took gratefully. “Got you a latte.”

Suddenly, you felt someone’s eye boring into you. Looking to your left, you saw Gideon looking at you strangely.

Shit. Reid didn’t take the bus anymore, a fact he’d let slip a couple of days ago, prompting lots of questions from Morgan. Surely the Gideon wouldn’t miss a detail like that, being the seasoned profile he was.

Luckily, J.J. was there to save the day.

“We’ve got a case.”

And you were off before Morgan could question why you were able to hear a car alarm from your seventh-floor apartment uptown.

~

Once in a while, the team got a pretty open and shut case. A rare unsub would come along who was sloppy and left enough clues to have you home within a couple of days.

This wasn’t one of those times.

Spencer, as always, was working hard on the geological profile, mapping out the areas where the unsub had been killing. Normally, the work would have come easy to him; he could work the case like he always did, narrowing it down to a science, a pattern, a formula.

Which would have been easy if not for the fact that his secret girlfriend and partner was wearing the lowest cut tanktop on the planet.

“Hey, can you hand me a pen?”

And as she spoke, he made the mistake of taking his eyes off the map, coming face to face with Y/N, her chest far too on display.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah,” he muttered, handing her the closest pen and gluing his eyes back down to the chart under the guise of inspecting the distance between crime scenes. 

“Spence, are you seeing this?”

He looked up again reluctantly, trying to prepare himself for the sight of her.

“Look at the victim’s shoes,” she pointed to the drawing board where the mangled corpses of the first four women.

“Red Adidas, converse all-stars, yellow sandals, and pink Gucci pumps. I don’t understand, those are all very different shoes.”

He turned to her and was surprised to find a shocked smile on her face.

“What?”

Smirking, she said, “Okay, you are explaining why you know so much about women’s shoes later but now,” she yanked the pictures of the shoes off of the board, placing them on the map and leaning over it, her cleavage so exposed Spencer could have looked straight down her top … if he was a creep, which he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t!

“Spence! Look at this. Each of the shoes matches the crime scenes, right?”

“Sure, pumps outside a nightclub, Adidas on a hiking trail—”

“Right! But the thing is, they don’t match! The woman found outside the club was wearing sandals. The woman found on the hiking trail had on, guess what—”

“—pumps.”

“He’s switching their shoes!”

He smiled brightly at her, happy they’d finally got a new lead. Sadly, the tight red tank top drew his eyes towards the curve of her breast far too enticingly. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what she’d look like splayed out underneath him, writhing like she had last weekend, begging him to fuck her. He wondered why that thought was so enticing. 

Oh god, she was looking at him.

“Nice solve, Doctor.”

He glanced away, warmth flooding his cheeks and busying himself with dialing Garcia’s number, quickly spouting off what they’d found and asking her to relay it to the team. When he turned back, Y/N was smirking at his, arms crossed, pressing her breasts together every so subtly.

“Hey, Spence?”

He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Yeah?”

She stepped so closely to him, their lips almost touching and Spencer silently thanked the local cops for the private room. When she spoke, her breath ghosted over his neck and her whispers in his ear were enough to cause an uncomfortable growth in his trousers.

“Hand me a pen?”

Motherfucker.

~

You weren’t an idiot, you knew the effect the tight red top would have on Spencer. What you hadn’t expected, though, was how much he’d let it show.

Every now and then, you’d wear a slightly more … form-fitting … outfit for the sole purpose of messing with him. He’d never really shown much indication that he noticed before…. Until now.

He had ogled you like a teenage boy seeing cleavage for the first time. You swore he licked his lips twice the usual amount.

Had something changed? Was your top too low cut? Oh god, had you gone too far? But he didn’t seem to mind the teasing before. Something had changed.

Oh.

Oh!

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Gideon shooting you a look from where he sat across from you. The plane was dead silent but for the soft whirring of the engine. Most of the team was asleep, Spencer included. You and Gideon were the only ones still awake.

“Sorry,” you muttered, attempting to hide your face in the book you’d been pretending to read.

Gideon didn’t respond but you could feel the intensity of his gaze from behind the hardcover. 

Setting your book down, you shot him a very accusing look, shrugging your shoulders.

“What?”

It was the most incriminating word you’d spoken to him in the past ten minutes. You could tell just from the way his eyes narrowed that he was putting two and two together, although you didn’t know what the twos were.

When he finally spoke, it was to say something you’d seen coming from a mile away, though that didn’t make it any less surprising.

“Reid doesn’t take the bus anymore.”

You glanced away, damning yourself even further.

“Oh, yeah, he mentioned that a few days ago. Why?”

For an FBI profiler, you were a shit liar. You knew it and Gideon knew you knew.

There was a very long silence where he simply analyzed you, not in an intrusive way, but as though he was a faraway observer who could read your smallest movements like they were words on a page. His whole birdwatching thing made so much more sense now that you were the one under his gaze.

Gideon was a man of little words, making the ones he chose to speak all the more impactful.

“He’s a gentle soul. Be careful.”

After a moment of floundering, the reality hit you that this wasn’t a man worth trying to fool. Gideon knew. And when Gideon knew, there was no trying to convince him otherwise.

~

The case had ended amicably, the unsub captured after the fifth casualty but before he could kill the sixth. There was a strange sense of relief, pride, and guilt coursing through Spencer on the way back home.

Falling asleep on the jet helped, but only temporarily. The moment he got home, he jumped in the shower, hoping to wash away any memory of the horrible murders he saw on a daily basis.

The water pressure at Y/N’s place was heavenly. He hoped she didn’t think he just stayed the night so often because of that. Although, her apartment was much nicer than his. She was so nice to let him crash whenever he wanted, and he was always happy to return the favor.

He wondered what other favors she’d return. About this same time last week, he had his head buried between her thighs, licking up her—

Fuck. Now he was hard and he couldn’t bring himself to masturbate in her shower. The irony was too much, even for him. So, like a very sexually repressed gentleman, he turned off the shower and dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out into her bedroom.

He really should have jerked off.

Because Y/N was sitting on the far side of the bed, letting her hair fall loose from the bun it had been in for the past few days, kicking off her shoes, and slowly pulling the tight red tank top up and off of her torso, revealing an equally red lace bralette.

He really should have jerked off.

She turned toward him, a smile lighting up her face at his appearance.

“Hey, Spencer. You okay? You look a little … red.” She narrowed her eyes and the word and puffed out her chest ever so slightly. A less experienced profiler may have missed it.

Finally realizing he hadn’t answered her, he grunted, “Yep. I’m okey-dokey. A hundred percent. I’m great!”

He cringed, knowing she’d pick up on the overcompensation.

She, being the awesome profiler and friend she was, did.

“C’mere,” she pat the space on the bed next to her, and Spencer was drawn to it like a magnet. He was a bit worried about the lack of clothes shared between them and the fact that he was sporting a rather persistent half-chub, well hidden under the fluffy white towel. Y/N had the best towels.

“What’s up, Spence?”

She was so perfect. Not perfect as in like, no flaws. But perfect as in, if her flaws could be personified, Spencer would hug and caress each and every one of them. To him, she was a treasure. She was perfectly imperfect.

“I’m okay, really, just … got a lot on my mind.”

She broke eye-contact at that, making Spencer start to think that she understood how he was feeling a lot better than he’d assumed.

“What about you? Are you … okay?”

“Yes. Yeah, I am. Just thinking about something Gideon … well, it wasn’t quite said, you know?”

Spencer chuckled. He knew all too well how a simple look from their mentor could speak volumes.

“Yeah, I know, but … it seems like there’s something more to it?”

She sighed, laying back and resting against the overstuffed pillows, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Uh oh. Usually, she only did that when she was really troubled.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something. I feel awful because I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear it and I don’t even know if it’s ready to be said. God knows how the hell I’ve waited this long. I’m sorry if this is too much but …”

He froze, heartbeat quickening, and preparing himself for the inevitable bad news-slash-heartbreak. Y/N sat up and stared at him intensely, sending a jolt through him.

“... I love you, Spencer.”

~

You weren’t sure exactly how he’d take it, but this is pretty much what you’d imagined.

“W-what?”

“Spencer….” you took his hand, lightly stroking the back of it and trying not to pull away at his tension. “I love you.”

Before you could go into a long rant about your feelings, his lips were on yours, followed soon by his body, pinning you down and kissing you with a passion you’d never felt from him before.

But he was off of you just as quick as he’d come, a terrified expression on his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You pulled him back towards you to shut him up, shoving your tongue in his mouth, impatiently deepening the kiss. This time, he didn’t hesitate to let his hands roam your body, lightly trailing up your sides causing you to gasp breathily.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you chuckled softly, “although,” you gently moved his hands down his bare torso, resting on the top of the towel, “you can if you want to.”

His eyes widened and you reached around your back to unclasp your bra, tossing it to the abyss next to the bed.

“W-what?”

“I saw the way you looked at me this week.”

Spencer twitched, breaking eye contact but staying close, unsure of what to say.

“How-how was I looking at you?”

His eyes were glazed over and you could feel his hardness against your thigh, pressing against you with only the towel between you.

“Like you wanted me,” you whispered into his ear, moving a hand under the towel and snaking around his length, slowly moving it back and forth. It was the first time you’d touched him there. At the movement, he dropped his head into the crook of your shoulder, cursing lightly.

You wanted to keep going so badly. You wanted to yank the towel off, flip him over and show him how you could make him feel. But you didn’t want to put any pressure whatsoever onto him. 

“Listen, Spencer, I meant what I said, okay? We never have to do anything you aren’t a hundred percent sure that you wanna do. We can stop right here if you want. But….” You gently shifted underneath him, slowly sliding your panties down your legs, moving Spencer’s hand to rest right above your entrance. There was a sharp intake of breath above you and you looked up to see his eyes the size of the moon.

“If you want to do this,” you leaned in, gently nibbling his earlobe and whispering as quietly as you could, “I need you to fuck me right now.”

~

All resolve left in Spencer left him the moment the words escaped her perfectly full lips. His hands flew to hers, lifting them up above her head and pinning them there, delighting in the grunt that left her as their mouths collided yet again. This time, however, Spencer did not pull back.

“Fuck, Spencer!” she yelped, hands running through his hair, pulling him tight against her. 

When he finally ran out of breath, he pulled back, leaving just enough space between them to say, “I want to. I’m-I’m ready.”

Her eyes shone with the love she’d declared moment earlier and Spencer’s heart swelled.  

“Are you sure?”

Of course she wanted to make sure. She was only the best girlfriend ever. And that’s why Spencer knew he wanted to share himself with her. Spencer wanted her to know how special she was to him. He wanted to feel how special he was to her.

“I’m sure.” Then, not sure what had come over him, he leaned into her ear, voice dropping an octave, and muttered, “I’m ready to fuck you.”

He could have sworn he heard her growl under her breath as she shot right back, “Do it then. Doctor.”

God, something about that title got to him like nothing else. The implied authority that came with it was just too delicious when it rolled off her tongue.

Emboldened by the honorary, he quickly kissed a trail down her chest to her stomach, lightly stroking his tongue everywhere but where she wanted it. 

“Mmf—Spencer…. Pleeease!”

His hand snapped over her mouth and she gasped at the sudden silence.

Okay, trust in the fact that Spencer had nooooo idea where what he said next came from.

“You want me to fuck you so bad? Huh? You think begging for it like a cheap fucking whore will make me wanna fuck you? You only get fucked when I say so. Understand me?”

Whatever she said was muffled under his hand which he kindly removed.

“What was that?”

“Yes,” she breathed, hands still where they had been pinned down, staying there only of her own accord. Beautiful. 

Reaching one hand up to her breast to lightly play with her nipple, the other went low, gently circling the area around her clit.

“Yes, what?” he said with the most authority in his tone that he could muster.

For a moment it seemed she wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but when it hit her, Spencer swore he saw her … you know … twitch.

“Yes, Sir,” she said with a filthy moan, finally moving her hands into his hair, pulling toward her center, begging him to do something— anything.

And, oh, boy did he oblige.

Now, Spencer had never really been anywhere near a woman’s … parts … before. But! He’d read up on this subject plenty in the recent weeks in preparation. In theory, he knew just what to do. In practice ….

“FUCK! Yes, Oh my goooddddd, Spencerrrrr!”

Well, he must’ve been doing something right.

~

Holy motherfucking jesus fucking fucking christ!

How the fuck was he doing this?

Jolts of pleasure burst through your body with each stroke of his tongue against your clit. Before you could enjoy the small circles he was rubbing there for too long, he slipped a finger inside of you, lightly curling it upward and thrusting in and out, searching for the spot to drive you wild.

Again, how the fuck was he doing this?

The only possible explanation was that he’s secretly had sex a million and ten times, becoming so aware of what exactly drove a woman crazy that he knew exactly how to move between your legs.

But this was Spencer. He didn’t lie to you. So all of … this … was coming naturally to him.

And soon, you’d be too. 

“Ah! Spencer, w-where is this c-coming from?”

His lips left you, pulling back just enough to give you a dazzling smile, his chin glistening gloriously.

“I’ve read over ten thousand pages of articles on pleasing a woman in the past week. Studies show that small circular motions of the tongue on the clitoris combined with one or two—”

“Spencer,” you panted, tightly grasping the wrist that was inches from your core, “I love you so much but if you don’t shut up right now—”

“—Hey, you asked.”

And he dove back down, continuing his ministrations, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of pure ecstasy. His tongue was flicking so quickly that you swore you saw stars. Every three or so seconds, a low moan left your throat, along with several curses and deep breaths.

The tension in your stomach was tightening, signifying the oncoming orgasm that was soon to come.

But all too quickly, and all too suddenly, Spencer withdrew, bringing his head back up to kiss you deeply, running his tongue along your lips and moaning onto your mouth as he continued to pump his fingers into you.

“You like this? You like feeling my fingers filling you up?”

“Yes,” you squeaked out, nails dragging down his back as you hoped and prayed he’d give you more. “Yes, please, Spencer….”

A sharp yank of your hair made your head fall back against the pillow, Spencer forcing you to meet his eyes. They were so dark. There was such desire behind them like you’d never seen from him before.

“Yes, what? Huh? Say it.”

You didn’t even need to think about what you were saying; the words sprang from your mouth with no effort at all, attempting any buzzwords that would set him off.

“I want you to fuck me, Spencer. I want to feel you fill me up and fuck me like I’m your little whore. I want you to hold me down while you do it, make me yours. I wanna be yours.”

He grunted, absentmindedly thrusting against your thigh as he listened to your words. When he spoke, you expected him to speak with the same commanding tone he’d been using, but were surprised to hear the familiar soft voice of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” he met your eyes, slightly frowning, “Is this okay? I mean … do you really want that?”

You didn’t even need to attempt to give him a reassuring smile; one came naturally.

“Of course, Spence. I want you. I’ll always want you.” Then, at his hesitation: “Do you want to take things slower? We can take a step back, just say the word.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, softly bringing his mind back to the present moment from where it had no doubt been drifting in waves of worry.

“I’m ready. I am ready. I want you,” he said, so gently, so sweetly that you knew with all of your being that he meant it.

More importantly, you know what else he meant. He wasn’t ready to say it yet, and you were fine with that. Besides, he probably knew that you knew. And if you both knew, why would he need to say it?

“Okay. Let’s go slow, okay?”

He nodded, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. It must’ve finally dawned on him that this was really happening.

“Now, I got tested a few weeks ago and everything came back negative. I’m on hormonal birth control and have been for a while now. There are condoms in the drawer there, but it’s totally up to you. I’m comfortable with whatever you are.”

You could see the gears in his mind turning. In true Spencer Reid fashion, he was weighing the risks and rewards. You expected him to want to use a condom, which was totally fine and made sense with how responsible he was. But you selfishly wanted to know what he felt like skin to skin inside of you.

Which is why it was such a surprise when he said—

“Let’s do it without.”

“Wait, really?”

He nodded, drawing small patterns on your stomach absentmindedly with one hand, the other stroking your hair.

“We’re both clean, little to no pregnancy risk. Plus I … I’d like to know how … um.”

“How it feels?” you offered.

He sighed, relieved to not have to say it.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Yes! Yes, Spencer. That’s kind of what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Really?”

You nodded this time, bringing him in for a soft kiss, keeping it rather chaste as you slowly slipped a hand down, guiding his member to your entrance, delighting in the gasp he let slip as you positioned him.

Slowly, keeping your mouth against his, you used his cock to gently spread you open, pressing the head just against your core. Above you, he was practically vibrating with the effort of holding back.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

Hooking your legs around his back, you withdrew your hand and clenched your legs, slowly pulling him into you.

Both of you moaned simultaneously at the feeling, Spencer’s face falling into an open expression of pure ecstasy.

“Oh my god,” he groaned once he was completely sheathed within you. The feeling of him, bare, inside of you was so much to comprehend. You could tell he was probably thinking the same thing. Actually, it looked like all his effort was going into staying still, waiting for you to get accustomed to his size.

You’d told him that you’d never been with someone who was nearly as … well-endowed as he. He must have really taken those words to heart.

“Can I-can I move now?” he muttered, clearly straining to stay still.

“Yes.”

The moment you said it, he pulled back, grunting in your ear at the feeling and slowly slid back in, gasping when he bottomed out.

“Oh god, Y/N….”

“Please, Spencer.” You yanked him back by the hair so he could see your eyes, see how seriously you meant what you were about to say. “Fuck me.”

One of the many things you loved about Spencer: he always listened to you. Sometimes, to a fault.

Because the instant you asked, he delivered, pounding into you so hard that stars exploded in your eyes with each thrust. His hands dug so hard into your legs you were sure they’d leave bruises. With each thrust, his hipbones made sharp contact with your inner thighs and you grunted at the pain.

He started to hesitate, clearly clocking the pained expression on your face.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No! Please— oh god— don’t fucking stop, Spencer.”

His hands were everywhere all at once, pulling your hair, grasping your neck, your chest, your legs. Every time he pulled out of you, he would hesitate for a half-second, just enough to make you think he was done, then he’d fuck back into you, driving you further up the bed with each thrust.

You would have been moaning louder if you weren’t so scared of missing a single word he was saying.

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good. It’s really-it’s really tight.”

Laughing breathily in his ear, you said, “Yeah, well. That happens when it’s been a while.” Small moans broke through as he increased pace, hands slipping around your waist, pulling you down roughly onto him with each thrust. Your hips bumped together roughly every time, connecting painfully, wonderfully.

“Oh yeah?” Spencer lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, driving much deeper now.  “Maybe your tight little cunt just isn’t used to getting fucked properly. Tell me, did the guys you were with before fuck you like this?”

Not able to bring yourself to speak, he pulled out completely and placed a solid hand around your throat, barely cutting off the circulation.

“Answer me, now!”

“No! Uhn— Spencer…. No, I’ve never been fucked like this. You’re so … mmm…. so big!”

He reentered you sharply at the last word, continuing the hard pounding only this time, moving a hand to roughly circle your clit unrelentingly.

“Fuck!”

His other hand was digging into your ass and his thrusts were starting to falter.

“Y/N … I’m not sure how much … how much longer I can …”

So lost in the pure bliss he was giving you, you barely were able to process what he’d said. When you did, you made sure to reassure him.

“Do it, come with me.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I-I lo—”

You placed a finger on his mouth, such a gentle gesture compared to the way he was pounding into you below that his eyes snapped open, locking with yours.

All you did was smile at him, an expression filled with as much energy as you could spare right now. A slight nod told him all he needed to know and he let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t need to say it right now. You knew and he knew, anyway.

He stroked you twice more before you burst, suddenly so overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside you as your insides clenched around him. He felt so much bigger as you came and after a few more thrusts, you felt a warm sensation fill you up as he yelped softly above you.

You both came down from the high so slowly, eyes locked and breathing heavily.

Surprisingly, he didn’t collapse onto you as had happened with so many other men. He was using all his remaining strength to stay perfectly still above you, staring into your eyes with a shocked expression on his face. 

Finally, he shook out of it, pupils contracting and gently pulling out, both of you groaning at the feeling.

Laying down next to you, it was a full minute before either of you spoke.

“Wow.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

You turned to him and he did the same, an adorable smile gracing his face.

“So? How was it? Everything you expected?”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes momentarily before answering.

“Words aren’t usually lost on me. I always seem to know what to say even in the most ineffable of times. That…. That was indescribable.”

You weren’t sure how much more praise you could take; your heart was already so full and the more he filled it, the more you felt like you were about to burst.

“You can say that again. I must say I’m rather ... surprised. No offense! I promise! But, well, for a virgin you sure as hell don’t fuck like one.”

He smiled doofily, placing a hand on your cheek and stroking the skin under your eye, his expression shifting to one of worry.

“You’re crying….”

You pulled away, quickly wiping your eyes.

“Sorry…. That… that happens sometimes.”

“Hey,” he pulled you back to him, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever apologize. It actually means that there are very strong feelings between us. In fact, it’s referred to as postcoital dysphoria and is normally caused by a particularly powerful orgasm. It’s a way of your body releasing the pent up feelings.”

Spencer Reid somehow found a way to be adorable while talking scientifically about orgasms and crying. What the hell did you do to deserve this man? You loved him so much and you’d spend the rest of your life proving it to him without hesitation. He didn’t even need to say it back.

But, as always, Spencer couldn’t seem to stop surprising you.

“Y/N … I love you.”

The tears came quicker now and soft sobs left your chest. He pulled you against him, you tucking your head under his chin and smiling at the speed his arms found their way around you.

“I know,” you muttered into his chest, feeling him smile above you.

“We just had sex, I told you I loved you, and you’re quoting Star Wars?”

You pulled back to beam up at him.

“Is that not the reason you love me?”

He smiled down at you, his nose scrunching up ever so slightly as it always did when he was happy.

“One of the many. Another very new one being added to the memory banks after tonight,” he grinned, tapping the side of his head.

“Oh yeah? You love me ‘cause of the way I let you fuck me like a little whore?” you muttered in a low voice, wiggling your eyebrows as his face fell.

“Y-yeah….” he was breathless again, watching you intently.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, you said the very thing you knew that he knew he wanted you to.

“Wanna do it again?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

And he climbed back on top of you, attaching his lips to yours and kissing you with a whole new passion.

Because he loved you and you loved him. And you both knew it. And that made it all worth it.

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid​ @brokenanxiety​ @thatsonezesty13​ @psychedellic-phase @beautifulalmondstudentduck @awhollandx @baddreamsandbrokenhearts @simp-for-mgg @swagdaddycam @gejatume @url-under-construction @radkryptonitepeanut @idontneedalltheseemotions @krymson182

[tennessoui]

when is anakin going to get his revenge and kiss divorced obi-wan back

yes hello this got out of hand and the best moment would be in the hypothetical part two but here is a KUWSK directly post kiss from Anakin's pov. For context, this snippet and this snippet probablllyyyy should be read?

(2.8k, ffs @ kit)

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself after he drops the kids off at school and starts making the drive back home. His hands are tight on the wheel. He’s been trying to think about something else--anything else ever since it happened, but his mind refuses to let go of that moment.

He’s replayed it so many times in the last hour and a half that it doesn’t even feel like an actual memory anymore, just a combination of sensations.

The chill of the almost winter morning that made the hair on his arms stick up. The tacky feeling in his mouth because he had slept a bit later than he had wanted to and didn’t have time to brush his teeth if he wanted to make breakfast before the kids and Obi-Wan left.

The woodsy-spiced smell of Obi-Wan’s cologne, stronger than normal. They’d been standing closer together than normal too, but it had been so early and Obi-Wan’s mind had obviously been miles away.

Anakin had been saying something stupid, something that didn’t mean anything, and Obi-Wan had replied and then Obi-Wan had leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth. His beard had felt so soft against Anakin’s skin, his lips even softer, if a bit chapped.

Had they been chapped? Now Anakin can’t remember, he’s turned this memory over in his head so often. It had been for less than a handful of seconds. A quick brush of lips, a taste of a life Anakin has dreamt about for well over a year now. And Obi-Wan had just turned and left, as if he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. As if he hadn’t just kissed Anakin on the porch for everyone to see.

Obi-Wan would never be that cruel on purpose. Perhaps to that one profesor who always tries to refute Obi-Wan’s papers, but not to Anakin.

Which means Obi-Wan hadn’t been thinking. He had been perhaps caught up in the domesticity of it all, of having someone wish him luck and see him off. And maybe Anakin has been doing something like that for the last two years, but there’s a person who did that for Obi-Wan for much longer. A person they ran into at the park just two days ago.

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself as he gets out of the car and unlocks the house. He tries desperately to keep the despair and jealousy out of his voice, but at least no one’s around. It’s not that he hates the woman or anything. Really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand her, but that’s a given.

He’d never have Obi-Wan’s heart and soul and throw it away. He’d never get tired of fighting with Obi-Wan if he was fighting to stay with the man. He’d never be able to run into him at a park and then just leave again as if seeing him stirred up nothing inside of him.

Seeing Obi-Wan always stirs things up inside of Anakin. It makes no sense that Satine, who had had Obi-Wan’s love--knew all those things about the man that Anakin did not and could not know as just his housemate--had just been satisfied with saying hello and then just as quickly goodbye.

The same cold sinking feeling that Anakin’s been trying to shake off for the last two and a half days returns, and he has to lean against the countertop in the kitchen for a second to ground himself.

They’re going to get back together. They will.

At the park, they had seemed so in their own world, as if everything else had disappeared except for them. Anakin had had to send Luke over, couldn’t stand watching that reconnection happen without at least trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has a family now, that he’s not alone anymore, that there are people who love him.

Obi-Wan had glared at him for his meddling, which hadn’t admittedly done wonders to his confidence. And when Obi-Wan had deposited Luke--Luke--on the ground to chase after Satine, when he had hugged her, Anakin knew for sure.

They were going to lose him.

Anakin had had his set of chances and had taken none of them, and now Obi-Wan’s going to re-fall in love with his ex-wife and Anakin’s going to have to be the supportive best friend who has to figure out how to tell his children that due to unforeseen and tragic circumstances, their Obi is probably going to elope to Paris and maybe send a postcard once or twice a year addressed solely to the children and Anakin will grow old and die alone and the name Obi-Wan Kenobi will be banned from his small, shadowy apartment, and all Anakin will have is a few memories of the two most important and heart wrenching kisses he’s ever been a part of in his entire life.

“He was thinking about Satine,” he tells himself. “He kissed me but it wasn’t about me. It hasn’t ever been about me.”

There’s no denying that Obi-Wan loves Anakin’s children and also no denying that his children love Obi-Wan. Anakin thinks he wouldn’t love Obi-Wan half as much if he hadn’t absolutely been charmed by the kids and vice versa. But he had been. They had been. Those few weeks when Anakin had thought about leaving a year ago had been absolutely awful because he knew he would be breaking his twins’ hearts, not just his. He’d be hurting Obi-Wan too, he had known that.

But he had had to try. Because he knew that if he didn’t try to leave then he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of Obi-Wan’s life when it came time for the man to grow tired of his presence.

It had been a last ditch attempt at saving his dignity. And it hadn’t taken much argument from everyone else to get him to abandon the idea completely.

Now he can’t help but to think he should have put his foot down, gotten some distance. Because now he’s entrenched in Obi-Wan’s world, the same way Obi-Wan is entrenched in his and the twins’ world. Leaving now will feel like ripping himself in two. He’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night five years from now and wonder about the academic response to Obi-Wan’s most recent publication.

He’ll probably have read it. He’ll probably still be fielding questions from his kids’ friends’ parents about whatever happened to that handsome man that used to come in to help during Show-And-Tell Day? Do you remember who I’m talking about, Anakin?

If he had left then, the idea of leaving now wouldn’t hurt so much. But there’s a ticking clock in his head.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

But he was thinking about Satine.

He calls Padme, because that’s sort of what he does when he doesn’t know what to do. She’s never turned him away--with the rejected marriage proposal being the one glaring exception, of course.

Thankfully, she doesn’t start now, though she does sound a little stressed when she picks up.

“Hey,” he says trying to sound normal and as if he isn’t a few minutes alone with his thoughts away from crying like a baby.

“Ani?”

“Are you--are you busy? Something sort of happened.”

“My flight is boarding,” Padme admits, but there’s a rustle on the other end of the line like she’s just sat down. “But it’s not like I’m not assigned a seat. They won’t leave without me. What happened?”

Anakin smiles in spite of himself. She’s really just such an angel of a person.

“Are the children alright?” she asks, sounding worried the longer it takes for Anakin to respond. “Ani?”

“No, yeah, the children are fine. I dropped them off at school this morning. But. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “Obi-Wankissedme.”

“I’m sorry?” Padme asks.

“Obi-Wan kissed me.”

The other end of the line is silent. “And we’re calling this a problem now?” she asks faintly. “Is he a bad kisser?”

“He’s a great kisser,” Anakin defends, shifting awkwardly on his feet, catching sight of the fridge door and quickly turning away.

“Then I don’t…?” Padme trails off uncertainly. Anakin can understand this confusion. Padme has only had to hear about how much Anakin wants Obi-Wan to kiss him for about two years now.

“I don’t think he realized he did it,” Anakin confesses. “He just did it as he was leaving. Because I said goodbye. It--I don’t think he realized who he was kissing.”

Now Padme sounds a distinct mix of skeptical and sympathetic, a tone Anakin’s only ever heard her use with him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because--because we went to the park the other day and he ran into his ex-wife and they were together for, for years so--so obviously he just--he wasn’t--it wasn’t me he was kissing. He was thinking about Satine.”

The words sound dull and practiced and lifeless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Padme says.

“And they’re probably gonna get back together, and we’re going to have to leave, and he’ll never know that I--” Anakin cuts himself off and thunks his head on the countertop with a groan.

Padme hums disbelievingly. “Anakin, I know you’ve never believed me when I say this, but that man is gone over you. And I think if he kissed you long enough for you to tell me for certain that he’s a good kisser, then he definitely knew he was kissing you.”

Anakin bites his lip and debates the pros and cons of being completely truthful. But he had called Padme for help, and she can’t provide the best advice if she doesn’t know the full story.

“That’s not the first time he’s kissed me,” Anakin finally admits, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck.

“What?” Padme exclaims, probably much louder than appropriate for a public space. “Anakin Skywalker, explain yourself right now.”

He exhales forcefully. “Last New Year’s Eve party.”

“That was almost a year ago! And nothing else ever happened between you two? What? We always thought that once the first kiss was out of the way we’d need to beat you both with sticks to keep you off each other.”

“Well--wait, who’s we?”

Padme tsks. “Myself and Obi-Wan’s coworker.”

“You’ve been gossiping about me?” Anakin asks, torn between being flabbergasted and offended.

“That’s not important right now,” Padme says airily. “What’s important here is the fact that you apparently kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi and never told me?”

“He doesn’t remember, okay?” Anakin snaps. “He. We’d been drinking. A lot. It was after everyone left. And. I was in the kitchen and he was in the kitchen and he--”

--had pinned him to the front of the fridge and just looked at Anakin for a few seconds like he was the most precious, important thing in the entire world, and Anakin had opened his mouth to say something and Obi-Wan had--

“--kissed me,” Anakin says out loud. “And then he--”

He had pressed impossibly closer to Anakin, one hand wrapped around his hip, caressing the thin skin there while his other hand ghosted down Anakin’s hair and back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, as his tongue mapped out Anakin’s mouth for what could have been seconds or minutes, and Anakin could have stayed there forever, but his own hands had grabbed too tightly onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders, must have jerked him forward too roughly, because he had been pushed away and--

“--threw up in the kitchen sink,” he finishes.

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line before Padme bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she says once she’s calmed down. “But how do you know for sure he forgot about that? Sounds like something he might just never want to talk about if it ended up with him vomiting in the kitchen.”

“I just know,” Anakin promises. And he does. Obi-Wan had no idea about that kiss. It was a secret Anakin thought about too often, but one he had kept to himself for nearly a year, too afraid to reveal it to Obi-Wan only for the man to say he hadn’t meant to, it hadn’t meant anything, he’d been much too drunk.

Even the idea of Obi-Wan apologizing for one of the hottest kisses Anakin’s ever experienced in his life has been enough to keep Anakin silent on the matter.

But now he’s been kissed again, this time by a sober Obi-Wan, and it still--it still doesn’t mean anything.

“It didn’t mean anything to him then, or he would have remembered,” Anakin tells Padme. “And this one doesn’t mean anything either. The timing is just...it can’t be a coincidence, Padme. He’s never once thought about kissing me, about...about coming home to me like that, and now, a few days after he runs into his ex-wife he’s suddenly planting one on me as he walks out the door? I know--I know you think he...he might...he might have liked me, or...or wanted me, but. There’s no way I can hold a candle to a decades long marriage. I just. I can’t compete with that. He doesn’t want me to.”

Padme’s Anakin is cut off on her end by what sounds like a flight attendant. “Yes, I’m coming,” Padme tells the person, and there’s shuffling and then the distinct sound of the harsh beep of the ticket scanner, before Padme’s heels are clicking on the flight tunnel. “Do not rush me,” Padme tells someone. “What are you going to do, close this thing while I’m in it?”

Anakin has to hide his only sort of watery smile in his hand as he listens quietly on his end.

“Anakin?” Padme asks, and she must be on the plane because there’s a buzz of other people’s noises around her. “Anakin, I know you won’t believe me, and maybe--maybe you’re right and they’ll get back together, maybe you’re going to lose him.” Anakin’s heart hurts quite painfully at these words. “But do you remember what you did the first time you proposed to me and I said no?”

Great, yeah. Just bring up all his biggest failures in love. Sure, why start with Padme? When Anakin had been five he had tried to kiss a boy and been shoved into the mud for his efforts. That’s a fine place to begin, really. Just drag up all the old hurts. He sighs. “I went and got you a bigger ring.”

“And do you remember what you did when I told you that I couldn’t raise the children, but my parents wanted to?”

“I threatened to take them to court if they didn’t let me have them,” Anakin says. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, of course, but Padme’s parents had never really liked him. They still don’t.

Someone’s trying to talk to Padme on the other end of the line. “Yes, fine,” she snaps. “Anakin. Anakin, what I’m trying to say is I’ve never seen you give up on anything without at least trying to fight for it. And I don’t know why this should be different. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you have to watch him get back together with his ex-wife and know you never even tried to tell him he had other options.”

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, speechless. “Then what--”

“So go,” Padme cuts him off. “Go tell him he has other options! For fuck’s sake, yes, alright I’m getting off the phone. Anakin, when I land I expect to have a very detailed account of events waiting for me on my email. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. Anakin stares at the phone in his hand for a handful of seconds, thinking over what she’s said. What she’s implied.

She’s right, of course. Anakin never gives in this easily. He doesn’t fully understand why he’s so ready to capitulate now. Maybe he knows full-well he can’t compete with whatever Obi-Wan had with his ex-wife. They have history. They grew up together, became adults together. Anakin’s just this weird twenty-eight year old man with a pair of kids too old for his age who crashed at Obi-Wan’s house during the lowest moment of his life. Of maybe both of their lives.

Love can’t bloom from that. Not really. Not...not the sort of love that turns into a lifelong marriage.

But. Padme’s right. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t know for sure.

So either he could putter around the house all day waiting for Obi-Wan to text or call or come home, talking himself into and out of confessing every emotion he’s harbored for the man for the past two years, or….or he could drive to his campus and confront him in his office, put himself on the execution block and hand Obi-Wan the axe. At least it would be a quick death.

He glances at the digital clock on the oven. 9:38. The idea of waiting ten hours for a resolution makes his skin crawl.

And besides. 

Obi-Wan hadn’t packed a lunch.

[perfectly-imperfect82]

ROTC part 2- Emily Sonnett

Emily POV

I was sitting in the conference watching (Y/N) Snapchat story of her hanging out with her teammate. I thought back to when I knew I lost her.

I was looking for (Y/N) at the hotel since no one has seen her since she left the locker room and her things were no longer in her room.

I need to find her fix this, I can't lose her. I don't know why I froze. I love her no matter what her career is. I was just scared of what would come with her being a soldier.

"Did you find her?" Alex asked, appearing around the corner. She was freaking out at this point.

"No"

"How could I lose my baby sisters?"  She asked panickly as she paced the lobby, where all the team had gathered.

We had all felt bad about how the situation went down.

That when we saw Dawn walk into the lobby and had a sober look on her face

"Dawn!" Kelley yelled catching her attention "have you seen (Y/N)?"  As we saw dawn debt what do say causing Alex to rush to her

"Tell me where my sister is! I need to know she is okay!" Alex pretty much was in tears at this point as Ash came over and wrapped an around her

I just stared at Dawn, desperately waiting to here were (Y/n) was.

"She left, I just dropped her off at the airport" Dawn said looking disappointed at everyone and stopping at me before she left.

We all stood there and watched before I felt Allie's glare land on me

"What did you do?" She said as I looked guilty at my feet

I felt someone shove me and I looked up to see Alex.

She was glaring at me "what did you do? She wouldn't have just left over the team being mad at her" she seethed at me

"I fucked up and she broke up with me" I mumbled as I felt the guilty and heartbreak hit me again, now that I known I can't fix it. Tears started full my eyes just thinking about that

"Emily" I heard Kelley said as I looked up and they saw me. I saw Kelley pull Alex away as Alex just looked shocked

"She broke up with you?" Lindsey said to confirm what I said and I could just nod as tears fell and Kelley pulled me into a hug

"How'd you fuck up?" Kelley asked "we need to figure out how to fix it"

"She asked if would still be with her if she joined the military. I don't know why but I hesitate and before I could answer. She took that as a no and left" I said as more tears fell and I felt Alex look at me before she just left and pulled her phone. I'm guessing to try to contact (Y/N).

"You know staring sadly at your phone isn't going to do anything, right?" Lindsey said taking a seat next to me causing to turn my glare to her.

"Think she is going to come to this came? I mean she didn't come to the November one and hasn't spoken to anyone from the team" Mal said taking a seat next to Lindsey

"I wonder if Alex and her made up? Alex was so upset when (Y/n) only showed up for thanksgiving day and barely talked to her" lindsey said as I just listen

That when I heard Mal gasp as the door opened causing me to turn and look.

It was Alex and (Y/n) and they were laughing over something. I felt my mood drop even more. She was happy with out me.

(Y/N) POV

I walked into the conference room with Alex and felt everyone's eyes on me as I took a seat next to Alex who gave me a small smile before turning to talk to Kelley.

I could tell everyone was debating talking to me or leaving me be. I mean I don't blame them, they all were rude and I kinda just left. Ignoring all of there message probably did help, but I had a lot to think over and I didn't want anyone else to influence me. I however felt a pair of eyes on me and I knew who it was but I did everything in my power not to look that way

I ended up making eye contact with Ash who looked unsure how to respond so I gave her a smile which she gave back a big smile before rushing over and pulling me into a an Ash hug, which made me laugh.

Once she pulled away, I saw a lot of them looking at me.

"Okay, I feel like we should clear the air or this is going to be a long week" I started and look around the room as everyone nodded

"We are so sorry" Megan started but I stopped her

"I know you guys are, I've received all your messages and voice mails" I said with a small laugh

"However, the way you guys handled the situation was uncalled for. That being said, I still have not made a decision of if I will be playing after this World Cup or joining the military. I know most you do not want me joining the military, so we just aren't going to talk about it until I share my decision. When that time comes, I expect all of you accept it and be supportive. Whether it's soccer or the military. Understand?" I asked looking around the room to see everyone nodding there head.

I made eye contact with Emily and I quickly adverted my eyes after seeing the sadness in them, making me feel guilty and hurt.

That's when I felt myself fall to the ground as two bodies made contact with me.

I looked to see Megan and Kelley hugging me.

"We've missed you little Morgan" megan said as Kelley nodded her head vigorously to agree

"Okay, let's not kill her" Alex said helping me up and wrapping an arm around me and pulling me closer.

I felt my phone vibrate

"I'll be back" I said making my way the hallway to answer the call

As I was talking , I felt someone's eyes on me and I had an idea of who it was so I continued to face away as I talked.

Once my called ended, I turned around to see Emily standing there. I could tell she was nervous and shifting awkwardly as she looked at me

"What could you possibly want?" I asked irritated as I looked at the blonde

"Look, I know fucked up and should have flown to come see you to fix this sooner" Emily say desperately trying to to get my eye contact as I had started avoiding contact.

"Please look at me" Emily begged and I caved and looked at her and saw the tears in eyes

"I was scared okay? If you played professional I knew the worst injury you can get is like ACL tear or something. Being a solider could mean you getting deployed, shot, or even killed. It hurt me to even think of any of those things happen to you" she spoke as tear fell freely down hers and for tears to start to fall down mine at her fear

"No matter what you chose, soccer player or soldier. I want to be by your side, if would let me" she continue and the only thing I could think to do was pull her into a kiss.

It was filled with love, but also a need to feel connected. When air became an issue, we pulled apart.

"I'm going to take that as a yes?" She with a smile on her face causing one to appear on my face as I just nodded.

"I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I'm choosing to play professional once I graduate" I said with a smirk as she look confused

"Did you really think that I would let everyone off the hook that easy after they all acted that way?" I continued as she just pulled me into another kiss

"You better keep my secret Sonnett" I said once we separated as she just  laughed and nodded

"I love you" she said as she leaned her forehead against mine

"I love you too" I replied with a wide smile

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Tea Shop Part One - Zuko x female reader series

Imagine being an air acolyte searching for the avatar in Ba Sing Sei and instead finding yourself working beside the dragon of the west and the banished prince of the fire nation, but of course you know them as Mushi and Lee. From the start you and Zuko clash, you hate his angry rude attitude and he hates how often you call him out on his poor behaviour. Your dislike grows until it’s almost unbearable and then his life is suddenly placed in your hands. After that and things change...

Part two here

Part three here

Part four here

(Note, in the readers view Zuko = Lee and Iroh = Mushi but when it’s from Zuko’s or Iroh’s pov they will be Zuko and Iroh. Hope that’s not too confusing!

Prologue: You were descended from air benders and were one of the last air aceloytes in the world. Your family was not in the air nation when the fire nation attacked a century ago, by luck your grandfather was in Omashu. When he heard the news he was devastated but crippled with fear he stayed and hid in the Earth kingdom. He married your grandmother and tried to assimilate into the earth kingdom. Your grandparents were terrified of the fire nation and therefore keeping the air nation traditions alive was not something they were focused on. So by the time you were born only your Uncle Pathik made an effort to keep the air nation traditions alive, even becoming a monk to devote himself to the cause. Your family was under the belief if they kept quiet the fire nation wouldn’t find them but of course they did. The fire nation arrested your family for the suspicion of practicing air bending, despite the fact none of you could actual airbend. The association enough was worth a life long imprisonment and so your family we’re shipped away to the deepest prison known. Your father managed to smuggle you out of the city but he wasn’t so lucky. You were devestated but after your escape headed to the only family you had left, your eccentric uncle’s home at the eastern air temple. You managed to avoid warrants for your arrest with shows of earth bending, a skill inhertited by your grandmother. Fire nation guards couldn’t comprehend someone being an air aceloyte and an earth bender and so the gift saved your life. You finally tracked down your uncle and decided that day to dedicate yourself to the air nation in spite of the fire nation. They’d taken your family but they wouldn’t take your culture. You asked your uncle to teach you all he knew and worked hard to become an air acolyte like your grandfather. It all seemed pointless, you and your uncle against the whole fire nation and then you heard the avatar was back. You made it your mission to find him and help him rebuild the air nation. You told your uncle your plan and he told you to go to Ba Sing Sei, always allusuive, he told you nothing more than you’d find what you needed there and so you set off. You expected to find the avatar quickly but had been there a whole year with no sign of him. You we’re giving up hope you’d ever find him and you’d be stuck working as a waitress in the lower ring forever when two new staff members changed that.  

Your POV

You showed up for your shift at the tea shop to find your boss had finally hired some more staff. You were thrilled and eyed the two newcomers with interest as your boss discussed the basic tasks with them while you ran the tea shop, eventually the tour brought them to you and you were introduced. "This is my main waitress" your boss said to the two men "y/n these are your two new coworkers". You nodded looking them over, the older man smiled at you but the younger one stared at the ground, or more accurately glared. He definitely did not seem pleased to be here. "Nice to meet you" you offered and the old man smiled and told you his name. You looked to the younger one expectantly and the man nudged him. "’I’m Lee" he replied flatly barely glancing at you. “Well welcome” you smiled and Mushi smiled at you but the boy, Lee, didn’t even look at you. “Now on with the tour” your boss cried and you watched Mushi talk to him while Lee sulked. Great your new co-worker was a pouty angry teenager. He’d be fun to work with.  

1 week later

Your prediction was true, you were an easy going person who could usually get along with anyone...expect this new boy. The boy was miserable and moody. He was inconsiderate and obviously didn’t work well in teams. His customer service poor and his tea making skills only just adequate. The fact he was so rude prompted you to mess with him, rude people were fair game as far as you were concerned and so you made sure not to help him. If the waiter couldn’t show common courtesy than neither would you. This resulted in a lot of shared glares and bickering between the two of you. You knew it went against your air nomad roots to pick on people but when the person was a moody rude immature man who never got your name right, surely the monks saw that as an exception right?

You arrived at the tea shop for your afternoon shift and saw Lee was leaving. That was nice. Things between you had gotten worse over the past week and shifts with him were almost unbareable. Being mean didn’t come naturally to you but something about this man made your blood boil. Lee noticed you come into the shop and held out an apron to you. Suprised you went to take it when he dropped it on the floor with a laugh. You rolled your eyes at him and snatched it up off the floor. Lee smirked and you glared. You watched him place his belongings on the counter as he prepared to leave, something you’d told him not to do many times as it wasn’t sanitary and got an idea. A glass of water was also on the counter and you smirked, because your manager was such a cheapskate the counter was made of earth. You flicked your hand and knocked the glass over onto Lee’s stuff. Lee cried out and groaned as it soaked his bag and coat. Lee looked around and caught you smiling. “You....” he started when Mushi appeared “y/n I need three jasmine teas”. You nodded “on it” and grinned at Lee’s angry glare that was glued to you as you walked past him.

Iroh’s POV

Iroh noticed Zuko pouting about something and paused as you left to go make the tea like he’d asked. Zuko was angrily shaking his jacket and Iroh frowned “Lee are you...”. “She! She is the worst! Did you see what she just did to me” Zuko cried holding his bag out to Iroh who frowned. The bag had a tiny wet stain. “Ow yes this is very serious...the sun might not even dry it before you reach home!” Iroh cried. Zuko rolled his eyes “y/n did this! Did you know she’s an earth bender?”. “No but we are in the greatest earth city in the world...it’s not suprising”. “She can’t treat me like that” Zuko carried on ignoring Iroh’s comment “she can’t get away with this, who does she think she is?”. “Hasn’t she told you numerous times not to put your stuff on the counter?”. “She...I don’t know! I don’t listen to her! She’s always telling me how to do stuff like i’m a...”. “New employee?” Iroh asked with a smile and Zuko scoffed. “This is ridiculous i’m sick of this” and he stormed from the tea shop. Iroh laughed and glanced to where you stood serving customers, you’d certainly gotten under his nephew’s skin and it was entertaining if nothing else.

Your POV

When the afternoon rush finally died down you got a chance to chat to Mushi. Thank god he was nothing like his nephew, there was a down side though. Despite not be liked him he loved talking about his nephew and seemed to constantly mention him to you, like today. “Y/n do you think you’d be able to work the late shift with me tomorrow night?" he asked "it was supposed to be Lee’s shift but he has a date". "Really?" you asked more than fairly suprised, "is it that girl who’s always in here?". Mushi nodded "yes!" and you laughed "i knew it! She asked for Lee to serve her even though his waiter skills are awful!". Mushi laughed "love is blind, she’s hopefully seen past his moody exterior to the man he is beneath” Mushi smiled at you but his hint went right over your head. "I can cover his shift" you agreed and Mushi grinned "Thank you y/n!". You told him it was fine and smirked, just the idea of Lee on a date was enough to make you laugh.

2 days later

You probably shouldn’t have offered to work that late shift for Mushi when you were opening in the morning too but you needed the money so you dragged yourself out of bed way earlier than you would’ve liked. The idea of teasing Lee about his date motivating you and when you saw him waiting outside the tea shop you smirked. "Morning" you called loudly making him jump. He swore and you smirked unlocking the door. "It’s your shift?” he complained “why are you always here?". "Because i work here idiot" you said going to roll your eyes before you calmed yourself, Lee wouldn’t ruin your good mood...or stop you teasing him about his night out. "So how was the date?" you asked smirking. Lee didn’t look at you, he didn’t even show he’d so much as heard you. It made him so much harder to annoy when he didn’t respond so you tried again. "Hey i covered for you I expect some payment" you informed him but he just shrugged "i didn’t ask you to cover for me". "Yeah but i was still the person who did so you could run around on a date" you said annoyed. The man always managed to do this, you’d start messing with him and come off angrier than him somehow. Lee only shrugged "not my problem" and you glared. Your good mood was slipping.

All day Lee’s attitude annoyed you more and more. He was in a worse mood than ever and it showed. He was rude to customers, he mixed up orders and refused to correct them, he spoke back to you when you were only trying to help him. So by the end of your shift you were ready to strangle him. When Mushi and another worker showed up to relieve you, a sigh of relief escaped without you even realising. You let all your anger go, prepared to move...and then you turned around and tripped over the rubbish bag you’d asked Lee to take out 3 times. From your crumpled position of the floor you spotted him already ready to leave and your anger flared back up. You marched to him and pressed the bag into him “here”. “Why would I want this?” he asked and you glared “it’s the rubbish you forgot to take out”. “I didn’t forget I just didn’t want to” he shrugged and you twitched. “Wow that’s a great attitude, take it outside now”. “No, you’re not my boss, you can’t tell me what to do”. He opened the back door and sauntered out and you followed him seeing red. You threw the bag at him hitting him on the shoulder and let out an angry groan. “What’s your problem?” you cried. “What’s your problem” Lee replied squaring up to you but you wouldn’t back down. “My problem is you’re an awful waiter and an intolerable human”. “Wow that hurts me so much” Lee said sarcastically and you balled your fists. “What is wrong with you?” you called “nobodies making you work here, if it’s so awful find another job! It’s not my fault you’re miserable all the time so stop acting like it is!" you yelled "you’re mad at the world? Well get in line! Nothing gets better by you acting like a jerk but if you hate it here so much leave!" and you slammed the door in his face.

Later that day

Your day hadn’t gotten much better as it went on but the end was finally in sight. You'd just finished your shift at a nearby restaurant you also worked at when you noticed two men fighting. You frowned but turned the other way. Sure it wasn’t the noble thing to do but you'd learnt to only seek trouble in certain situations and in back alleys at night was not one of those moments. The trouble apparently didn’t want to leave you alone however and you heard sounds telling you the fighting was following you. Suddenly one of them crashed past you, the other following with a sword. You glared and then gaped to see Lee was one of the men fighting. It didn't suprise you he’d be in a street fight but to be fair he seemed to be the one getting attacked. Shocked you watched, impressed by how skilled the two men were. Lee was obviously not a tea maker and according to the other guy he was actually a fire bender.

The man managed to disarm Lee and he smirked. "you’re defence less, you’ll have to firebend to stop me doing this" and swept his sword towards Lee. Lee closed his eyes unable to get out of his grip and just accepted the swing. You couldn't. Call it the airbender roots in you but you wouldn’t watch senseless violence and just do nothing, even for someone as annoying as Lee. "No" you shouted and sent a rock hurtling towards the man. You knocked him off Lee and stepped forwards "leave him alone". "Who’s this your body guard?" the boy asked and you raised an eyebrow "actually i’m a waitress". Lee stood beside you and you both faced the attacker when you heard yelling. Suddenly two Dai Li agents arrived and looked between you and Lee to the boy. "What’s going on here?" they asked and you turned to them. You’d gotten pretty good at maniuplating the authorities in your hidden life so knew how to play the Dai Li. “Officers thank god you’re here! This man attacked me and my friend for no reason, he was going to hurt him so i had to earth bend! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone I swear". "She’s right" a man who’d been watching called and the Dai Li fixed their eyes on the other boy. He tried to resist but they forced him into a cart and it disappeared down the road. "I’m sorry this happened to you" the agent told you and Lee "please go on and enjoy your night". You and Lee nodded and turned to walk away, when you were out of ear shot Lee spoke. "You didn’t have to help me" he started and you rolled your eyes sick of this and started to walk away. "No!" he said catching you up "i didn’t mean it like that, i just meant...after today i figured you hated me". "I don’t hate anyone" you replied "but you come pretty close sometimes". You thought his mouth almost curved into a smile and he nodded. "What were you doing out here?" he asked "and are you in a uniform". "I work at a restaurant near here" you explained. "You have two jobs?". "Three" you said embarassed "rent’s hard". Lee nodded his head down and you were pleased he didn’t give you sympathy. "I’m not you know" he said suddenly and you frowned “what?”. “A firebender...i’m not one" he clarified. "I wouldn’t care if you are" you shrugged and Lee frowned "really i assumed because of your..." and he trailed off. "Because of my what?" you asked turning to face him and Lee paled. He looked to your arm without meaning to and you knew he’d seen the scar that lay there. "i didn’t mean to, your sleeve was pushed up the other day..." he rushed to explain reading your expression "’i’m sorry for mentioning it". You touched your arm self consciously, the place where your burn crisscrossed it and frowned. A fire nation solider had give it you on your trip to the eastern air temple, he was annoyed your earth bending proved you couldn’t be the run away air acolyte and so he burned you as punishment.  "It’s okay" you said after a while "but no it doesn’t change things, i don’t blame all firebenders just because one burnt me". Lee looked shocked at that and you got a feeling he didn’t have that same view about the person who burnt him. "It doesn’t matter to me if you're a fire bender or the earth king himself, we’re all just human". Lee paused suprised to hear you say something so philosophical and nodded. "’I’m sorry, for earlier not this" he said softly "i have been...difficult". "Just difficult?" you asked and he shot you a glare. "Sorry...you were saying?". He sighed and glanced back at you "i’m working on my anger" he told you "i’ll try and be less of a jerk". "I’ll believe it when i see it" you replied but smirked to let him know you were joking.

You walked the rest of the way in silence and reached the tea house quickly. Mushi was cleaning up damage that must’ve been caused by the fight but dropped his broom when he saw Lee. “Z..Lee you’re okay” he cried rushing over “what happened?”. “It was fine, y/n helped me and Jet was arrested”. “You helped him?” Mushi asked smiling between you both and you and Lee rolled your eyes simultaneously. “It was nothing” you said quickly “i’d have done it for anyone”. You thought Lee’s eyes narrowed at that comment and so quickly added “but i’m glad you’re okay”. Lee looked at you suprised but nodded “thanks”. You nodded awkwardly and turned “so i’ll be going home, see you guys tomorrow”. “Bye y/n and thanks again” Mushi called after you.

Zuko and Iroh’s POV

As soon as you were gone Iroh smirked at Zuko “so...the two of you seem to have bonded”. “Don’t” Zuko replied pushing past him. Iroh’s smirk grew as he noticed the slight blush on his nephews cheek, he knew he’d sensed chemistry there. Thank god the two of you finally were realising it too.

____

I made a new Zuko series! I always love how angsty and stroppy season 2 Zuko was so thought I’d write a series around that. Hope you like it!!!

[sabraeal]

Climb to the Rooftops

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...

And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV

He knows her.

That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--

He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...

Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.

It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.

He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.

Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”

It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.

She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.

“Obi?”

He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”

“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”

Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.

“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”

He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.

“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”

“We...can’t?”

Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”

His brows raise. “Illegal?”

The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”

“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”

Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”

She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.

“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”

“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”

She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”

Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”

“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”

“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”

“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”

“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”

There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--

“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”

It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”

“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”

He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”

“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”

“That just makes her even more--”

“Don’t.”

RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.

Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--

Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”

Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”

“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”

“Gesundheit.”

Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.

With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”

Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--

Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.

He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.

Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.

And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.

“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”

Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”

He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.

“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”

“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--

“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”

“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”

It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”

“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”

“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”

Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”

She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”

Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--

He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’

“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”

“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--

The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.

“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--

“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”

She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”

He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”

Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”

“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”

The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”

He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”

Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”

“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”

“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”

He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”

She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”

He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”

She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”

“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”

“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”

“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”

Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”

She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.

Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.

“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”

Doc blinks. “Huh?”

“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,�� you know.”

Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”

“Fuck you?”

“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”

Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.

“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”

“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”

“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”

Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”

She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”

He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.

But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”

Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.

“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”

“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”

Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”

“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”

“Record store.”

“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”

“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”

“Looking for it?” he offers.

She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.

“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”

“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”

“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”

“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”

“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”

Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.

“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”

The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”

Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--

“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”

Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”

Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.

“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”

“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”

Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”

As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.

“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”

The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.

She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.

“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”

Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”

If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”

The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”

“It’s our kink.”

“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”

The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”

Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.

“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”

Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”

This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”

Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”

The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”

Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”

“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”

No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.

It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--

And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.

The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”

Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”

“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”

She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”

“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”

His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”

[leossmoonn]

mind games [part eleven]

masterlist | part ten | part twelve

zuko x fem!reader fluff, angst smau (it has the social media elements, but not as much as the last series)

avatar: the last airbender

summary - being zuko’s best friend is the easiest thing in the world. until he gets a girlfriend and you realize you’re in love with him

warnings / includes  (this counts for any/all chapters) - fighting, suggestive, language, crying, alcohol, cheating, talk about injuries, making out, alluding to sex, talks about sex. you are sokka and katara’s older sister. you, mai, and zuko are seniors in college, sokka and suki are juniors, katara, aang, and toph are sophomores.

note - so for this one im gonna be switching pov’s. so for the first half it’ll be 2nd point of view with y/n and the second half it'll be like 2nd point of view but with jet (hope this made sense lol)

————

“so, how has living with jet been?” aang asked. 

“really good,” you smiled. “he’s a really good housemate. he cooks, actually cleans. doesn’t mind that i had to take up a little more closet space.”

“wow, sounds like you have the perfect man,” suki smirked. “i do,” you sighed dreamily. 

you and jet had been dating now for a little more than 4 1/2 months. you two decided that it was time to move in together. you two had already practically been living together so it seemed right to start the next phase of your relationship. you weren’t at jet’s, though. you were at an ice cream shop downtown with your friends. 

living with jet was amazing, as stated, but you rarely saw your friends. college was coming to an end, too. with you and between that and looking for jobs and picking up extra shifts at the JD, it had been very busy. but you had just finished all your finals and was now ready to graduate in the next week, so you were able to relax, finally. 

“how about you guys, how have you been?” you asked. 

“really good! i can’t believe you won’t be at school with us,” katara frowned. 

“yeah, i hate to admit it, but i’m gonna miss you,” sokka said. 

you chuckled, “thanks, sokka. well, i’m not planning one really going anywhere. i’ll just be out of school, which thank the spirits for that.”

“must be nice knowing you don’t have to deal with finals anymore,” toph suck her tongue out in disgust. 

“yeah, i definitely won’t miss that,” you snorted, taking a bite of your ice cream cone. 

“have you found a job yet?” toph asked. ”i’ve found a few. i have yet get interviews, though. i’m waiting until the july to so i can enjoy there summer,” you explained. 

“makes sense. we’ll miss you at the JD,” katara said. 

“yeah, you’re the only one who makes good frappuccinos,” aang chortled. 

“i know. zuko and katara just can’t grasp the recipe,” you teased. 

“i can! i just prefer to make the tea. it’s a lot easier,” katara deafened. 

“don’t worry. i agree,” you smiled. your phone vibrated on the table. 

you turned it over, seeing that there as a text from zuko. 

“is that zuko?” aang asked. “yeah, how did you know?” i asked. 

“he’s been missing you lately,” sokka explained. 

“oh, really? we hung out a couple weeks ago, though,” you said. “exactly. he knows you been busy so he hasn’t asked you to hang out yet, but we told him you’re less busy now,” aang said. 

“oh,” you frowned. “well, he asked if we could hang out today. you guys okay if i go?”

“yeah, of course! we’ve been here for hours, anyways,” suki said. 

“great. still on for the sleepover tonight?” you asked, getting up and grabbing your purse.

“you know it! have fun,” katara smiled. 

“will do,” you smiled back, waving goodbye at them. 

you walked to your car, getting in and driving to your friend’s and sibling’s house. you parked in the garage, going in and seeing zuko on the couch. 

“hey, stranger,” you smiled, taking off your shoes. 

“hey, long time no see,” zuko smiled, getting up. you hummed in reply, opening your arms out and hugging him. 

“i’ve missed you,” zuko whispered. 

“i’ve missed you, too. i’m sorry i haven’t reached out,” you sighed, pulling away. 

“no worries. we aren’t kids anymore. we have our own life,” zuko smiled reassuringly. 

“right. so, you said you wanted to talk about our plan?” you asked, walking over with zuko to the couch. 

“yeah. so, how do i approach her?” zuko ask. “well, i wouldn’t suggest doing it over a date. do it at night so you can go somewhere else and sleep immediately. you two are living together, right?” you asked. 

“yeah,” zuko nodded. “great, well, just tell her you need to talk to her. don’t hint at anything, be neutral about it all and break the news to her,” you explained.

“easier said than done,” zuko chuckled. 

you furrowed your brows and studied his face, seeing the guilt and confusion in his eyes. you leaned against the couch and put your hand on his forearm comfortingly.

“are you sure you want to do this?” you asked. “i am,” zuko nodded. 

“are you sure? like 100% positive?” you checked with him.

zuko chuckled, “yes, i am. plus, i…i like someone else.”

your eyes widened, “o-oh. this is new info. who is it?” your heart started to race and you began to feel very nervous thinking about who he could like.

“i’d rather not say just yet,” he said, averting his gaze from you. 

“alright. well, no pressure,” you smiled softly. your phone then started to vibrate in your back pocket. you pulled it out, seeing that jet was calling you. 

you answered it quickly. “hey, babe, what’s up?”

“hey, when’re you coming home?” jet asked. 

“oh, um…” your voice trailed off as you looked at the clock. “tomorrow? i’m hanging out with zuko right now, and you know i’m having a little sleepover with the girls.”

“oh, right,” jet muttered. you furrowed your brows as he sounded annoyed and sad. you stood up off the couch, holding your first finger up to zuko to let him know you’ll be back in a minute. 

you walked into the kitchen and leaned against the island counter. “hey, you sound sad. everything okay?”

“yeah, i just miss you,” jet sighed. you smiled, “i miss you, too, but i haven't seen zuko or my friends in a while.” “i know, i know. i wasn’t going to make you come home, don’t worry,” jet said. 

“i didn’t think you were. i know you’re understanding.”

you and jet sat on the phone in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before you spoke up. you did a little awkward cough before speaking. 

“so, um, i better go,” you said. 

“oh, yeah, yeah, of course. i’ll see you tomorrow,” jet said. 

“see you tomorrow. i love you.” “i love you, too,” jet smiled, hanging up the phone. 

he sighed and gently threw his phone on the bed. he laid down, running his hands through his hair and down his face. he felt so jealous. so jealous of you and zuko. he knew it was silly since you have been nothing but loyal to him, but the unwanted thoughts of you and zuko still crept into his mind every so often. he was thankful you two didn’t live together anymore and that you lived with him now, but jet was beginning to think that wasn’t enough. 

even though you and zuko weren’t living together and didn’t hang out as often, you two were constantly texting and calling. jet often found you downstairs late at night texting zuko, smiling and laughing at whatever he said. it made jet’s blood boil to see another guy making you happy, especially since it was a known fact - not between you and zuko, though - that you had a thing for zuko a while back. jet was positive that you still had a thing for him, no matter how much you denied it. 

he sat up on his bed and grabbed his phone, getting up and going to the only person he knew would understand; mai. 

he drove to her house, going up and knocking on the door. mai answered the door almost immediately, a surprised but pleasant smile on her face. 

“hey, jet. what’re you doing here?” she asked. 

“i was just seeing if you were free. y/n and zuko are hanging out, and we haven’t hung out in a while,” jet shrugged. 

“right, right. well, come in,” mai held the door open for him. jet stepped in with a smile, walking into the living room. 

“i like what you did with the place,” jet noted, looking around at the new furniture and decorations. there were a lot more brighter colours than he remembered.

“thanks. ty lee said i should make the place more lively,” mai chuckled. 

“glad you took her advice,” jet smiled. 

mai nodded, “are you hungry? i was just about to eat some leftover pizza.”

“yeah, sure. you got any beers?” jet asked. 

“yep,” mai said, going over to the kitchen. “make yourself comfortable!”

“thanks,” jet said and sat down on the couch. 

mai came in with a pizza both and a six pack bottle of beer. mai and jet watched tv for a while, getting drunk on the beer. after a while of silence, mai decided to ask jet about what he thought about you and zuko. 

“so, you jealous of zuko and y/n, too?” zuko asked. 

jet’s brows raised, “w-what?”

mai smirked and turned fully to him. “that’s the reason why you came here, because of zuko and y/n.”

jet sighed, turning to her. “yeah. you caught me.”

“they act like they’re dating each other,” mai rolled her eyes. “zuko is always like “y/n this”, “y/n that”, “look what y/n said”, “sorry, i’m talking to y/n”. god, it’s all so annoying.” “and they always stay up late talking to each other! like, i understand they’re each other’s best friends, but we’re here, too.” “right!” mai nodded. “i wouldn’t be surprised if they were making out right now.” jet frowned and looked down. “you think they are?”

“mmm, i wouldn’t doubt it,” mai shrugged. 

jet looked up at mai, his eyes meeting her’s. he studied her face for a few moments, his eyes roaming her face and stopping at her lips. mai noticed his gaze and smirked, scooting closer to him. she put her hand on his thigh, her fingers snaking up his leg. 

“m-mai, what’re you doing?” jet stammered. his heart was racing a million beats per second. 

“c’mon, we both know zuko and y/n are in love with each other. plus, i’m pretty sure zuko is going to break up with me soon. let’s just have some fun, okay?” mai gave jet a flirtatious look, biting her lip and batting her lashes. 

jet sighed, looking into mai’s eyes. he knew in his heart that you weren’t cheating on him with zuko, or anyone, but the just thought of you with zuko, kissing him, running your fingernails all over his back, moaning his name, it clouded jet’s mind with anger and fear. without thinking rationally, jet smashed his lips onto mai’s. 

both melted into the kiss immediately, grabbing at each other and pressing themselves closer to each other. after a few moments of kissing, jet pulled away, looking a mai with wide, shocked eyes. the kiss with mai honestly felt amazing.

mai smiled at him, taking his hand into her’s. “wanna go upstairs?”

jet nodded furiously, getting up off the couch, mai leading him up to her bedroom. 

————

Like and Reblog!

note - hey guys, sorry for not posting this series for a while, but im back now so :)

taglist is open, just lmk if you wanna be on it for this series by messaging me, commenting, and/or send me a message!

@theblueslytherin @thatarthistorynerd @coldlilheart @akiris @serenitytomothings

[free-pancakes]

A Fire in the Shadows

LeviHan - Avatar the Last Airbender AU fic

Characters: Levi, Hange, Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, Kenny, Zeke, Sasha, Jean, Armin, Kuchel, Porco, Pieck, Pyxis

Summary: Levi, the nephew of a fire nation captain, stumbles upon a ragtag group of 5 known as the Scouts, formidably known for foiling the plans of local fire nation control, living in the forests a few miles north of Ba Sing Se.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 7: The Lotus Tile Chapter 6: The Panda Lily Chapter 5: Interconnected Chapter 4: The Fire from the Shadows Chapter 3: Bonds Chapter 2: Trust Chapter 1: The Scouts

(crossposted to ao3)

Notes:

Sorry for a horribly late update, but here's a long chapter to make up for it! Also this is quite self-indulgent and features a Nanaba POV bc I love the idea of Levi and Nanaba being best buds :)

CHAPTER 7: THE LOTUS TILE

“Nanaba, please.”

Mike placed a hand on Nanaba’s shoulder.

“We’ve known Levi for almost a whole year now, don’t you even want to give him a real chance?”

Nanaba grit her teeth and she shoved him away, storming out of the hut. She grabbed a rope, slid down to the forest floor, and walked out to separate herself from Erwin and Mike, to get some air.

“How could they just… trust him like that?” She yelled out, her voice feeling small as it immediately disappeared in front of her, absorbed by the thick, forest foliage surrounding her.

Nanaba was frustrated, and absolutely appalled at Erwin and Mike. Each of them had gone on a mission alone with Levi and Hange, and suddenly they just… trusted the guy? Acting like long-time buddies? Like one trip with him was somehow transformative, turning how they viewed him a whole 180?

Sure, objectively, Levi seemed… alright. He’s worked well with them as a group overall, and hasn’t pulled anything fishy so far. But for whatever reason, Nanaba felt that something was off. Her gut told her that there was something Levi was still keeping from them all—and that worried her immensely because, well, her gut was rarely ever wrong. Hange was one of her closest friends—she’d snap the little man in two before he could even lay a finger on Hange.

Nanaba suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder—eliciting yet another burst of rage within her.

“Mike, can you please just—“

She turned to find Hange staring at her, the lamp in her hand lighting up her face, highlighting the deep concern in her eyes.

“Oh, sorry Hange.”

“Mike getting on your nerves again?” Hange teased, elbowing Nanaba as she wriggled her eyebrows.

Nanaba’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and took a pause.

“Doesn’t he always?” She retorted, and the two of them fell into a fit of laughter. As their giggling gradually died down, Hange took Nanaba’s hand.

“Please come with us tomorrow?” Hange said softly, giving Nanaba her best pout and puppy-dog eyes. She really wanted Nanaba to get along with Levi—she thought they’d make great friends if she just gave him a chance.

“…Fine,” Nanaba said as she rolled her eyes. “But can’t promise to be nice to him.”

Hange raised her fist in the air in triumph. “Sounds like a plan!”

—————————

As the sun began to rise, breaking dawn’s purple hue, the three arrived at the entrance to a small, bustling town. Hange stretched her arms back and let out a huge yawn.

“Wanna do that any louder and wake up the whole damn town?” Levi muttered as he reached to press up on Hange’s chin to stifle her yawn. Levi wanted to smile as Hange laughed, but he couldn’t help but hold it in, as he felt uneasy sensing Nanaba’s glare staring him down from the side.

“Let’s plan on meeting back here in an hour? Grab supplies, food anything else we might need?” Hange asked, which elicited a nod of agreement from the other two. As they all split ways, Nanaba hung back for a bit, watching Levi’s back as he promptly walked down one of the streets with stalls setting up shop for their early morning shift. As she looked over to see Hange heading in the opposite direction, she realized that she had rarely observed Levi alone, and even more specifically, seen him separate from Hange—so she decided this would be her chance to check up on him, to see anything that may confirm her suspicions and distrust towards him.

She trailed behind Levi, just far enough that he likely wouldn’t notice. And… all was pretty normal. He simply stopped for a new water canteen and various other things. Though just before Nanaba could let her guard down, she noticed Levi linger and stare at a tapestry on the wall outside the town’s tea shop.

She watched his eyes linger on the Fire Nation emblem stitched into the cloth. She couldn’t read him, and was unsure of what kind of emotions lay in his gaze. But, she found herself narrowing her eyes—he had been staring for a bit too long for her liking. She didn’t know what to make of it, so she quietly followed Levi into the tea shop. Nanaba watched him sit at the small bar up front, so she found a table just within earshot, and lifted her hood to keep him from recognizing her.

After sometime, Nanaba took her remaining bites of food and sips of tea. Before she could stand, she heard Levi shift from his chair to leave. And suddenly, she heard the small clatter of wood hit the tile floor. She turned her head slightly to steal a peek, and watched Levi bend down to pick up what looked like… a small Pai Sho tile?

“Sir, I think you dropped this,” Levi said quietly, reaching his hand out towards the man who had just left his seat next to Levi a second ago. The bald man turn around towards Levi.

“Oh, clumsy me, huh?” The man exclaimed with a chuckle. He reached his hands towards Levi, closing Levi’s fingers over the tile, and pushed it back towards him.

“What’s your name, son?”

Levi’s gaze remained steady, his eyes blank.

“Levi, sir.”

“Levi…?

“Just… Levi.”

“Alright, ‘Just Levi’! The name’s Pyxis,” he said with a smile—something in his eyes made Levi feel slightly uneasy, though. As if Pyxis knew something about him.

“Tell you what, I’d say it’s your lucky day. Keep that. It might protect you someday.”

Pyxis turned around to leave.

“Wait!” Levi called out to him, following him outside the shop. Nanaba quickly threw some money down on the table, hurried after to listen right by the door to the shop.

“What do you mean, it’ll protect me?”

“If you’re ever backed into a corner, let’s just say, there may be a time when it comes in handy for you someday—someone may recognize it, and I assure you, that would save you from whatever mess you were in. Or… of course, if you choose to give it to someone you love, they’d be protected,” Pyxis explained. He brought his fist up to Levi’s chest and tapped over his heart, and winked at him before walking away, sipping on a flask he pulled randomly from his pocket.

“Someone… I love—“ Levi whispered, standing quietly as the cool breeze gently blew strands of hair away from his face.

Levi stared at Pyxis, and back down at the small Pai Sho tile in his hands, engraved with a lotus symbol. He flipped it around in his fingers for some time, his eyes lost in thought before he slipped it into his pocket.

Nanaba’s eyes narrowed as she wondered if Levi would tell her, or any of their friends about it.

She sighed and waited for the coast to be clear before she made her way out. She turned to stare at the fire emblem outside that Levi had fixated upon earlier.

Nanaba wondered if just maybe... Levi might...

She shook her head.

“No way,” she said firmly, and hurried back to meet up with Hange and Levi.

—————————

“Got it!” Nanaba yelled as she took off with a sprint, Hange and Levi not following too far behind. A blast of fire raged right past her face, and the three ran even faster through the trees.

Suddenly, a Fire Nation soldier slipped out of nowhere, startling Nanaba and causing her to trip. Before she knew it, she found herself almost fallen off the edge of the rocks on the side of the mountain, Levi’s hand in hers the only thing holding her from falling to her death.

Levi hoisted her back up, and they fell into a pile of leaves, the sounds of Hange fighting the soldier happening just behind them.

“Are you okay, Nana?” Levi asked between exhausted breaths.

“Yeah, thanks… Levi,” she answered. She quickly stood up and pulled Levi up with her, and the two looked at each other, nodding. They ran back towards Hange, but before they could reach her, another soldier ran past, fire bending through the tree trunks. Multiple giant trees began to fall, causing Levi and Nanaba to run back and away—and now Hange was left alone with 2 giant soldiers, at best. They started running around the fallen trees and debris, but it seemed it would take them awhile to find their way through. As they ran, flames shot upwards from the fight—there had to be at least 3 Fire Nation soldiers out there with Hange. But out from the sounds of combat, a scream echoed through the air, shortly followed by a deafening silence.

“Hange!” Levi yelled.

Nanaba looked at Levi, and almost froze on the spot. In the past year, she had never seen much change in expression when it came to Levi—he guarded his intentions and thoughts behind an expressionless glare at all times. But this time, she watched as tears streamed down Levi’s face, his eyes filled with genuine worry and pure panic, utterly lost as he stared at the debris, desperately trying to think of a way around it faster.

“Levi, spring me upwards? Like how Mike does it!” Nanaba yelled. Levi wasn’t as strong as Mike, but it would have to do. Levi nodded, and Nanaba ran towards him, and as she jumped up, Levi pushed up on her feet, propelling her overhead. She landed haphazardly near the top, and climbed upwards. Hastily, she pulled a rope from her backpack, tied it around her waist, and threw the other end down at Levi. With all her strength, she pulled and moved backwards, hoisting Levi up with her.

As they reoriented and looked down, the scene made each of their hearts stop.

“…H-Hange?” Nanaba heard Levi whisper, exasperated.

Nanaba watched the soldiers sprinting off far into the distance, and Hange, like a shadow, unmoving on the ground. Her backpack’s contents strewn about carelessly, her arm twisted in a way that made both Levi and Nanaba want to vomit. At that moment, rain began to drizzle over them, water stained with red on the ground around Hange.

Nanaba stammered— “They realized she didn’t have the documents we stole, and just… she didn’t even have them so why did they go so far…”

Levi jumped down and Nanaba hurried after him.

“Levi! It’s not worth it—it might storm, and we have to look after Hange and get all of us to a safe place!”

Levi froze, Nanaba staring at his back as he began trembling—trembling with an undying rage. She laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Come on.”

Nanaba hurried over to Hange—she was knocked out cold, her left arm obviously broken, burns and cuts strewn over her face and arms. She was injured badly, but luckily other than the arm, nothing too serious. Levi walked gingerly towards them, and stared at Hange. His eyes lingered over the cracks in the left lens of her glasses, spiderwebbing outwards from the center. He bent down to carry her, Nanaba helping by keeping her broken arm steady as Levi shifted her into a comfortable position in his arms, her head falling forward against his chest. Levi nodded, and they began walking to descend down the small mountain.

Nanaba bared her bow and arrow in case anymore enemies approached—but the weather might just keep them safe for now. The rain began to fall a little harder, and Nanaba stole a glance back towards Levi and Hange. It may have blended in with the rain, but she could tell that Levi was crying, his eyes tinged red, filled with sorrow. Nanaba turned back to focus on what was in front of her, feeling her hand clutch at her chest, caught utterly surprised at how much it pained her to see Levi so upset.

——————

Light flickered against the rocky wall. Flames of their small fire licked the edges of the tinder pile, and the small crackles of burning wood echoed quietly throughout the small cave they found for cover, halfway down the small mountain. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed right outside. They would just have to wait the storm out overnight.

Luckily, Levi had learned a lot from all the time he’s spent with Hange, so he worked on tending to her injuries, Nanaba standing by when needed. Levi did his best to stitch up her lacerations, and they set her arm the best they could, a makeshift splint made from what they could find and the bandages from Hange’s bag. Levi finished it off with a sling made from the red cloth headband he always wore on his forehead, and they simply hoped it would be good enough for now—they’d have to meet with Moblit the next morning at their rendezvous point and make sure that it was done well enough to heal properly.

After their hard work, exhaustion fell over them. The two sat in silence, quietly eating their small food rations as they both stared into the fire. Peeking up at Levi for a second, Nanaba saw it—the rage hadn’t died down, flickering in his gaze. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what exactly to say—the words “It’s not your fault,” lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she knew that it would fall on deaf ears.

Levi was clearly blaming himself entirely for Hange’s injuries.

Before she could clumsily utter a word, Levi tossed her a small sleeping mat, and she listened to the sleepiness in her eyes.

She drifted off for a minute or two, but responsibility woke her up—she figured she’d fetch some water to refill their canteens before sleeping for the night. As she drowsily opened her eyes, she paused.

In front of her she saw Levi writing something on a piece of paper, and reach into his pocket. He pulled lotus tile from that morning, holding it in front him, and stared at Hange, laying asleep in front of him.

The old man’s words came to Nanaba’s mind, echoing in her head— “if you choose to give it to someone you love, they’d be protected…”

Nanaba’s jaw nearly dropped—Levi was trading that potential safety away, and giving that tile to Hange meant…

He really did love her.

Levi placed the note and the tile into the front pocket of Hange’s bag, where she’d likely find it immediately when they’d return home. Levi sat directly above Hange’s head, and lowered his head, eyes closed. Their foreheads touched as he cradled her cheeks in his hands, his fingers lost in her messy hair as she slept soundly, probably in a deep sleep after all the pain meds they had to give her earlier. After a few moments in that position, Levi lifted his head, and ran his fingers through her hair, trying to gently wake her. Her eyes opened eventually, drowsy and laden with sleep, probably very unaware of anything that was going on. But Levi persisted, sitting her up slightly. He grabbed the new canteen he had bought for her that morning, and poured some water into her mouth, making sure she’d stay hydrated for the night, and laid her back down, Hange immediately falling back into a deep sleep.

Levi looked up, startled to see Nanaba standing right above him.

“I can refill,” Nanaba whispered, reaching her hand out towards him. Levi nodded handing her their two canteens.

“Thanks, Nana.”

“Yeah,” Nanaba whispered as she walked away. At the entrance of the cave, she looked back to see Levi staring down at Hange, continuing to run his fingers gently through her hair.

The storm continued to roll through, and Nanaba quickly got them some water from the nearby stream. Thoughts raced, but she was too tired to make much sense of them. But she felt it.

“Goddammit,” she muttered, as she felt herself feel much softer towards Levi, a lot more trusting in less than 24 hours. She hated admitting when Mike and Erwin were right. She wondered though, if her gut was still right, that maybe Levi might be trustworthy, but that he might still be hiding something...

Nanaba returned to see Levi still doing the same. She dried off from the rain and laid back down, all the muscles in her body tired and achy. She’d simply worry more about it tomorrow, she thought. And before she knew it, she nodded off into a deep sleep.

—————————

Thunder cracked, it’s boom so loud that it shook the cave. Nanaba shot up now wide awake, her heart racing. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and looked outside. It was still the dead of night. As she sighed in relief, she turned back to Hange who was still asleep. But…

Where was Levi?

Nanaba looked around, and he was nowhere to be found. She called out his name—

No answer.

The storm continued on outside, and Nanaba felt her heart drop in her chest. She should have said something to him—there was too much residual rage left in him, and she felt quite responsible for not trying to calm it. Worry fell upon her, as the worst case scenario popped into her mind: Levi must have went back to fight those soldiers, and there was no way he could take them all alone.

She sprung to her feet, grabbing her weapons and backpack. She took a look at Hange—she was sure she’d be safe here. She threw another blanket over her, and plunged out into the rain.

She sprinted up the mountain, her speed significantly shot from the muddy ground slowing her down. The sound of yells began to grow louder, and Nanaba pressed on towards it. But as soon as Nanaba arrived to the site, she found herself standing still, her bright eyes widened—Levi… seemed to be just fine on his own, but…

The scene was absolutely surreal.

Three Fire Nation soldiers were strewn about, writhing on the floor. All of them had cuts and burns all over, with their left arms bent unnaturally—quite identical to Hange’s injuries. Fire from the fight glowed, making each of their outlines quite striking to the eye. Nanaba stared, her eyes scanning all of this, trying to make sense of it all.

But as her eyes finally wandered upwards, there, Levi stood before her. His face glowed orange from the light of the scattered flames, in contrast from the dark blue hue of night—and his eyes were blinded with a fiery rage, his teeth bared almost like a wild animal, and…

Fire burned at his fingertips.

Nanaba’s felt her chest squeeze— she was right! She had been right! Levi had been hiding a secret from them all—he was a firebender. This whole time.

But the strangest thing was… Nanaba felt no pride at all. She wasn’t happy she was right, which was strange.

Instead, she felt nothing but hurt in her heart, seeing Levi like this. Nearly a slave to his guilt, clearly pained that Hange had gotten hurt while he was around. It was interesting actually—she realized that Hange actually hadn’t gotten any severe injuries like this since Levi had joined them…

Levi stood, unmoving. It was like he was frozen, not there.

“Levi?” Nanaba called out, but Levi didn’t answer.

She walked up cautiously towards him, but he didn’t move. And it wasn’t until she was just a few feet in front of him and called his name once more, that the flames in his hand extinguished. It was as though he returned back to the present, his eyes locking with Nanaba’s, now filled with hurt—the rage had finally dissipated. He realized now, that his secret was out in the open for her.

“Nanaba, I can explain—“

But his words were interrupted. Nanaba had taken her hand to cradle the back of his head, pushing him towards her so that his forehead could rest on her shoulder. And it was like all of Levi’s worries flowed out from him. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he sobbed as Nanaba held him.

She couldn’t believe she was saying this, and she hoped with all her might that she wouldn’t regret it in the future. But she felt something once again, a gut feeling that this was the right thing to do. For whatever reason, of all times, she remembered something her mother used to tell her as a kid—that sometimes, friendships could transcend lifetimes. And Nanaba wondered, if that had anything to do with the new friendship she was forming at this very moment.

“Don’t worry, Levi, your secret’s safe with me,” she whispered, and Levi hugged her tighter.

—————————

“Yes!” Sasha exclaimed as Armin finally cut through the wooden bars of the Fire Nation base holding cell.

“Kicking this down will probably alert the guards right outside of here, so are all of you ready for that?” Jean asked.

Moblit, Armin, and Sasha nodded with determination in their eyes.

“Alright, our plan should get us at least through the first guards, and we’re just going to have to wing it for a bit after,” Jean announced. He took a deep breath, and kicked down the wooden cell bars. The crash echoed, and they heard footsteps immediately mobilize just outside. Sasha threw open the door, and Armin poured out the remaining water he collected.

“Now!”

With a flick of his wrists, the water turned to ice, causing the guards to slip down the corridor. Moblit jumped out, sliding on the ice past the guards, and the other three followed suit. The ice was thinner than ideal, and the guards began to chase after them, stumbling, throwing flames out at them. They sprinted quickly, only to run into more guards, so they turned the other corridor.

“A dead end!” Moblit yelled. The four felt panic bubble inside their chests, desperately thinking of a way out of this mess.

Suddenly, the sounds of a struggle began around the corner, and the temperature seemed to increase significantly.

“More fire?” Armin asked.

“Maybe it’s Hange!” Moblit exclaimed.

They all cautiously moved forwards after the sounds of guards yelling and being shoved into utility closets ended. And as they turned the corner…

“Levi!” Moblit yelled, seeing him with flames at the end of his fingertips. Moblit, relieved to see him, ran up to give him a hug.

Levi smiled, ruffling Moblit’s hair.

“We came just in time, huh?” Nanaba asked, eliciting a huge smile from Moblit, who turned to also tackle her with a hug as well.

“I knew you’d come!” Moblit said, and continued to bury himself in the hug. After the smiles of reunion began to fade, Nanaba locked eyes with Levi. The two looked at the kids.

“Where’s Hange?” They asked. The four looked at each other, a serious look falling upon their faces, causing Levi’s heart to drop.

Moblit began to tear up again, and Jean quickly explained the situation.

Nanaba could feel Levi’s anxiety from where she stood, so she grabbed Levi by the shoulders to ground him.

“It’s going to be okay, Levi,” she said, knowing full well that he was twirling the lotus tile in his hand. It worried her greatly that Hange would give that back to Levi.

They knew what that meant if she was returning it to Levi: Hange knew there was a high possibility she wouldn’t be making it out of here alive.

“Levi, I’ll take the kids, and I’m sure we’ll come up with a plan. Hopefully Erwin and Mike found Hange, but it’s better we cover more ground.”

She patted his shoulders.

“Go Levi, we’ll back you up once we find Erwin and Mike, you can count on us.”

Levi nodded and began to run.

“Wait!” Levi spun around, to find Nanaba chasing behind him. Like that horrible night that their friendship began, she placed her hand on the back of his head and pushed his head onto her shoulder.

“We’ll find her, I know it,” she whispered. And Levi hugged her tighter.

—————————

Levi sprinted through the corridors of the Fire Nation base, yelling Hange’s name. He ran and ran desperately kicking open doors only to find empty rooms. Still holding the lotus tile in his hand, he sprinted, determined to find her.

He felt stupid for thinking about this now, but he couldn’t get it out of his head that he didn’t just tell her he loved her in Ba Sing Se.

“Stupid,” he muttered as he kicked down a door to yet another empty room. Light strewn from the end of this hallway, and he ran towards it. He was suddenly bathed in the late afternoon light, out into the open training grounds of the base. And there in front of him, was the person he least wanted to see.

“Hi Nephew, how’s it going?”

Kenny stood facing Levi, and Levi felt a fiery rage burn inside him.

“Where’s Hange, Kenny?” Levi demanded, knowing he was pressed for time. “Ohhh, your girlfriend?” He asked, chuckling to himself at the desperation spilling from his nephew.

He raised a hand in the air, holding a pair of glasses, with the left lens missing.

The glasses frames he knew all too well.

[remys-lucky-franc]

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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[MORE]

[[MORE]]

—-

I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.


We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

[samanthadalton]

Bottled up part 3 (finale)

I feel like I’ve left this one for way too long but I finally finished it. 

pairings: Ava Lawrence x Emma Price

taglist: @cloud9in @alexroyard @midnitesteph @kamilahsayeet2063 @dopeyouth (again some people aren’t showing up im so sorry) 

word count: 2.3k (i hope you enjoy guys) 

Reality comes crashing down when I see Ava turning away from me running into the direction Bayla has run off too. 

“I have a girlfriend.”

That sentence rings in my head over and over again as I try to assimilate the last few minutes. Bayla was just here and she saw me and Ava almost kiss. Yep that most definitely happened. And now Ava is chasing after Bayla when it is painfully obvious she doesn’t want to be with her, she wants to be with.. me. I thought when I kissed Ava the first time, I would be thrown into oblivion and be lost in my thoughts and feelings. I mean I spent so much time trying to disentangle what my feelings for Ava would mean for me, but when I felt her lips against mine the answer is painstakingly obvious, it’s simply just love. I’m in love with Ava Lawrence.

Ava’s POV

Crap. Crap. Crap. 

This is the last thing I wanted to happen. Bayla wasn’t supposed to see me and Emma like that. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. My thoughts are running a million miles a minute and my quads are starting to slightly burn as I try to catch Bayla. Damn she’s pretty fast for someone who’s not athletic at all. I manage to catch her silhouette as she runs to the parking lot, so I take a deep breath and just keep running ignoring the burning sensation in my legs and the pang of guilt in my heart. 

“Bayla wait!” my hand clasps around her arm as I bring myself to stop running, which jerks Bayla back, crashing into me. She screams and clings onto my arms as she stabalises herself but as soon as we make eye contact she pulls away from me and I can clearly see the tear stains on her face and my heart  shatters into a million pieces. 

“Bayla please.” I feel the tears prick my eyes as my voice cracks while I try to plead with her. 

“What the hell do you want me to say Ava, you and Emma were about to-” she cuts herself off, running a distressed hand over her face. “God I’m such an idiot.” 

“No you’re not, I am I-” I realise that I have no idea what to say to Bayla, I wasn’t really about Bayla when my lips were centimeters away from Emma's. My mind scrambles for a response but I falter, clamming my lips shut. 

“I am. I should've known Emma would get in between us.” She spits out Emma’s name with disgust as her eyes angrily bore into mine. I remember Emma telling me about Bayla’s threat and anger begins infiltrating my body and the next thing I know I’m screaming at Bayla. 

“Is that why you told her to stay away from me? Because she’s not good for me?” I raise my hands putting my fingers in air quotes and Bayla looks at me stunned. 

“I-.” She takes a half step back before resolve suddenly seems to wash all over her face, her eyebrows furrowing together in conviction. “And I was right to, I mean she isn’t good for you. You even told me that yourself.” 

“She’s my best friend, you can’t dictate who I can and can’t be friends with.” 

“I was just looking out for you, like a good girlfriend does but I guess I was wrong.” 

“Bayla…” my voice trails off as I take in her tone that's laced with hurt and begin to break down, the tears I repressed earlier, begin to free fall as I fall under the heavy blanket of guilt. “Bayla I’m so sorry.” Bayla takes in my distressed demeanour and her gaze slightly softens but her body language indicates she’s still vigilant. 

“What happened between you two?” she hesitates for a second, before her eyes flicker to mine, filled with agony. 

“Last week, we-” I pause, wondering if I should tell the truth, but my mind drifts off to Emma and I take the plunge, “we kissed.” The silence stretches between the two of us as Bayla just stares at me, her expression barren. “I don’t know what happened, we were talking about the last couple of months and then Emma admitted she had feelings for me and then, I don’t know next thing I know we were kissing.” 

We bask in the awkward silence for a few more moments before Bayla curses softly under her breath, but this time when I meet her gaze all I see is acceptance, “I guess I shouldn’t have tried dating the girl who’s in love with her best friend,” though her tone drips with sarcasm I sense the hint of envy masked behind her voice, “i don’t really know what to say now to be honest.” 

“Neither do I,” my cheeks flush in embarrassment as I awkwardly tear my gaze away from Bayla looking down on the ground. 

“So I guess it’s over?” 

I nod, the words lodged in my throat but I’m unable to speak them out.

“For what it’s worth, I hope Emma is worth it,” and with that she walks off without a second glance. 

I exhale a deep breath, whether it was from relief or guilt I’m unsure but right now my heart hurts too much to even contemplate it. Even though Bayla wasn’t my first love I did care about her, she made me feel so comfortable about my sexuality and made me feel at ease when I was thinking about Emma. But I’m in love with Emma, I always have been, but I’m left even more confused because now I join Noah and Mason competing for her heart and I don’t know if that’s a battle I want to go through. Whatever would happen, it could wait until tomorrow, right now there’s a huge pint of ice cream calling my name at home. Before I step into my car, I browse at the school building wondering where Emma is since I haven’t seen her leave yet but just as I’m about to step into my car, I see Emma amble out of the entrance, her eyes wandering as she looks lost in thought. 

Her eyes saunter around until they land on mine and she tortuously looks away. My heart aches as I watch her debate with herself as her eyes flit over to me but then back to the pathway of the exit to the school. 

Emma’s POV

I thought I waited long enough for Ava to have left but I guess not. My heart practically skips a beat as I see her, standing next to her car door. She looks like she’s been crying and it takes all my strength not to run up to her right now and wrap her in a tight hug. I look out to the exit of the school and then back to Ava, she hasn’t moved from her spot since she’s noticed me. After a few more moments of deliberation, I push away all my ill-advised thoughts and begin walking towards her. Almost as if she’s expecting me, she moves to sit in the driver's seat of her car and patiently waits for me to get into the passenger seat before starting the engine. 

The silence hangs in the air, as Ava fixates her attention to the empty roads ahead of her, the car’s headlights illuminating the road ahead of us as the sky darkens even more, its before dimly lit sky subdues into a velvety night sky, as a few stars begin to peak through. Soon enough Ava pulls up to the driveway to my house, still, not a single word has been spoken the entire drive down. Just as I’m about to climb out of the car, Ava reaches out and touches my arm and I slightly jerk at the touch of her cold hand. 

“Emma I- '', her brows furrow together as she deliberates what to say next but after the recent breakthrough I made about loving Ava I know I can’t hold myself back anymore. 

“I’m in love with you,” I squeak out, the words jumbling together in an incoherent sentence. 

“Huh?” 

Crap she didn’t hear me. I take a slow deep breath before shifting in my seat to gaze at Ava, ready to bare it all “Ava, I love you.” She retracts her hand from my arm, I forgot it was even there in the first place, and looks at me, dumbfounded. 

“Emma don’t,” her voice is barely a whisper as she looks at me like I’m making a bad choice but determination sets in me, edging me to keep going. 

“After our kiss I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a while. I guess I’ve been so scared to admit it because if I do it means everything between us changes but I’ve realised that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” I look over at Ava, her brows creased even more than before, as she mulls over my words but she still remains silent and words keep sprouting from my mouth in an attempt to make this any less awkward than it already is. “I know I’ve been really confused the last couple of months but the truth is, no one has ever made me feel the way you do. Not Noah, not Mason, only you. Every time you smile at me I get these butterflies in my stomach and I do everything in my power to have you smile and look at me like that again. Or when you touch me, I feel like my body is on fire, and I never want you to let go. When we kissed, I felt so absolute. I know you’re with Bayla and I-” 

“No.” she softly speaks out. 

“No?” I repeat after her, in a confused tone, I can almost feel my heart splitting into two. 

“Bayla broke up with me.” 

“Oh.” Although part of me is screaming with happiness, another part of me feels bad knowing that it most likely ended because of me. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“I am. Bayla was good to you, and she was there for you. That’s more than I can say.” 

“She knew.” 

“Knew what?” 

“That I was in love with you. And maybe part of her accepted that you would always be my first real love but maybe another part  knew that she could never be you.” This time Ava’s staring deeply into my eyes, her earlier awkward demeanour breaking away with each word she speaks replaced with resolve. “I love you too.” 

Without missing a beat, I move my head towards her, capturing her lips in mine. Her hands move up, her fingers tangle in my hair pulling me closer as I lose myself in the softness of her lips. I open my mouth more, gladly welcoming her tongue into it, as it begins moving with mine. We kiss like we need each other to survive, like we’re living off the feeling we’re giving each other and we kiss for a few more moments until she breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against mine. 

“Wow,” I breathe out, fully entranced by the beauty that is Ava Lawrence. Ava lets out an airy laugh before her eyes bore into mine. 

“What do we do now?” 

“Well I would love to kiss you again.” She gives me a playful smack on my arm in retort. “Ow, hey.” 

“I’m serious Emma, what do we do?” She nervously chews on her lip, her body language slightly skirmish as she awaits for my answer. 

“I meant what I said Ava, I love you. I think the reason why I was always so hesitant about Noah and Mason is because I was missing something from them both, but with you it feels complete.” 

Ava giggles in the cutest way and pulls me in for another kiss. 

3 months later

I watch the football from the stands, with Mack and dad, cheering for Mason and Noah as they work on the field as a tag team duo and obliterate the other team in the first half of the game. The buzzers go off and I start cheering even harder because I know it’s time for the cheerleaders. I see Ava leading the girls onto the field and I give her a wave which she responds with a wink. The routine starts and Mack and dad cover their ears as I scream for Ava. 

“Wooooooooo that’s my girlfriend,” as Ava does a series of flips. The routine ends but they begin playing a different song, a slower one and realisation washes over me as I recognise the song, this is Ava and I’s song. Toni comes over and takes my hand, yanking me towards the field, I protest, unsure about what is happening but Toni ignores all my pleas and continues pulling me towards the rest of the girls. The girls are suddenly holding a huge banner with prom written on it as my eyes flit around looking for Ava’s. A tap on my shoulder breaks my out of my reverie as I turn around to see Ava kneeling on the floor, holding a bouquet of roses in one hand while her other intertwines with mine.

“Will you go to prom with me?” 

My heart bursts full of joy as I take in the glowing smile on Ava’s face, I pull her up and move in to give her a kiss. Behind us the crowd starts cheering and whooping but my attention is focused on the beautiful girl in front of me. 

“You didn’t give me an answer.” 

“Yes you idiot,” I pull Ava in for another kiss, content that I’ll be going to prom with my girlfriend. 

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 9

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623575983503638528/the-long-way-around-chapter-8-link-to-previous

Pairing: Jasper x Reader 

Word count: 2990

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

On the way to the waterfall, I’d done some thinking and come to the unfortunate conclusion that my feelings for Jasper are much more than I originally realized. Previously, any and all feelings I had towards him I interpreted as those I would feel towards a best friend. But I’ve never felt like this towards my best friends before.

Once I’d come to this conclusion, my outing with Jasper became a struggle. I’d had crushes before as a human, but nothing as intense as this and nothing even close to the risk involved when your crush can literally feel your feelings. I had to work so hard to keep myself in check. Jasper didn’t do much to help. He couldn’t have picked a more romantic location, for one. Seeing him doused in water, sparkling in the moonlight and the rising sun didn’t do anything to make me reconsider his beauty. I’d taken special care not to look at his body, knowing the attraction I, and then he, would feel. I’d slipped up once or twice, and I desperately hope he didn’t notice.

And the necklace. Gosh, if he even knew how perfect it is….I’ve never owned anything like it, and the fact that he remembered all those little things from so long ago…well, it makes me feel things.

But I need to keep those feelings under control.

Yes, he’s my best friend and yes, he’s incredibly good to me, but Jasper is way out of my league. Any interest he has in me will be fleeting, especially given how he must view me. I’m wild, barely controlled, a danger to society and monsters alike. Just the differences in our eye color show how incompatible we are. Mine are red, vicious, deadly. His are golden, like melting honey or a dazzling sunset. He doesn’t suddenly become deranged at the thought of human blood. He doesn’t try to hurt the people he owes everything to the minute he smells a human. He’s not weak.

From my side, Jasper eyes me but doesn’t say anything. I swallow the venom in my mouth and try to force my bitterness down with it. As if I needed such a tangible reminder of our incongruity.

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes before we smell the herd of deer. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he swiftly takes down a doe. He’s so graceful. My own kills are sloppy, desperate. I could never measure up.

Jasper approaches, careful not to startle me in my hunting state. “Are you okay?”

I nod, quickly trying to think of something to say that could explain my sudden moroseness. “I’m just frustrated that my eyes are still so red. I want them to be like yours—the whole family’s,” I correct quickly.

Jasper smiles knowingly. “It takes about a year for all the human blood to leave your system. Only six months to go. But I think,” he takes a step closer to me and peers into my eyes with exaggerated movements, “that I see a tiny bit of gold in them.”

My heart warms, and I do feel better, even if he’s obviously lying for my benefit. “I’m sure you do.”

He gives me a lopsided grin, and I find myself hoping to see more of those in the future.

Quickly, we wrap up our hunting and continue the journey home. About half a mile away from the house, Jasper skids to a stop, his arms flying out to grip me around the waist to cause me to stop, too.

“Something’s wrong.” His voice is calm, totally in contrast to the rod of fear that shoots through me. “It’s okay,” he assures, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Just stay by me.”

Not that I would need any encouragement. If I wasn’t so terrified, I might be able to enjoy the feeling of his hands on my waist, holding me close. But now is not the time, so I push those thoughts away. Instead, I focus on what I can hear, see, and sense around me. Nothing out of the ordinary. But I trust Jasper and his ability, so I stick close to him.

We approach the house slowly for vampires, carefully taking note of our surroundings. When we get to the back deck, Bella meets us outside, looking somber. Before we can ask, she waves us in, and we see Esme sitting in a kitchen chair, eyes screwed shut. She lets out a soft cry, signaling her pain.

“Esme,” I gasp, running to her.

She smiles stiffly, obviously not wanting anyone to worry about her. “It’s alight, it’s just a few little bites. The pain will go away soon.”

Hating seeing this kind, wonderful woman in pain but at a loss for what to do, I go to stand behind her and hug around her neck, letting my head rest on top of hers.

“What happened?” Jasper’s voice is tight, dangerous. I’ve never heard him sound like that before, and, if I didn’t know him so well, I would be scared of him.

Bella’s voice is quiet when she responds, so much so that I almost have to strain to hear her. “Esme went about thirty miles south for a quick hunt. She says another vampire, a female, came out of nowhere and attacked her.”

Just then, the front door bursts open. I jump, spooked.

But it’s just Carlisle, looking like he’s been torn apart. “My love, what happened?” He kneels in front of Esme, taking her hands in his. I pull back just a little to give them their space, though I don’t release my hands from Esme’s shoulders.

In a strained voice, Esme recounts what Bella had told us so far, and then continues. “The vampire came out of nowhere, Carlisle. I don’t know what I did to provoke her, but she seemed intent on finishing the fight. She only stopped when she heard Alice and Arthur coming to help me.” The pain in Esme’s voice is palpable. I can practically feel it in my own bones. I squirm, uncomfortable.

Carlisle doesn’t look any better off. He touches his forehead to Esme’s hands, breathing deeply. “I should’ve been there. You never should have had to go by yourself, I’m so sorry-”

“Carlisle, don’t be ridiculous. I should have known better than to hunt alone, really I-”

Jasper interrupts their pointless efforts to take blame. “Are Alice and Arthur still in pursuit?”

Bella nods. “And Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie. Hopefully they’ll pick up a trail.”

Jasper shakes his head, his mind quickly working through the situation. “It doesn’t make sense for someone to attack out of the blue. Do we have any clue as to her motivation?”

Now Esme shakes her head, looking dismayed. “Maybe I unknowingly entered someone else’s territory? Honestly, I thought we were the only coven for miles.”

Carlisle hushes her and strokes her hair gently. “It’s alright, darling, you just rest.”

But Esme smiles, placing a kiss on Carlisle’s head. “The pain is fading, my love. Don’t fret.”

Carlisle isn’t satisfied. “Would you like to go lie down? I can try to suck the venom out, maybe it hasn’t begun circulating yet.”

“I promise, the pain is barely there now. The vampire must not have bitten me very deeply.” Esme’s gaze softens and she takes Carlisle’s head in her hands. “But I would like to go lie down with you.”

Still seeming very concerned, Carlisle helps Esme up and begins to lead her out of the room.

It jolts us all when Esme lets out a yelp of pain and stumbles. Carlisle immediately swoops her up into his arms, looking absolutely gutted. “I would prefer to try and get the venom out.”

Teeth gritted, Esme nods. “Yes, I agree.” Quickly, Carlisle ascends the stairs, leaving just Jasper, Bella, and I in the kitchen.

Once Esme is out of the room, my discomfort fades, much to my guilt.

Bella’s phone rings, and she quickly takes the call, speaking lowly. When she’s done, she speaks loud enough so Carlisle and Esme can hear her from upstairs.

“That was Edward. They lost the trail of the vampire about a hundred miles south of where Esme was attacked. They’ll be back soon.”

I nod, still feeling terribly down. Poor Esme. Seeing the pain so plainly expressed by her made me feel terrible for the similar bites I’d inflicted on Edward and Jasper. Almost instantly, my guilt disappears, and I turn my head to Jasper, who’s looking at me with concern and curiosity. I don’t offer an explanation though, not quite ready to be so vulnerable in front of Bella, especially as it had been her husband who was one of my victims.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice my mood. Instead, she leans over, getting a better look at the necklace peeking out over my shirt.

“That’s gorgeous. When did you get it?”

Unable to stop the smile or the feeling of warmth that arises, I let it flow freely. He has a right to know how happy his gift made me. “Jasper gave it to me, actually. Isn’t it just perfect?” I carefully pull the necklace forward, allowing her to see it more fully.

Jasper looks uncomfortable with the attention, but pleased overall.

The three of us spend the next forty minutes idly chatting and doing our best to give Esme privacy to recuperate. Not too much later, the five other members of the family get back to the house. Carlisle and Esme come down then. Thankfully, Carlisle had been able to get some of the venom out, so she seems much more comfortable now. At Carlisle’s direction, we file into the dining room and take our places at the large, imposing table.

Alice begins, recounting how she had a vision of an unknown vampire choosing to attack Esme, reason also unknown, and she and Arthur rushed to help. Edward takes over, explaining that, once he and Emmett and Rosalie had gotten home from the library and Bella told them what had happened, they joined the pursuit. Only six out of the ten of us know the vampire’s scent, leaving Carlisle, Bella, Jasper, and I at a disadvantage.

“I say we continue our usual patterns but increase our precautions. The four of us who don’t know the scent shouldn’t be without someone who does. Also, stay in groups of at least three. We don’t want to risk being outnumbered.”

We all nod solemnly.

“Y/n, Jasper,” Carlisle continues, startling me with singling us out. “You were hunting north, how far did you go? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

I shift in my seat, knowing we’re about to be exposed for our lie. Thankfully, Jasper does the talking.

“We went about a hundred miles north, and we didn’t notice anything unusual. Although, we didn’t spend a lot of time covering ground hunting, so we really wouldn’t know much.” Is it my imagination, or does he look embarrassed? Ouch.

Emmett immediately expresses his intrigue. “Really? What could’ve been occupying your time then? A hundred miles north…alone?” There’s a teasing glint in his eye, but what’s even scarier is the real curiosity behind it.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Now is not the time, Emmett.”

“No, he’s got a point.” Rosalie holds up a hand, staring us down. “What were you two doing?”

I decide to give Jasper a break from always having to explain. “There’s a waterfall we wanted to see.”

Esme smiles, a strange look in her eye, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Just a waterfall?” Rosalie doesn’t seem convinced.

“And a pool,” I supply, defensive now.

Bella chimes in, seeming shy. “She got a very pretty necklace, too.”

Emmett claps his hands down on the table, staring at us like we’ve just given him a gift. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Carlisle comes to our aid, but even he wears a soft smile. “Remember the new rules and exercise good judgement. We need to be on our guard until we know more.”

With that dismissal, the family begins to leave the room. Emmett makes a beeline for me, likely to engage in more investigation and teasing, but I hurry to flag down Carlisle. There’s something I want to discuss with him.

“Do you have a minute,” I ask, feeling ridiculously nervous and insecure. I can feel Jasper’s gaze pricking at my back, but I don’t turn. I’m not sure if I could go through with my request if Jasper was sitting next to me, refined as he is. What I am about to ask is going to make me feel very, very, inferior.

“Of course,” Carlisle smiles, gesturing a hand forward. “Let’s go to my study.”

I follow him down the hall and take a seat across from his desk. Carlisle sits, folds his hands, then gazes at me kindly. “What can I do for you?”

I fidget. Carlisle gives me the time I need to breathe and work up the courage. Bless him.

Finally, I just spit the words out. “I was wondering if you would help me get better with my self-control.”

His politeness never falters. “I think you are doing very well already, Y/n, rest assured.”

I sigh. “Thank you, but I want to do better. I want to be able to leave the house and-and go to the library or at the very least, think about human blood without-” Like clockwork, the venom pools in my mouth. I wave a hand, knowing Carlisle is aware of it.

He nods slowly, contemplating. “You have a point, we can’t keep you locked up here forever.” He throws me a kind smile. “I could bring some blood home from the hospital. It has been frozen and stored, so it won’t be anywhere near as potent as it would be inside a living being. That might be a good place to start. Once you get used to that, perhaps we can go near popular hiking areas or the edge of town so you can slowly ease yourself into interacting with humans.”

I smile, endlessly grateful to Carlisle for taking my request seriously and being willing to help me. “Thank you.” I hesitate, not sure if it’s rude to ask what I want to know. Then again, Carlisle probably wouldn’t deny me any information. So I ask. “How long did it take everyone else to be okay around humans?”

Carlisle smiles, thankfully not offended by my question. “It varies greatly from person to person. Everyone is ‘born’, if you’ll excuse my terminology, with varying dispositions to certain aspects of this new life, just as humans are born and grow to find certain areas of life easier for them than others. For me, self-control was never a question of if, but when. It took me nearly two centuries, but now I can be around human blood flowing freely and barely feel a thing. Edward was fairly quick to gain control, and I suspect hearing the thoughts of those he wished to kill aided in his success. I wager it’s hard to kill someone if you’re so starkly aware of their humanity. Esme and Emmett both struggled, and will be the first to admit they slipped up many times. But they put in the work and have gotten much better in the last forty years. The true stars of us all are Rosalie and Bella. Only mere weeks after her transformation, Rose was able to be around bleeding humans and resist the temptation. Bella once began chasing after a human, and then stopped. Both of them are remarkable.” I can hear the respect in his voice, and wonder just how hard it was for him in his early years. He continues. “Alice, Arthur, and Jasper came to us later in their lives, so we weren’t with them to experience the newborn stage. Both Alice and Arthur were vegetarians from the start, with moderate success, and they’ve gotten much better since. Of all of us, Jasper struggles the most.” This surprises me. I never would’ve guessed. To me, Jasper seems so controlled, so refined, so advanced.

I’m unable to curb my curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“Am I correct in assuming you know about Jasper’s past?” I nod, remembering easily the horror stories from Jasper’s younger years. Carlisle continues. “Then you will know that, for over seventy years, Jasper survived solely on human blood, the longest of any of us.” I nod again. I’d known this, too. “When Jasper found us and learned of our lifestyle, he was very curious and committed to changing. But, seventy years of living one way is impactful. It’s nearly a human’s entire lifetime. Jasper became very accustomed to the taste, temptation, and satisfaction of human blood. For the longest time, the memory and temptation of it tortured him. He slipped up a few times, but at each and every point made a choice to come back to our lifestyle. Much like Edward, it’s hard for him to know the feelings of the people he kills. It was destroying him. The animals, while less instinctively satisfying, provide a much more peaceful life for him.”

I let that information settle. Poor Jasper…My heart aches for him. The pain of experiencing death after death through the feelings of your victim…the torture of being surrounded by humans after a lifetime of feeding on them….I don’t know how he bears it.

Carlisle’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts. “All this to say, I honestly have no idea how long it will take you to be confident around humans. But please know that as long as you desire our help, we offer it freely.”

I smile, endlessly grateful for the benevolent vampire sitting across from me. “Thank you, Carlisle.” But my mind creeps back to Jasper, and I know that my next conversation must be with him.

A/n Hi again! I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself. Let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/624011835356626944/the-long-way-around-chapter-10

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag

[theawkwardterrier]

No Place Like

Steggy Week 2k20, day 5 Prompt: Outside POV

Summary: Miss Carter is a regular at the local diner.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents​ for organizing!

Ernie thinks he’s been told that he’ll be inheriting the diner since the day he was born, and if it hasn’t been quite that long, it was probably the day after.

For years, the thought was okay with him. When he was little, filling salt shakers and reminding himself to be careful-careful when he got the chance to lift the occasional plate onto a table as tall as he was, it was the only future he could imagine. But now, halfway through being a junior in high school, he sees the sorts of things his classmates are planning, all that they get to do and choose and find out about themselves, and suddenly what he has waiting for him doesn’t seem like enough, even though he knows that it represents two generations of effort and saving and love from his family.

Plus most of his classmates don't have to work the early shift before school starts.

“Thank you for a lovely breakfast,” Miss Carter tells him one morning, thankfully coming over to pay for her meal just in time to rescue him from having to clean up the catsup spill at the corner four-top.

Miss Carter is a regular. He has the feeling that she’s either real busy, or doesn’t have a clue about how to cook, or maybe both - she’s in for either breakfast or dinner more often than not. She’s pretty, polite, always more put together than she needs to be for the job she says she has at the phone company. Sometimes she seems a little sad, gazing into her teacup or sighing to herself without even seeming to realize it, but he’s also seen her confront a kid who’d stolen a tip off one of the tables, looking ready to flip him over her shoulder as she waited for him to put the money down and cough up some extra too.

Ernie likes Miss Carter, but he’d never want to cross her.

“You have a good day, ma’am,” he says, dropping the pair of quarters into the register (and putting her tip into his own pocket). “Hope it’s not too busy for you.”

She laughs. “I’ll hope that for all our sakes. When things become busy for me, it usually indicates more trouble than I think anyone would like.” Picking up her briefcase, she adds, “But as far as I’m aware, it should be quite uneventful: just paperwork on the docket, and then I’ll be back this evening.”

“Enjoy your paperwork, then,” Ernie tries joking shyly. It earns a light laugh, but afterward, as he hangs up his apron and runs water through his hair to get ready for school, he wonders if it was just out of pity.

“Stupid,” he mutters to himself. He never knows what to say around Miss Carter; one of these days he'll learn to keep his mouth shut.

She doesn’t come back for dinner like she said she would. The tables are jam-packed all evening and Ernie’s so run off his feet that he doesn’t even notice.

Just before he falls asleep, he does remember what she said and wonder if this means there’s some big problem that she has to take care of, but then he puts it out of his mind, rolling over.

If the world’s ending, maybe he'll at least get a chance to sleep in.

Miss Carter isn’t there for breakfast either, and this time Ernie’s not the only one who notices. His mama and pops have always said that one of the advantages of owning a “community establishment” like theirs is getting to know and care about people and having them feel the same for you. Ernie’s never quite believed in that - people coming up to loudly tell him that his skin is finally clearing has never felt quite like caring to him - but now he understands just a little. When his sister Luella says that she hopes that everything’s fine over with Miss Carter, he agrees with perhaps too much vehemence.

She finally comes back for dinner, and he’s taking in a breath to shout back for a cup of tea (Miss Carter has a regular breakfast order, but she likes a hot drink while she picks something out on the dinner menu) when he notices that she’s not alone.

Miss Carter has come in with a friend every so often in the past, mostly a tall, beaky sort of man with an accent that matches hers, and a brunette lady who acted fancy, sticking out her pinky and all, but tipped real well. A few times it was with a cheerful redhead who had a different sort of accent, one Ernie didn’t recognize, or a handsome, dark-haired man who used a crutch and watched Miss Carter closely. Once she even came in with Howard Stark, the inventor. Ernie recognized him from the papers and almost went over to say hello or ask for an autograph, but he was too familiar with the signs of hangover to try it; he made sure to be extra quick sending coffee to their table instead.

(Mr. Stark has a great mustache up close, though. If Ernie could grow one, that’s the kind he’d want, but at last glance into the side of the toaster he has barely half a dozen struggling hairs on his upper lip.)

This man isn’t someone Ernie recognizes, and he can tell immediately that he’s not just a friend. His hand is wrapped so tightly around Miss Carter’s that Ernie can only think about the two trees out on his granny’s property which have been growing around each other for so many years they finally fused together. When Miss Carter points out her regular booth, there’s a moment where Ernie thinks she isn’t going to even let the man go to sit facing her. Eventually she does, but they lean over the tabletop so that they’re nearly touching, and her gaze on him is so intense, so full of love and pain that Ernie turns to go make Luella take their order instead.

“Uh-uh!” she whispers and swishes over to go top off coffee cups that she'd just refilled five minutes ago.

Ernie stands up straight, taking out his pad like it's armor. As he walks over, he tries to imagine the least awkward way of clearing his throat.

He doesn’t achieve it one bit (it comes out as an “A-HEM,” like Patty Francona’s dad when he found them standing together talking on the porch after their one and only date) but the two of them are too wrapped up to notice.

“What can I get you folks this evening?” he asks, the automatic patter helping steady him.

“I’m not certain yet, Ernie,” Miss Carter says, finally looking up at him, polite as usual, though her voice is soft as heartbreak. “We might need just another moment to get our bearings.”

“Take your time,” Ernie responds, quick with relief, and hightails it back to the counter.

When the two of them finally pick something, it’s a couple orders of franks and spaghetti, which Ernie’s never known Miss Carter to eat. He’s actually not known very many people to pick that off the menu. It’s like they just put a finger down and decided at random. Luella makes a face when Vince, the short order cook, adds the franks on top.

“Hope they enjoy,” she says dubiously as Ernie goes to take the food out front. Miss Carter and her companion have decided that they’d like it to go. As he rings them up, they both offer him tips at the same time. The looks they give each other are so soft and sappy that Ernie ends up practically shoving the bag of food at them before saying rapid and clipped, “You have a very pleasant evening now!”

“Thank you,” says Miss Carter, nearly sing-song. “I believe we shall.”

And she and her companion stride out arm in arm.

They start calling the man ‘Mr. Carter.’ While they might not know his actual name, he’s a regular now which means that they have to call him something.

Beyond his name and where he came from, there’s a lot of speculation as to what exactly happened between him and Miss Carter.

Vince, thoughtfully cleaning the grill, suggests that maybe their families didn’t approve of them being together. “And he had to wait years and years until his parents died, but as soon as they did he raced back up here to see her.”

“No, he probably married another woman,” proposes Jean, the other evening waitress, looking at her reflection in the side of a napkin dispenser to make sure that her hat’s on straight. “Men are fickle like that, you know. Forget a girl as soon as their eyes are closed. So she’s just been pining away all these years, waiting for him to realize that they belong together, and he finally got divorced and looked her up. But a man like that, he'll be gone in another blink, that's for certain.”

From her place swinging her legs atop the counter, Luella scoffs, “As if she would ever pine. No, I’ll bet they were just about to get married and then he tripped over a sewer grate and hit his head and lost all of his memories and is only just getting them back.” She sighs. “The first thing he remembered about his old life was probably her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ernie says, giving up on trying to do his homework in the corner of the kitchen and entering the conversation fully. “You might as well say he was MIA from the war and finally came home, that’d be just as realistic.”

“The war was years ago,” Luella says, waving an irritated hand. “If someone suddenly came home now, it’d be a miracle. We’d have heard about it.”

Just to needle her, Ernie says, “Not if they’re spies. They’re probably both government agents and all their business has to be kept completely top secret!”

She just shakes her head, looking put upon, as if just entertaining his notions ages her ten years. “I have no idea where you come up with these things,” she says, and huffs out of the kitchen.

Whatever happened, Mr. and Miss Carter sure do look happy together. They come in for breakfast together more often than not, and dinner several nights a week too - apparently he's no cook either or is just as short on time.

(When Ernie mentions this observation to Vince, he gets a very huffy reminder that some people really do just prefer the food here.)

They laugh a lot across the table, and they're always touching. She'll swat at his shoulder while he gives a mischievous grin. He'll fold a little flower when they've finished with the newspaper and slide it gently behind her ear. They link their little fingers together on the tabletop so often that Ernie, bright red over the top of his notepad, has to pretend not to see it, and eventually he actually stops noticing it altogether.

Mr. Carter sometimes comes in for lunch on his own, but he's not there the Sunday afternoon when the radio starts acting up and people coming in report strange lightning strikes nearby. And Ernie doesn't see him or Miss Carter that evening, either, when there's an earthquake strong enough that the road ripples beneath the cars outside and concrete slides off of the surrounding buildings. In the diner, everyone's food shimmies off the table and splatters all over the floor.

Ernie stands there a minute after the shaking has stopped, staring around at the mess. The building itself is fine, and something in him isn't surprised that the place is still solidly standing.

"Get a move on," Luella urges, practically skating in gravy as she comes to hand him a mop. "All this isn't going to clean itself up!"

The Carters do show up again the next night, listening to the other regulars recounting the shock of what had happened. Considering they've spent the past few weeks practically sharing the same air, it's easy to notice the change between them. They're both perfectly civil to Ernie when he comes over to take their orders and deliver the food, but they speak to each other only occasionally and in undertones that seem taut even from where Ernie is standing.

A while later, he glances into the dining area on the way back to throw out the kitchen trash and notices that they’re no longer at their table. When he opens the outside door, however, he finds where they’ve gone.

“—putting yourself in danger!” Mr. Carter’s voice is low but harsh.

Miss Carter hisses, “As if you can talk,” with so much venom that Ernie almost steps back inside even though it wasn’t directed at him.

“Even if Delacroix had hit me, it wouldn’t have been fatal.” (Mr. Carter should have probably asked for some advice before trying that one, or at least rehearsed so it wouldn’t sound as flimsy.

The alley is dim, but even with the low light Ernie can see how her face twists. “If that’s the metric that we’re using, ‘will this certainly kill me?’ then I don’t—”

“And what about you?!” He hits back defensively. “You knew that Howard had said another minute for the power, and you jumped anyway. If he’d been ten seconds slower—”

“He wasn’t.” She seems to be trying to spit the words with her same vehemence, but it doesn’t quite work. Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest. “And had you been in the same position, you would have made the same decision, Steve, don’t act as if you wouldn’t have.”

“I know,” and with the simple words all the fight seems to go out of him. “I know. I would have. And one of the reasons I love you is that you would make the same choice. But Peggy—” He steps forward, arms held open, and though Ernie thinks he’s nuts for trying it, Miss Carter actually moves toward him too, letting her own arms drop and pressing herself against his chest.

“When I came back, it was because I wanted to get a chance at a life together. A good, long life,” he says, so softly into her hair that Ernie has to strain to hear it. “Which means that we have to, the both of us, take better care to make sure we last that long.”

“I suppose I can prioritize further recruitment of people we trust. With more hands, things might not get quite as...shaky as they did last night.”

Ernie wouldn’t have pegged Miss Carter as a fan of puns, but Mr. Carter just laughs. “I think Jarvis especially would appreciate it. He’s probably going to name his ulcer after us if we keep on like this.”

“You underestimate him,” Miss Carter remarks. “And you underestimate me. I would say I’ve earned the ulcer all on my own. Perhaps I shall grant you the gray hairs, however.”

“Generous of you.”

They’re both laughing together now, turning to come back inside. Ernie hastily hefts the trash bag and steps noisily into the alley.

“Oh!” he says, projecting surprise as hard as he can when he spots them (though the springing eyebrows might be a bit much). “Good evening there.”

“Hullo, Ernie,” says Miss Carter, patting his shoulder as they sail by. “Careful on the stones. Some of them seem to have come a bit loose after last night.”

He watches the way their silhouettes stay framed in the doorway for just a second, little fingers twined together once again, before he shakes his head and turns toward the dumpster.

He’d learned a lot more than he’d expected to tonight: that the Carters weren’t entirely perfect, that Mr. Carter was apparently called Steve, and that Miss Carter, no matter what she said, pretty certainly didn’t just work for the phone company.

Mr. Carter comes in by himself one quiet spring Saturday. (Ernie might know his name now, but in a thousand years, he doesn’t think he could bring himself just to call him by it. The most he might stammer out one day is “Mr. Steve, sir.”) He sits at the counter and asks Ernie for a root beer float, swiveling on the stool a bit and just thinking or drifting as he drinks it down.

“Say, we’ve been asking around,” he says once he’s finished and turned over a full dollar (“Keep the change,” and floats are only sixty cents!). “Do you happen to have old boxes in the back? Maybe crates left over from deliveries that you’re not using anymore?”

Ernie thinks as he takes his four dimes from the register and puts them in his pocket. “Maybe one or two. Do they have to be big?”

“It might make it easier. We’re using them to pack up the apartment, and we have some more stuff than we bargained for,” Mr. Carter explains.

Ernie tips back his hat. “Oh. Did you two get a new place?”

“We did, but not here. We’re moving out of state - Peggy needs to, for her new job. She’s actually at the office now, taking care of some last minute paperwork so the transition goes smoothly.” He’s smiling as he says it, really proud of her, but Ernie’s too distracted to pay much attention.

“I wish I could get out of state,” he says, the words bitterly out before he can stop them. Mr. Carter raises an eyebrow and sits back down on his stool, leaning over the counter.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well.” Ernie shoves his hands into his apron pocket, then rips them out to gesture around. “Look at this place!”

Mr. Carter actually takes him literally, glancing around at the linoleum Ernie’s mama swears she’s going to have replaced soon, the two- and four-tops with the salt and pepper shakers that have been in the diner since the day Ernie’s grandparents opened, the wooden booths which Luella is supposed to polish every week.

(They’re looking a little worn, actually. Maybe Ernie will mention that to his pops, just if it comes up, or if Luella does something annoying.)

“Looks like a pretty nice place to me,” Mr. Carter says, swinging back around. “And I’ve got some good memories from here. So I guess the question is why you don’t.”

Ernie says indignantly, “I do!” before he’s even realized it. His voice pitches up embarrassingly; he brings it down a purposeful octave and says, “I have plenty of good memories, I just don’t know that I want to stay working here forever.” He rubs a hand over his forehead, then rests his elbows on the counter across from Mr. Carter. “And the worst part is, if I had something else I wanted to do instead, my parents would try real hard to help that happen, but I don’t know that I want to do anything else. I just know that I’m not sure I want to do this. And heck, maybe I really do! What if I give up on this place and it turns out that I don’t like whatever else I try?”

Mr. Carter passes a hand over his mouth, considering. “Huh. Well, do you think your parents would let you take a year for yourself? Would they be able to run things without you while you traveled a little, took some classes, worked a couple of jobs, just to see what’s out there?”

“Maybe?” They’ve never talked about anything like that. He’s never even asked, afraid that the answer would be that it’s impossible, the family can’t swing it, can’t make things work without him.

“That’s my advice for now,” Mr. Carter says. “Find out, and if it’s okay with your folks, take a year away, see how you feel. Sometimes you know how you want your life to turn out, and sometimes you need a little time to know, or to realize how much you want something.”

As if he hears something outside, he turns on his stool so he can see through the big front windows. Miss Carter is at the opposite corner walking toward them, glancing quickly back and forth before she crosses to enter the diner.

“The places that are home will still be that when you come back,” says Mr. Carter, turning to look meaningfully at Ernie one last time before he steps over to greet Miss Carter just as she opens the door.

A few years later, Ernie’s running a busy dinner shift. Half the staff is out with a cold, the remaining half can barely keep up with orders while also drying the floor so no one breaks their neck slipping in melting snow, and Ernie’s wondering how it always seems that Luella never has to work on these sorts of nights. It’s why he’d hesitated before agreeing to split managing with his sister when she finishes high school next year. That, and she’s been going on and on about “revolutionizing” the diner with what she’s planning on learning in the business classes she’s going to take at night school. Ernie doesn’t really need a revolution; there’s some charm in the idea that this place doesn’t change much.

The door opens with a gust and Ernie glances over the dining room to see if there’s even a free table. Then he looks back at who it is and decides that he’ll make one if he has to.

The Carters stand there, looking around with smiles on their faces. They’re each holding the hand of what must be a toddler, though it’s hard to tell considering how well-bundled that snowsuit keeps things.

“Welcome back,” Ernie says, trying to be careful not to slip himself as he hurries over to them. “It’s good to see you, Miss Carter, Mr. Carter.”

The words are out before he can stop them and he can feel his face flaming. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “Back then, we didn’t know—It’s just what we all—”

Mr. Carter just laughs. “That’s okay. It’s what I go by officially these days anyway,” and Ernie notices a wedding ring when Mr. Carter puts out his hand to shake.

“I’m glad to see you working tonight, but I’m still wondering: did you get a chance to figure out where home is?” Mr. Carter asks, and Ernie looks around at the linoleum they’ve finally gotten a chance to replace, at the salt and pepper shakers that he filled himself in the late quiet last night, at the booths which Luella keeps proprietarily shiny now that she’s “almost in charge.” He went to plenty of diners during his year away, and many even looked like this one, but none of the others felt like it, at least not to him.

“I did,” Ernie says. “Thank you.” He glances at the wedding ring on Mr. Carter’s hand, at Mrs. Carter, who’s leading the baby over to their old, surprisingly free booth. “I guess you found where home was too.”

Mr. Carter follows his gaze, taking in the scene. “I guess I did,” he says. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “I guess we all did.”

(And, Ernie decides, Jean can go suck an egg.)

[seoafin]

jjk & tower of god chapter on the same day,,, i spent all of my brainjuice talking abt tog w some friends + working on my wip so this one might be incoherent LMAO but nsjdhfjd this my 2 cents for the chp (1) - 🐱

first of all, the zenins shld just eat shit 🥰 the bar is just nonexistant now 😭😭😭

also maki’s mother said sth that hits way too close to home for me too🥴

the maki & mai, megumi & tsumiki "make a place where they are happy” parallels...mai,, maki wanted a place where u'd be happy!!! 😭😭😭 good points abt any interesting nuances the original jpn might have had though

ALSO MUSCLE MAKI IS HERE

and lmao megumi's "ew no" face ,,, i didn't think he could make a face like that JDJJDJD ,, once again i think his outsider-insider status is interesting but the amount of ppl counting on him/leaning on him bc of strategic position is a lot. ig this is what kamo meant by supporting the 3 families,,,, gojou indeed is playing the long game. megumi in the meantime, very persistent in not getting more involved in clan politics, not using power that is offered to him, or leveraging it - in a way it is good, and it also makes sense with "stress is other ppl" but is interesting from a structural pov. megumi may not rly give a shit abt the rest of the jujutsu world. if the ppl close to him are affected, then he cares. otherwise, forget it.

also im interested in power implications here bcs it sound a little like there’s a slight split b/w leadership and everyday zenins and im curious what it's like if u have no connection to the top of the clan,, and again higher ups being unaffiliated with the 3 clans so they have to appeal to them. curious what other talents the gojou clan have and what they're known for bc clearly it's not just gojou, they still have power without him and still have a stake in the shifting power structure. kamo must be busy too...

MAKIIIIII ,,, honestly my heart hurts a little seeing her getting beat up in recent chapters. but i’m rly happy,, shes FINALLY getting the focus she deserves and i’m confident she will make a recovery and she IS in fact the one leading efforts on the zenin side. im rly hopeful she can take over the clan one day and no longer say she's not good enough

that stomach wound is bad news though so im wondering how she will come back from that,, that she didn't know her own father's abilities says a lot, too. i wonder if she could see the extension of his blade, or if she hasn't been able to see/understand many ppl abilities

im hopeful for next chp now. u can do it maki!!!!

flashing back on these bits, it makes more sense now why megumi wasn't melting down post-shibuya,, seems most information came to him in a sort of timely and calm way? also i rly have to wonder if gojou did not spend a decade plotting in front him bcs he's done it before,,,, like the whole clan head scene in megumi's middle school years....in a way i imagine he wouldve seen that gojou come out of the high school and watch him get more serious as he acquired even more skin in the game

all the time though i wonder abt megumi's tendency toward inertia and nonaction to things that would seemingly give him power and trying to understand it and that IS him being selfish and that IS,, imo the biggest indication of what he actually does or doesn't want. he wants it, he will act and work on it immediately himself. he doesn't like it? act like it doesn't exist. it make me want to shake him around like NO!! megumi pay attention!!! But his reaction to this clan stuff is a contrast to his behavior in recent chapters imo

and more mahjong references,,, between this and yuuji’s pachinko,, i wonder abt the undercurrent of gambling haha. a gamble for the shaman world and who will come out on top? a contrast to the flowy ocean imagery that connects shaman stuff out to the rest of the world

also this ,,,, there's that one jp tweet (i cant find it again😞) that talks about how toji, as the point of distortion, created megumi, who is currently playing a potential convergence/healing/uniting role (if he actually takes it on as a responsibility lol) and connects this back to the medicine buddha,,, whose mudra (hand sign) is used for chimera shadow garden. with the commentary abt ppl with heavenly restriction needing to know what to throw away in order to become strong or tap into their full strength and toji’s commentary at the end of fight with gojou,,  i actually always felt that toji died not having been entirely resolved with himself bc he talks abt going against the self that decided to forget abt self-respect, to live without thinking abt himself or others,,, in a way, living selfishly, for himself, by ignoring anything immediate and i think he succeeded for a while bc he didnt even remember megumi's name. he remembers it when he talks to getou abt him being thankful for toji not killing him bc of potential drawbacks

and at the very end he thinks of megumi again and that last act does think of someone else, like a "life before your eyes" moment where toji thinks about how the zenin's treatment of him led him there or how his return to shibuya ends with him remembering how he gave megumi back to the zenin,,, i think atm of his death he was starting to think he did want to care, in a different way, or that he needed a different paradigm. or,, maybe he was just starting to realize how far the zenin thinking had set into him

so we dont rly talk abt that being an enlightenment moment for toji but i kind of think it was. that megumi has the potential to become a pivotal piece as a legacy of distortion is interesting. i dont actually think toji set up everything intentionally bc he didnt know megumi's ability, and i dont think he wouldve thought that far. i think a lot of the heir and inheritance stuff is sth naobito set in after seeing megumi's development under gojou. it's clear now everyone has been keeping eyes on everyone else

at some point there's some interesting discussion to be had abt megumi and privilege - i'm surprised the canon characters dont hate him more for having stuff just fall into his lap, and so i liked that maki pointed this out that he could use this and he shld bc theres a frustration there - and yet at the same time megumi himself seemingly feels very little attachment to the zenin and the shaman world still. he just cares abt his little circle of people, and it's a very intentional choice, based on his good/bad ppl thing

u cant really affect the entire world, but u can assert urself on the environment around u and decide what u do and dont act on. this part of megumi is more teenage boy and kind of toji-like, i think,,, hence the emphasis on action

u express ur effect and existence through action, who u kill or who u save. toji having very little, while so much falls into megumi's lap while he doesn't want it, doesn't want to acknowledge it, likely doesn't want to take part in a system he doesn't like or, having been raised under gojou's wing, resents or finds corrupt or useless, or doesn't even think on bc he thinks its above his pay grade and gojou's there - this is also megumi's moment to solidify his own direction and commit to working in the system or out of it

the "not caring" is a defensive measure in a way too, i think. i dont think megumi is Big Good and wants to save everyone and everything and the world to be good and pure, i tend to think of him as a resigned chaotic neutral, who wishes he could be good orz

ANYWAY i think there's some interesting juxtapositions with the whole toji > megumi thing, that someone who is born without, restricted, births and creates someone full of blessings. its very shaman-like, action then reaction

AND i wish u luck on ur final paper (bless ur eyes to see incels bc i’ll just log off for the day when i saw one (1) of them on the net) AND DONT FORGET TO TAKE A REST,, the self care is much needed me thinks <333 (2) - 🐱

i love u 🥺🥺😭😭😭 you take care of yourself too!!!

also ur right...all this political intrigue im so curious i need to know how the jujutsu world is structured in terms of the higher ups and the clans. like i assumed that the three clan elders WERE to some extent also part of the higher ups???? but now it seems that the higher ups are a separate entity altogether, so like checks and balances i suppose. except both the higher ups and the clans are corrupt so no balance there 😭

the chapter implied the zenins are losing when it comes to the power struggle between the three clans. im interested. i want to see them all rot!!! like i also said though it’s going to be interesting to see the state of the kamo clan though, considering “noritoshi kamo.” like what do you even say to that???? im going to be surprised if it doesn’t affect their standing in the jujutsu world but then again the kamo clan IS one of the big three.

megumi really is a character that was blessed in all regards but like. doesn’t want anything to do with it LOL he really said ‘this is a pain no thanks.’ like gojo like megumi i suppose. i agree with u the whole toji and megumi set up....genius....i also love their juxtaposition. it’s so interesting and another source of irony.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

He Imagines Going Home: Dex

Dex, your angst is killing my ability to write coat-smut and I hope you’re happy

CW: References to serious trauma and violence, broken bones, stitches, blood, etc. But no real violence here. Just some references/implications.

I made myself cry again with this one. Dex’s POV destroys me, every time. Read Dismantled, Insecurity by @spiffythespook, and Reconstruction for context. Oh my god I have to make a Wrex Master List and new moodboard don’t I.

When she wants him to brew the coffee, three days after she nearly killed him, he cannot stand. She comes into his room, into the warm darkness he's been sinking in and out of, and orders him to stand.

He tries.

He fails.

Instead he crumbles to the ground and lands in a graceless heap, barely managing to catch himself - wait wrong hand no no no too late - and he doesn't scream when his weight lands on the splints and broken fingers of his right hand.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, as agony blossoms up his arm and settles into his mind. There might be a whine - not quite a whimper - that laces the edges of the air as it leaves his lungs, but other than that… he doesn’t scream.

He tries to be silent.

He succeeds.

"Disgraceful. Three days of stubble, three days without a shower. You are an absolute fucking wretch." Her voice is low. “You should be dead. You don’t deserve the mercy I have given you.” She has done this to him, but it was his fault. He let her see that he is not her perfect masterpiece, after all. This is all his fault. 

"You have lazed in bed long enough. I told you to stand up."

He tries.

He fails, again.

At least this time he manages to slump onto his knees. She has always liked them kneeling. She likes it now, he can feel the tension in the air shift and dissipate, just a little. After twenty years, Dex knows Karen Renford inside and out. He has made only a few mistakes.

He should have known better than to fight her, defy her insistence he not see Wright again. From the moment he signed why, he had been walking into her trap. She knew, she knew that he loved someone when he was not meant to have that feeling. He couldn’t keep that knowledge from her any longer.

All he can keep a secret, now, is that he wants to believe he isn’t the only one who feels it. 

She stares down at him, and he can't bear to look up. Broken man, beaten and battered, my own fault. He keeps his eyes on the floor. She doesn’t command him to look, so he doesn’t. He is afraid if he looks, he won’t be able to hide how much he hates her any longer.

His face throbs, a pulse of pain along the stitches in time with his heartbeat. Disfigured. He had wondered if it would be enough to ruin him, in the eyes of the only person who called him beautiful when he was not bleeding.

Dex knows she sent him a photo of Dex's face to test the other man, to see how angry he would get.

Lovely work, darling.

Tears threaten again - hot and insistent, and he has cried so much in three days that his eyes feel worn and painful - and he fights them back. His message to Karen was a lie, Dex is sure of it. He is certain, and he breathes the message, in and out, like a heartbeat. Paradise Lost by the history section on a Tuesday.

Peter's voice but Wright's words - the words meant only for him. Dex clings to that message with what battered, cracked hope he has left. Sorry for what she did. He wants you to know that he called for you.

For you.

Not her.

Wright likes him as he is, has spent so long pushing apart the empty spaces to find what Dex had so carefully hidden inside, and he can’t keep going if it has been a lie all along.

Wright often compared him to Kintsukuroi, broken pottery where the cracks have been filled with gold. At first, Wright had suggested the gold came from Karen. Later, he had said - in Dex's ear, a breath and want against his skin - that Dex himself was the gold. Filling in her edges with the parts of his own true personality that Wright helped him to rediscover and bring to the light.

Outside, the sun has not yet risen - but Karen Renford has always been up before dawn, making use of the grayish half-light to take some time for herself.

My house is so full, She says with a smile to guests at parties, and her four Box Boys - three from the Facility and poor Henry, who never stood a chance once she got her claws in him - don’t speak a word of disagreement. Obedient, and any of them could walk right out the gate - except Henry - but they don’t.

They can’t.

In the present, Karen’s foot - bare, and it is so rare that he sees her without her red-soled heels, only in these soft gray hours of the morning - taps on the floor impatiently. He swallows, and manages, with a groan he bites back behind his teeth, to push back until he is sitting on his heels.

Everything hurts, and there is no part of him, inside or out, that isn’t begging for it to stop.

"If you can't stand," Karen says, her voice cold, "Then you will crawl. I trusted you, Dex, and you betrayed that trust. Go downstairs and make my coffee. I will be down when I am dressed. Don't dawdle. You will not appreciate my response if the coffee is not at least brewing when I am ready.”

He tries to be silent.

He succeeds.

He cradles his broken hand on his lap, and waits for her to leave. Watches her feet turn on a dime to walk lightly, nearly soundlessly, out of his room. Hears the sound of the hallway bathroom door opening and closing. The shower turns on.

He tries to stand.

He fails.

He crawls.

Bruised skin aches, cuts and welts are pulled back open - and Seb won’t like cleaning them again, Dex thinks dimly, as he crawls out into the hallway on the second floor. They will soak the loose, light-colored shirt and pants he was given with more drops of blood. The red will spread and spread and dry brown, and it’s been so long since Dex had to wash blood out of his own clothing, and he cannot even stand to scrub at the stains now.

His bones are screaming, as he navigates the stairs awkwardly, having to slide down like a child. Sit on the step, place your feet, balance with your good hand, pull yourself down.

Each thump to the next step, and the next, is an agony.

He grinds his teeth together as hard as he can, breathing harsh and fast through his nose, and keeps going.

He tries to stay silent.

He succeeds.

When he makes it to the bottom, to the landing, he can see the front door. There was never a time, in his life in this house, where Dex could have walked away. He is too broken, too bent to her will. He can’t walk out now.

But for the first time in more than fifteen years, Dex stares at the door and he dreams about it. He pictures himself, standing tall and unbeaten, with his hair sort of ruffled the way Wright likes it. 

He thinks of himself, in the green sweater Wright gave him and a simple pair of black pants, turning the doorknob with an unbroken hand. He thinks about stepping outside to look at the grayish-pink sky, about walking with even steps to the front gate.

He fights the instant, conditioned fear (you’re only safe with a collar, the collar is how you know someone wants you) and imagines himself without a the band of leather and the tag, with his neck bare to the rising sun.

He imagines a car, waiting for him at the end of the street.

Someone to take him somewhere other than hell.

Someone to bring him home.

The tears are back, and this time he lets them fall, because there will never be a car, there will never be a rescue, and he taught himself so long ago not to dream like this.

Back up the stairs, there is a shuffle, Karen moving from the main hall bathroom to her bedroom, and he swallows. He can’t be sitting here when she’s dressed. He can’t be hurt any worse than this, he can’t. He has to heal, so he can get to the library.

Dex looks at the wall, just beside him, and then at the kitchen. If he steps with one heel to the other foot’s toes, it’s maybe thirty-five steps from here to the coffeemaker. Maybe twenty-five - he can’t remember right now. 

If he can stand.

Upstairs, Karen is getting dressed and his time is running out. Sebastian is still asleep - Madam doesn’t need him to cook her breakfast on a workday, she gets moving too early for that. Peter will be asleep on Henry’s floor. Seb told Dex yesterday that Peter’s been sneaking in there after Karen goes to bed, bedding down on the floor, and then getting up before Henry does and sneaking back out again.

Henry had nightmares, the night after Karen hurt Dex. Since Peter has been sleeping on his floor, he hasn’t had any more.

Peter and Henry have secrets, too.

Dex puts his hand on the wall, bracing himself, and he tries to stand.

At first he fails.

He drops with a thump back to the floor, but he has to be able to stand because he will have to walk to the library on a Tuesday afternoon, to read Paradise Lost in the history section. It was the second half of the message Peter gave him, and if he can’t walk, he can’t go to the library without Karen’s knowledge.

Wright did not have to tell him to keep a secret.

No, Dex was a wealth of secrets when it came to Wright Farling. She had found out one of them - but she would not be given any more. He would die first.

He nearly had.

For Wright, he would speak - or stay silent - no matter the cost.

He slams the palm of his broken hand against the wall with a frustrated, strangled groan, tear tracks drying on his face as something other than grief and fear and despair settles underneath his skin. 

He is… he is suddenly so angry. 

He had exactly one thing, in the world, that belonged to him. And she has taken that, too, the way she took everything else. The way she took his life from him, when he had signed up for something else.

There were blows to his head, with the cane - the spark of white light, the agony without physical pain. Ever since, in the three days he has spent in bed, there are things breaking through. He signed up because he wanted to try and be better with his fears, his phobias. He wanted to be part of a program to mentor at-risk kids, he knew that much.

He signed up to try and save his relationship with Ben, too.

He doesn’t know who Ben is.

It’s not important.

Ben doesn’t exist, in his life, any longer. But Wright does. And he has to stand, because he has to walk, because if he can’t walk he can’t get to the library and if he goes there, maybe…

He tries, one more time, to stand.

This time, he succeeds.

It’s a slog and it hurts and his legs are begging him to go back to his hands and knees, but he won’t do it. Not this time. He uses his brace against the wall to steady himself, pushes up onto his feet.

It hurts, it hurts so much, but the simmering anger underneath takes away a little of the pain.

Dex, breathing in pants, stares across the short entryway to the open doorway to the kitchen. Thirty-five - or twenty-five, please God if you’re real let there be less than thirty-five steps - to the coffeemaker. The bag of coffee is right next to it, sitting on the countertop, a special blend she has custom-made by a local roaster.

He can do this.

He has to do this.

He has to walk.

Dex looks down at his bare feet - even his feet are bruised, and he doesn’t remember her hitting them when he was curled up on her office floor but she must have - and then he looks back to the coffeemaker.

He moves his right foot first, testing its ability to hold his weight. His knee trembles, his thighs scream in pain, but it holds. So he takes one step, dragging his left foot behind him, trying not to force it to do any work it doesn’t have to do.

Once he has moved a single step, he picks up his left foot, and tests how well that one will hold. He manages, hissing through his teeth. He hurts so badly. There are so many pains that they run together into a constant refrain, water that will drag him under to drown. He fixes his eyes on the coffeemaker, lets them go distant, the awareness of his own body and the world around him sliding away.

In training, in the Facility, nearly everyone learns to do it sooner or later. When they won’t stop hurting you - when you can’t take another second - when there is nothing in your world but pain and cold and exhaustion and fear… you learn this.

His body hurts, but it is not his body. His heart is breaking, but it is not his heart. His fingers are broken, but they are not his fingers. He wants to collapse but he will not, not this time. All Dex is, and was, and will ever be, condenses to a singular goal of get through this.

All he is, now, is a determination not to fail again.

He tries to walk.

He succeeds.

His steps shuffle, and are impossibly slow. He keeps one hand on the wall for balance. Behind his distance and the careful soft fog he has wrapped himself in, he can feel the agony trying to break down the walls. It wants his attention, demands it.

You did this to yourself. This is your fault for asking why. This is your fault for what you’ve let yourself become. This is your fault for having a voice. This is your fault for letting her see the cracks he helped you remember how to fill in with gold. This is your fault for ever wanting them filled at all.

Each step punctuated with blame, responsibility, a twist of his heart. Another crack, breaking down the dam. He never takes his eyes off the coffeemaker, off his one single goal to survive the pain and the fear and keep moving, one foot in front of the other, until he is on the other side of this.

This is your fault for falling in love.

Dex chokes back a sob, forces it into the silent constriction of his voicebox, where all the words live until he is alone with the only person who ever truly listens to him. He keeps walking, step by slow step, until he is in the kitchen doorway, and the coffeemaker is so close, so close.

He has to stop.

He takes a break to breathe, panting through his mouth now, sweat broken out across his forehead and face. He can feel the blood sticking his clothing to his skin from reopened wounds. Opening his mouth even a little pulls slightly at the stitches Sebastian so carefully sewed into his face.

Disfigured. Disgraced. Imperfect. Broken. Brainless. Unwanted. Your own fault.

No.

He takes a deep breath through his teeth, feels the oxygen fill his lungs, and then he starts walking again. Step by slow step, feet dragging on the floor, feeling a trickle of sweat or blood down his back and he doesn’t know which and he doesn’t care, any longer.

He keeps his eyes on his goal, and lets his mind spiral outwards.

When Dex makes it to the countertop he has to hold himself up by his good hand with white-knuckled fingers, his broken hand hanging uselessly down at his side. Fingers splinted together with Peter’s imperfect, well-meaning movements, twisting constantly to check the tutorial video. He and Sebastian gave Dex the only medical care he would receive for this.

He loves them both, Dex realizes with a deep twist inside of him that is nearly a whole new pain. He has always held himself distant from the others, too afraid that if he got close he would give away his secret. He has always set himself apart, hidden in the office to work on Karen’s household management, played Chopin too long and too loud to give them the privacy to hide from him, too. He has been the informant, the one who would tell Karen anything and everything.

He had thought himself feared, distrusted, disliked.

He thought of Sebastian sitting by his bed, dabbing at the wounds as he laid there staring with dull eyes at the wall, saying softly, I’m so sorry, Dex. I’m so sorry she found out about this. I’m so sorry, we’ll figure something out, okay? I’m so sorry-

He thought of Peter holding him while he cried, whispering you’re a good boy, he called for you, not for her. It’s going to be okay, Dex, it has to be okay. Listen, he says go to the library when you can walk again. Go on a Tuesday and read Paradise Lost by the history section. Okay? He said that, he said, I’ll walk you myself if you can’t go alone yet, but we’ll get you there. I don’t care if she notices I’m gone, I’ll take the blame, it’s worth it. We’ll get you there. I’m so sorry-

He thought of Henry sneaking into his room when he thought Dex was asleep, setting up his mp3 player and speaker on the side table next to Dex’s bed, and the way a recording of Henry’s own first composition - he’d been sixteen years old and Dex had been so proud of him he had nearly broken his own rules to tell Henry so out loud - began to play. The way Henry had paused next to his bed, and whispered, I wish I knew how to help. I’m so sorry.

He loves his brothers, each and every one, and he wishes he could have been someone they could trust.

Tears drop onto Karen’s butcher-block countertops and Dex lets them fall, breathing in low soft moans of pain so he won’t open his mouth too much, leaning himself on the counter with his chest for balance so he can measure out the coffee with his good hand. The aches are back, but they are inside as well as out.

He’s wasted so much time, lost so much - more than half of his life under her thumb, and he doesn’t remember the first half at all.

He has so little left - but he has so much more than he thought he did.

Once he has shuffled along the counter to the sink, filled the carafe with water, and set the coffee to brewing, he waits. When Karen comes downstairs in a loose, figure-skimming sweater and tight black Ponte pants, she looks him over thoughtfully. He looks back.

He has more than she thinks he has.

He is more than she thinks he is.

He is not brainless. He is not disgraced. He is not disfigured he is not imperfect he is not broken - or if he is, he can fill the cracks in with gold. He can take what she made and remake himself, make something new. 

He can be something new.

He is forty years old, but it’s not too late.

“Acceptable.” Karen gives him a slight smile - cold and unfeeling as every other expression. “Kneel.”

He tries to be silent.

He succeeds.

He doesn’t go to his knees gracefully. He simply drops with a crack to the floor, automatically, all at once. Puppet with strings cut, barely a man at all. He stays there while the coffee brews, while she pours herself a cup and adds a bit of cream. He stays there, right where he is on the floor by the counter, until she has gone to sit outside and watch the sun rise.

Only when she is gone does he raise his eyes, and stare out the sliding glass doors towards the garden. The sky is a brilliant blend of oranges, yellows, and pinks reflecting off a thin covering of clouds. The sun will burn the clouds away and the sky will be a brilliant blue soon enough.

Dex crawls on his knees to the glass door, to lean against it with one shoulder, to sit and watch the dawn.

He is not unwanted.

This is not his fault.

Paradise Lost, he mouths to himself, his eyes on the sky. By the history section on a Tuesday.

Dex imagines a car waiting, down the road. A door opening, a smile tipped up at him as he climbs inside the passenger seat and buckles himself in. Lips to press against the back of his hand, fingers wrapped around his, unbroken. A hand on his bared neck. Eyes that look into his, eyes that see him.

Eyes that always see him.

Are you ready to go? The man asks him, with a hint of a winsome smile.

I was ready five years ago, the Dex in his mind answers back, with the little teasing smile. You made me wait.

You have a point, Dex, darling. Aren’t I the lucky one that you are such a patient man? The tone is teasing, but the words are sincere. Dex feels a warmth, inside of himself, that begins to seep in and around and over the pain.

Gold, to shine through the cracks.

He imagines the car pulling away from the sidewalk, driving down the street, out of the neighborhood, the city, the state.

He imagines being driven away from hell.

He imagines that the man will one day take him home.

[reynesofcastamere]

Splintered Perspective [β]

(A/N: For reference, any fics I write that aren’t related to my main series will be marked with [ β ] in the title. I may just have to make a masterpost to organize these at some point. Anyway,the prompt for this was: ‘How Rex or some other person from Ahsoka’s past would react to her being enemies with benefits or in a relationship with Maul.’ I decided to go with multiple POVs for the fun of it. And so I didn’t break myself with The Sad. Poor Rex T_T. Perspectives are not in chronological order. Mentions of past Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for dehumanization, mentions of torture, death, violence, some ableism and possible misogyny.(Maybe? Your mileage may vary.) Unbeta’d.  ) Being one with the Force is...not exactly what she had been taught to expect. Barriss Offee is part of everything, all at once. Those in the Light, living and dead, she is all of them, and yet still herself, in a manner of speaking . Time is no longer such a rigid concept, nor is there any particular sense of urgency. What has happened was meant to be, and the future...Is forever shifting, ripples overlapping in a still pool. Which is why it comes as such a surprise when she can feel Master Plo’s disapproval like a storm on the edge of breaking. At first, she cannot determine what has woken his ire, but slowly the images come into focus. Ahsoka.

Barriss no longer possesses a heart, and yet she cannot deny the lance of bittersweet pain through her chest. There is relief that her friend is still alive, but also regret and something bordering on envy. A feeling that only sharpens when she notices the tattooed Zabrak that Ahsoka currently has pinned down. Wait. She knows him. Not personally, but...He is a Sith, a murderer, a monster. Why is Ahsoka-brash, kind, clever person that she is- smiling at him?  It is possible that she is misinterpreting this. Both of them appear rather bruised and a touch bloody, and the lack of lightsabres doesn’t mean-She misses the words exchanged between the pair of them, but...The kiss is unmistakeably passionate, bordering on obscene as the Force crackles around them. Somehow, this is not the worst of it. When they part for air, there is a...look, shared between their eyes, and Barriss experiences true dread. Long ago, she and Ahsoka had-been close. Intimately so. As much as anyone could be, following the Order’s mandate that attachment was forbidden. She’d harboured dreams then, of maybe and one day...But no. Too much had happened, and her rosy illusions had been cruelly shattered. Somehow, watching this unfold hurts worse. Because there is something genuine beneath the crude physical attraction on display. Master Plo does not say a word, but his righteous indignation is so strong that it is a miracle he does not physically manifest in front of them.

Her dearest companion does not belong in the Dark, with this...creature trapping her in his coils, dripping venom into her thoughts. Barriss can only hope Ahsoka will extricate herself before it is too late.

=====

The failed apprentice. A wretched vermin who simply refuses to die. Not for much longer. Darth Vader’s gaze narrows as he reviews the incident reports. A decade of nothing but the occasional annoyance and whispers from the dregs of the galaxy, and only now does Maul scurry out from beneath whatever rock he has been sheltering under. Why? There is no grand plan, no great advantage in breaking into an Imperial prison. Especially one that contains such...unimportant occupants. Then again...The swathe of carnage and destruction left behind had been almost a direct path between the Dathomirian’s entry point and the interrogation chambers. Not a calculated assault, but an act of rage and desperation. Vader had felt it at the time, how the Dark Side had howled and torn at itself like a half-crazed beast. And then there was the fate of the interrogator: Hands cut off, abdominal perforation, shattered jaw,and eyes torn from their sockets. He had suffered a great deal, however briefly. As for the prisoner with him- Records list a female Togruta, mid-to-late twenties, with blue eyes and orange skin. Possibly Force sensitive, but difficult to determine due to her physical state upon capture. The prisoner hadn’t been in possession of anything resembling lightsabres, but had been carrying a wealth of assorted small armaments. It couldn’t be. She died back when...We found her sabres among the graves. Anakin Skywalker is long dead, but sometimes his ghost is loud enough to be heard over the multitudes that inhabit Vader’s hulking, monstrous shell.

Graves required someone to dig them first. Which meant that either some unknown individuals had come along and taken pity on a multitude of strangers...Or that the survivours had done the work themselves. Yet, if Ahsoka Tano lives, and was temporarily imprisoned, it still does not explain the identity or methods of her unlikely rescuer. She was sent to capture him on Mandalore, why would Snips-? Why did she leave us? We needed her when Padme- The room around him warps and buckles in a single, furious moment of clarity. She chose that...animal. That thing, Oh, but she’d been richly rewarded, hadn’t she? One only had to look at the risks her...protector had taken just to secure her freedom. Approval and utter disgust war within him as he rises. So be it. Sentiment has already destroyed them, and it will be his pleasure to finish a task that should have been resolved long ago. Traitors to the Empire must all be purged.

===== Rex should probably be angry. Ahsoka is certainly looking at him like a shiny expecting a stern lecture for breaking regs. Instead he just feels...tired. He can’t be mad at her, not really. Maybe if he’d stuck around longer or managed to make contact more often, this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would have. Maker knows his trio of Jedi could never stay out of trouble for long, and that war makes for strange alliances and even stranger...pairings.  Still, he has to ask, because he knows her, knows the depths of love and compassion that make her who she is, beneath the layers of soldier and spy.

“Is it serious?” Ahsoka fidgets with her lekku a bit. “I don’t know.” A long pause as she inhales. “It keeps happening, and...I want to murder him half the time, Rex. The problem is that he likes it.” The expression on her face perfectly sums up her opinion on that little tidbit of info. He might have laughed, under different circumstances. Instead, he takes her hands in his. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I might not understand why you’re doing this, or how it works-” He absolutely does not need to know the mechanics, as there are not enough drugs or alcohol in the galaxy to purge the associated mental images. “-but I trust your judgement. And your ability to slice his horns off and hang him from his ears over a pit of rathtars if he pushes you too far.” Rex grins, silently offering to be her backup should that ever happen. Kind of a surprise it hasn’t already, since Maul never karking shuts up and Ahsoka’s patience has a set limit for windbags. Her eyes are wet when she hugs him tightly. “You’ll be the first person I call, Captain. And I’m sorry.” He knows she’s not just apologizing for this, not with their history. “I’m sorry too, Commander.” Rex murmurs, hugging her back. They can stay like this for a while longer. Her superiors are just going to have to wait. He might not be such a ‘good’ soldier anymore, but he knows damned well how to be a good friend. And that’s what they both need, more than anything. People that will survive the disaster long enough to see it end, and come out smiling.

=====

“When I warned that you might be tempted by the Dark Side, I did not expect it to be quite so literal.”

“Master.” “Then again, I suppose there is a certain appeal. Ventress was certainly a...passionate opponent. Lovely sense of humour, too. I suppose you don’t get much of that with your-No, I suppose you are the better half in this equation.” “Master Kenobi.” “Come now, we haven’t spoken in ages, surely you can indulge your grand-master’s curiousity.” “You did not break comm silence after years of letting everyone think you were dead just to call me about my sex life.” “Well, no, but it is an unexpected bonus. How does that work, exactly?” “It sounds like you’re angling for a demonstration.” “Oh Maker, no. I’m not that eager to find out.” “Good, because I don’t particularly feel like dealing with him if he decides to drop everything just to hunt you down.” “Ah. He’s...still upset about that, is he?” “You have no idea.” “Well then. To business. And Ahsoka?” “Yes, Master?” “It is good to hear your voice again. Do take care of yourselves.” “You too, Master Kenobi. And don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“One last question: When should I expect great-grand-padawans?”

“OBI-WAN!!!!” (A/N: Yes, I had to end with levity. Especially considering the characters involved. To clarify, Anakin isn’t upset because he has any sort of romantic inclination towards Ahsoka. It’s general Darksider possessiveness/jealousy mixed in with a lot of anger and some guilt. Looking after Ahsoka’s wellbeing was ‘his’ job, so far as he’s concerned. And now it’s apparently been usurped by That One Asshole. Also, if anyone’s going to recognize that level of...obsessive regard, it’s gonna be the OG Skywalker Drama King. Many thanks to the anonymous person who requested this, both for the prompt and your compliments. Cheers!) 

[writethehousedown]

In My Head, We Belong (Crystal/Gigi) Chapter Two -- Zyan

a/n: hey guys! here’s chapter two. we’re doing the same thing as genie au, so this chapter is mostly crystal’s pov. :) in case you’re interested, i did a playlist for the fic, and most of these songs reflect the fic and the characters emotions, so it’d be cool if you listen to it while you read. as always, frey is the best beta and my sideblog is @chachkisalpaca

“Crystal!”

Crystal turns around, looking for Gigi’s voice in the crowd of people. She knits her brows in a frown, holding on tight to her umbrella. It’s not raining as much as the past days, it’s rather faint, but she’s got nice eyeliner for the first time in ages and she doesn’t wanna ruin it.

Gigi appears in her vision range a moment later, elbowing people to get to her. She doesn’t have an umbrella; instead she’s got a yellow raincoat slightly longer than her uniform. Crystal smiles a little, thinking she looks like a cute little duck.

“Hey,” she greets breathlessly. Crystal covers the both of them with the umbrella and starts to walk again.

“Whatcha doing with the uniform? Are you cheating on Widow with another restaurant?” Crystal asks with a giggle. Gigi laughs softly, shaking her head slightly.

“No, I’m just cheating on the night shift,” she replies nonchalantly, “Apparently Blair called in sick; she’s got fever or something like that. Widow asked me if I could cover for her just for today.” Gigi shrugged, trying to tame her wet hair.

“Oh, shit, I hope she gets better. She and Jan always put on a musical on Wednesdays, it’s everyone’s favorite part of the day,” she comments with a small smile.

Crystal doesn’t have that many shifts in the morning, only on Wednesdays and Fridays, and the rest of the time she works nights, but she always looks forward to Wednesdays for Jan and Blair’s spontaneous musicals.

Wednesdays are also the days John comes by to have breakfast at the restaurant and Crystal elbows everyone on her way to serve him.

“The morning shift sounds nice and all, but I usually do most of my orders in the morning. I couldn’t sew to save my life when I’m tired, y’know?” Gigi says, Crystal then remembers about Gigi’s independent job as a designer and seamstress.

“How’s business going, by the way?”

Gigi smiles widely and pulls out her phone as she wraps an arm around Crystal’s bicep. She shows her a photo of a messy sewing room with five mannequins half dressed.

“So far it’s going great. Apparently there’ll be a lot of weddings in spring, because I’m mostly getting commissioned by people who are attending to a wedding. It’s nice though, I’ve always liked weddings.”

“Are you a romantic gal, Miss Gigi?” Crystal asks with a sneaky smile. Gigi rolls her eyes as she puts her phone back into her pocket.

“Not at all; it just happens that weddings are especially good for spreading my name around. There’s always that one aunt, you know which one, that goes around talking shit and doing condescending compliments that no one likes. She’s always the one to ask ‘where did you get that dress?’ in the most insulting way ever, though she secretly likes it. Once she gets the name she sends her children to find the designer on social media, because of course she does, and then she contacts me, and now she’s causing envy in her social circle, and her friends need to know who did that suit for her.” Gigi finishes her ramble taking a deep breath.

Crystal cackles loudly at Gigi’s rant, covering her mouth with her free hand to try and stop it. Gigi is possibly the most expressive person when it comes to telling stories, and she loves it.

“Oh my God, has any of that actually happened?” She manages to question between hiccups of laughter. Gigi shrugs.

“A couple of times,” she admits, and they both fall into a fit of laughter.

Laughing with Gigi is a nice way to start the day, it helps her distract from the fact John left her on read when she sent him a nice good morning message, and she’s not really sure if it’s good or bad, though it’s probably the latter.

*

The restaurant has a nice vibe in the mornings, with all the plants Widow bought to decorate the place along with the endless photos and portraits hanging from the walls, it looks more like a house with too many tables and chairs, rather than a restaurant.

Crystal comes and goes between the tables, serving coffee to men in suits, kind grandpas, and brings crying children a sweet treat as requested by their parents to make them shut up.

Jan is sad to hear her singing partner isn’t feeling well, but she still sings while she delivers orders nonetheless. Gigi watches her while she giggles and tries to record her for the restaurant’s group chat. Crystal has to admit that though she misses Blair, it’s interesting to see Jan trying to sing a duo all by herself.

When the performance is over, Crystal goes back to looking at the entrance every other minute, hoping to see John behind the glass with his fancy suit and charming smile.

She checks the hour in her wrist watch. 8:45 a.m. He should come in any moment, she musters to herself.

*

It’s 10 a.m. and there’s no sign on John yet.

Crystal is trying to block out the fact he’s left her on read and hasn’t appeared yet by trying to look interested in Jan and Gigi’s conversation.

The traffic has slowed down a little, and since all of their current customers already have their orders, the three girls are chatting near the kitchen.

“Jan, I swear to God spring has something that’s especially good for weddings, because yours will be the sixth dress I have to make,” Gigi says as she stares at the design Jan is showing her. “In fact, I was talking to Crystal about it when we ran into each other earlier today,” she comments and Crystal is now forced to actually pay attention to the conversation.

“I think it can be because people find it romantic to have a wedding when the flowers are blooming,” Crystal offers as an explanation, shifting her weight from one foot to another, trying to ignore how heavy her phone feels in the pocket of her uniform. “Whose wedding are you going to, by the way?”

“I think I have told y’all about my cousin Cheryl, the one that looks a lot like me,” Jan wonders. The name echoes through Crystal’s head.

“The UK girl that came for your birthday party last year?” Crystal asks, knitting her brows in a frown.

“Yeah, her! She’s getting married later this spring, and thankfully I don’t have to worry about the plane ticket because she’s, like, from the rich side of the family, so they’re paying for my flight.” Jan flips her hair a little and Gigi whistles.

“No wonder why you want such a fancy design. What? Are you gonna try to seduce one of her British friends?” She asks with a snort and the girls laugh. Crystal notices the scrutinizing look Gigi gives Jan and tilts her head.

Jan blushes a little and bites her lower lip.

“I dunno, I think I’ve already got someone here…” She leaves the sentence hanging in the air and excuses herself from the conversation by saying she saw one of her customers wave at her.

Crystal frowns a little and Gigi snickers, covering her mouth with her hand. She looks at Gigi with a slight frown.

“What’s so funny?”

Gigi looks at her with a smirk; her left brow is slightly cocked as she looks back at Jan.

“What? Did you not know she’s sleeping with Jaida?” She inquires, now looking at Crystal with her head tilted to the side, completely confused.

Crystal’s mouth hangs open for a solid minute before she gasps a little, looking back and forth between Jan and Gigi.

“No way!” She manages to say, and Gigi lets out a chuckle. “I would’ve never guessed. How’d you know?”

“Did you really not know? Girl, you’re the one that shares a shift with Yuhua, that bitch’s the biggest snitch ever. She told Brianna one time she had to cover for you and then Brianna told me. I thought you knew.”

Crystal blinks repeatedly, scratching to the back of her brain in hopes of remembering Yuhua telling her anything about it, but she can’t, she’s in blank.

“Apparently everyone knew but me,” Crystal mumbles, suddenly realizing how much sense it all makes. It’d explain why Jan is always shooing them when it’s her and Jaida’s turn to close the restaurant on the night shifts.

Well, she should’ve suspected something with such blatant signs, but if Crystal is known for something, it’s how oblivious she is.

“Well, everyone knows Jan has a massive crush on Jaida but Jaida herself,” Gigi comments softly, fearing that Jan would hear them.

Crystal sighs. Of course Jan and Jaida are sleeping together and Jan is the one pining. For a moment it reminds her of the ‘friends with benefits’ trope she used to read — and write, but that’s something she won’t talk about — in One Direction Fanfics.

“Imagine having a crush on someone you literally work and sleep with, but they ain’t got a clue.” She snorts, turning to see Gigi. Gigi’s looking at her with her lips slightly pursed, the emotion in her eyes is one Crystal can’t put a finger on.

Gigi parts her lips slightly, but shuts them almost instantly. She gives a soft sigh before excusing herself.

Crystal aims to go after her, but her phone vibrates and she smiles when she pulls it out and sees it’s a call from John, forgetting about Gigi’s weird behavior in a heartbeat.

*

John apologizes profusely for not having texted to tell her he had a super important meeting out of the city, but he swears he’ll make it up to her with dinner at her favorite restaurant. He tells her he’s picking her up and Crystal is grateful that she always brings another set of clothes to work; you never know when a bratty toddler will spill their lunch on you.

He arrives just when she’s about to finish her shift and waits for her by the entrance. Crystal sprints towards the bathroom with her bag hanging from her arm the moment her wrist watch indicates her shift is over.

She gets changed with a toothy smile, trying not to take too long, because punctuality is something John is greatly obsessed with, and re-applies her lipstick, feeling all giddy.

Gigi enters to the bathroom with her hair down, still wearing her uniform. She’s got her backpack on her arm and her raincoat hanging from her shoulders, Crystal smiles at the image she had that morning of Gigi as a little duck.

“Hey, what got you so happy?” Gigi asks with a little smile, setting her backpack on the counter.

Crystal cleans the edges of her lips before replying.

“My guy’s waiting for me; we’re going to have dinner together. Isn’t he cute? He wants to make it up to me because he couldn’t be at the restaurant this morning,” she replies with the excitement showing in her tone. Gigi rummages through her backpack, jerking her head up a little.

“Is he the guy in the dark blue suit? The one by the entrance?” Gigi wonders with her brows slightly knit in a frown. Crystal nods enthusiastically.

“Yes! He’s cute, right?” She repeats and Gigi smiles, though it looks somewhat forced.

“He looks very nice indeed.”