#i didn't mean for this to be kind of angsty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vampireids · 20 hours ago

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perfect stranger

summary: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss along with her, and spencer finds himself alone, struggling and in need of company (smut, angst)

warnings: former emily prentiss/spencer reid, exploration of grief, references to addiction and divorce, spencer acts questionably in this but he's struggling so forgive him, reader has some backstory, reader is referred to with she pronouns and wears makeup and a skirt, reader smokes cigarettes, spencer POV (third person limited). very, very angsty.

word count: 7.8k

a/n: the first half of this is quite spencer/emily centric in its themes, but the second half focusses more on the reader character. reader means everything to me and i am cradling her so gently. posting on mobile so let me know if there are any formatting issues!

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Emily Prentiss had died and taken half of Spencer Reid with her.

Three weeks that tasted of ash and bile, where no matter how brightly the sun shone everything still looked grey, where every smile he passed on the street seemed to be mocking him.

He hadn't had an easy life, not by any standard, but even he had been unaware of just how keenly he could hurt, just how painful and violent breathing could be. It was an agony that seemed to persist beyond any capacity a human being could feasibly endure, a constant bleeding wound in the cavity of his chest.

It hadn't been long before daydreams of oblivion took hold of him. Murmurs of a phone number he couldn't forget as hard as he tried sounded in his mind, growing louder and louder as days went by. If he called it, he could remember peace. More crucially, he could forget everything. A call, a deal, a prick, a push, and every screaming agony in his mind could go away. The sweet, muggy bliss of a syringe of dreamless sleep. It would be so easy.

A disapproving voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Emily pleaded with him to resist the allure. She wouldn't want him to submit to the urge. She'd want him to withstand the pain, to feel the burn of grief boldly and without reprieve, to let time heal him with all the swiftness of a wounded sloth.

But it had been Emily who had loved him enough to keep him grounded and sober. And without her, how could he ever be strong enough to do it? The constant craving for quiet had been drowned out by the sounds of her soft sighs as his body pressed against her, by the consuming sensation of her around him and on top of him and in the beating heart in his chest.

And slowly, an idea formed. He couldn't have Emily anymore. But he could find something close enough. Some approximation to act as a temporary sigil to ward off the ghosts at his door. It had been an old coping mechanism he’d turned to in the early days of his sobriety. Nothing was more deadly to an addict than solitude, so he’d sought out company where he could get it, in faceless women in bar bathrooms and parked cars.

It had worked before, and it could work again.

At the very least, it forced him to shower and put on nice clothes, to brush his teeth and hair and remember the feeling of being alive. With his face clean and his body dressed, he could almost pass for human instead of the walking gaping wound he felt like.

The bar was an old favourite of his. The lights were dim and low, the music soft and unobtrusive. It wasn't any kind of high class establishment, but it didn't need to be for his purpose. With any luck, he wouldn't be here long.

He walked to the bar and ordered a neat whiskey. Drinking in his fragile state was unwise, but he needed to feel the burn of it sliding down his throat to remind him he was still capable of feeling anything but grief. After a bracing sip, he took a seat on a barstool and surveyed the milling revellers. They all seemed carefree and happy in a way he resented, drinking and laughing and dancing with one another, lovesick like he’d once been.

One woman caught his eye on the other end of the bar. She was alone, like him. Nursing whiskey neat like him. Seeming just lonely enough to make his own crushing solitude feel less isolating. She noticed him watching her and smiled, a coy edge to it that made heat start to simmer in the core of him.

She wasn't Emily, but she had a similar fire in her eyes, the same challenge in her smile, a striking beauty to her face that stung as much as it excited.

If he could find her beautiful, then beauty was still attainable to him. Things could still be wonderful in some far off life.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice she'd stood, approaching him and sitting in the stool beside him.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked softly.

Yes, he thought, I’m waiting for Emily, and I’ll be waiting for as long as I live.

But for tonight, he would temporarily cease his waiting. So he smiled, shook his head, and said. “No. Are you?”

She grinned at him, and the expression was so reminiscent of Emily's sly smiles that it hurt. “I was. But I think I found what I was waiting for.”

The line was so cheesy and silly he couldn't help but huff out a laugh. “And what would that be?”

“Someone pretty. Someone who looks like they might have stories to tell.” She tilted her head. “You know anyone like that?”

“I might,” he shrugged. “I’m Spencer.”

She told him her name and he barely heard it but he knew he wouldn't forget it. He knew he was supposed to say something, so he breathed, “that's a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Her smile was like the sun and he almost believed he could feel warm again. “You're not so bad yourself.”

He’d never grown used to accepting a compliment so he ducked his head to hide his face. She was already talking again, saving him from the awkwardness of knowing how to reply.

“What brought you here tonight?”

The truth wasn't something he was ready to share with a stranger. He approximated it with, “I’m looking to feel a little less alone.”

Her hand on his was soft and warm. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the same thing.”

He couldn't fathom someone like her, so beautiful and confident and with such a warm presence, being lonely. So he raised his eyebrows. “You're really wanting for company?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she laughed. “But yes. I am wanting for company. I just moved here.”

“What made you move here?”

“Nothing special about here. I needed to leave my life behind and threw a dart at a map of the states and moved where it landed. Well, technically it landed on Virginia, but I overruled that. This was close enough.”

Needed to leave her life behind.

She'd said it casually, but it was an interesting thing to note. Like him, she was lost, alone, hiding from something. Seeking comfort in the arms of strangers who wouldn’t stick around to fix her messes. He hummed thoughtfully. “Running from something?”

With a shrug, she murmured, “aren’t we all?”

“Most people,” he conceded.

“You?”

“I don’t like to think I am. But I don’t think I’d be here tonight if I wasn’t.”

She smiled at him slightly. He was only just starting to realise what else about the smile reminded him of Emily - the slight undercurrent of sadness to it. “That’s the nice thing about running.” she said after a pause. “Sometimes you look up and realise your feet took you somewhere good without you even realising it.”

“Are you somewhere good?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she said softly, and leaned forwards, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his situation before he was kissing her back. She tasted like whiskey, fiery and hot and intoxicating. He reached his palm up to rest it on her cheek and she made a soft noise of encouragement, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

The angle of it was awkward, their bodies angled towards each other and hanging off their barstools, but it didn’t make the kiss any less dizzying. It wasn’t Emily, no way to pretend for even a second it was, the taste of her and the shape of her and the feeling of her were all different. But it didn’t matter. It was company, and she was beautiful, and he knew in his heart Emily would want him to do this. She’d want him to find something that would help ease the pain. She would never want him to be lonely.

She pulled away and he gasped.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded desperately, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Yes. Please.”

“My place okay?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

She picked up her glass of whiskey and motioned for him to do the same. As soon as he did she wrapped her arm around his and linked them at the elbow, holding her drink aloft. It took a second to realise what she wanted, and when he did, he grinned. It was silly, childish, exactly what he needed. She nodded at him and, arms interlocked, they downed their drinks in unison. The liquor burned his throat like a sip of liquid flame and he struggled to keep his mouth neutral as he swallowed, watching as she wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help his huffed laugh, giddy with the drink and the company.

She led him out of the bar, weaving them around the huddles of drunks and tables of friends in silence, and pounding guilt nestled behind his chest. Three weeks since the death of his lover, and he’d already found his way into the arms of someone else. What kind of man was he? Was his loyalty so thin?

But she turned towards him, glancing back with a mischief in her eyes that was achingly, throbbingly familiar, and he couldn’t make himself pull away.

He wasn’t a man of God. He didn’t believe Emily was watching down on him, in pain at the thought of him with another woman. She was simply gone. He couldn’t live for a ghost he didn’t believe in.

It was all hollow justification, really, convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to do the thing he already knew he would do. Her pulse under his fingertips was thrumming and alive, the sign of a heart that could pump blood and skin that was flush with warmth, and he needed to feel that. He needed to want something that could want him back.

The air was chilled as they stepped outside into the street and he stumbled into her as she came to a sudden stop. She giggled softly and wrapped her arm around him, steadying him and pulling him softly against her. Her body was a column of heat beside him, every breath she took causing her chest to rise and fall against him. Living, living, so alive, something real, something tangible. He’d known this woman all of 10 minutes and he loved her as much as he hated her for simply being alive.

It wasn’t fair on this poor woman, this beautiful woman, this kind woman to be drawing these constant comparisons. That thought, more than any other, almost gave him pause. He vowed to want her for what she was and not what she wasn’t. She was sweet, beautiful, haunted, said he had pretty eyes and looked like someone with stories. She had soft skin and lovely eyes, a smile that held secrets and promises that he wouldn’t get to know. He could want her for that.

She swung out her arm and a taxi pulled in beside them and they stumbled into the taxi, their bodies never leaving each other until she shuffled across the seat to the other side. Even then, her hand stayed on his arm and he revelled in the touch. She leaned forwards to share her address with the taxi driver and they drove into the night, the flickering street lights casting shadows on her face.

He couldn’t help it, he leaned forwards to kiss her again. Her lips were a temporary oblivion, something consuming to drown out the noise of his grief. A comfort in company, a reminder he wasn’t as alone as he felt. The guilt bubbling in his stomach was dulled by the softness of her lips, the gentle movement of her tongue, the sharp bite of her teeth on his lower lip. So different to Emily. Not different enough.

No.

She was her own person.

He pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving to match his own.

“You’re good at that,” she mumbled.

He moved his thumb across her cheek. “So are you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, and he let himself sink into it, to feel the heat of another person against him, to let the sensations wash over him and through him and stir those familiar desires beneath his skin.

It was a quick taxi to her apartment and then he staggered onto the sidewalk like a man intoxicated. He was dizzy, though he only had the one drink. On a street he’d never been on before despite his years in the city, the buildings unfamiliar, his companion a stranger, and he felt like someone totally different. Someone else. Someone who could be casual and silly and risky and stupid. Not Spencer Reid. Not the grieving man.

His alienation from himself would be frightening if he had the fortitude to care. Instead, he called it a blessing and let his beautiful stranger pull him up the stairs.

Her apartment was four flights up, and by the time they reached her door, he was breathless. She laughed at the pink on his cheeks and he felt a hum of embarrassment course through him.

“Not laughing at you, baby, I promise,” she murmured as she turned to unlock the door. The term of endearment sent something hot running through his veins and his face only got warmer.

The door was pushed open, and she waited for him to enter before shutting it behind her.

Another moment of guilt and hesitation threatened to break him and he drowned it out by pulling her closer and capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. She made a soft noise of surprise against him before melting into it, bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder and pressing herself against him. It was soft and sweet and nothing he needed it to be so he deepened it, pressed her against the wall to gain the leverage to kiss her roughly. She let out another low sound of pleasure and it emboldened him, gave him the courage he needed to guide his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, running his fingertips along her hip.

She threw her head back with a soft “fuck,” letting her head rest against the wall as he moved his hand from resting on her hip to tracing over the line of her underwear and brought it down until it was ghosting along her core.

Her softness, pliability, was intoxicating and so different from what he was used to. Emily gave as good as she got, was bared teeth and strength and only going down with a fight. His beautiful stranger seemed happy to let him control the night, and he was grateful for it in that moment, grateful for the opportunity to have the control in the bedroom he’d lost over his life.

She gripped onto his shoulders hard as he pushed the panties aside and ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, spreading the accumulated arousal and circling over the sensitive nub at her apex.

He attached his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth across her collarbone and drinking in the sounds she made as he slowly inserted one finger, and then a second.

“Baby, god, feels so good,” she mumbled above him and the praise went straight to his cock, the taste of her skin against his tongue and the feeling of her around his fingers creating a dizzying cocktail of arousal in his abdomen. He was making her feel good, he was capable of creating pleasure in another, he could do something right even if his life felt wrong and hollow. He clung to that knowledge as he sucked a mark into her neck and basked in her whines.

Years of magic tricks gave him agile hands, a skill at profiling let him read a woman’s pleasure in her gasps and twitches, and it wasn't long before her moans were heightening in pitch and volume and her nails were pressing into his shoulders desperately. He felt a glow of pride as she came undone around him, moaning his name in shaking cadence. He pulled his fingers from her carefully and felt a bolt of arousal at the sight of her, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her cheeks pink and her eyeliner smudged.

“You have wonderful hands,” she murmured after a few moments of loaded silence.

He laughed roughly. “I’ve been told that before,” he mumbled, and didn't mention the woman who’d told him.

“Let me make you feel good too, baby,” she said, and her widened eyes and desperate tone made it sound very much like a plea.

His head was spinning, body alight with lust, too full of want for the guilt to make a dent, and he nodded. He was sick, sick, sick in the head, his agreement a condemnation of himself, and so he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, okay. Let's go to the bedroom,” he tried to speak through the dizzy desire and warring self-loathing and his voice came out thin.

She frowned, eyes big and concerned and placed her hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head almost violently, causing her hand to drop to his shoulder. He felt its absence like a wound. “No. Please. I want this, I want you.”

She still looked hesitant so he kissed her, feeling the tension leave her body as his tongue explored her mouth. The relief of her wordless acquiescence was physical. He needed this, he needed her, he needed his life to dissolve in a melody of moans until he couldn't remember anything but the present, until everything faded but touch and heat and want.

He couldn't bear the weight of his mind alone. She might be a stranger, but he needed her. And curse Emily's voice in his head chiding him softly both for using this poor woman and for so quickly finding solace in the body of another. He was using her, sure, but she was using him too. It wasn’t like she was in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with her either. It was a one night stand, not marriage. And he and Emily had never labelled their relationship, had never been able to communicate well enough to even discuss exclusivity and all of that aside, she was fucking dead so really she’d left him first and didn’t have the right to be judging him.

He was talking so much to the Emily in his head he was starting to remember that he was still in the window for schizophrenia.

He kissed the woman more desperately, drowning out that thought. She made a keening, broken sound against him, and it temporarily brought him to the present.

He took a hold of her wrist, still resting against his collarbone and stumbled back. “Bedroom, please,” he begged, too far gone to be self-conscious of the pleading tone.

She smiled, her pupils blown wide and her lips darkened from the bruising force of the kiss. “Come on, baby.”

She took a stumbling step towards him and he felt a surge of pride he’d taken her apart so thoroughly. He was still a man, after all, and she was a woman, a stupidly beautiful woman he was undeserving of, and it felt good to know he was bringing her pleasure.

He let himself be led like a lamb by its shepherd to her bedroom. It was clean, minimal, the bedroom of a flight risk who didn’t want anything tying them down. No photographs, no personal effects, nothing in the room that didn’t serve a utility.

The profiler in his brain was switched off by her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with nimble fingers. Once his shirt hung loose, her touch moved to his bare chest, tracing across the planes of his torso. He felt unavoidably self-conscious under her scrutiny, but she looked at him with such a heat in her eyes he couldn’t help but know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He still wanted to know what demons had led her to him, to seeking solace in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he shoved the thought down. She was well within her right to want a one night stand, she didn’t have to be damaged just because he was. And besides, she’d started removing her own shirt, and it was hard to think about anything other than her chest, framed by a delicate black brassiere.

She caught his heated gaze because she laughed softly. “Like what you see, baby?”

He nodded stupidly. “God, so much.”

And then she was kissing him, walking him backwards towards the bed where he was all too happy to go.

His knees hit the back of the bed and he dropped onto it, looking up at her as she undid the button fastening her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her underwear matched the bra, and she wore them well, the lines and curves of her silhouette enough to intoxicate him. He leaned forwards to kiss her abdomen softly and she gasped. Their positioning, her above him with his head against her stomach, was some strange parody of worship. In a way, she was a god to him. He was giving himself as an offering in futile hope of salvation, devoting himself to a beautiful concept of a woman. She was nothing real and everything wonderful. A perfect stranger.

Her hands wove themselves into his hair and he groaned out his oblation into her skin.

“I need you, baby, please,” she whispered into the still air of the room, and he was her willing servant.

He sat back, and before his hands could reach down to unfasten his pants, she was undoing them for him, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with his button and then his fly.

There was something unsettling about her movements, and he stilled. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, just want you,” she mumbled as he shimmied out of his pants.

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to ask before she was dropping to straddle his lap, his cock only separated from her arousal by the flimsy fabric of their undergarments. He might have been a genius, but even he found it hard to think about anything much with a woman in his lap, her hips shifting against his and sending his senses into overdrive.

He begged a silent plea of forgiveness to the Emily in his head. She remained stonily silent. He took it as permission and put his hands around the waist of his perfect stranger, using his leverage to twist them both until she was lying beneath him on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, and the tender words felt like more of a betrayal than the sex.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he kissed her gently. The kiss was short, chaste, before his lips were moving - kissing down her jaw, the column of her throat, her chest, her abdomen, her stomach. She gasped softly as he reached the waistband of her panties, and he lingered there just a moment, looking up at the rapt expression on her face.

He noticed, not for the first time, how very sad she looked behind the desire. Maybe she knew he was thinking about someone else. More likely, she was thinking about someone else. It wasn’t his business. He understood what it was like to need to drown out the ghosts.

It was the echo of that thought that played in his head as he slowly pulled down her panties. Drown the ghost, make her feel good, bask in the warmth of another, remember what it means to live and breathe and feel. Simple instructions, a defined victory condition, something black and white and real. He tossed her underwear aside and looked up at her, propped up on her shoulders to watch as he exposed her.

He must have stayed there a moment too long, because she made a soft, plaintive sound and mumbled, “Baby, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sorry at all if it made her call him baby in that desperate, whining voice, and licked a stripe up her core.

She made a harsh, pleading noise at the contact, and he felt it like lightning under his skin. He pushed away the thoughts of the sounds Emily had once made, and moved to suck gently on her clit, summoning more sweet whines from her lips.

Her hands came down to twist in his hair and he groaned against her. He felt hot, shivery, alternating waves of lust and guilt rocking through him like a boat tossed about through the surf. Something about the sheer wrongness of it was only heightening his desire. His grief was getting tangled in his need and his body was turning all of it into heat and want.

Eventually, she gasped raggedly and used her grip on his hair to pull him off of her, looking down at him with eyes turned the inky black shade of lust. “Need you, now, please, baby,” she groaned, and what man could say no to that?

He nodded, dizzy and hazy, and lifted himself onto his knees. “Condom?” he managed to force out through the white noise of his mind, and she sat up to lean over to her bedside drawer, rifling through a little box to pull out a Trojan.

He pulled off his own underwear hastily as she unwrapped it, and hissed as she leaned forwards to roll it onto him. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until her soft hands were ghosting over him, and the touch felt like little lines of fire over his skin. He groaned thickly and let his head fall back as she stroked him experimentally over the latex.

He didn’t want to wait any longer, couldn’t risk being still when the thoughts of everything he was hiding from could come back. Emily was being quiet in his skull, probably furious at his betrayal, but it was still quiet, no voice in his head but his own. So, he gently pushed her back until she was lying against the pillow, and put his weight on one arm as he guided himself to the centre of her arousal. He teased for a bit, sliding his length along her a few times to hear her breath hitch.

Finally, slowly, he pushed in, his eyelids fluttering as he was constricted by the tightness inside of her. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d had sex, but after years of having it almost daily, his body had grown accustomed to a certain frequency, and the tight heat felt like home.

As soon as he was fully immersed inside her, he let out a ragged, hoarse groan. Her own thin whine was in harmony with his, the musicality of their pleasure intertwining as their bodies did.

His vision blurred as he started to move, the friction sending sparks up through his skin as she gasped his name underneath him.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” he groaned in return.

He didn’t realise what he’d done until she stilled completely under him.

“Emily?” she said quietly.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him, every nerve going dead with the shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it felt so inadequate to the scale of his mistake.

She swallowed under him, her throat bobbing. Something was playing out behind her eyes, something not even years of profiling could clue him into. Eventually, she shook her head, the movement minute.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I can be Emily. If that’s what you need, I can be Emily.”

The words broke his heart. Who was this woman? Who had broken her down to the point she was willing to contort herself to be another woman for a man she’d never met?

“Does that really matter?” she whispered. “No one’s watching. I’m saying it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not Emily. You’re you, and that’s a good thing to be. Don’t- you don’t- I’m an asshole. My head is a mess right now, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, you’re kind. I want you.

She smiled thinly and brought her hand up to rest against his face. “It’s okay, baby. It’s one night. I’m whoever you want me to be, okay? Whatever you need. Let me take care of you.”

He groaned slightly, a war in his torso as her words cast a sick sort of spell on him. The person he wanted to be fought the battle, screamed at him that she obviously had her own demons, that he’d be taking advantage of what must be a self-esteem issue, to be allowing him - asking him - to pretend she was another woman. “It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Why?” he said desperately. “Why would that be okay?”

“We’re using each other, that’s all this is, right? I don’t know your life or your last name or your job or your friends, you’re whoever I want you to be tonight. I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s only fair.”

Her words made a strange sort of sense, or maybe he was choosing to believe that to stymie the guilt bubbling behind his ribs. He was using her, plain and simple, no matter whose name he was saying. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Because you’re better than that, the Emily in his head murmured disapprovingly. But who was she to talk when she’d left him all alone, when she’d lied to all of them to follow a terrorist without thinking of the wound she’d be leaving behind. So he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Are you… Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes. Please,” she said, eyes big and pleading, and he gave only another cursory thought to wondering if she was okay before starting to move again. She wasn’t Emily, there wasn’t really a way to pretend that she was, unless he closed her eyes and that seemed too sick even for him. But the feeling of it all was still so achingly familiar - the heat, the tightness, the slick sounds of bodies connecting and the shaking gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t pretend she was Emily, but he could pretend he loved her and she loved him. And with the way she looked at him, her jaw slack in ecstasy and her pupils blown with lust, it wasn’t hard. She looked beautiful, genuinely divine in the throes of her desire, in that way people only do at their most unrestrained. He leaned forwards and kissed her, drinking in the sounds she made against his lips and revelling in her hand gripping his shoulder like he was a lifeline, the thread connecting her to reality.

“Baby, oh, baby, I’m close, please, just like that, fuck,” the words were mumbled against his lips, garbled among gasps and soft whines, and it took a moment to decipher what she was saying. But once he’d decoded it, he glowed in his pride.

“Come for me whenever you want to, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Let me make you feel good.”

His tone was tender, fragile, delicate, the words of lovers and not strangers, and maybe that was the fantasy he was fulfilling with her. One where he loved freely and received it in return like he never could with Emily and her shroud of secrets. He’d pretended with her, and he was pretending again now, playing the role like he was born for it.

And when, maybe seconds or years later, her noises climbed in pitch and she tightened around him, he pushed her hair out of her face gently and fucked her like he knew her beyond the feeling of her body and the sounds of her bliss.

Her nails dug into him, and she called him, “baby,” again in that sweet, overwhelmed voice, and it was that which pushed him over the edge to his own undoing, his rhythm faltering and stuttering as he twitched inside of her.

This, the release, the moment where the world stopped and all he could feel was beautiful, perfect pleasure, was why he'd gone out tonight. A simulacrum of hydromorphone all released in one, lovely moment. One addiction swapped for another, oblivions traded. Her hand ghosted back over his cheekbone as he slowed and stopped, his head leaning into her palm as he stilled.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he laughed, breathlessly, smoothing out her hair before pulling out of her with a wince.

She sat up and watched as he tied off the condom. “I know, but I want to. I needed this. Let me take that, I’ll bin it in the bathroom.”

He smiled weakly and handed it to her, watching as she walked into the little ensuite next to the room. She shut the door behind her, and he sat awkwardly for a moment, his nakedness suddenly visceral in the solitude of another person’s bedroom. He stood and found his underwear, discarded next to the bed, shimmying into them as he waited for her to be done. He never knew what to do in this part, never knew the etiquette of the afterglow. Eventually, he heard the toilet flushing and the sound of the tap running, and she emerged from the bathroom clad in a short white satin robe, tied loosely at the waist.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” she said with a little smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse, and followed her outside to the balcony. It was nice, a wrought iron railing shielding them from falling into the city skyline, two chairs nestled around a small round glass table. On it lay a crystalline ashtray, stained with dead embers, and a small pack of Marlboro Golds.

She sat on the far chair, motioning for him to sit too, and picked up the pack, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. She took a long drag and let her head fall back as she exhaled the smoke.

“I know it’s a bad habit,” she said quietly. “But I can’t bring myself to quit.”

He tilted his head as he watched her take another drag. “I used to tell my mother every cigarette she smoked was 6 less minutes she’d get to spend with me.”

“The way I live my life, I’m not expecting that to be an issue,” she shrugged.

“How do you live your life to expect to die young?”

She gestured at him. “Bringing strange men I meet while alone at a bar to my apartment, for one,” she deadpanned, and he couldn’t help his exhale of a laugh.

“Mm, touche, I suppose,” he sighed. “What makes you like it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “The cigarettes or the strange men?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It’s the same reason for both. Makes me feel like I have some control over things. Forces me to… confront my mortality, to get comfortable with the idea of death. It can’t scare me if I’m inviting it.”

He frowned. “You’re suicidal?”

A long pause where she seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city around them. “No. I’m not. But I’ve spent a lot of time living in fear of things that are inevitable, and I’m tired of that.”

He couldn’t help himself from wanting to pry. It was like that, sometimes, in the afterglow of sex. After the intimacy, the bedroom could become a confessional. “What inevitabilities are you scared of?”

She sighed and took another drag of the cigarette. “I married my high school sweetheart a year after we graduated. Our relationship was… fine. Good. He was the only man I’d ever been with, the only one I knew how to be with. Even when I knew he was having an affair, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. He was an asshole, sometimes, and a cheat, but sometimes he was so wonderful. He worked and supported us the whole time I was in college, he’d plan these extravagant dates and trips for us, always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And I’d been with him since I was so young, I didn’t even know who I was if I wasn’t his wife. Even when I knew he didn’t love me anymore and I barely loved him, I stuck around. In the end, he left me. He got the other woman pregnant and owned up to everything I already knew. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that none of it was news, because I felt so pathetic for tolerating it. That night, I quit my job, threw a dart at a map and moved here. Just like that. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to just… live.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and it was a pale pleasantry against the scale of her admission.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not like it’s your fault. Just illustrating the point. I knew the relationship was over years before it actually was. But I was so scared of the unknown I refused to admit it. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, the look stained with melancholy. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

The silence dragged, unobtrusive and comfortable as she ashed her cigarette and lit up a second. “Who’s Emily?” she asked eventually, and he startled.

He watched her hands as she let the cigarette dangle between her fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she pressed. “Story for a story.”

“I have a… stressful job. One where I have to travel a lot. And I had a coworker, Emily. We started sleeping together as a way to let off steam on tough days. I fell in love with her. I think she loved me too. We never said it. She’s a… flight risk, I guess, runs away at the first sign of anything emotionally scary, and any time things between us got too real, she’d freeze me out. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. But I was in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep her near me.”

“That’s hard,” his perfect stranger murmured. “Where is she now?"

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, as if keeping the emotions from his voice would stop it from hurting him. “She was murdered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Fuck, that’s- I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

He shook his head, the ugly bitterness in his chest building up and spilling from his mouth. “She knew. She knew he was coming after her, she knew what he was capable of, and she never told me. I could have done something, and she took that chance away from me. And I’m so angry at her, but I can’t be angry at her because she’s gone. What use is it being furious with a ghost?”

“It’s normal to have mixed feelings when a loved one dies, baby,” she says softly. “In a way, she left you, even if she didn’t want to. It’s hard. It’s a breakup with no room for self-reflection and no way to change things. The loss of your future and the shadow over the past. There’s a lot of different stuff going on in your head right now. There’s no wrong way to feel about it all.”

He knew that, was intellectually versed on the complications and machinations of grief. He’d seen all kinds of people in the throes of their losses - mothers who’d lost children when their last words had been in anger, husbands whose wives had stormed out and never made it home to talk it out, children who’d snuck out and returned to find their parents dead. He was acquainted with the intricate weaving of love and guilt and grief, had read every study on managing loss, had sat in the room with countless people in the seconds after learning their loved one had been taken from them.

And yet, there still lingered a revolting feeling of wrongness in his grief. For all that he knew the way he was behaving and feeling and coping was normal - all of it, the sex, the cravings, the depression, the bitter, cruel anger - he couldn't help but sink into the belief he was wrong for all of it.

But the look on her face, wide eyed and earnest, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched him intensely, made him believe her. This was a woman acquainted with loss, he could tell. He didn't have to pry to know that. She understood him in a way the journal articles didn't quite seem to.

Maybe, for all his overreliance on academia to navigate the world, he needed people like everyone else did. Emily had taught him that loving was worth the agony of losing.

He was quiet for a while, thinking through her words.

“Why were you willing to pretend to be her?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I liked what we were doing. I didn’t want you to stop. And you seemed like you needed it.”

“That's it? I mean, I called you the wrong name, I would assume that would be a dealbreaker for anyone.”

“I'm not under any illusions about what this was. It was a beautiful thing, but nothing to do with who I am or who you are and what we deserve. Just… people fucking for the sake of it, like they’ve done through all of human history. I wanted it to be good for you, just like I could tell you wanted it to be good for me. It makes it feel better if you're both getting what you want. And I've been a lot of people for a lot of people. It doesn't bother me.”

It still didn't seem quite right to him, but he nodded anyway. He just watched her for a moment, watched the movement of her irises as she looked at the shimmering skyline of the city, the careless elegance of her cigarette drags, the way her robe split over where she crossed her legs to reveal the soft skin of her thighs. She seemed solid in a way he deeply envied, a steady contrast to his own flickering identity.

“Thank you,” he said softly before he even thought the words. “Tonight could have been a bad night. But it wasn't. This has been the easiest night since-” he swallowed, stopping the thought there. “I feel… lighter.”

She made a quiet humming noise in response. “I feel the same. You're a nice person to be around, baby.”

He flushed a little at the endearment, a little token of affection she seemed so at ease sharing. She was a forthcoming person, he was noticing - quick to give. Her thoughts, her kindness, her love. It was an interesting counterweight against a scarcity in her home that spoke to solitude and distance. In just the short time he'd known her, she had shown her share of little contradictions. Clearly self-assured, but willing to pretend to be another woman to please a stranger. Clearly loving, but isolated and lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

The statement was innocent - he truly meant exactly what he said. She was, in many ways, fascinating to him, and solving her was a welcome distraction from trying to solve his own issues. He liked being around her. But her eyes widened and then crinkled sadly.

“I'm not- you're sweet, baby, and you're handsome, too. Your Emily was lucky to have you. But I'm not ready to be anyone's love anytime soon. And I don’t think you're ready for that either.”

He shook his head. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean- no, I'm not ready for anything like that, I'm- I just meant… I don’t have many friends, or at least friends who didn't know her. And you said at the bar you were lonely too, and I just thought- I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay with you.”

She looked at him for a while, as if trying to find a double meaning behind his irises. Then, wonderfully, she nodded, her lips quirking up at the edges. “I'd like that, baby. Let’s be friends.”

He felt a strange sense of gratefulness bubble in his chest. This could be something good, even if it came from something bad. He held out a hand to shake. “Friends.”

She shook it with a little laugh. “Friends.”

Trying his luck, he added, “And if friends involves doing,” he gestured back towards the bedroom, “that, I wouldn't complain.”

She raised her eyebrows and ashed her cigarette. “Give me a second to brush my teeth and we can demo it, try out our new friendship arrangement?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. In the name of trial and error, I think we should definitely do that.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Wait for me in the bedroom, baby. We've got some friendship to do.”

He watched her go inside. her robe swaying softly with her movements. Emily was quiet in his head, but the silence didn't feel reproachful. He allowed the grief to take hold of him for a second.

And then he followed the perfect stranger inside.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #emily prentiss/spencer reid #spemily

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jetii · 1 day ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Seventeen: Downpour

Chapter WC: 12,129

Chapter Tags/Warnings: battle stuff, kinda angsty but compared to last chapter this is nothing

A/N: Once again there is a lot going on here. 💀 I've been looking forward to posting this chapter for ages, so I hope you enjoy!

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Kamino, 21 BBY

It's raining. Of course it's raining.

You can't even remember a time you were on Kamino that it wasn't. It's a strange world, a planet of extremes. Cold, wet, and miserable. And yet, there's a beauty to it. The way the waves crash against the buildings, the roar of the wind, the smell of the salt water.

It's been over a month since the siege of Null, and you haven't been able to rest. Not truly. Your mind has been racing, the memory of finding Yaddle's things haunting your every waking moment.

You haven't slept for longer than an hour or two at a time, and even when you do manage to fall asleep, the nightmares are worse. The severing you felt the moment she died finds you in your sleep, but it's not her death, it's Rex's. Or Obi-Wan's. Or Anakin's. Or Ahsoka's. They're dead, and it's because of you. Because you weren't strong enough, or fast enough, or smart enough.

And the dreams always end the same.

With the severed bond, with the loss, with the anguish.

It's not fair, and you're angry, but more than that, you're frustrated. You can't bring the evidence to the Council's attention without requesting a hearing, and the Council seems content with keeping you away from Coruscant. They've been keeping you too busy, assigning the 212th to a dozen missions, never allowing you to have a moment's peace.

And, you can't help but wonder if it's because they know. If they know what you have. It's irrational, of course, but the anxiety won't stop gnawing at you, the worry growing by the day.

As a result, you've become increasingly paranoid, and you're constantly checking your belongings, checking the box underneath your bed aboard the Negotiator, making sure everything is where it should be. Obi-Wan's noticed, of course, but he's too occupied with his own inner turmoil over what happened with Duchess Satine to worry too much about yours.

Cody's noticed too, but he's been kind enough not to say anything. You suspect Rex has told him to leave it alone, which you're grateful for. You don't have the energy to explain yourself, not when there's so much else to worry about.

And right now, there is plenty to worry about.

"Sir, look out!"

A trooper in a full white kit grabs your arm and yanks you back just as a stray bolt nearly clips you in the head. You stumble backwards, landing hard on your ass, and you blink, trying to clear the rain from your eyes.

A pair of hands grab you, pulling you to your feet.

"Sorry, sir," the trooper apologizes. His helmet obscures his face, but you can tell he's embarrassed. "Didn't mean to manhandle you."

"It's alright," you assure him. "Better than getting shot in the head."

He nods and returns his attention to the firefight, raising his rifle and squeezing off a round. The droid at the far end of the platform drops, a smoking hole in its chest, and the trooper lets out a satisfied grunt before turning back to you.

"Stay close. I'll cover you," he says, and he moves past you into the chaos. You blink, trying to process what just happened, but then the sound of blaster fire reaches your ears, and you duck, your senses snapping back into focus.

The two of you weave through the melee, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the metallic tang of blaster fire. It's slow going, and the shots are coming fast and thick. More than once, the trooper has to grab you and pull you to the ground, the heat of a bolt singing your ear.

You're starting to feel frustrated, and embarrassed. You should be able to handle yourself better. You've been trained since birth to deal with these situations. And yet, here you are, relying on some poor shiny to drag you around like a baby.

It's shameful.

A blast comes from above, and you throw up a hasty shield, deflecting the energy bolt. The trooper ducks, hissing, and you reach out with the Force, yanking him behind a twisted heap of droid parts at the same time as you shove the sniper off the roof.

"Sorry," you say as you land hard next to him, your knees screaming in protest. "Normally, I'm better at this."

"At what? Being shot at?"

You huff. "Being a Jedi."

The trooper laughs, and then turns and leans around the pile of scrap, firing his rifle. "I don't know, General. Seems like you're doing just fine to me."

"That's...generous of you," you mutter. You lean back, taking a moment to catch your breath.

It's not easy to focus. Everything is chaos. Screams, explosions, blaster fire. The time you all had to prepare for the siege had not been nearly enough, and the blockade had been brutal. By the time you'd arrived on the planet, the battle was already in full swing.

You and Cody had only just managed to land before the shuttle had been forced to evacuate, and while he had rushed off to secure the barracks with Rex, you were tasked with defending the training facility with a contingent of newly trained clones. They were an interesting bunch, a little wild and eager, but they knew how to fight, and you'd seen them cut down more droids than their fair share.

You just hoped that would be enough.

Droids were rising from the ocean like the living dead, and they were everywhere, a sea of metal, their red eyes flashing in the storm. There's little cover on the open platform, and the clones are doing their best to hold their ground, but they're being pushed back, the droids overwhelming them.

"This is fucking insane," the trooper growls, and you glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't worry about it," you chuckle. "I've heard worse."

He huffs and shakes his head, and then he raises his blaster and fires off another round at the same time as you pop up and throw your shoto in a wide arc. The yellow streak cuts through the air and collides with a pair of battle droids, severing clean through their torsos, the halves clattering to the ground.

"Nice shot," the trooper grunts. You look over at him and grin as you catch the blade, but it fades when you notice his hand clutching his arm, his armor charred and cracked.

"You're hurt," you gasp, reaching out, but he pulls away.

"It's nothing," he insists, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"Let me see," you press.

He sighs, but he releases his arm, allowing you to examine the wound. The flesh is scorched, but it's not deep. You can't risk applying bacta, not in the middle of a battle, but you can ease the pain, at least.

You place your hand on his arm, and he jerks, his helmet whipping towards you. You meet his gaze and try to smile reassuringly.

"Just relax," you tell him. "It won't hurt."

He hesitates, but then he nods, and he lets out a slow breath. You close your eyes and focus, the Force flowing through you, into him. It's the same technique you used to heal Rex's injury on Null, but the effect is more temporary, the tissue healing slower than usual. You're sure that if Rex knew what you were doing, he'd have a few choice words, but you don't care. These men are under your command, and it's your duty to protect them. Even if that means pushing your own limits.

"Wow," the trooper murmurs. He rolls his arm, flexing his fingers, a note of awe in his voice. "How did you do that?"

You shrug. "I have my ways."

"Very mysterious, sir," he teases, and you roll your eyes. He peers around the pile of scrap, and then turns back to you, his shoulders slumping. "Not gonna lie, this isn't looking good."

"No, it's not," you agree. You take a deep breath, your hands resting on your knees. You feel lightheaded, and a little woozy. Healing him took more out of you than you expected.

"You're not doing so great either," the trooper observes, and you blink, turning to him.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not doing so great," he repeats. He cocks his head, and then adds, "Sir."

You can't help but snort at that, and the two of you share a chuckle. It feels good to laugh, to find a moment of levity in the chaos. The trooper may have been a little awkward and blunt, but you couldn't help but like him. He was refreshingly honest. Or maybe you were just a little delirious.

"Thanks," you mumble. You pause, and then look around, trying to formulate a plan. The platform is surrounded, and the droids are pouring out of the ocean faster than the clones can shoot them down. You've never been great at strategy, but you've survived this long. You're going to have to rely on instinct. And hope.

You raise your blades and stand, a grim determination settling over you.

"Stay close," you say, and the trooper rises to his feet, his blaster at the ready. "We're going to break their ranks."

"Sir, yes, sir."

You nod, and the two of you leap out from behind the pile of scrap, launching yourselves into the fray. For a few moments, everything is a blur. You lose yourself in the movement, the familiar weight of your weapons in your hands. It's a dance, really, the steps as natural as breathing. You duck, dodge, spin, strike, parry, thrust, and repeat. The droids fall before you, their metal limbs scattering across the platform, but it's still not enough.

"We have to fall back," you shout. "Get the wounded into the building and seal the doors. We'll regroup and formulate a plan."

The trooper nods, and he signals the men, repeating your orders. A moment later, they're retreating, falling back to the safety of the training facility. You hold the rear, deflecting shot after shot, the lightning crackling overhead, the wind roaring in your ears. The droids are relentless, and their shots are becoming more accurate. One hits a clone in front of you, and he falls to the ground, his body limp.

"Grab him," you call out. Another bolts grazes your pauldron, and you flinch, nearly tripping over a severed droid arm at your feet. "Hurry!"

The troopers haul their fallen comrade, and they rush back into the training facility, the doors sealing behind them. The one who had saved your life before remains at your side, and together, the two of you hold the line, keeping the droids from breaching the entrance. But, even with your combined efforts, the droids are still advancing, and they're quickly gaining ground.

The rain is coming down hard, and the wind is blowing it sideways, soaking through your clothes and chilling you to the bone. You grit your teeth, and continue deflecting shots, the droids' numbers seeming endless. If only Obi-Wan was here. He'd have thought of something clever, something that would have turned the tide in your favor. You, however, have nothing. Nothing but desperation, and anger, and fear.

A particularly well-aimed shot whizzes past your ear, and you feel the heat of it graze your cheek. Another shoots by, and another, and another. They're close, too close, and your arms are starting to tremble, your fingers slipping on the hilts of your sabers.

"Sir, come on!" the trooper urges, grabbing your arm and pulling you back toward the facility. You can barely keep up, your boots sliding on the wet ground. The doors are so close, but they're also so far.

A sudden blast rocks the platform, sending the two of you sprawling. Your sabers go flying, clattering across the duracrete, and you watch the blades deactivate, the metal growing cold and silent. The trooper groans beside you, and then he sits up, shaking his head. You can't blame him for his lack of grace. The world is spinning, and the ringing in your ears is deafening.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing yourself up. You reach out with the Force and drag a crate to the side, forming a barrier between the two of you and the advancing droids. It's a flimsy shield, but it's better than nothing. You press your back against the crate and close your eyes, gathering your strength.

"I've got an idea," the trooper pants, and his voice sounds like it's coming from a million lightyears away. His helmet tilts your direction, his chest heaving. "But you're not going to like it."

"Try me," you grunt, trying to clear your vision.

He takes a deep breath and exhales, the sound sharp through the modulator. "See that downed trident ship? The one with the hole in the side?"

You turn and look, spotting the wreckage. It's close, no more than a few dozen meters away, behind the hoard of advancing droids. It's a mess of broken metal, the hull twisted and shattered, the observation portals cracked.

"Yeah, I see it," you reply, a hint of suspicion creeping into your voice.

"Can you use the Force to move it?" He pulls a grenade from his belt. "If you can bring it close enough, I can toss a popper into the hole and detonate the fuel reserves."

You stare at him, the implications dawning on you. You're not a demolitions expert, but even you know that blowing up a downed ship in the middle of a battle is a risky move. The explosion would likely cause significant damage, and the fallout could be deadly.

"Do you think you can do it?" he asks, his voice laced with urgency.

"I can do it," you reply, and the trooper gives a short nod.

"Then, let's do this," he says.

"On my mark," you say, and he nods again.

You rise and extend your hand, calling upon the Force. The moment you connect, a wave of power rushes through you, and you can feel the weight of the ship heavy in your grasp. You take a deep breath, and you start to pull, using all your strength.

The ship groans, the metal creaking and screeching. It's heavier than you thought, and it's hard to focus with the blaster fire coming at you. You grit your teeth, and you throw every ounce of energy into the task. Slowly, the ship begins to move, its metal body scraping against the deck until it lifts into the air.

The droids don't seem to notice the trident floating above their heads, and they continue their advance, their red eyes gleaming in the storm. It's almost comical, how the metal behemoth hangs there twists in the air behind them, its tentacle-like limbs dangling beneath.

The rain is pouring now, the water streaming down your face, and your entire body is trembling, exhaustion threatening to overtake you. It's getting harder and harder to maintain control, and the ship is wavering, the hull swinging back and forth.

"I can't hold it much longer," you shout, your voice straining.

"Almost there," the trooper shouts back. His hand grips the grenade, his finger hovering over the trigger. "Just a little longer!"

You let out a cry and pull with all your might, and the ship responds, jerking forward, the tentacles swinging wildly. He presses the activator, hurling the grenade towards the hull just as it falls from your grasp. It arcs through the air, hitting the edge of the hole and bouncing inside.

"Get down!"

The trooper grabs you and tackles you to the ground, shielding your body with his. A second later, the trident explodes, a blinding flash of light filling the sky. The shockwave is deafening, the pressure slamming into you, the heat from it hot on your skin.

Debris rains down, the deck trembles beneath you, and the ground shifts. For a moment, you think it's about to collapse, and the two of you are going to tumble into the ocean below. But, then, everything goes still and silent.

You lay there, stunned. Your ears are ringing, and your body is aching, the pain pulsing through you. You're alive, though. And, surprisingly, uninjured.

You turn your head and glance at the trooper, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He's alive. He's alive.

The two of you are silent for a moment, and then, a chuckle escapes your lips. You can't help it, the adrenaline surging through you. He lets out a weak laugh, and you start to laugh harder, the hysteria gripping you. It's insane, all of it, and the two of you laugh until you're crying, your ribs aching, the tears mixing with the rain.

After what feels like an eternity, you manage to regain control, and you wipe the tears from your cheeks, a giddy sense of relief washing over you. The trooper pushes himself up and offers his hand, pulling you to your feet. Once you're steady, you clasp his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"That was insane. Absolutely insane." You can't help but laugh again, the adrenaline still pumping through you. "And, I have to admit, pretty damn clever."

He chuckles and shrugs, brushing aside the compliment. "Thanks, sir. But, I can't take the credit. That was all you."

"Well, whatever. It was a team effort." You look around, the smoke from the explosion clearing, revealing the aftermath. The droids are scattered in pieces across the deck, their limbs bent and twisted. You know more will come, but for now, the platform is secure.

"You have a name, trooper?" you ask.

"CC-8411, sir," he replies. He holsters his rifle and straightens his back, a sense of pride in his stance. "Though my brothers call me Booker."

"A commander, huh?" You tilt your head, studying him. "I should have known. You have quite the aim, Booker. Thank you for watching my back."

"Of course, sir." He shifts nervously on his feet, glancing down at the ground and back up. "And I, uh, I'm not a commander yet, sir, but I'm working on it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Booker says. He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. "Just finished my ARC training. I'm pretty good at shooting, and my scores are high. My CO's seem to think I'm ready, it's just, well, I can't get promoted unless I've had experience leading a unit."

You raise an eyebrow, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. "You don't say."

Booker clears his throat and stands at attention, his gaze straight ahead. "I'm just...I'm looking for the right opportunity, sir."

"Hm," you hum, studying him. You call your lightsabers back into your hands, and you point at him with the hilt of one. "That could be arranged."

His helmet snaps in your direction as you holster them. "Sir?"

"You said it yourself. You have the skills," you point out. "And, if your superiors think you're ready, I see no reason why we can't put you to the test. Come on."

You turn and gesture for him to follow, and the two of you make your way back into the facility, the doors opening with a hiss. The rest of the men are waiting inside, their bodies slumped against the wall, the injured being treated. When they catch sight of you, a cheer rises, and the air fills with applause.

You can't help but smirk, and you glance at Booker, giving him a wink.

"Looks like you're already popular," you tease.

"Well, what can I say?" he laughs. "I have a way with people."

"Yeah, I can see that." You stop in the center of the room and take a deep breath. "Status report."

One of the troopers steps forward, and he salutes, his helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes are wide, a mixture of awe and terror, and he swallows, trying to gather himself.

"All troopers accounted for, sir," he reports. "One casualty, but all other injuries are non-life threatening. I've sent word to the barracks, but I don't know if anyone's heard us." He looks around the room, his expression grim. "I think we're on our own, sir."

You nod. You'd expected as much. Still, it's not the news you wanted to hear.

"Very well," you say, sighing. You reach out, placing your hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. "Stay calm. What's your name?"

"Snap, sir," he answers.

"Well, Snap, let's do this one step at a time, okay?" You pat his arm and take a step back, taking a deep breath. "First things first. How many able men are here?"

"About forty, sir."

You bite your lip, calculating the numbers. It's not enough. Not by a long shot. But, it'll have to do.

"Alright, listen up," you declare, and the room goes silent. "We need to start clearing buildings. If we can create a clear path to the barracks, we can get our brothers the reinforcements they need. Now, the enemy is numerous, and they're well-armed, but they're also spread out. So, we're going to take advantage of that."

You pause and look at each trooper, their faces serious. Then, you turn back to Booker, giving him a nod.

"We're going to split into teams and work our way through the city, building by building, until we reach the barracks. Our goal is to clear as much ground as possible and take out as many droids as we can along the way. Commander Booker will be leading a team. I'll be taking the rest."

Booker stiffens, and he glances at you. "Sir?"

"Time to prove yourself, Commander," you tell him, and the room breaks into a flurry of excited murmurs. "I want you to lead a team through the east wing. You're a good shot. Take out as many droids as you can."

He's quiet for a moment, and then he nods, squaring his shoulders.

"You heard the General," he says as he turns back to the men, his voice firm and commanding. There's no trace of the nervousness he displayed only moments before. "Form up."

The troopers begin gathering their gear, the room filled with a newfound sense of purpose. You can't help but smile, and a wave of pride swells inside you. They may not be the most skilled fighters, but these men are brave, and they're determined. And, if the past few hours have shown you anything, it's that they're smart. They'll be fine.

Booker steps closer to you as the men move into formation, and he hesitates before pulling his helmet off, revealing a face you've seen a thousand times and a crooked smile that's all his own. His hair is dangerously close to being out of regulation for a shiny, and his eyes are bright and full of life.

"I won't let you down, sir," he vows.

"I know," you assure him, and his smile widens. "I'll see you on the other side, Commander."

He gives a final nod, and he jams his helmet back on, turning to the troopers who have assembled beside him. He barks a command, and the group disappears into the hallway. The remaining troopers turn to you, waiting for their orders.

You take a deep breath and steel yourself, feeling the weight of the battle heavy on your shoulders. You wave your hand, and the men follow you down the opposite corridor, their footsteps echoing behind you.

The halls are quiet, the only sound the hiss of the doors opening and closing as the men file out and the rain pattering against the glass above, the droplets running down the window.

It's dark, the lights flickering, and the building feels abandoned, a shell of its former glory. There are no signs of life, no indication that anyone is left behind, and the silence is unnerving. It's almost like a ghost town. Or a tomb. But, the droids are here, lurking somewhere, and you know that the fight is far from over.

You pass through the training facility, the space littered with broken equipment and shattered glass, the droid corpses scattered throughout. There are blast marks on the walls, scorch marks on the floor, the metal dented and twisted.

Somewhere, you know Obi-Wan is fighting General Grievous, and you pray to the Force that he succeeds. You'd never say it aloud, but you're glad it's him and not you. Not this time. He's faced the cyborg more than once before, and he's still standing. You can't say the same after your last encounter, and while the idea of having a rematch is tempting, the idea of facing that monster again terrifies you.

It's a selfish thought, and one that Obi-Wan would be disappointed in, but it's true. You're afraid. Afraid of the pain, of the horror, of the nightmares that plague you still. And, if you're honest, afraid of the darkness within yourself, the one that lingers, whispering in your ear. The one that you've barely kept at bay, but knows no bounds. You'd tempted fate once, and you'd nearly paid the price.

No, you're better off where you are, facing droids instead of demons.

"Sir," a voice interrupts, and you blink, realizing you've stopped walking. You feel a flicker of embarrassment as you look at the trooper who spoke, his helmet tilted, and you give a quick nod to speak. "We've cleared the building. No signs of life. No droids, either."

You let out a sigh, relief washing over you.

"Thank you," you say, giving him a smile. "Good work."

"Where to next?"

You consider his words, and you weigh the options. You know the barracks are in the north, and you're currently in the south. To reach them, you'll have to fight your way through the city, which is crawling with droids, and there's no telling what they have planned. They could have already taken the barracks, and you'd have no way of knowing until it was too late.

You look at the trooper, and he shifts under your gaze. "What's your name?"

"CT-4398, sir," he answers, his voice wavering slightly. "I mean, um, Dash. Sir."

You give him a small smile, trying to ease his nerves. He's young, barely out of his teens, and it's clear he's never been in the field before. "Well, Dash, what do you think?"

"Me?" he stammers. "I don't... I'm not sure..."

"It's okay," you reassure him. "Just tell me what you're thinking."

"Well, sir, I was just thinking...maybe we should check the control room," he says, gesturing down the hall. "It's just around the corner. We might be able to find out where the droids are coming from, and get some information on the barracks."

"Sounds like a plan," you say, smiling. You clap him on the shoulder. "I need you to man the control room with..." You blink, turning to the trooper next to him. "What's your name?"

"Screwball, sir," the trooper says. You try to disguise the laughter, but Screwball is already shaking his head. "Don't ask."

"Right," you drawl, and you turn back to Dash. "With Screwball. Monitor the communications. Try to raise the barracks."

Dash stares at you, and it’s only when Screwball slaps him on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward does he finally snap out of his stupor.

"Y-yes, sir," he replies. "Understood, sir."

“I’ll watch him, sir,” Screwball adds confidently.

"Good," you say. You nod to the remaining troopers. "Let's move out."

As you continue down the corridor, you can't help but wonder if you're doing the right thing. If there's even a right thing. There's so much about this war that feels wrong, but it's still the clones, and their treatment, that trouble you the most.

They were created, not born. Taught, not raised. Molded, not nurtured. Their entire lives, they were engineered to serve, bred to fight. And, yet, there's so much more to them.

They're men, flesh and blood, and you can't help but feel responsible for their lives. These clones in particular, still so young, still so new. They've barely begun to live. To die now, here on Kamino, would be a waste. A tragic end to bright lives cut too short.

You can't allow that.

You won't.

Ahead, the corridor splits, the left leading to the control room, the right continuing on to the rest of the building. Dash and Screwball peel off, and the group continues. You're not sure what awaits you outside, but you're determined to face it. The odds are stacked against you, but so far, you've overcome the worst, and you've survived. You can do this. You can save them.

As the door slides open, and the rain batters against your face, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the battle ahead.

Booker and his squad are waiting when you finally meet up hours later, their armor drenched, their weapons hanging at their sides. You can tell they've been through the wringer, but the sight of them is a welcome relief. In fact, every single trooper on his squad is accounted for and then some — a score of fifteen men you haven’t seen before.

"I see you picked up some friends," you tease, giving him a tired smile.

Booker chuckles, and he shakes his head, his armor dripping. "A few stragglers, but I'm not complaining. Thought they might be useful."

"You thought right." You reach out and pat his shoulder, your fingers squeezing his plastoid. "Good work, Commander. I'm glad you're okay."

"I told you I wouldn't let you down," he reminds you. "Besides, it's not over yet."

He's right. You're still not even halfway through the city, and the storm is only getting worse, the waves crashing against the buildings, the wind howling.

You've cleared five buildings so far, and each one has been an ordeal. The droids are everywhere, and they're relentless. Your troops have had to fight their way through blockades, shoot down trident ships, and fend off swarms of B2s. It's been a brutal slog, and your body is exhausted, the adrenaline from the first few hours waning.

The good news is, there doesn't seem to be an endless supply of droids. The bad news is, there's still enough to pose a serious threat.

Your men have been hit hard, and more than a few have been wounded. Some are unconscious, and some are worse. Some were too injured to move, and you've done what you can to stabilize them, but the truth is, there's not much you can do. There's not enough bacta to go around, and there's no way to safely transport them.

It's a grim reality, and it's one that haunts you. Not long ago you'd felt the loss of every death, the pain and suffering washing over you. It had nearly driven you mad. Now, the feeling has faded, becoming nothing more than a dull ache. A reminder.

It's not right. None of this is right.

Your thoughts drift to Rex, and the image of his face is clear in your mind. He's alive, you can sense it. And if anyone can survive a battle, it's him, but that doesn't stop the fear from taking hold. It's irrational, and you know it, but you can't shake the dread that gnaws at you. He's the best fighter you've ever known, and he's faced death a hundred times before, and still, a part of you is terrified that this time, it'll be the last. That the nightmares you've dismissed as just that will become real again.

"You alright?" Booker asks, and you realize he's been staring at you.

You shake yourself free of the thought and look at him, a tight smile pulling at your mouth.

"I'm fine," you mutter. You run your hand through your hair, pushing the strands away from your face, and you turn to look over the rest of the troopers. “Tell the men to rest for a moment, and then we'll make a run on the barracks. I want a headcount, and we'll need to re-evaluate the plan. I'll brief you in a moment."

"Yes, sir." Booker gives you a lingering glance before he moves away, gathering the rest of the group. As the clones begin to settle down, taking advantage of the reprieve, you find yourself wandering away from them.

You walk away toward the edge of the platform, and your eyes scan the horizon. The lightning is still dancing across the darkened sky, a beautiful, terrifying sight. It's a reminder of the power you hold, of the power you're capable of wielding, and of the danger that lurks in the shadows.

It's also a reminder of how small you are. How insignificant.

You lift your communicator up and press the button, praying to the Force that Dash and Screwball were able to get the communications back online. When static fills your ears, followed by the voice of the young trooper, relief floods you.

"General, is that you?"

"It is," you say, leaning against the railing, the rain dripping down your face. "Status report."

"Well, uh, we haven't had any success reaching the barracks," he says, his voice shaky. "But, we did manage to restore the cameras."

"That's something, at least." You let out a sigh, and you close your eyes, trying to calm yourself. "How are we looking?"

There's a pause, and then a crackle of static. "Not great, sir."

"Define not great," you urge.

"The droids are surrounding the building, and they've got heavy artillery. Our brothers are holding them off, but the numbers are against them. At this rate, they're not going to last long."

"Shit." You open your eyes and stare into the distance, your mind racing. Dash quickly reads out the position of Obi-Wan and Anakin, both engaged in their own duels with Grievous and Ventress, and it's clear from the strain in his voice that he's barely holding it together. You need to get moving. But, the question is, where?

"Anything else?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

"The storm has caused a lot of damage," he replies, the words coming faster, almost tumbling over each other. "Several buildings have collapsed, and the waves are getting worse. The ocean is rising."

"Great," you groan, letting out a huff. "Just what we needed."

"Yeah," Dash sighs, and there's a hint of desperation in his voice. "We're running out of time."

"Stay calm," you tell him, though the words are meant for yourself. "Just keep monitoring the situation. Let me know if anything changes."

"Yes, sir," he replies.

"And, Dash? Watch out for Screwball. Don't let him do anything stupid."

"Too late," the other trooper shouts in the background.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, okay. Never mind."

"I'll keep him safe, sir," Dash says with a weak laugh. "Good luck."

You close the connection, and you press the communicator against your forehead, taking a deep breath. The wind whips around you, the rain pelting your body, and the thunder roars above, a cacophony of noise. It's a fitting backdrop for the moment, a reflection of the chaos inside your head. You feel the darkness stirring within, its tendrils snaking their way around your heart, and you squeeze the railing tighter, trying to resist. Trying to fight.

You've never been a good strategist, but even you can tell this is a losing battle. Even if you were to somehow manage to make it to the barracks, there's no guarantee that you'll be able to turn the tide. You'll be walking straight into a firing line, and the odds are stacked against you. Still, you have to try.

After a few more minutes of trying to hail Cody, Obi-Wan, Anakin, anyone, it becomes clear the storm is causing the communications to fail. No amount of trying is getting you through, and you're fighting a losing battle against the frustration. If only you could use the Force, but the sheer amount of energy and concentration to reach out is not something you have the strength for, not after the battles.

With a frustrated growl, you slam your commlink down, the metal casing creaking. It's a pointless action, but it does make you feel better. For a moment, at least.

"Having trouble?" a voice calls out, and you spin around, the hilt of your saber already in your hand. Booker is standing behind you, his arms folded, a smirk on his lips. "Whoa, easy. I come in peace."

You lower your lightsaber, and you shake your head, a wry smile on your lips. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"You don't have to apologize, General." He steps closer and leans against the railing, his helmet tucked under his arm. The storm is picking up, and the wind is blowing his hair in all directions, but he seems unbothered, the rain trickling down his face. He turns to look at you, and he tilts his head. "I'll admit, I didn't think you'd be like this."

"Like what?" you ask, a note of caution in your voice.

"Well, like this." He waves his hand in a vague gesture, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't know. I guess I just thought you'd be a little more...serious."

"I am serious," you insist, and he snorts, his gaze drifting to the sky.

"No, I know that," he chuckles. "But you've got to admit, you've got quite the reputation."

You sigh. "So I've heard."

"Don't take this the wrong way, sir," Booker says, his eyes shifting back to you. "But a lot of us were a little scared of you. Well, more like intimidated. We'd heard the stories, and we'd seen the footage, and well...you seemed pretty intense."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? What changed your mind?"

"You saved my life. Twice. And you gave me a chance to lead." He shrugs, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the railing. "You didn't have to do that, sir, but you did. I won't forget that."

"I'm glad," you say, and you give him a small smile.

"Plus, the fact that you're a general who cares enough about us to save our asses is pretty nice." He pauses and glances at you, and then he looks away, his gaze distant. "Most generals would have left us to fend for ourselves."

You don't respond, not sure what to say. The truth is, there's no doubt in your mind that some of the other Jedi would have done exactly what Booker suggested. They would have seen the clone as sacrifices that had to be made, and they would have moved on. After all, it's not their job to protect them, or to train them. Their duty is to the Republic, not the individual. To the greater good, not the lesser evil.

It's a lesson you're not sure you'll ever be able to learn, not completely. Maybe that makes you naive, or soft, or too emotional. But, you don't care.

"I won't abandon my men," you declare, your voice firm and determined.

"Good." Booker nods, and then he pushes himself away from the railing, his expression grim. "Because we've got a battle to win, and we could use your help."

"Sir," a trooper calls, waving you over. "We're ready."

You turn back to Booker, your hands gripping the hilts of your sabers.

“Let’s move.”

It's early morning by the time the battle is won, and the sun is just beginning to rise. You're exhausted, and Grievous and Ventress have escaped yet again, but you're still standing, and Kamino is once again under Republic control. It's a small victory, but one that's earned.

Your clothes are soaked, your body is bruised, and your limbs are aching, but it's a sweet kind of pain, the kind that comes with survival. And, despite the loss of many, the clones have never looked more alive.

The storm is finally receding, the rain now nothing more than a drizzle, and the sky is streaked with vibrant hues of gold and pink through the transparisteel windows. You've never seen a sunrise like it.

The view is beautiful, and it fills you with hope, a sense of peace that seems impossible in the wake of the devastation. The sun is rising on a new day, and you know the ones you care about have made it through the night.

You've already spoken to Obi-Wan and Cody, and you can't help the relief that's washing over you. Both are alright, though a bit worse for wear, and the two men are leading the cleanup efforts, trying to restore order and repair the damage that has been done. Anakin is a little roughed up, but he's still in good spirits, and he's taken over coordinating the search and rescue effort, which is much appreciated.

You haven't spoken to Rex, though. Not yet. You haven't even had a chance to breathe, let alone try to locate him. But you can feel his presence through the Force, and you know he's alive, and for now, that's enough.

You’ve dismissed your contingent from your command, but that hasn’t stopped them from approaching you as you walk with Booker toward the medbay. He’s escorting you for your safety. Or at least, that’s what he says.

You can tell he’s lying, and you can tell he’s worried about you. He hasn’t stopped hovering since the battle ended, and he keeps a watchful eye on your surroundings, his hand never far from his blaster. It's an amusing gesture, but you appreciate the sentiment, even if you find it irritating.

He's a good man, and you can't help but feel proud of him. He's young, and he has a lot to learn, but he's also smart, observant, and he knows how to read people. That, combined with his skill with a blaster, makes him an ideal candidate. He'll be a great commander.

But, first, he needs some time. Time to recover from his injuries, time to process everything that happened, time to get used to being a leader.

“Almost there, sir,” Booker says, tugging you along when you stop to shake Snap’s hand. He gives the clone a wink, and then nudges you again, forcing you to keep walking.

You laugh as you wave your hand at him. "I can manage, Booker. I'm not that bad."

"Yes, sir," he chuckles. He glances down at you, and you can see his expression shift from amusement to concern, his eyes narrowed. You realize he’s staring at the scar stretched across your palm, the one that has long since healed, and you quickly fold both your hands behind your back. You'd forgotten.

"Sorry, sir," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," you assure him quietly. "I know it looks strange. But, it's an old injury. From before the war."

Booker nods, but he doesn't look convinced. You can't blame him. The scars are strange, jagged lines that stretch across the palms of your hand, the skin raised and pale. You've never really gotten used to the sight of them, preferring to ignore their existence completely. But now that you know for sure that Dooku is responsible, you've caught yourself tracing the lines more than once in recent weeks.

Booker clears his throat, and he gestures toward the entrance to the medbay. "After you, sir."

You give him a look as you walk past him and step through the doors, the smell of antiseptic and bacta filling your nose. The room is large, and the white walls and floor reflect the fluorescent lighting, making it feel even bigger. There are rows of beds lined up against the wall, and medical droids moving between the patients. The place is crowded, and the air is filled with the sounds of moans and whimpers.

A Kaminoan lingers in the back of the room, watching with an unblinking focus that unnerves you, and you do your best to avoid her gaze. You’ve had enough of the Kaminoans and their superiority for one day.

“Wise!” Booker calls out as he pushes you gently to sit on an open cot. “Got a fresh one for you.”

A bald trooper currently arguing with a medical droid freezes and turns, his expression sour.

“Can’t you see I’m busy—" He stops short when he sees you, and the furious glare tempers slightly. "Apologies, sir, I didn't realize. I'll be with you in a minute, okay? Just—shit, put that down!”

"Um, no problem," you mutter. "Take your time."

You can't help but smirk as he smacks the droid with the back of his hand and turns back to it, berating it for its incompetence. You turn and raise an eyebrow at Booker. "Wise?"

"Short for wiseass," Booker explains, snickering. "But, don't tell him I told you."

You chuckle, and you settle onto the bed, pulling your legs up and crossing them. You're exhausted. Your muscles ache, and your head is pounding, but you know you'll have to wait a bit before you can rest. There are still things to do, and reports to write.

You look around the room, trying to distract yourself. The medbay is filled with clones, all sporting various injuries, some worse than others. You see a few you recognize, men who have fought at your side, and a few that were part of the original group you'd saved. Their injuries are mostly superficial, though one has a broken arm. He waves when he catches you staring, and you give him a nod.

“Alright, what can I do for you, sir?” Wise asks, stepping in front of you. He glances down at the carbon scoring on your armor and the gash on your cheek, and he raises a brow. "You don't look too bad, to be honest. Nothing a few bacta patches can't fix."

"Trust me, I've had worse," you laugh, shaking your head.

"I'm sure." He sighs, and he leans against the bed, a grimace on his face. "Listen, I've been working nonstop for the past six hours, and I'm dead tired. I just want to go to sleep and forget today ever happened. So can you just let me take a quick scan and say it's all good, please?"

"Sounds good to me," you say, nodding.

He gives a grunt, and he pulls a small scanner from his pocket, waving it over your body. A beam of light sweeps over you, the data scrolling across the screen, and Wise hums to himself, checking the readings.

You sit there patiently, trying not to fidget. You've never liked the medscanner. You always feel like it's judging you, somehow. And, while you know it's just a machine, the sensation of the beam running over your body is still uncomfortable, the feeling akin to that of someone staring at you.

"Well, the good news is, there's no internal bleeding," Wise declares, looking up. He puts the scanner down, his expression serious. "The bad news is, you have a mild concussion, you're dehydrated, your blood pressure is low, and your heart rate is elevated."

"So, normal," you quip.

"She has jokes." Wise sighs and turns, rummaging through the medkit. He pulls out a bottle of pills and a bottle of water. "Take these, drink this, and rest. You can have a bacta patch for that cut, and then you can get out of my medbay."

"That's it?" you ask, frowning. You're so used to Kix's fussing, the fact that Wise isn't nagging you about everything is a bit of a shock.

"That's it," Wise confirms. He presses the items into your hands, his eyes narrowing. "What, were you hoping for something else? Like a kiss, maybe?

You choke, the water dribbling down your chin, and Booker snorts.

"Don't push it, vod," Booker warns, but his words are laced with humor. "She could take your head off."

"And I'd enjoy every second," you add, popping the pills into your mouth and downing the rest of the water. You wipe your lips, a smirk tugging at the corner as the medic rolls his eyes.

"Fine. Just let me take a look at that gash."

Wise moves closer, and his hand rests lightly against your face, his fingers tilting your chin up. He's surprisingly gentle for someone so brash and grumpy, his touch careful, his gaze focused. He hums, dabbing the disinfectant on the wound. You barely feel it.

"Looks like you'll live," he says. He holds his hand out, and a medical droid places a bacta patch in his palm. As Wise applies the bacta patch, Booker moves to stand next to him, his hands clasped behind his back.

"How are things looking, Wise?" he asks, his voice casual. You know he's checking on the men, but there's a note of concern in his tone, a worry that he's trying to mask.

Wise doesn't bother hiding it. He huffs and turns his gaze to Booker, his scowl deepening. "They're holding on, but not much more." He pauses and glances at you, his expression darkening. "Some of the boys have had it rougher than others, but, well, that's war."

Booker nods, and he glances around the room, his gaze moving over the wounded men. You can't see his expression, but you can feel the shift in his emotions. It’s the first time he’s lost a man, and it won't be the last.

"It'll be alright, Booker," you reassure him.

He's silent, but he gives a small nod.

"If you need anything, I'll be in the back," Wise mutters. He pats Booker's arm, the gesture friendly, and then turns away, walking toward the next patient.

"Thanks," you call. He doesn't respond, and you let out a sigh. "I don't think he likes me."

Booker laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His earlier mood seems to have lightened, and he clasps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Are you kidding me? He loves you. I can tell," he insists. "That was practically a marriage proposal."

You roll your eyes. "Right. And I suppose you'll be my bridesmaid."

Booker opens his mouth to retort, but his gaze flickers, his attention caught by something. The medbay doors slide open, and a trooper in familiar blue and white armor steps through, his posture stiff, his helmet tucked under his arm.

Rex.

The room goes quiet, every clone in the room turning their head to follow his path as he walks. Rex doesn't seem to notice. He moves with purpose, his eyes scanning the rows of beds, searching.

He looks tired, his armor dented and scorched, his hair damp from the rain. There's a scratch on his cheek, a cut across his brow, and his bottom lip is swollen, split at the corner. But, he's alive. He's here, and he's standing.

And, he's looking for you.

You can feel the moment Rex sees you. His eyes widen, and he freezes, his jaw going slack. The wave of relief that washes over him is strong, so strong it's almost tangible. He lets out a shuddering breath, and his gaze moves over your face, taking you in. You do the same. And, for a moment, the two of you just stare.

Then, the world shifts back into motion.

Rex starts to move, his steps slow at first, almost hesitant, as if he's not sure he's seeing you. Then the hesitation disappears, and he's suddenly striding towards you, his gase locked on yours.

“Is that…” Booker straightens, his eyes wide, and he takes a reflexive step back. He gives a sharp nod to Rex as he approaches, and his hands fall to his sides, his fingers flexing. “Captain Rex, sir.”

Rex doesn't even acknowledge him. He stops in front of you, his chest rising and falling, his expression pained. His eyes roam over you, taking in the state of your armor, the gash on your cheek, and then, he finally meets your gaze.

You swallow, forcing yourself to breathe.

"We have to stop meeting like this," you say, trying to break the tension.

It doesn't work.

Rex doesn't say anything, but the pain in his eyes only intensifies, and the look is so raw, so visceral, that it takes your breath away. His mouth trembles, his lips parting, and his hand lifts, hovering for a second before falling to his side.

"General," he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'm fine, Rex," you assure him. You reach out and place a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the air out slowly. When he opens his eyes, the pain is gone, replaced by something softer, and he gives you a small nod, a silent thank you.

“You okay?” you ask, and he gives a tight nod, his fingers flexing at his side.

"Yeah," Rex breathes. "You?"

"Never better."

He snorts, his lips twitching into a smile. "Liar."

"Maybe."

Rex shakes his head, and then, he finally seems to notice the man standing beside you. You glance at Booker, and you realize the clone has gone completely still, his back straight, his shoulders stiff, his expression one of awe and disbelief.

You bite your lip, trying to hide your amusement. You know the feeling. Rex is intimidating when he wants to be, and it's clear Booker is not immune to the Captain's commanding presence, or his reputation.

"Who's your friend, General?" Rex asks, his voice low. He raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing, and the corner of his mouth curves into a half-smile. You can feel his amusement, and it's a relief.

"Commander Booker, sir," Booker responds. He hesitates, his gaze flickering to you. "I...was assigned to the general. To protect her."

"Oh?" Rex's eyes shift, and he looks at you, his expression softening. "And, did you?"

"I did, sir." Booker sounds almost defensive, and his gaze darts to you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "I mean, not that she needs my help. She's a Jedi. She can handle herself. But, I was...there."

Rex hums, his lips pressed together, and his gaze moves over the trooper, assessing him. You can't help but roll your eyes. Rex is being difficult, and you know it. But, he can't seem to help himself, and he's enjoying the discomfort on Booker's face far too much.

"He saved my life," you add, and Booker lets out a relieved sigh. "Twice, actually."

"Twice, huh?" Rex's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks at the clone again, a new respect shining in his eyes. "Good work, Commander."

"Thank you, sir," Booker says. His posture relaxes slightly, and he lets out a small breath, his shoulders slumping. "It was an honor to serve with the General. She's a good leader."

"That she is," Rex agrees. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a moment with the General."

"Oh, yes, of course," Booker stammers, and he takes a step back. He turns to you, a questioning look on his face. "General?"

"You're dismissed," you say. "Go get some rest, Booker. You've earned it."

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on Rex, and you can tell he wants to argue. But, he's smart, and he knows when to retreat.

"Yes, sir." He snaps a salute, his helmet tucked under his arm. "Goodbye, General. It was a pleasure serving with you."

You smile. "Goodbye, Commander. I'll see you around."

He nods and moves away, joining the group of clones who are standing near the doors. They exchange quiet words, their voices hushed, and then, they disappear.

"I like him," you announce as the door slides shut behind them, and Rex lets out a soft snort.

"I'm sure you do," he says, shaking his head. "He seems...eager."

"Be nice." You roll your eyes and nudge him playfully with your arm. "He fought well today. I’m putting my recommendation in to have him promoted officially. I think he'd make a good leader."

“If he’s got your approval, he'll do just fine," Rex says, his voice quiet.

"You're probably right." You pause, and then, you tilt your head, looking at him. "Why aren't you with the other men?"

"I was, but..." He trails off, his jaw working. Rex takes a step closer and glances at Wise, who's hovering nearby, doing a poor job of pretending not to listen, and he clears his throat. “Is the General clear to go? We have a briefing to get to.”

Wise gives a curt nod, and he waves a hand toward the exit. "All clear, Captain. You can take her."

"Good." Rex looks back at you. "Ready, General?"

You sigh. The last thing you want to do is attend another pointless briefing, but you know it's important. So, you nod.

"Ready."

He holds out a hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. You sway slightly, and his other hand settles at the small of your back, steadying you. He holds you like that for a moment, and then he releases you, his hands falling to his sides.

"Come on," he mutters, his eyes dark.

The two of you leave the medbay, the silence heavy between you. There's a tension in his posture, a strain in his voice, and a tightness to his jaw that tells you something's bothering him. And it's not just the eyes on the two of you.

"Is everything alright?" you ask.

"Everything's fine."

You study his face, trying to read his expression, but his mask is firmly in place, his thoughts hidden. It's easier to sense his emotions. Anger, frustration, pain, exhaustion, fear. All of it's there, swirling beneath the surface, but the reasons behind them are unclear.

Rex is one of the most self-contained people you've ever met, but you've gotten better at reading him over the months together. The slightest twitch, the faintest tremor, the briefest flicker. There's a whole language in those little things, and you're starting to learn it. And, right now, he's struggling.

You glance around the hallway, noting the curious eyes that linger, the whispers that follow, the stares that bore into your back. But the further you walk, the less people there are, and the quieter it becomes. Soon, the only sound is the steady thud of Rex's boots and the hum of the ventilation system.

“So, where’s the briefing?” you ask, trying to fill the silence. Your arms extend above your head in a stretch, and a yawn escapes your mouth, making you feel even more tired. You can't wait to sleep.

“There isn’t one,” Rex admits.

Your arms drop, your brow furrowing.

“Then why did you…”

Rex stops and turns to face you. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he's standing tall, his shoulders squared, his head held high. He looks every inch the soldier. A perfect example of discipline, restraint, and control.

But, his eyes betray him.

He's afraid.

You blink, surprised, and you open your mouth to speak, but Rex shakes his head. He reaches out and grabs your arm, tugging you into a nearby alcove, and you stumble after him. His grip is gentle, but there's a firmness to it that warns you not to fight him.

Once the two of you are alone, Rex releases your arm and takes a step back, and his hands ball into fists at his side. He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

"Rex," you say, trying to catch his attention. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer. He's staring at the floor, his brow furrowed, his mouth set in a firm line. His jaw clenches, and his lips part, as if he's about to speak, but no words come.

You watch as his hands flex, the fingers curling and uncurling, and he runs a palm over his face.

"No, I'm not okay," he finally says, a rough exhale escaping him. His voice is strained, his words coming out in a low rasp. "I thought...I thought...for a minute, I..."

The realization hits you, and you close your eyes, taking a shaky breath.

He'd thought you were dead.

He'd thought he'd lost you.

And, judging by the look on his face, the pain he's clearly trying to mask, it's shaken him more than he'll ever admit.

"Rex," you breathe, your heart sinking.

You'd felt his emotions when the battle started, the worry and fear that had radiated from him, but you'd assumed it was because he knew what was coming, and because he was worried about the other men. You never thought it was because of you. Because he was scared for you.

You'd been so focused on your own feelings, on the dread and anxiety that had plagued you, that you'd never considered the possibility that Rex might feel the same way. That his thoughts might drift to you. That he might wonder if you'd made it through the storm.

The realization is painful, and it brings a lump to your throat. You feel guilty, and ashamed.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to worry you."

His gaze drops, and he shakes his head. "No, it's not your fault. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have...I shouldn't have let it get to me. I know better than to lose my focus like that. I just...when I heard the explosion, I..."

He stops and lets out a ragged breath, and his body sags, the fight draining out of him. You step closer, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. His skin is warm, and his stubble scratches against your palm. Rex leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed, and his head tilts to the side, his nose brushing against your wrist.

"It's okay. You're allowed to be upset." You offer a small smile. "You're only human."

Rex doesn't say anything. He just sighs and covers your hand with his, pressing it closer to his skin. You can feel his pulse beating rapidly beneath your fingertips, and his grip tightens, as if he's afraid to let go.

"You're going to make me cry," you joke weakly, but the truth is, his pain is almost unbearable. It's too close, too real. You can feel it echoing inside you, and the weight of it is almost crushing. You hate seeing him like this. You hate knowing that you're the cause of it.

"Please don't," he mutters. His voice is rough, and there's a raw edge to it that makes your stomach twist.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll probably start crying, too," he confesses, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he opens his eyes. "I've had a rough day."

You let out a weak laugh, trying to fight the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You blink, and a single tear rolls down your cheek.

Rex's eyes widen, and his face falls.

"Now you've done it," he grumbles, but there's a tenderness to his words that makes your heart swell.

His hands move to your shoulders, and he gently pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your body. Your face buries in his neck, and his chin rests on the top of your head.

"I'm glad you're alive," he whispers. His grip tightens, his fingers digging into the back of your robes. "When I didn't see you after the battle...I didn't know what to think. I couldn't find you. I didn't know where you were, or if you were even..."

You squeeze him harder, letting him know you're here, and he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You can feel his body trembling beneath your touch, and his hand reaches up, cupping the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur, your voice muffled as you bury your face further into the crook of his neck.

Rex lets out a shaky breath. "Good."

You stand like that for a long moment, the two of you clinging to each other, neither of you willing to let go. You can feel his heartbeat slowing, his muscles relaxing, and his breathing evens out. His grip loosens, and his fingers trail through your hair, his nails scratching lightly against your scalp.

He needs this. He needs you. And, for once, he's letting himself have it

You know the feeling.

The war has taken its toll on both of you, and the weight of it has been a burden that you've borne separately and together. The endless battles, the constant stress, the loss of life. It's all wearing you down. You want to comfort him, to give him the support he so desperately needs, but you're not sure how. Not when your own emotions are so tangled. Nothing seems right, nothing seems enough. And, the words that come out are inadequate.

"We made it," you say, and the words sound hollow, even to you. "That's all that matters."

Rex makes a small noise, almost a laugh, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing along the base of your skull.

"Yeah," he breathes. “Yeah, we did."

"We're okay," you remind him, pulling back to look him in the eye. You give him a smile, and he returns it, his eyes crinkling. "I promise."

Rex studies you for a long moment, his gaze moving over your face, as if trying to memorize every detail. His expression softens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over the bacta patch.

"I'm going to hold you to that,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, his tone serious, but the corner of his mouth curves into a half-smile.

"Good. You should.”

"You know, if you keep saying things like that, I'm going to start thinking you actually care," he teases, his fingers trailing along your cheekbone.

You roll your eyes, and your hands move to his chest, pushing him away. He chuckles and pulls back, releasing his hold on you.

"You know what I meant," you say, wiping away the wetness from your cheeks. "And, for the record, I do care."

"I know," he replies softly, his eyes flickering. He clears his throat and glances away, his cheeks flushing, and you can't help but smile.

"I was worried, too," you confess. Rex's eyes snap back to yours, and his eyebrows rise. "About you, I mean. About all of you. I thought...well, I thought a lot of things. And, I'm glad none of them came true."

"Me too," he agrees. "I don't know what I would have done if..." He trails off, his voice fading, and his lips press into a firm line. He swallows and takes a deep breath, his hand moving to the back of his neck, rubbing at the tense muscles. "Sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into an empty hallway just to have a breakdown. I just..."

"You needed a minute," you finish, and he nods, his shoulders slumping.

"Something like that."

"You have nothing to apologize for," you tell him, giving his arm a squeeze. "It's been a rough day for all of us. And, you're not the only one who's a little shaken."

"You're right," he concedes, letting out a long exhale.

You pat his arm and offer him a smile, trying to lift his mood. “Besides, if we're keeping track of emotional breakdowns, I'm still way ahead of you. You're gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to catch up."

Rex huffs and shakes his head, his lips twitching.

"Well, I don’t think this war is ending anytime soon," he quips. "I'll have plenty of opportunities."

"True."

You give a sigh and lean against the wall, resting your head back. You can feel the exhaustion starting to catch up with you, and your body is heavy, the weight of the past few hours weighing down on you. You close your eyes and let out a groan, wishing you could just crawl into a bed and sleep for the next ten years.

Rex moves to stand beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours. The heat radiating from his body is comforting, and you lean into him, savoring his closeness. He turns his head, his eyes searching your face, and you meet his gaze, a faint smile on your lips.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "For letting me have a minute."

"Any time," you tell him, and you mean it. He's done so much for you. He's given so much of himself. You'd give anything to ease his pain, and if a minute is what he needs, you'll give him that. It’s the least you can do.

His lips part, as if he's going to say something, but no words come out. His eyes drop to your mouth, and his jaw tenses, his throat bobbing. Then, he shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, and his gaze lifts, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You're just...you're a good friend, General."

The word friend stings more than you expect, and you bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to grimace. You can't blame him for saying it. Not when it's the truth. You are his friend. But a small part of you had hoped...well, it doesn't matter.

"Right," you say, your smile a little strained. "So are you."

Rex gives a nod and turns his gaze away, looking down the hallway. He seems lost in thought, his brow furrowed, his lips twisted, and you watch as he looks left and right, checking to see if the coast is clear. There's a moment of hesitation, and then, he sighs and turns back to you, his expression softening. He looks almost shy.

"I..." He stops and takes a deep breath, as if he's steeling himself for what's to come. "Here."

He pulls up his vambrace, and you watch, confused, as he taps a few buttons. His finger hovers over one of the controls, and then he presses it.

A second later, your commlink begins to chime. Your eyes widen, and you quickly pull it out to silence it, staring at the display that pops up. You glance up at Rex, and his cheeks flush, his hand rising to the back of his neck as his eyes avoid yours. He's nervous. He should be. He’s breaking about a dozen regulations by giving you his private frequency, and you know it. He knows it.

And, yet, here he is, giving it to you anyway.

It's dangerous, risky, and foolish, but neither of you seem to care. The war is already hard enough, and the idea of keeping each other at a distance, especially now, is an unnecessary cruelty. So, you don't argue. You save the contact, and you tuck your commlink away, giving him a smile.

"Just in case," he mutters, his gaze finally meeting yours.

"In case what?"

"In case you need me," he says. His voice is quiet, but there's a strength to it, a resolve. "Or, in case I need you."

You stare at him, unable to speak. The look in his eyes is so tender, so earnest, that it takes your breath away. There's something else there, too, something deeper, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You have to look away.

"Got it," you manage.

Rex gives a small nod, and he pushes himself off the wall, moving to stand in front of you. His hands settle on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing circles against the fabric of your tunic.

"We'll see each other soon," he promises. "Just...let me know when you get back to the Temple. Okay?"

"I will," you agree.

"Good."

Rex gives you one last smile, and then he releases you. You watch as he walks away, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, before he disappears around the corner, leaving you alone.

You take a deep breath and try to compose yourself, smoothing the front of your robes. Your hands are trembling, and your heart is racing, but you ignore the feelings, burying them. It's just stress, you tell yourself. It's been a long day. You're just tired.

Your eyes trace the panels along the walls, and you stare up at the ceiling, the white lights overhead. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, clearing your mind. When you open them, you feel calm, the momentary panic fading.

There's a sudden ping from your commlink, and you jump, startled. Your fingers fumble with the device, and you quickly bring it up, tapping the display.

Stay safe.

The words make your heart skip a beat, and you type out a response without hesitation.

Always.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #forcing everyone to read about my clone ocs like a proud grandparent pulling photos out of their wallet #but hey!! relationship progression!!

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who-parties-on-a-tuesday · 11 months ago

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Headcannon

Arthur is super emotionally unavailable. He's really bad at giving affection and showing love (romantically or platonically). Like, he doesn't even know what a hug is and has never said 'I love you' while sober.

This caused Jett to be starved for affection. Like if any of his micornations wanted a hug, he would drop anything and everything for it. He is constantly showering them in praise and love in any way he can.

If Wy painted him a picture, he wouldn't put it on the fridge. He have it framed on a wall and brag to everyone he saw that 'his girl did that for him'.

This has led him to be a bit suffocating at times. Not just with his micronations but with everyone.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia australia #hetalia england #i accidentally wrote a whole fanfic wtf #arthur isn't trying to be a dick #he just doesn't know how to love #honestly probably shouldn't have been raising kids #i didn't mean for this to be kind of angsty

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

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karleksmumskladdkaka · 27 days ago

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Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Vol.3 Mukami Ruki Stellaworth Tokuten Bromide & Short Story Paper

Originally, these were tokutens you'd get for buying Ruki's CD through the Stellaworth store. Nowadays you might find them sold at flea markets or second hand stores. The story is written from Ruki's POV, and takes place right after the ending of his CD, with him and Yui still on the rooftop.

Enjoy the angst (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)d

(Don't repost anywhere!)

#my ramblings are at the bottom of the tags this time for anyone interested dhdjfj #dialovers #diabolik lovers #diahell #ruki mukami #yui komori #ruki x yui #mb ruki x yui #more blood #short story #diabolik lovers official art #mine #this actually made me a bit sad ;_;#now that i think about it ruki's early stories are all more or less angsty #which checks out #the man himself basically says outright (in DF i think) that he didn't know what happiness felt like before he met and fell in love with Yu #and he also mentions (can't remember where exactly) that he used to wish he had simply died as a human #that he saw no real meaning in his “second life”#so yes. he was in a very dark place emotionally at the start of the franchise #which is why his later routes/CDs/stories warm my heart so dang much #just the difference in his outlook and demeanor aughh. fuck. the feels fffffgdgdg *cries*#i am so normal about this man #speaking of which...the upcoming rukiyui story (which will be posted on friday whoooo!) is so fucking good omg #definitely one of my new faves #so look forward to that on friday ((o(*^∇^*)o)) can't wait to share it!#oh and the 9 other stories as well ig sgdg #they're kind of already fading from my awareness though cuz they're not rukiyui :p

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martianbugsbunny · 1 year ago

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"What would you do if I was dying? Hold me and let me die in your arms or just let me lay there and bleed?"

#I mean I kinda get it there was a firefight #but on the other hand I'm simply incensed that Fury didn't go back for him #what can I say I am an angsty person and one dying in the other's arms is a fave of mine #or just y'know one dying and the other bringing their body back for a respectful fricking burial but whatever #I also would prefer there was no death at all just the kind of injury that needs close nursing to get through #bc it's both angst and hurt/comfort #(instead of angst and hurt/no comfort)#talos #nick fury #espionage husbands #nick fury x talos #talos x nick fury #secret invasion #source: M*A*S*H*#crying screaming biting the arm of my chair #I miss talos can you tell #also to heck with that president he can jump in a hole #pardon my french #martianbugsbunny ships

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twpsyn-who · 2 years ago

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Soulmate AU in which you see the way you die when you touch your soulmate for the first time.

And yeah we have the classic "bottle to the neck" scene which is kiss chief 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼 BUT I present to you "Steve touched Eddie by mistake during high school" with a little bit of "Steve is an idiot and didn't notice" and "Eddie is suffering".

The fall of 1883. Steve has yet to make a move on Nancy, let alone touch her. Meanwhile Eddie is living his best life as of yet : his father finally got put in prison, new freshman has joinend his club and they finally found a drummer for their band. Yes, Will Byers got missing and Eddie felt a little bad for Jonathan, but that was life. Nothing could change Eddie's good vibes.

Until The King of Hawkins runs by him while trying to get to one Nancy Wheeler. The touch was barely there, a hand brushing by Eddie's leather jacket, but it was enough to trigger their apparent soulmate bound. That's when Eddie saw himself in front of his trailer (which looked more like a military base or a fortress with how heavily guarded it was), holding into a made up spear and a shield made with a bin's lid with nails pushed into it. There were huge bats (?) (Eddie wasn't sure what to name the things in the sky yet) getting out of the trailer and him from the vision began running towards one of the bikes outside, getting on one of them and pedalling away from the trailer.

He was yelling for them to follow him. It probably made sense, if uncle Wayne was in the trailer, for him to try get those monsters away. That didn't stop Eddie from being surprised at seeing himself trying to be the hero.

He was no hero. Eddie has always run away from conflicts, from fights and situations that put him in a bad spot. From help too, until his father finally lost it to the alcohol and Eddie has to accept uncle Wayne's offer to move with him if he wanted to stay alive. He was known for running away.

Yet he was trying to get the monsters away from the trailer, distract their attention. And he made a good job too, until his bike got stuck into a vine and made him hit the ground. Eddie felt sick while watching his vision self try fight the monsters only to get pinned down by them and eaten alive. He from the vision was yelling from pain and it took agonizingly long for the huge bats (looking closer they had no resemblance of bats, yet it felt right to call them as such for some reasons) to drop on the ground. By then it was more blood outside of Eddie than inside and he could see his vision's self organs from one of the bites.

There was more, Eddie knew there was more to watch, more to see before he was going to take his last breath, but the vision was too much and it took all of his willpower to get out of it. By then he was alone in the hallway, the classes going while he was watching his own death happen. He went straight for the bathroom and pushed his way into the first stall before getting on his knees and vomiting all he got to eat the other day.

He was crying. Eddie could tell that it was going to happen soon, with how young he looked in the vision. At that point it didn't even mattered anymore that his soulmate was the biggest jerk alive, not when the future was so dark and he wouldn't survive it.

Somehow Eddie spent the rest of the school classes in the bathroom, switching between vomiting and mourning over something that he was never going to have.

#before you go at me : this was supposed to be a Kas Eddie kind of thing aka he doesn't actually dies there lol #or he does and in his place Kas gets born idk man. The idea is that we do have a vampire Eddie on the loose #thooo I love angst man and the idea of Eddie's grades going to shit cuz he knew he would die soon anyway??? of Eddie fucking around and #being a menace to society cuz he was going to die??? only for that to be his downfall altogether?!?!?#The vision didn't stop. Only Eddie stopped looking at it. That means he heard what happened in the background while he was vomiting #he knew of Dustin. And yet the second he saw the three frenchman having a hard time he COULDN'T not take them under his wing #imagine Eddie trying so hard to not get attached/close to Dustin only for him to somehow get closer #Eddie asked the guys once if they meet their soulmates and Dustin said yes and he was going to die in his 40s in a car accident (totally a #lie but Eddie was so RELIEVED when he heard that)#anyway I had a follow up fpr this. if anyway wanna me ramble more about it #meanwhile get this little angsty little thing. as a treat #gosh this is in my drafts since nov 7 agdhdjskks #stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie munson #stranger things steddie #steddie

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hum--hallelujah · 1 year ago

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wait so I can add MORE angst? 👀

#reading about the effects of having your vocal cords severed.... oh boy #oh I can make this so angsty if I want to...#either it's like. Benze is super cognizant of it in that doctorish way he has and is constantly waiting for something to happen #OR it doesn't even cross his mind. it's one of a set of symptoms that are kept on a list in the back of his mind and he spends #so much time fretting about communication that he doesn't even think about any of the rest of it until it happens #and then suddenly his best friend in the world is choking on nothing and looking to him with wild panicked eyes #because crab didn't expect this either. how would he?#severed vocal cords lead to vocal cord paralysis which has common effects of trouble breathing/swallowing etc and choking #the internet does not want to be forthcoming about my fictional hypothetical of what happens if you get both #cords straight up sliced but like. you can imagine #idk I'm just Thinking #something happens like crab gets knocked out or drugged or smth and benze is so concerned that he'll have #breathing problems while unconscious #and knowing all of that means that the others get kind of spun up about it too #(meaning: sandman gets so stressed out he thinks he's gonna throw up because he's ridiculously high strung anyway #and doesn't like when one of his friends is hurt aND ANOTHER ONE IS TALKING ABOUT POTENTIAL COMPLICATIONS #LIKE IT'S NOTHING.)#(actually I think it's really funny bc when Benze is in doctor mode he does come off as really cold and unfeeling #even though what's really happening is that he's falling back on facts that he knows and trusts in. medical stuff he can handle #so he's super clinical about it most of the time. and it drives the others up a wall bc they think he doesn't care)#ok sorry I'm just rambling somewhat unrelatedly now about stuff #ddas

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nursedexy · 1 year ago

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The thing is I adore zimmbits, but i also really love reading about about them breaking up and Bitty bonding with Kent over their shared ex and love of pop music and them falling in love

#look i've been deep in destiel for years and i can't multiship those two and i didn't care enough about other spn ships to read fic for it #so this feels kind of thrilling?#like i can ship kent with.. anyone?#bitty or whiskey or tater or jack if i'm feeling angsty #and that's not even talking about how much i care about every other character #i mean obviously nurseydex is EVERYTHING #but also i read a dex/jack fic today and it was so good!#omgcp

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adreamfromnevermore · 8 months ago

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Love the slight AUs where Bruce as Batman has been a member of the league for ages, but he's somehow managed to keep his assortment of children under the radar.

Because it sets up the wildest misunderstandings within the league. He routinely talks about his babies, his children who are all so sweet and kind and occasionally assholes yes but only because they are young (and traumatized) hell I don't think the league would even be aware that they're adopted. So they're all thinking literal children

Barry: Bats really loves his kids.

Hal: I mean they're babies, wait till they hit the angsty teens and I'm sure we'll be hearing the opposite

Which means the day they finally meet Nightwing they don't know wtf to think. For one thing, how old would he have been when he had this kid???? Should they be worried about that???? And for the other, that is not a baby, that is not a precious little thing.

He could break someone in half. Like a twig.

He won't, but he could. And they can see that. (He's bat trained, they have seen what the bat can do they are not fools)

And they're like, okay. Okay maybe he isn't the baby (he is). He's got younger kids right? He's never said how many, they have 0 clues. They've been expecting 1 child, maybe 2 because he'd said kid in the plural exactly once when comforting an older woman while they were searching for her children in the aftermath of a rough battle.

And then a week later they run into Red Hood. In his leather, with his guns. And he drapes himself across Batmans back with all the self confidence in the world and starts whining about the "Brat" breaking into his safe house.

To steal his dog.

And yet again. He is not baby. He is bigger than Batman. He could probably break Batman in half given the bat didn't put up a fight. But Batman looks at him with probably the softest expression they've ever seen on that mans face and tells him very earnestly that the kid just wants to spend time with his older brother, next time they should try a walk. Maybe go to the zoo.

But probably not one of the babies. They're kind, and gentle, and at least one just loves reading and Bats has been trying to encourage that!!!

And then a day later he mentions his "babies" going for a walk in the park and they all instantaneously lose their minds at the confirmation.

#batman #dc #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam headcanons #batfam #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #robin #spoiler #red robin #justice league

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thatonegayship · 2 years ago

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I had to

Wait, does the cheating thing on the bond always works? bcs that would be kinda freaky for R!Dipper like imagine you get pinned down by someone in the corner of a br or smthng and then said person kissed you and proceeded to explode into red mist and you literally have no idea what happened.

Also, would the constellation mark be a "cursed" Mark over the years, like you would give birth to a baby and the doctor says "😟 I am so sorry ma'am,,, I'm afraid your baby has the Cipher Companion mark. ( could also be something equally as science-y like Ursa Major, Constellation Calamation, etc idk)" And you just burst into tears.

Would that mean that dipper would get into a special program(demon wrangling program or smthng, demonologist? Maybe)? Or would the parents hide it away hoping that Bill would never take their child away?

(Sorry this au is just very interesting to me,,,, I hope u get more motivation, keep writing author 💪)

These are all options! The fun part of reincarnation AU being left ambiguous is that technically any of them could happen.

#And when Dipper regains his memory perhaps Mom!Mabel does too? That's gotta be pretty weird for them #Or maybe it's like 'wow. Huh. Well I guess that explains a few things #since they always acted a bit more like siblings than the average single mother/ cursed child dynamic #Sorry I just love this concept so much. I've actually thought about it a few times but I couldn't tell if that was like. a weird thing to do #An old bond once again rekindling itself by chance and the opportune nature of infinite lives <3 #Mabel would be a good mom I think even though she looooves embarrassing her son so so much #He's way too caught up in stuff like fitting in and having friends when all he REALLY needs is to find one hot guy and lock that in #I think if the birthmark became the omen that it so clearly is Mabel would hype him up and try styling his hair to emphasize it #What a handsome and doomed young man! So SO cosmically doomed <3 She's very proud of him and his inescapable fate #And let's not be modest here. It was a teen pregnancy and she doesn't give a damn who the father is so long as there's this cutie patootie #She may also be one of the first parents after Dipper's first death who names him 'Dipper' again. Something about it. The name spoke to her #Okay but I don't wanna linger on just this because I love ALL of your tags and also it's way too late for me to rant about motherly love #I always just kind of assumed their cheating arrangement kicked in once Dipper was. Ya know. *Dipper* again.#Makes for at least a handful of awkward sweaty kisses for him to cringe about late at night until his husband arrives to clean the slate #The thought of it being an ETERNAL agreement I can also see. Bill's too possessive for his (Dipper's) own good smh #He's like. Five. It doesn't even mean anything when he kisses her. Just that he likes that she knows stuff about bugs and that's cool.#And she explodes. Not the best introduction into the world of romance. It causes a shit ton of trauma regarding romance and his own intimacy #He doesn't know that Bill's the one person he *CAN* kiss and it tears him up inside wondering what those lips feel like #First time Bill really reads the mood right and tries closing in on him Dipper shoves him away. THAT'S a miscommunication #Or maybe he just sort of. Thinks people explode when they get romantic and that's normal. He's kind of surprised Bill *didn't* explode #thank you for leaving room for angsty fanfictioners because I love terrible awful things happening to the mc that leave them forever changed #Some guy gets. Too close. Far too close. Dipper didn't even *want* to be there in the first place so why in the hell does it happen to him?#God that is just overflowing with character struggle and future issues with intimacy in his personal life. How would Bill even approach this #Who's more upset? Dipper for 'letting' it happen? Or Bill for not being able to protect him when it did?#They're both a mess in this scenario of course. Just a couple of guys unable to communicate how much they want to touch but just. Can't.#It's just so hard- Dipper wants to hold him. He wants to stay away. He has fantasies that make him sick to his stomach with lust and guilt #Bill's boiling beneath the surface but the threat's already been long dealt with. Still. There's the damage left behind in Dipper's chest #They'll figure it out eventually. Their love is a lot more than physical touch. It's spiritual. Even Dipper's nerd brain knows that #Dipper's first time with someone *Not* Bill back in his teen years is so bad that he just assumes sex is supposed to be 'meh #Then his husband comes along and shatters the goal post that is his expectations and it is great. Find someone who is so hot and so annoying

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luveline · 1 year ago

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I'm in an angsty mood.. and I love love love Spencer x bombshell!reader.

maybe she gets hurt somehow (maybe like an unsub or something) but refuses to get checked out

ty for requesting!! sry this isn't super angsty

cw criminal minds typical gun violence

Blood is a strange thing. It can run quickly or slow, feel tepid or burning hot. It's warm and uncomfortable as it slinks down the curve of your shoulder to the very tip of your index finger, dark as coal pitch in the poor lightning.

The gunfight is promptly ended, so quickly that no one even knows you've been hit. Morgan throws himself at one unsub and the other is shot in the thigh. Your ears ring, a gun firing too close to your head, clearly.

In all the hubbub, nobody notices you're hurt.

You'd like to keep it that way.

It's not that you believe you're infallible, nor that the others believe it either, but in the grand scheme of things it is a very small cut that you can attend to in your hotel room alone with a butterfly stitch or even a roll of bandages. There's no way it requires real stitches, and no way you're gonna sit in the back of an ambulance for the next hour.

Your jacket is black. The wound clots itself while you're in the SUV —you choose a window where your arm faces away from everyone and you manage it. And truthfully… you would like the others to think you're smarter than getting hit by a stray bullet. After everything that's happened lately, you've reason to build yourself up. Let the others hold you in some prestige again.

It works for a time. You get back to the hotel, and everyone says goodnight. Your room is clean and waiting for your return.

You'd collapse into bed if it didn't mean you'd leave a bloody line on the linens. You shed your ruined jacket and throw it in the trash. Your shirt is split where the bullet nicked you, and that comes off next. The wound begins bleeding sluggishly at the agitation but doesn't erupt, and stays strong as you wipe the skin clean around it. Your fingers mar with copper stain, the face cloth you've sacrificed turning an ugly brown, but eventually you've cleaned the skin enough to see the damage.

It's deep but small. A nick.

The issue is your lack of bandages. It's a hotel room, a small one. There's no first aid kit and your go bag is sorely lacking. Which means…

You have to go bat your eyelids at someone, and if you're being honest, you only ever want to do that to one Dr. Spencer Reid.

He's not expecting you, clearly. You weren't expecting it either. "Hey," he says, rubbing his eyes, his pyjama pants flush to the floor.

"You were sleeping? I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, are you kidding me?" He opens the door wider to encourage you in, turning away from you as he murmurs, "S'like my dream."

He must be very tired. You beam like a fool and follow him inside. "I had a dream like this once, too. Same kind of dream, do you think?"

"Knowing you, probably." He's growing more comfortable with you, but he's still clearly a little flustered to be this suddenly presented with you, wrapping himself up in a cardigan hanging over the single sad chair. "What's up?"

"I'm glad you asked." You take your uninjured arm out of your coat, and then the other. You know what you're doing, laughing softly as his eyes turn to dark dimes in an otherwise pale face. "I need your help with something, Spence."

"Uh–" He stammers, looking you up and down with shock. "Um, I–" He licks his lips quickly. "Okay."

You kind of hate that you aren't there to seduce him for a split second. Too bad your arm has started to throb. "I need a bandaid," you say, turning your arm into his line of sight. "Help me out?"

—

"I know something you don't know," Morgan sing-songs. Emily sips her coffee, mildly interested by her friend's taunting. She doesn't give him any feeding, waiting, and sure enough he cracks. "What, you don't want to know?"

"You want to tell me, right?"

"Mm, no. I'll tell Penelope."

"Fine! Alright, what is it?" She breaks, putting her coffee down on the little table in front of her. They're sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for Hotch and the others to collect their things. The jet awaits, as do a few hours in the air before she gets to sleep in her own bed again.

"I saw–" Morgan laughs. "This is too good. I saw a certain bombshell visiting Reid last night. After hours."

Emily's heart kicks in. "No way!" she gasps. "I mean, I know there's something between them, we all know that, but– his room, seriously?"

"He didn't even question her. She knocked, he answered, she went inside."

"What were you doing up?"

"That's my business," Morgan says.

Emily leans forward to gossip. This is insane. Sure, you flirt with Spencer relentlessly, and sure, he blushes like he loves it the majority of the time, he even manages to get you back, but you're sleeping together? "This is so scandalous," she whispers.

Her job is hard, but God does Emily love her team. She's genuinely happy for you both, but seriously! She giggles to herself at the drama of it all, and Morgan looks like he might say more, but then he looks behind her and stops.

Emily turns. You and Spencer are walking out of the elevator together, and while you aren't looking more coupled than usual, Spencer's acting unusually. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks, hushed but carrying in the relatively quiet lobby.

"I promise I'm okay, Spence." Your voice drops. "It's our secret, okay?"

"Sure, but–" He takes your hand, there, where everyone can see, the love in the line of his shoulders clear to anyone who might be watching, which Emily and Morgan very much are. "Can I look at it again?"

Morgan laughs into his hand, hiding it with a cough too late. Emily kicks his leg and he looks admonished, but it doesn't convince you where you look up from your conversation, the same surprise written in your features as Emily herself feels while Spencer continues, "You need to let me take care of you," he says, practically pleading.

"Spencer," you say, looking Emily straight in the eye, "you took care of me just fine last night."

She gawps.

Spencer whispers in response to your lowered tone, making his answer partially inaudible, "It was my first…" He shakes his head. "I've never… and I know you said it didn't hurt that much but… go see a doctor–"

You stop him with an affectionate smile. "You could never hurt me, handsome. Do I look like I'm in pain?"

"No." Spencer drops your hand. "If you're sure. Let me go get you a drink, okay? Go sit down."

"Yes sir."

Nothing about you says anything different to usual as you sit on the lobby chair next to Morgan's, beside your worn hoodie. You fiddle with a fraying sleeve as you kick one leg over the other, giving your friends a pleased smile. "Morning," you say lightly.

Emily genuinely doesn't know what to say. Her mouth hangs slightly ajar. "I…"

"You're shameless," Morgan says with a laugh.

"Look," you say, shrugging though the action makes you wince, "I could tell you the truth and you wouldn't believe me."

"Sure we wouldn't. Reid looks like a lost puppy right now."

Spencer stands anxiously by the coffee machine across the way, his gaze locked solidly on you where you sit. You throw him a smile and he looks away.

"I don't deserve him," you say softly.

Spencer carries your bag for you all the way to the BAU. Emily doesn't think it's a question of deserving, though you do, only an example of Spencer's big heart. And, you know, post hookup appreciation, or something.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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earlysunshines · 1 month ago

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drive me crazy!

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni can bear physical touch—unless it’s from you and is oblivious to why that is, oblivious to only her.

warnings: sixth!member reader ; cute and FLUFFY YAAYYY!!!! ; my girl... pls why r u stupid my cute little idiot ; a lil angsty ; idk anything else i didn't mention ; oh um... rly jdashfasd iffy on how the pacing is plus the pining and like everything... was supposed to be short and cute but then i made it more LOL ; not proofread (i don't like reading if u couldn't tell)

a/n: short, silly, cute, lovely, adorable (so hanni) anyways HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! to gf!! also now all the members i write for have a sixth!member reader fic LOL

hanni has always been fine with physical touch, she kind of has to be considering she’s friends with danielle and hyein.

she lets them drag her by the arm, cling onto her, and whatever else that they desire because that’s just how they are. hanni is fine with this, she’s fine with anything the members do.

but you? you’re a whole different story and she has no clue why.

the slightest amount of physical contact from you sends her spiralling, she can’t think right the moment your shoulders graze or fingers brush against one another. her palms go sweaty, her breath gets short, and her face warms up; hanni tends to be more distant when it comes to you.

maybe it's the way you do it so effortlessly, plus that little smirk on your face that renders her dumber than she already is. maybe it's because your hands are always so warm that it makes her flinch away, or maybe it's something more. but this could mean nothing, right?

exhibit a:

hanni wasn’t always wary of your touch. there was a point in time where she’d give you hugs without thinking, let you lean on her shoulder or lean on yours, even intertwine fingers during livestreams or just spontaneously because why not?

one night, while in spain during your time recording for the new ep, you two had been put into a room together. there had been two beds, but you wanted to hangout near hanni while you doom scrolled and texted your friends. hanni let you linger there, neither of you had made any physical contact during the time until you mindlessly put your leg over hers, linking it.

while you went on your phone hanni would glance at you, she didn’t know why. you caught her in the midst of it, interrupted her while she traced the curve of your lips and she could only blush.

“is there something on my face?”

hanni still stares, not answering for a bit until a few seconds pass.

“no, i just zoned out.”

“okay...?” you ignore it with a chuckle, returning to your phone.

after hours of scrolling, you yawn, your phone falling somewhere on the bed as the hours of recording and singing throughout that day had caught up to you.

you fell asleep first, your breathing soft and steady, while hanni lay beside you, wide awake. she didn’t mind though. you hadn't moved to your bed, and hanni isn't strong enough to carry you (she's smaller and shorter, that's quite given; you tease her endlessly for it). she couldn’t bring herself to wake you up, watching the peaceful way you drifted off. she felt warm next to you, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be here, sharing this moment. eventually, she let her eyes close too, not bothering to move. she liked the closeness.

the two of you fell asleep beside each other on your backs, your hands barely touching and a leg tangled with the other.

when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was how you were wrapped around her. your arm was draped over her waist, your body molded against hers, and for a moment, you were too comfortable to move. it was similar to the feeling of cuddling your pillow at night in the dorms, but instead with hanni. you really liked the feeling of her in your arms, weirdly enough.

hanni was awake now too, but she hadn’t shifted yet. instead, she lay still, her heart beating faster as she became hyperaware of the closeness between you two. she could feel your warmth, every breath, every slight movement, and it made her feel bubbly and panicked.

hanni wasn’t used to feeling this way, like her entire body was on edge, but in the best way possible. being this close to you—it made everything feel different, more intense. physical touch isn't new to her in the slightest, considering all the members are a little touchy (danielle is a whole different story), but she's never felt this way with you or any of the other members. her thoughts were running a mile a minute, and she couldn’t help but steal glances at your face, admiring how soft and peaceful you looked in the morning light. her nerves kicked in when she realized how close your lips were to her shoulder, how intimate this all suddenly felt.

fuck, hanni thought. everything felt so perfect, but this only made her more wary.

and then you stirred, slowly waking up again, your eyes fluttering open. when your gaze landed on her, your lips curved into the softest, sleepiest smile, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“morning han,” you mumble, your voice raspy with sleep as you reach up to gently caress her face. your thumb brushes her cheek, and she can’t help but lean into your touch, her skin tingling from the simple gesture.

hanni can't breathe. her lips part, and then she closes her mouth to tense her jaw.

“you’re so pretty in the morning,” you say, still groggy but sincere. "how are you real?"

hanni’s face flushes immediately, her heart doing flips as she stares at you, wide-eyed. “you can’t just say things like that,” she murmurs, trying to suppress a smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.

you chuckle softly, your hand still resting on her cheek, not wanting to pull away. “why not? it’s true.”

hanni wants to pull away, it's too much. she feels like her heart might just escape from her chest.

the way you look at her, sleepy but affectionate, makes her feel weirdly nervous in the best way. the closeness, the intimacy—it’s overwhelming, but in a way that makes her want to stay right there, wrapped up in you.

but she can't, the pit in her stomach doesn't let her.

she shifts away, turning and groaning playfully as she stretches. she checks her phone, the time saving her from this situation.

"shit, we should be getting up soon."

you frown, hand resting on hanni's waist still until she sits up and rubs her eyes. "do we have to?" you ask, wanting to stay in bed a little longer with her in your arms. something about being so close to her and her specifically makes you really content.

"we have to get to the location, eat, get ready, recording—you know, all that."

you pout, rolling away from her and finding a pillow to replace her warmth.

"five more minutes?"

"fine..." hanni huffs, looking at you fondly. she can't tell if she's fond of the weird rush you give her either.

—

exhibit b

hanni is in the middle of vlogging, setting up her phone on the counter as she stirs something on the stove. her voice is light, a little bubbly, as she explains what she’s making for dinner, though she’s focused on keeping everything smooth for the video.

the phone drops and she groans, biting her lip subtly as she sets it back up, returning to her little commentary.

“so, i’m just letting this simmer for a bit,” she says, leaning closer to the pot, “and then i’ll—”

before she can finish, you come up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist. she gasps, then freezes for a second, her whole body stiffening as your head gently rests on her shoulder. she can feel your warmth instantly, she can smell your signature sweet perfume, and the sudden contact makes her heart jump into her throat.

your arms pull her close, and her cheeks heat up as if the stove’s flames were warming her directly. she knows she’s still on camera, but for a moment, she can barely remember what she was even talking about.

“hey,” you mumble softly, voice low and a bit tired, but sweet. “what are you making?”

hanni’s grip on the spoon tightens, and she laughs awkwardly, trying to play it cool. “uh, j-just… dinner,” she manages, her voice a little higher than usual. her brief stutter earns a punch to herself (mentally of course) and she cringes internally. her brain is short-circuiting from the feel of you pressed against her back, your head so close to hers. she swears her face is probably bright red by now. there is no way this is getting cut out, especially not with the popularity you two have as a duo.

you lift your head from her shoulder, standing beside her but still lingering close, your arm brushing against hers. hanni tries her best to focus on the camera, forcing herself to talk about the food again, but it’s so difficult with you right there, looking effortlessly adorable after coming back from your shoot. you’re in casual clothes, but there’s something about the way you look—tired but still glowing—that makes her even more flustered.

“you look cute,” she hears you say softly, just loud enough for her to hear but not for the camera, and it completely throws her off. you look her dead in the eye, your gaze dropping to her lips and then back up as you smile. she almost drops the spoon, quickly looking at the camera and then back at the food, trying to regain her composure. her mind is a mess. how is she supposed to vlog when you’re like this?

“uh—thank you,” hanni stammers, her cheeks fully tinted pink now. she tries to laugh it off, stirring the pot with more focus than necessary, but the tension in her shoulders gives her away.

you chuckle softly, leaning a little closer to check what she’s making. “need help?”

hanni shakes her head quickly, eyes wide as she glances at you, then back at the camera. “n-no! i’m good, totally fine,” she insists, though her flustered state says otherwise.

“okay,” you hum, stepping back but still watching her with a teasing grin. "but if you need me to cut anymore veggies or meat i can! just ring me up! bunnies, did you know that i'm actually a wonnnnnnderful cook? i used to cook a lot with my parents-"

hanni lets you ramble, she loves hearing you ramble. she can't help but smile everytime you do, your voice is like music to her ears, it’s a symphony.

when you're finished with your ramble, you bring the attention back to hanni. "now back to our show!"

hanni lets out a quiet breath of relief, trying her best to wrap up the vlog—or at least this segment. “so, yeah! um, this just needs a few more minutes, and then dinner will be ready.” her voice wavers slightly, but she manages to end the video, turning off the camera with shaky hands.

as soon as the camera’s off, she turns to you, her face still red, and you can’t help but laugh softly at how flustered she is.

“you’re impossible,” she mutters, playfully swatting at you, but there’s a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“what?” you ask, oblivious to everything going on.

"i--" hanni pauses, shaking her head before flicking you in the forehead. "go change, dinner will be ready by then."

…

@/dailyyn on twitter:

“hanni and y/n crumbs! look how good y/n looks after the shoot… imagine being her gf and she greets you like this… id kill to be hanni”

the clip shows you surprising hanni, making her blush with your subtle antics and sharing the cute moment on camera. fans go a little insane partially because of your look, and also the chemistry between the two of you.

↪️@/tokkijeans: is it just me or are they really close? like.. suspiciously close

↪️@/ynslover: replying to @/tokkijeansi wouldn’t be surprised if they. were dating… i’ve never seen hanni so shy

↪️@/hanynenjoyer: this video is so cute! they’re my everything…

—

exhibit c

the studio was lively, filled with activity as the photobook shoot progressed. bright lights flashed intermittently, casting soft shadows over the set as you and hanni stood close, posing for the camera.

you two were in arguably casual clothing, but obviously topped off with some extra details because it was for a photoshoot. you couldn't stop staring at hanni, stealing glances whenever you could. she looked gorgeous, that wasn't debatable. her hair was styled in a way that made it a little wavy and a small clip pinned the hair that would frame her face back.

in return, hanni was doing her absolute best to keep her cool. the light makeup made your features stand out subtly, especially your lips (which hanni couldn't stop stealing a peek at), making you look stunning. you'd probably go trending on twitter later, hanni knows you like to upload selcas after things like this, and each one never fails to gain lots of attention.

(not just from the fans, but from your fellow member too.)

the photographers suggested subtle intimacy—small, delicate touches, heads leaning together, eyes locking in moments that felt almost too real. they had convinced you two it would fit the concept: domestic, casual, and comfortable. for you, it was easy to comply, maybe even natural, to slip into those roles. especially when it was hanni by your side.

your hand brushed against hers as you adjusted your stance, smiling to yourself when you caught her glancing at you. hanni was trying to keep her cool, you could tell—but why? her usual ease seemed strained, her body a little tense despite the casual poses. but you? you were just happy to be this close to her, to feel her warmth as you both leaned into the moment.

the photographer directed a few more shots, asking you to sit beside hanni and lean your head against her shoulder. you did so with ease, resting your cheek carefully on her shoulder. you could feel her freeze slightly under your touch, her body rigid against yours. you bring your hand over and place it over hers, rubbing your fingers gently against her skin to coax her back into relaxation—miraculously, it works.

you didn’t think too much the whole thing; after all, these shoots always required some closeness. but with hanni, it was different. your heart felt lighter being near her, warmer in a way that you didn’t feel with anyone else. you smiled softly as you shifted into the next pose, letting her lean against you this time, her back pressing against your shoulders.

she smelled sweet, like the faintest hint of citrus, and you found yourself wanting to linger there a little longer.

"you smell good." you mumble softly as the photographer readjusts his settings. "like really good."

hanni doesnt answer, she opts for pinching you playfully instead, earning a chuckle.

"what? you look really good too."

"shut up." hanni says, mostly for the sake of her sanity. "you're so... ugh."

the moment ended when the photographer had caught both of your attention again. you two stop bickering (if you could even call it that) and focus once more.

the camera flashes one final time, and the photographer calls it a wrap. as the crew began to clear the set, hanni quickly stepped away, her cool facade returning as she busied herself with adjusting her outfit, avoiding your gaze. your heart sank a little at her sudden distance.

you stood there for a second, watching her, a growing pit of uncertainty forming in your stomach. it wasn’t the first time this had happened. hanni had a way of pulling back whenever you got too close, a way of putting space between you that made you second-guess everything. you were touchy with everyone—that was just who you were—but with hanni, it was different. she made you happier, made your heart feel full in a way that was hard to describe. she was so adorable, so easy to be around, and sometimes you couldn’t help but think of being close to her all the time.

but now, watching her act distant again, you couldn’t help but feel a bit upset. was it something you did? were you pushing too far? but she's completely fine with dani dragging her around, haerin randomly leaning against her, and even she initiates the phsyical contact with minji. not to mention hyein, who's always clinging onto everyone — but that's hyein, she's like a younger sister to you all.

your thoughts spiraled as you bit your lip, trying to shake off the gnawing feeling.

hanni finally glanced your way, catching your gaze for a split second before quickly looking away, her face unreadable. you frowned, taking a step toward her. “hanni… are we good?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the hint of worry bled through.

she hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “yeah, of course. why wouldn’t we be?”

“i don’t know. it just—” you paused, struggling to find the right words. “sometimes, it feels like you’re… distant. like you’re pulling away. was the shoot too much? was i too much?"

hanni blinked, her expression softening just slightly, but she still didn’t meet your eyes. “no, no— and i’m not pulling away,” she said quietly, but the uncertainty in her voice didn’t do much to reassure you.

you narrow your eyes at her, trying to believe her. you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “okay. if you say so.”

the air between you felt thick, tense, and it was hard to shake the disappointment that clung to you as you watched her pack up her things. you wanted to be close to her, wanted to feel that warmth again, but right now, it felt like she was slipping through your fingers.

this left you spiraling even more, trying to figure out what went wrong. hanni walks over to watch the others, letting danielle cling onto her and not visibly getting nervous or anything like that. was it you? it had to be.

—

soobin was like the big brother you never had, and you were forever grateful for that accidental meeting while you were a trainee and he was a rookie—when he’d spilled his coffee all over you. it had been embarrassing then, but now? it was the reason you had biweekly catch-up sessions—usually over facetime, since no one in the industry liked to see a girl group member breathing the same air as a boy group member.

but today was different. today, the two of you were in one of the company lounge areas, sharing snacks from the convenience store and sipping on the flavored milk soobin had brought. he watched you quietly, eyes filled with concern as you sank into your chair, picking at your fruit gummies without much enthusiasm.

“have things been rough? are they pushing you too hard?” he asked, his voice soft.

you shook your head, your lips pressing into a thin line. “i think my coworker hates me.”

“as in… a member?”

“yeah.” you sighed, popping an orange gummy into your mouth and chewing it slowly.

“may i pry?” soobin asks, stealing a gummy from your pack.

you nodded. “yeah, go ahead.”

“who is it?” he questions, chewing his stolen gummy.

“hanni.”

soobin froze mid-chew, his brows furrowing. “wait, hanni? but— the internet’s always talking about you two. i mean, i know you can’t trust everything online, but i’ve seen it too. you guys seem close.”

“yeah, well, i think she hates it. all the physical stuff, everything i do…” you trailed off, sinking deeper into your seat. “am i terrible?”

the hood of your sweatshirt slipped over your head as you slouched, messing up your hair. soobin couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, tilting his head as he looked at you. “you’re not terrible, y/n,” he assured you, his voice steady. “maybe she’s just—”

“i think i’m in love with her.” you blurted out, groaning as you covered your face with your hands. “i’m in love with her, i think. no, fuck that, i know.”

soobin stared at you, wide-eyed. “you what?”

“i’m in love with her,” you mumbled again, sinking even lower into your seat, hands covering your face. “god, i realized it last night while i was sulking in bed at midnight. and now, everything makes sense. i want to be close to her all the time because i want something more. and i feel like a creep because—am i weird? am i… am i a predator for being so touchy with her? what if she hates me for it?”

he watched as your expression shifted from miserable to horrified, your body practically sliding off the chair now. his deep voice cut through your spiral, calm and steady as ever. “you’re not a predator. trust me. the fact that you’re aware of how your actions might affect her shows that. you’re self-aware, and you care enough to try and make things better.”

“but… this could ruin everything.” your voice was small, defeated.

“it won’t,” soobin says firmly. “i know you.”

“do you know her?”

he shrugged, smiling softly. “i don’t need to know hanni as well as i know you. you always get things done, y/n. you always work it out. remember when we had those dating rumors? you handled that pretty well.”

you groaned at the memory, but it did lift your spirits just a bit. the whole two-week ‘scandal’ had been absurd. someone had noticed that you and soobin both had the same roblox sticker on your phone cases in your selcas, posted just two days apart. it blew up online, spiraling into dating rumors that, frankly, neither of you could believe.

the whole thing was based on a sticker. a roblox sticker. beomgyu had given soobin the sticker, and soobin, thinking it was dumb and funny, gave you one too. somehow, the internet made it a conspiracy.

you had to lie, saying you barely knew soobin, and that you found the sticker on the floor of the hybe building, thinking it was funny. it was the only way to get the fans to calm down. soobin had to pretend he barely knew you as well, but the two of you had giggled over facetime because of it—which was great for your mental state while you noticed the forced hate towards you.

“ugh, that was so weird,” you mutter. “if only they knew we’re—”

“completely off the radar,” soobin finished for you, chuckling. “like some future lavender marriage if the media doesn’t get off our asses.”

you snorted at that, “gross,” but your smile quickly faded as the weight of your current situation settled in again.

he shrugged, his smile gentle. “i don’t need to know hanni as well as i know you to be sure of this. you’re the kind of person who works through things. you always have, and you always will. you’ve told me how close you two were during your trainee days—there’s no way she’d want to throw that all away. besides, isn’t it better to have her in your life, even if you’re in love with her, than to lose her altogether?”

for someone so stupid, he’s equally as wise.

you bite your lip, a sense of helplessness settling in your chest. “i don’t know,” you say, voice soft. “sometimes, i just want to pull away, distance myself so i don’t screw it all up, but… but then i’m around her, and she’s just so... so hanni. she’s adorable and funny and makes me feel so warm inside. and then i'm close to her, and it’s like this weird feeling that makes me want more, but… i don’t want to scare her off. i don’t want her to think i’m weird.”

you could feel tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes, your hands trembling as you spoke. admitting your feelings out loud made them feel so much more real, and that terrified you.

soobin leaned over, placing a hand on your shoulder, his deep voice a steadying force amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

“you’re not weird,” he repeated gently. “you just care. and that’s a good thing. but you need to trust yourself, y/n. you’re good at this—at reading people, at figuring things out. if hanni ever felt concerningly uncomfortable, you’d notice. just... be careful. take your time. you’ll figure it out. i know you will.”

you stared down at your hands, twisting the edge of your hoodie in your fingers. the weight of your confession hung heavily between you and soobin, but there was also a strange sense of relief in having said it out loud—like you had finally let go of something you’d been holding onto for far too long.

“yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “i guess so.”

—

two days after spilling your alleged unrequited love to your wonderful, amazing, stupid, and very gay bestfriend you had gotten dating rumors with—you're sent to a prada show.

being one of the faces for the brand meant being sent to fashion weeks, shows, and various other schedules that had you showing off the designer brand. and each time this happened, you went viral, because prada never fails to impress, especially when it's you.

you’re set for a photoshoot, this time for the cover of vogue. the weight of it feels significant, but not overwhelming. you’re wearing a prada crop top that shows off your toned abdomen, the result of months of dedication and hard work. the black blazer and slacks, perfectly tailored, give you an oversized yet effortlessly chic look, striking that balance between casual and captivating. everything fits like a glove, intentional but laid-back.

you admire yourself in the mirror, your eyes tracing the sharp angles of your makeup. the subtle eyeshadow that makes a statement, the clean lines, the way it accentuates your features—you can’t help but praise the makeup artist, murmuring compliments as you run a hand through your messy, artfully tousled hair. it’s wild but controlled, you snap a picture quickly for your fans.

when it’s time, you step onto the set, the bold red backdrop making you stand out even more. the lights hit just right, casting shadows that emphasize your figure, and for a moment, as you strike the first pose, you think to yourself: wow, this is for the girls.

after shooting is done, you monitor your pictures and are caught off guard from how great they look. you weren't that confident about oyu rvisuals back then, singing and dancing you could od well, but visuals got to your head. you've learned to love yourself more the more your members and the internet praised you, but mostly because hanni used to compliment you a lot even with your bare face, you wish she still did it.

"woah," you say, snapping pictures of the monitoring screen to post to bubble later.

...

hanni is sitting at the dinner table, a snack in hand as she absentmindedly scrolls through her phone. the dorm is quiet, most of the members tucked away in their rooms, and hyein isn’t around tonight since she's with her family. it’s been a long day, but she finds some comfort in texting her sister, filling the silence with their usual banter. she's distracted enough that she almost doesn’t notice the notification from the official newjeans account.

her thumb hesitates before clicking on it, already assuming it’s something from your vogue shoot. everyone knew you were out for the day, busy with your big shoot, so it seemed natural. but what she didn’t expect was how stunning you’d look.

the first picture stops her cold. you’re lounging on some plush couch, leaning back with that casual confidence she’s only ever seen in person—half smirk, half knowing gaze. hanni’s heart stumbles in her chest. you look beyond good. you’re breathtaking. the makeup, perfectly done but not too much, the messy hair that somehow looks effortlessly styled—it’s too much. she gulps without even realizing, eyes locked on the screen as she stares for longer than she cares to admit.

thirty seconds go by, maybe more, before she hesitantly swipes to the next slide. each new picture draws her in further, and it’s not getting any easier to look away. you’re a vision in every shot, and her chest tightens with each one. she knows she’s been trying to distance herself, trying to get her feelings under control, but how is she supposed to do that when just seeing you on her screen makes her lose her cool like this?

“you’ve been staring at that for a while, haven’t you?” danielle’s voice cuts through her thoughts, light and teasing. hanni jumps in her seat, turning to see danielle settling in next to her. she leans over, her eyes landing on the picture of you still displayed on hanni’s phone. “she looks pretty.” danielle adds.

“um, yeah,” hanni mutters, hurriedly swiping out of instagram, but the heat in her cheeks is unmistakable. she sets her phone down as if that’ll somehow help her case.

danielle smirks, raising an eyebrow as she gives her a sidelong glance. “you seemed to like that post, huh?”

“i was just… zoning out,” hanni tries, but the uncertainty in her voice betrays her. it sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.

“seemed like more than that to me.” danielle’s voice is light, playful, but there’s a glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what’s going on.

hanni lets out a forced laugh, trying to brush it off. “what are you even saying?”

“i’m saying,” danielle starts, leaning in just a bit closer, “that it’s quite odd of you to stare so hard at her. not just at her on the cover of vogue, but in general.”

hanni swallows hard, trying to play it cool, but the flutter in her chest tells her otherwise. danielle’s right, and the worst part is, she can’t even deny it.

danielle’s eyes linger on hanni, clearly not buying her act. hanni feels the pressure building, but she stays silent, forcing a simple shrug as if nothing’s wrong. she knows danielle is waiting for her to crack, but she’s not ready to let everything spill. not yet.

"so…" danielle starts, her voice teasing but gentle, “you’re really gonna act like that wasn’t you staring at y/n’s photos for, what, five minutes?”

hanni scoffs, though it sounds forced. “it wasn’t five minutes, and i wasn’t staring like that.”

danielle crosses her arms, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “right. sure you weren’t. you only jumped like i caught you doing something illegal.”

“i was just… scrolling,” hanni mutters, turning her attention back to her phone, trying to seem unbothered. she swipes through random apps, but danielle’s quiet presence next to her makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

“scrolling, huh? that’s what you’re going with?”

“yep.”

“uh-huh. so if i ask again why you were so focused on y/n, you’re gonna say… what?”

hanni huffs, leaning back in her chair. “danielle, it’s not a big deal. i just zoned out, okay? she’s my friend. we work together. seeing her on my feed isn’t weird.” her tone is defensive, too defensive for her liking.

danielle raises her eyebrow, unrelenting. “zoning out on the same picture for thirty seconds? then the next one? and the one after that? you sure it’s nothing?”

hanni’s lips press into a thin line, irritation bubbling up, though it’s more with herself than with danielle. why is this so hard? why can’t she just brush it off? but danielle is looking at her with that piercing, curious gaze, and hanni knows she’s not letting it go. plus, it's danielle.

“you’re imagining things,” hanni tries, though her voice wavers.

“am i?” danielle leans forward slightly, her tone is soft but persistent. “because i know what i saw. and this isn’t the first time you’ve been weird about y/n.”

hanni blinks, her guard starting to slip. “what do you mean ‘weird’?”

“you’ve been acting strange around her for a while now,” danielle points out. “you avoid her, then get all flustered when she’s near. and now you’re sitting here, staring at her photos like you’re in a trance. come on, hanni. something’s up.”

hanni clenches her jaw, trying to hold onto the last bits of defense she has. “it’s… it’s not like that. she’s just—”

“just what?” danielle cuts in, her voice more patient than accusing. “you can tell me. whatever it is, i’m not judging.”

hanni sighs, her resolve beginning to crumble under danielle’s persistent questions. she opens her mouth, but no words come out, her mind racing to come up with some kind of excuse, something that’ll make danielle drop it. but there’s nothing, and hanni knows it.

danielle’s watching her closely now, not pushing too hard but clearly waiting for hanni to finally let it out. “hanni, it’s okay. i’m not gonna force you to talk if you don’t want to. but i’m just saying, i’m here if you need to get something off your chest.”

hanni bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. she can feel the words bubbling up, the truth she’s been trying so hard to suppress. but how can she admit it? how can she explain that being near you makes her feel like her heart is about to burst, that every touch and smile from you sends her into a spiral? she's beyond fucked.

“danielle, it’s not… it’s not what you think,” hanni starts, but even she knows how weak it sounds. she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting away from danielle’s.

danielle lets out a soft sigh, her tone turning gentle. “hanni, it’s okay to feel something for her. you don’t have to keep it all inside.”

“i don’t—” hanni stops herself, the words catching in her throat. “it’s not… ugh, i don’t even know how to explain it.”

danielle stays quiet, waiting for her to continue.

hanni rubs her face, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “i don’t… i don’t know what to do. she’s just—she’s everywhere, danielle. i can’t even breathe when she’s around. she’s always so close, always so touchy, and it’s driving me insane. i can’t handle it.”

danielle’s expression softens further, nodding slowly as if to encourage her to keep going.

“and it’s not like i don’t like her or anything,” hanni continues, her voice wavering. “that’s the problem. i like her too much. and i don’t know how to deal with it, so i’ve been pushing her away. and now she probably thinks i’m a complete jerk, but… i don’t know what else to do.”

danielle raises her eyebrows. “you’ve been pushing her away because you like her?”

hanni groans, slumping down in her seat. “yeah. because every time she's close to me i feel like i’m gonna explode. she’s so—ugh. she makes me feel things, and i hate it. i don’t know how to be around her without freaking out.”

“so you’re in love with her,” danielle says simply, no judgment in her tone.

hanni freezes, her heart skipping a beat at the words. in love. she opens her mouth to protest, but the truth is already sitting heavy in her chest. she exhales shakily, realizing there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“yeah,” hanni mutters, almost too quietly for danielle to hear. “i think i am.”

danielle leans back, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “well, that’s a start. at least now you’ve admitted it.”

hanni buries her face in her hands again, feeling the weight of the confession settle over her. “what am i supposed to do? i’ve been acting so weird around her, and she probably thinks i hate her now.”

danielle shakes her head. “hanni, i don’t think y/n could ever think that. if anything, she’s probably wondering why you’re avoiding her. you should talk to her.”

hanni groans again. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way? what if i ruin everything?”

“you won’t,” danielle says confidently. “you’re both close. i don’t think y/n would throw away your friendship over this. but you’ll never know how she feels if you don’t talk to her.”

hanni knows danielle is right, but the thought of confronting her feelings—and you—feels terrifying.

"and if it makes you feel better..." danielle continues, "i don't think the chances of her not returning the feelings are high. she cares for you a lot and she's not nearly as touchy or close with any of us—just you han."

"oh."

hanni bites her lip, fighting every worry in her head. as she does so, the root of her crisis returns home.

both her and danielle look up to see you sighing as you close the door, waving at them tiredly as you walk towards where your room is. danielle tilts her head, looking at you closely: your shoulders are sinking a bit, your hair is messier than before, and you look exhausted.

"how was everything?" danielle asks you, ignoring hanni beside her who's trying to recover from her feelings taking over. "your makeup is still intact."

"i fear." you say tiredly, rubbing your eyes. "it was cool, but they made me do a lot of promo and interviews. it's over now at least."

you glance at hanni, who's failing to meet your gaze.

"well," you start, "i'm going to go wash up and pass out. night guys."

"night!" danielle beams, smiling.

you look at hanni, waiting for a response. she finally looks you in the eye, then seemingly scans your face and hesitating before she also says, "night y/n, rest up okay?"

"yeah, of course han." you smile softly, waving to them once more before disappearing into the hallway.

danielle looks at hanni immediately after you're out of their sight, and speaks as soon as she hears the door close.

hanni just groans, hiding her face in her hands as she mumbles, "she looks too good i can't possibly--"

"don't be like that." danielle scolds, "it'll be fine."

hanni can barely look at you these days, the fact that she has to face you while knowing everything she feels is real and inescapable—hanni might be on her deathbed soon.

—

the room is warm, sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and casting a soft glow over the space. your blanket is tangled around you, your loose pajamas wrinkled as you lay sprawled across your bed. hanni stands quietly in the doorway, staring at your still form with a soft sigh. she knows she should wake you up; you've overslept, and the rest of the members have already started their day. but as she stands there, watching the rise and fall of your chest, something holds her back.

your hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you’re wearing that loose t-shirt she gave you months ago. it’s oversized, slipping off your shoulder, and the sight of you like this—so comfortable, so unguarded—makes her heart skip a beat. there’s something about how peaceful you look that makes hanni want to crawl into bed with you, to be close, but she knows she shouldn’t.

she swallows, shaking off the thought, reminding herself why she’s here. she’s supposed to wake you up, not… whatever it is her mind keeps drifting to. taking a deep breath, she walks closer and kneels by the edge of your bed.

"y/n," she whispers, poking your cheek gently. "you’re gonna be late if you don’t get up."

you don’t move, still lost in whatever dream you’re having and turning away. hanni shifts awkwardly, not sure what to do. she leans down and lightly pokes your cheek again. "come on, y/n, wake up."

nothing.

with a tiny huff, she pokes you again, this time a bit harder. "seriously, you can’t just sleep all day. you’re going to be late!" she whisper-yells.

you still don’t stir, and hanni finds herself smiling despite her frustration. you look so... soft like this. relaxed. carefree. she’s really tempted to lay down beside you now, more than before. she wants to pull the blanket over herself and close her eyes, pretending for just a moment that things are the way they used to be—before all this weirdness between you two. she could pretend there’s nothing on the schedule, she quite literally has free will, she could do it and nothing would stop her.

but she can’t. she knows she can’t.

instead, she pokes your cheek one more time. "y/n," she whispers, leaning closer. "please get up."

without warning, you move, but instead of waking up, you grab hanni’s wrist and pull her closer, dragging her halfway onto your bed. she yelps, startled, but you don’t seem to notice. you just snuggle into her, wrapping your arm around her waist as if she’s your pillow, your face pressed against her stomach.

hanni freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. you’re still half-asleep, clearly not realizing what you’re doing, but that doesn’t stop the warmth from rushing to her cheeks. she feels like she’s on fire, caught between wanting to escape and wanting to stay right where she is. your warmth, your scent, the way your body feels against hers—it’s overwhelming.

"hanni?" you mumble groggily, eyes still closed. "what are you… doing?"

"uh," hanni stammers, trying to keep her voice steady. "you need to get up. you’re gonna be late."

but you don’t move, just hum in response, your hand moves to loosely hold hers. hanni swallows hard, her whole body tense as she tries to ignore the warmth of your skin, the soft feel of your fingers intertwined with hers.

this is too much.

"hanni?" you mumble again, voice thick with sleep, your hand instinctively pulling her a little closer. "just five more minutes."

hanni can barely breathe, her mind scrambling for some kind of excuse to get out of this without completely losing it. she manages to slip out of your hold, her heart pounding as she sits on the edge of your bed, trying to compose herself. "you need to get up now, y/n," she says, a little firmer this time.

you finally stir, blinking up at her with bleary eyes, confused by the sight of hanni sitting at the edge of your bed. "hanni? what are you… what are you doing here?"

she shifts awkwardly, trying to keep her tone casual. "you were sleeping in, and i came to wake you up. the others are already in the dining room."

you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as you look at her. something feels off between you two, a tension that wasn’t there before, something bigger than before. you can feel it too, even in your groggy state. the silence hangs heavy in the air, the unspoken distance between you making everything feel… strange.

"hey," you mumble, running a hand through your messy hair, "we, uh… haven’t really talked much lately, have we?"

hanni glances down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers. "yeah," she mutters, her voice soft. "i guess we’ve both been kind of... distant."

you nod, still trying to shake off the sleep. "i don’t know why it’s been like that," you say, your voice quiet. "feels like something changed, and i don’t really get it. i’ve been wanting to talk to you, to be honest.”

hanni’s heart tightens at your words. she knows why she’s been distant—because you make her nervous, because she’s terrified of her feelings, because she doesn’t know how to act around you anymore. but she can’t say all that. not now. not like this.

"i’m sorry," hanni finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. "i didn’t mean to pull away. i just… i didn’t know how to handle things."

you look at her, a faint frown creasing your forehead. "handle what?"

hanni shrugs, avoiding your gaze. "just… everything. i guess i got overwhelmed, and instead of talking to you about it, i kind of shut you out. i didn’t mean to."

you’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. it doesn’t really make sense, but it’s something. "i thought you were mad at me," you admit softly. "i didn’t know what i did wrong."

hanni’s heart aches at that. "you didn’t do anything wrong," she says quickly, shaking her head. "it’s not you, y/n. it’s me. i’m sorry for making you feel that way."

the two of you sit in silence for a while, the tension slowly easing as you both realize how much you’ve missed each other. there’s still so much left unsaid, so many things neither of you are ready to admit yet, but this… this is a start.

"i missed you," you finally say, your voice quiet but sincere.

hanni looks up, her heart swelling at your words. "i missed you too."

the weight of the past few weeks lingers in the air, but for the first time in a while, it feels like things might be okay again. even if neither of you is ready to fully address the feelings you’re both clearly harboring, at least you’re talking. at least you’re trying.

and for now, that’s enough.

—

hanni and danielle sit side by side on the couch in the waiting room, both scrolling through their phones. it’s a quiet break, the kind they savor between the chaotic schedules, but their attention keeps drifting to where you’re seated, getting your makeup done. you’re chatting softly on the phone, smiling as you talk to your parents, completely at ease in the chair.

hanni, however, can’t seem to focus on anything else. her eyes flicker over to you every few seconds, as if drawn by some invisible force. she watches how you laugh quietly, the way the stylist’s brush glides over your face, how you seem so naturally pretty even in this hectic setting. her mind is still spinning from your recent talk, even though it was brief. it lingers with all the things unsaid, all the questions still hanging in the air.

next to her, danielle finally breaks the silence.

"so," she starts, her voice casual but curious, "did you and y/n talk?"

hanni’s fingers freeze mid-scroll, and she glances at danielle, unsure of how to answer. after a moment, she sighs. "yeah, we talked… sort of."

danielle raises an eyebrow. "sort of?"

hanni shifts in her seat, picking at the edge of her sleeve. "we addressed the distance. like, we apologized for being weird with each other, but… i don’t really know where to go from there. it’s like, we acknowledged it, but it didn’t fix everything. i still feel…" she trails off, struggling to find the right words. "i don’t know. confused, maybe?"

danielle watches her closely, nodding slowly in understanding. "well, that’s a start, right? at least you talked about it."

"yeah," hanni mutters, but there’s a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. she glances back at you, still on the phone, still pulling her attention without even trying. "but it doesn’t really feel settled, you know? like, we just put a band-aid over it."

danielle sighs softly, leaning back against the couch. "stuff like that is complicated," she says, almost as if she’s speaking from experience. then, after a moment of silence, she turns to hanni with a teasing smile. "by the way, you’ve been staring at y/n this entire time. i can’t believe she doesn’t know that you… you know,"

hanni’s face flushes, and she quickly looks away, crossing her arms defensively. "i was not."

danielle laughs, clearly not buying it. "uh-huh, sure. i’ve been watching you. every time she moves, your eyes follow. it’s like you’re in a drama, and she’s the lead you can’t get over."

"i’m just… i’m just making sure she’s okay," hanni tries to defend herself, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrays her. "she’s on the phone with her parents. what if something’s wrong?"

"oh, please," danielle says, her smirk growing. "you’re just using that as an excuse to admire her. you’ve been acting like this for weeks, hanni. just admit it. remember her prada post?"

hanni opens her mouth to argue, but the words die in her throat. she knows danielle’s right, and that makes it worse. instead of responding, she just sinks further into the couch, burying her face in her hands.

danielle pats her on the back with a chuckle. "don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. for now."

hanni groans, peeking through her fingers at you again. you’re still deep in conversation, oblivious to the way she’s been spiraling.

"you’ve got it bad," danielle teases softly, her tone more understanding now. "but it’s okay. maybe just… give it time. you two are good together, even if you don’t know where to go from here yet."

hanni nods, grateful for danielle’s support, but her eyes drift back to you. she can’t help it—there’s something about you that keeps pulling her in, no matter how hard she tries to resist.

—

it’s late, and the dorm is quiet. hanni sits on her bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen. she’s been thinking about you all week (she’s always thinking about you), the tension that had built between you two finally dissipating after your brief talk. things have felt… fine, normal even, but it’s almost too normal. like the distance you both addressed had just been covered up with another flimsy bandaid, never fully resolved.

the problem is, she can’t stop thinking about you. and danielle, who’s oddly observant, keeps urging her to clear the air.

"just talk to her," danielle had said earlier, as they watched you laugh with the others during practice. "y/n wouldn’t let this mess up your friendship, you know that."

and now, as hanni sits there, her fingers hover over her phone screen, wondering if she should actually text you. she taps out a simple message before she can second guess herself:

hanni: you up?

the reply comes almost instantly:

y/n: yeah, what's up?

hanni: can’t sleep

y/n: aw me neither i was calling my mom earlier and after that i couldn’t close my eyes for more than a minute

hanni: :-( sorry to hear

hanni doesn’t know what else to say, but you beat her to the chase.

y/n: come over?

her heart races for no reason, and before she knows it, she’s standing in front of your room. she hesitates for a moment, then knocks softly before opening the door.

you’re sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. you’re worried that you scared her off again after being left on read. thankfully there’s a knock at your door a minute later, and when you see her, you offer a small smile. "hey."

"h-hey," hanni says, feeling a little awkward as she steps inside and sits on the edge of your bed. there’s a brief silence, the kind where you can both feel the unsaid words hanging in the air. she picks at her fingernails, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. you’re still in your pajamas, hair a little messy, looking so comfortable that it’s hard to look away.

after a beat, you exhale, breaking the tension. "fuck this," you mutter, shifting to lay down on the bed, patting the space next to you. "come on."

hanni blinks, then, after a moment’s hesitation, lies down beside you. the bed feels small with both of you so close, but she’s trying to act normal, like her heart isn’t doing backflips just from being near you. you both stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you start talking, and to hanni’s relief, it feels natural.

you talk about everything—the group, your recent worries about the new routines, the photoshoots you’ve got lined up, how excited you are about the new choreography. hanni listens, nodding along, occasionally chiming in about her own thoughts. it feels comfortable, almost like it used to be, like there’s nothing between you but shared conversation.

"i’m really liking the new choreo," you say, turning your head slightly to look at her. "it’s intense, but it’s fun, right?"

hanni nods, her voice soft. "yeah, i love it. i think it’s one of our best routines."

there’s a pause, the kind that feels more like a breath than an interruption. she glances at you, and for a moment, everything feels lighter. like maybe this is enough—just talking, just being close like this.

"you’ve been doing great, by the way," you add quietly, eyes meeting hers, and suddenly both of you are all too hyperaware of how close and physical this is. "i know things have been weird, but i’m glad we’re good."

hanni swallows, her throat feeling tight as she stares at you. for a moment, she considers saying more, opening up about everything she’s been feeling. about how she’s been avoiding you because being close makes her too nervous, how danielle’s been pushing her to be honest, how she’s been daydreaming about you too much for her own good; she considers dropping the fact that she’s in love with you. but instead, she just gives you a small, appreciative smile.

"yeah," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. "i’m glad too."

maybe it’s because it’s late and you’re too tired to keep pretending, sick of shrinking into some shell. maybe it’s because hanni is right there, looking like a dream, even more than that. maybe you’re young, stupid, and undeniably in love with her. the tension has been building all night, and before you can stop yourself, the words leave your lips, making your chest feel impossibly tight.

“i need to be honest with you,” you murmur, picking at your fingers beneath the blanket. “and you can pull away and leave after i say it.”

hanni frowns, sitting up slightly. “what?”

you swallow hard, the weight of your confession heavy in your throat. you sit up and put your face in your hands. “hanni, i like you. i like you the way people do in love songs. i like you like people yearn for each other in half the songs on your playlist. i don’t know any other way to say it, i’m—i’m sorry.”

there’s a beat of silence, a long, agonizing pause where you feel your heart shrinking into itself. hanni stares at you, her brows twitching, mouth slightly open, and all you can do is pray that this isn’t the moment everything falls apart.

“are you serious?”

you flinch. “i’m sorry—”

“no, no.” hanni shakes her head, turning away to stare up at the ceiling, hands covering her face. "i need a minute."

your heart shatters, the weight of rejection sinking deep. “hanni, i’m so sor—”

“don’t be.” she lifts her hands just enough to show her forehead, a wide smile breaking across her face. "oh my god. i like you too. i’ve been trying to tell you, i didn’t know how. danielle has been telling me to confess for weeks, but i was so scared."

your breath catches. "wait—seriously?"

hanni nods, still grinning, and suddenly everything shifts. the tension that had been suffocating you both breaks, leaving the air light and giddy. you both can’t look at each other for a moment, the sheer happiness boiling up inside making you fidget, trying to contain the laughter threatening to spill out. it’s a nice contrast from the (what seemed like) years of pining.

your hearts are pounding, faces flushed, and the awkward energy between you only makes it all the more real. now you’re both sitting next to each other like two middle schoolers in love—something like that—giddy, flustered, and shocked.

hanni glances at you through her lashes, then covers her face again, laughing softly. “i can’t believe this.”

“i can’t believe it either,” you admit, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

for a second, neither of you move. then, on a whim, you reach out and take her hand, the touch sending a rush of warmth through your body. hanni turns to you, her eyes meeting yours with that same mix of nervous excitement. it feels like time slows down, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. and before either of you can talk yourselves out of it, you lean in, your lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss.

the world stops for a moment.

when you pull back, both of you are breathless, grinning like losers.

"oh my god," hanni says, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “was that too quick? did we rush it?”

you laugh softly. "probably. but i think i would like, die if we hadn’t… yeah.”

without saying anything else, you both lay back down, facing each other on the bed, your fingers still intertwined. it feels easy now, like a weight has lifted, and the giddiness that lingers makes it impossible to stop smiling.

eventually, the talking fades, and you both drift off, tangled together, feeling a sense of peace that neither of you had realized you were missing.

everything feels right for the first time in weeks---hanni in your arms, your arms wrapped around hanni, being close to hanni, hanni close to you---and there's nothing that makes you happier in the moment.

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #pham hanni x reader #hanni pham #newjeans imagines

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livinginshambles · 1 year ago

Text

Not ridiculous at all | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You are part of the marauders, always having felt special when they called you part of the gang, but also consequently too embarrassed to admit to wanting to be more feminine, afraid that they would no longer deem you cool enough to hang out with you. You are hurt by James' comments and James might realise something when you're avoiding him.

Notes: Best friend!James, he's a bit stupid, Lily is a sweet friend, arguments, so maybe a little angsty, but not really, classic cliche tropes like friends to lovers, misunderstandings, pining (I literally just dreamt this so it's a bit patchy) and I know it's very stereotypical but that's why it's just fanfiction :)

(PS) I haven't written before, just wanted to get this out of my system. English is my third language, and this fic is not proofread because I'm way too lazy for that! Enjoy!

Part two Masterlist

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You've grown up with James Potter and have been part of the marauders since the very beginning. You always took 'being one of the guys' or 'part of the gang' as a compliment, it left you feeling giddy as if you were included in some secret group that only you had the privilege of belonging to.

But sometimes you would sit in the girls dormitory and despite your friends laughing and chatting about, you would feel a wave of loneliness wash over you. They often did activities together and by now, 6th year at Hogwarts, they've managed to stop asking you to join them as you've always dutifully replied that it 'wasn't your thing'.

I mean, what would the guys think of you? It would be too embarrassing to admit to them, or anyone for that matter, that you would love to be dolled up for once. To go shopping with your friends, be included in movie nights, asked by Alice if she could test some makeup on you, or read and gossip about the new romance novels that were the new hype.

Especially now when you sat on your bed, part of the circle in which they were discussing plans to go dress shopping.

"You should absolutely join us!" Alice squealed in delight. You were shaken out of your train of thoughts with a huh and realized the conversation had taken a turn somewhere and now included you too. Marlene and Lily nodded fervently in agreement but you bashfully shook your head.

"Nah, can you imagine me in a dress?" You joked, but Dorcas caught the curious and somewhat longing look in your eyes at the mention of getting ready for the Yule ball.

"I think you would look great actually. And besides, you can treat yourself too sometime you know. You're not obligated to stick with the marauders all the time." The girls in the dorm once again all agreed and you smiled at their kindness.

"Since when are you interested in things like the Yule ball?"

You snapped your head up at James to see his questioning eyes and then quickly averted your own in a flustered manner as if one of your greatest secrets had just been uncovered. "I just think it seems nice, that's all, I'm not even going or anything", you defended. You felt slightly embarrassed by James' face which wore a weirded out expression.

"Well you're not really the type to go to such an event anyway right?", James remarked. You did your best to hide your frown at his immediate agreement. Was it that bad that you'd hoped he would say something along the lines of 'what are you talking about, go enjoy yourself at the party' or something like that?

"Besides I can't imagine you in a dress, all made up, it'd just look so ridiculous." James continued. Remus, ever the sweet and attentive boy glanced at you and noticed your slightly sacked shoulders in disappointment at his words.

"I mean you're just not that type of person, you know? Like completely opposite of Lily."

And with that your face felt like it burned from embarrassment. As if you didn't already know. That didn't mean you didn't want to be more like her sometimes.

Peter's eyes flicked with concern from James to you and back.

You felt hurt and forced yourself to stop tears welling up at his words, mustering up a grin, ready to agree with him but were interrupted by Sirius who had now also caught your change in mood.

"Prongs, you really have no tact at all, how are you expecting to even win Evans over with that?" He said in a playful manner as to not offend their whipped friend, but not fully succeeding.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" James looked slightly offended and Remus jumped in the conversation.

"That's just not a nice thing to say. It's different if you call me an ugly toad, but not Y/N! If she wants to go to the Yule Ball all dolled up, she definitely should." He shot you a supportive smile which you returned.

Peter nodded in agreement. "I don't think you'd look ridiculous at all," he told you sincerely. You subtly scooted a little closer to him and Remus.

"But it's Y/N, it'd just look weird, cause she's just not a proper girl like that, no offense." James shot back and gave you a smile at the last two words.

You saw Remus opening his mouth to retort but quickly intervened. "He's right." You told them. You just wanted this conversation to be over with already. It was awkward and painful for you as it was.

James didn't seem to get the memo, however, and kept on going, drilling your confidence further into the ground.

"See, she agrees." He turned to you. "It's not like you're ugly or anything but it'd be ridiculous. Like I said, you're not the type to be all beautiful and dressed up, hair done and all. I mean you're cool, but not pretty like that." He was clearly not done yet and started talking about Lily and her beauty at which point you abruptly got up and left.

"What's gotten into her?" James remarked with a frown.

Sirius and Remus didn't even bother to answer and just stared at him in disbelief.

The girls comforted you as you cried. Marlene barged in with ice cream, stolen from the kitchen in one hand and 5 spoons in the other. "What a jerk." She commented and thrust a spoon in your hand before plopping down in front of you with the rest of your friends.

Lily sighed frustratedly. "See this is why I don't like him at all. He's so rude and arrogant, and he-"

"- is right." You answered dejectedly. "I'm your friend, but not the type to join you guys and belong to your circle."

"Well that's only because you hang around the boys all the time," Alice argued. She nudged you. "But you know what, now that James is being a git, you can hang out with us!"

Dorcas gasped dramatically. "We could do a girls night! Treat ourselves a little", she jumped up. "I'll get the face masks and nail polish!"

Lily let go of you too and told you to sit up. "Come on, let me do your hair," she smiled.

With Marlene feeding you ice cream, your nails being polished by Alice, hair done by Lily and Dorcas reading the latest romance novel out loud while you were all wearing a facemask, you couldn't help but feel all warm inside.

"I love you guys."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

You laughed and pushed Marlene teasingly off the bed.

"Hey, watch it! I just finished your right hand." Alice complained.

James was a moron. He was kind hearted (to most), popular, captain of the Quidditch team, good looking but a moron nonetheless. So he was absolutely clueless to find you missing from the common room yesterday evening and even more clueless when you were missing from your usual spot next to him at the Gryffindor table in the great hall, because he could not for the life of him think of a reason why you would sit with Alice and Frank instead.

He frowned and felt uneasy at the fact that you hadn't even looked at him, let alone come for a hug with your smile and said 'good morning' like usual. He shook the thoughts away. You were obviously allowed to have your own friends as well and not obligated to spend all your time with him.

The door of the great hall behind him opened and Lily Evans walked in, which was why instead of walking up to you to say something, he habitually turned to Lily instead.

"You look beautiful this morning as usual. I could put in the effort to match you when we go out together?" He shot her a wink and a coy smile but faltered slightly when his attempts at flirting got even less of a reaction out of her than usual.

James turned to Sirius with a questioning look, as if to ask 'you noticed that too right?' but Sirius simply shrugged. When James looked back at Frank and Alice, you were gone, having left the moment you felt his stare.

James started to ponder. 'Were you avoiding him? Surely you wouldn't, right? You two were friends after all, childhood friends. Childhood best friends even, for Merlin's sake! If you were upset with him, you'd definitely let him know.'

A week passed with you, sitting on the opposite sides of the classroom, seemingly having picked partners long before class because how else would you team up with random students before James could even blink?

He had now fully accepted that you were avoiding him. And with that, he meant 'accepting the possibility of that occurrence'. He was by no means going to accept your strange new behavior without doing anything.

The last drop though, was when he heard the news from Peter that you'd already left for Hogsmeade with the girls.

He frowned. 'You were kind', he reasoned. If you were upset with him, then he'd have to apologize. Quickly. Because it's been far too long without his best friend and he realized he missed you. Especially seeing you hang out with others.

"What did I do?" He finally asked his remaining friends.

"Really Prongs?" Remus couldn't help but ask. His friend just gave him a look that said 'well go on then, what is it'.

"How about you think about what you said last week, you know, those rude comments about the Yule ball."

"Yeah, but I already apologized yesterday and told her that I didn't mean to offend her!" James flailed his arms around when he exclaimed it.

"But she's still only hanging out with anyone but me," he whined. "Peter studied with her, Pads got a 'good morning' this morning and you're still talking to eachother.

Remus gave him an unimpressed look at his whining but James was not done complaining yet.

"She keeps spending all her time with the girls while she doesn't even seem to be fully enjoying herself"

This was true. You dearly missed James, so despite your newfound hobbies, a look of sadness sometimes fell over your face, which hadn't escaped James' attention.

"And I just don't understand why she would-" He started but never finished, something dawning on him. "Oh of course! Merlin, I'm so stupid!" He shouted out in epiphany.

"Your words not mine," Sirius quickly took the opportunity.

"Oh bugger off Pads", James laughed and pushed Sirius' arm. And with that, he took off to find you.

Sirius and Remus watched him leave and sighed at the same time. "Do you really think he got it?"

"I bloody hope so, Moony."

"But it's James."

"Yeah, but I mean it's not my fight but even I realize that she's sad that James made fun of the idea of her being more girly when she secretly wants to be. Now she's trying out what she likes, without having to stay within the role of 'one of the guys'. I mean, it's pretty straightforward. I guess a genuine apology and show of support is the solution."

"But it's James."

"Yep, you're right."

Though he hadn't been able to find you, he'd waited patiently for your return in the common room. Staring at the ceiling from his laid back position on the couch.

"Oh there you are, Y/N," He rushed to sit up to face you when you entered the room. If you were surprised by his presence, you didn't show it.

"We need to talk, I wanted to apologize." He breathed out, relieved at himself for having figured it out. "Also, I've missed you so much."

You felt a weight fall off your shoulders. You didn't want to be upset with him and felt incredibly relieved to hear him say that.

"I'm sorry for the things I said. I didn't mean for you to get offended or anything," James began.

"Yeah, you already said that." You frowned. "And I remember I told you that that was not a proper apology."

"I know, I know. It was shitty of me so I wanted to apologize. Properly you know? I'm really really sorry. I was a terrible friend and shouldn't have said the things I said. Please forgive me?" He proceeded to give you Bambi eyes in an attempt to convince you. It unsurprisingly worked.

You softly smiled up at him. "Okay". You barely got the word out before he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

"Great," he said, cutting through the comfortable silence that you two had been hugging in.

"Now you don't have to avoid me anymore, and you can stop sitting with the girls to prove your point, and join us again instead." He triumphantly continued.

What now?

You blanked. "I'm sorry?" You managed to ask.

"I get that I hurt you by saying your weren't a proper girl, but you don't have to pretend to prove your point by trying to be one." James stated, proud of himself that he figured it out.

"Because I can see that you don't like it, like your face gets all gloomy which is understandable because it isn't really your circle of people."

You stared at him, an incredulous look on your face.

"Fuck you James." You said, your voice coming out softer than you'd hoped. Tears were welling up again, but you couldn't help yourself.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I do want that to be my circle of people? That I don't just want to be one of the guys all the time? Is it that crazy to think that I'm still a girl with feelings? That I want to feel pretty too? That I don't like being told by my supposed best friend that I'm basically ugly? That I hate to be compared to other girls like that?"

You were ranting and James had taken a step back, surprised by your outburst.

"No, that's not what I-", James tried to salvage the situation but you weren't having it.

"You've told me that stuff for as long as I can remember and I never told you otherwise because I was scared that you'd no longer want to hang out with me for not being a 'chill friend'. But you know what, I no longer want you to."

At this point, you angrily wiped your eyes to get rid of tears that were threatening to spill. "So fuck you". With that, you brushed past him, escaping upstairs to your room.

James Fleamont Potter felt absolutely miserable.

If anyone told James that you'd ever be more on his mind than Lily, he would call them ridiculous. But here he was, another week had passed and he was staring at your back as you were leaving with your friends for Hogsmeade again.

You weren't wearing your school uniform and robes anymore and James was surprised to see you wearing one of what he knew to be Lily's dresses.

'It suited you more than it suited Lily.' The unwarranted thought flashed through his mind and he shook his head with a scoff to himself. What was going on?

James also noticed that your hair was brushed and shining with a butterfly clip holding your hair in a bun. He wondered when you decided to change your hairstyle because he found that it framed your face perfectly.

'Not ridiculous at all,' he understood.

You looked absolutely perfect.

You turned your face a little and James could feel his head reeling. Have you always been this glowing? Was he just simply missing you? He didn't even realize that he hadn't spared Lily a glance- until Sirius mentioned her while they were having a drink - and a strange feeling washed over him at the thought.

You were running from Filch.

'Fuck I shouldn't have studied after hours, curfew was probably hours ago," you cursed to yourself and took a sharp right turn. You were trying to reach the secret passage right behind the big statue on the fourth floor when you saw the hallway light up because of Filches torch.

Forcing your legs to move faster, you were suddenly grabbed by the wrist. A hand was clasped over your mouth and you felt a heavy cloth fall over you.

You recognised the person pressed to your back immediately and tried not to melt in his embrace as Filch walked straight past the two of you, covered in the invisibility cloak.

You could feel his breath against your temple. His hand had dropped from your mouth, instead draping across your stomach now to rest on your side. The other held out in front of you to create space under the cloak. You shifted a little and finally turned your head and lifted it to look at him and thank him but you were unable to say anything for a moment.

You simply admired him.

The proximity of the two of you in that intimate embrace had something fluttering in your stomach and you harshly jerked away in denial when your feelings hit you.

Oh no.

Now, all suddenly? What changed? Does it really take one random moment to flip your world upside down?

You rushed to push the invisibility cloak out of your way and then left without sparing James another glance.

James couldn't force his legs to move to run after you, still reeling from about the exact same epiphany that you'd just run away from. Your gaze, his fast beating heart and the urge he had felt to lean down for a kiss had confirmed his conflicted feelings of the past few days since he'd seen you leave for Hogsmeade.

The following morning, you'd had the chance to properly process the happenings of last night.

Your conclusion was that you felt guilty that you hadn't even expressed your gratitude. It was rude, you figured. Even if you were overwhelmed by the sudden wave of realization that came crashing down on you, it was rude.

So you pushed your confused feelings aside and marched up to him when you found him in the great hall.

"Thanks, I owe you." You awkwardly said, stopping at his spot at the Gryffindor table. All while absolutely not having forgotten about the fact that the last time you had said something to him, you'd flipped him off and told him to go fuck himself.

James was absolutely beaming. "Yeah you do, but no worries, I'll cash it in right away." This was his chance. He would make up for his behavior and act on his feelings right now.

"How about a date?"

There was a long silence. Your heart plummeted to the ground. Right. James. Lily. Lily and James.

"What am I a magician?" You finally managed to sarcastically retort. "I'm a convincing person but not a miracle worker." You pulled your hand through your hair as you looked around the great hall to see if you could spot Lily.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do." You forced a smile.

James, who had been mostly confused at your words, disregarded it completely in delight at your acceptance to go out with him, even if it seemed somewhat reluctant. Not that it would matter because he was going to prove what an amazing boyfriend he could be. If you'd accept him, of course.

He was grinning from ear to ear, which you mistook as excitement at the prospect of a potential date with Lily. So when you abruptly turned on your heels and marched over to Lily, James watched you confusedly.

And when he heard you try to talk Lily into going out with him, he wanted to crawl in a ditch and die. He stood there, frozen and recounting how you could've interpreted that wrongly.

You returned to him after a while with an apologetic smile. "Yeah sorry Prongs, she-"

"You", he blurted out.

You raised your eyebrows. "Me?" You repeated back.

"The date, I meant you. A-and me of course. Us, like you and me on a date. Together. I thought maybe Hogsmeade?" He managed to force the words out nervously.

There was a long silence and James' shoulders slumped a little. Even more when you finally answered.

"Uh, no?" You said in a questioning manner. James officially wanted to die now.

"You're sweet James, and I don't think you do it on purpose but you're not interested in me like that." You began, trying to convince not only James, but yourself as well.

James opened his mouth to argue but you quickly interrupted him before he could properly do so.

"James, you really don't. And you asking me out on a date when you've quite literally been drooling over Lily just last week as you have been doing for the past 5 years, that's not very nice to me." You frowned.

"Oh." He whispered. He was once again at a lack of words for a moment. Terrible new habit, he thought. This was not how he thought it would go.

"I'd still gladly go with you to Hogsmeade though?" You offered. "Just you know, not as an easy second choice date while you are obviously head over heels with her."

'I'm not', he wanted to tell you, but it was obvious that you wouldn't believe him. "Yeah okay," he weakly smiled. "Just the two of us though."

You nodded and stepped forward, wrapped your arms around him and he leaned into you, returning the hug.

With his face pressed in your hair, eyes closed, he decided that this situation wasn't too bad. He's fought for Lily's affection for years. He'd fight harder for yours.

Part two

#james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders era #marauders #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #james potter angst #james potter fic

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