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nintando64 · 2 months ago

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Well come and well met, my Brave Little Spark

It's been a year to the day since I started my second attempt at playing Final Fantasy XIV (at least it was when I started writing this post). And I've... uhh...

Played it a little bit. And in that span of time, this girl has become such a big part of my life. So I wanted to talk a little bit about that journey and how Sophiane Dailemont became such a big part of my life. More assorted ramblings and screenshots below the cut (Contains Spoilers for the entire game, yee be warned). No tags for this one. This post is for me.

"Become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin' met, an' I'll consider us square."

One thing I do when I play RPG's is create a character who is kinda like me, but never actually me. I put a little bit of myself into them, then I let the true personality of the character shine through as the game progresses. But I wasn't really doing that this second time around. This was a second attempt after all. I was mainly playing through the story again to refresh myself. So for most of ARR I was just kinda... playing the game.

And I still had a fabulous time. I am a certified ARR Enjoyer after all. While there are... one or two segments I still don't necessarily think belong like corrupted crystals I still think the rest is incredibly enjoyable. I think the introduction to the primals is great, I love the company of heroes section, and the raid on the waking sands is such a great "Welcome to Final Fantasy XIV" moment.

But once I got to the end of ARR, thats when her character started to take shape. And thats exactly when I game I was already sold on sunk its claws into me and would never let go. I decided to work my previous attempt into my headcanon for Sophiane, and have ARR be a shared journey between the two, and my other character (who I may write about in the future)... well, she's dead.

And the journey transformed into a journey of loss. Of moving on. Of figuring out how to build a life that's lived for yourself. And the story of FFXIV is very compliant to that kind of tale. A tale of loss, and of fire and faith.

But its not just a tale about grief and suffering. It's a tale about the bonds we form, about leaning on each other. Its not a tale where things magically get fixed, where we go from bad state to good state. And thats what I came to adore about the 2.X patch quests. Through all the intrigue, the politics, and the loss. It was where the theme of the bonds we share starting to take root. And also help me cement more of Sophiane's job identity.

Throughout ARR I had just kinda juggled jobs to keep things from getting overleveled (I started off on Materia and oh does the Road to 90 buff ever have hands). But having gone through the patch quests as a Paladin, it organically lead me to moving onto Dragoon for Heavensward. And what an amazing choice that was.

If ARR was where Sophiane started to take shape. Heavensward is where she truly came into her own as a character. This wasn't the tale of a brave hero. Of unflappable stoicism. But the journey of a scared and timid girl. Now aimless and afraid after having lost the beacon and guiding star of her life. The cheers and adulation of those around her ringing false in her own ears. Undeserved, unearned.

Which rang true to me. I myself struggle with imposter syndrome, and I guess that's the part of me that ended up being given to her. But what she does with it, the way her story evolves and grows shows just how rich and unique her struggles are. Watching someone learn the strength to stand back up on her own two feet.

It was around this time that I was filled with so much creativity. There was so much here to put to page. I used to write long ago, and this game filled me with the overwhelming urge to pick it back up. There were so many details here, ones that I knew at the time and ones that I would uncover later, that I needed to express. And it filled me with so much joy.

And as I detached myself from Sophiane and let her become herself even more, I got sucked into the game even harder. I began to plan and prepare how I would take on the MSQ. Making sure I got the experience right. Including letting her go where I never could.

A story of inadequacy, of guilt, of feeling lost without a guiding star and mentor. Its no surprise it led us to here. Seeking support, absolution. Wrestling with the darkness inside. Wrestling with the questions of whether or not she was a good person. It was these moments that really let her kindness shine through.

Throughout it all, Sophiane developed a shield of bravado. Physically stronger, but emotionally much weaker, this was the beginning of a destructive spiral. Sure she appeared much more cocky and self assured, but it was all a thin veneer. And I think Shadowbringers was the perfect expansion to field that.

Shadowbringers is many things, it is the single greatest standalone story in the series after all. But it is at its core a story about the connections we make. And I believe its these connections that make our Warriors of Light who they are. I know they made Sophiane who she is.

The care, the admiration, the concern showed by friends one and all. The desire to connect, to know and understand. It's a desire I can definitely relate to. Up until the end of Shadowbringers, I was on the Materia DC. I had decided to create a character there for all the benefits of course, but also as it was a place I could adventure on my own. But after Shadowbringers I... wanted to share this experience, and so I world transfered over to my friend on Gilgamesh. There, I was able to start talking to people, and made new friends. Joined new communities. And finally took the multiplayer part of this massively multiplayer online RPG seriously.

I got over my own sense of worries and anxieties around playing the game and just... played the game. Slowly but surely, of course. While it started as just being able to run DPS roulettes without anxiety, I have since started to work on my tank and healer anxieties, and they're going well! But back to Sophiane.

All the prep work I was putting into Sophiane. All the countless hours of side questing, of narrative creation, of ensuring I approached the MSQ just right, it was all for Endwalker. By now, Sophiane was... mostly okay, but still wrestled with survivors guilt. Dwelling on the loss of her friend, the very fact that I started this obsession with. And what a fitting expansion (I keep saying that), given the overwhelming number of callbacks to ARR.

While i've been writing a lot of information and facts and fleshing out her character, this scene was the first time I felt compelled to write a story with Sophiane. It was nothing more than a slight expansion of the scene, but it was the first time I let Sophiane speak. Endwalker, the expansion of Hear, Feel, Think was the expansion she got to finally express herself. My Sophiane master doc has 15k words and counting (and will never see the light of day).

And while ever since Heavensward I've basically made a tradition of being the trailer job for the expansion, this time, I chose to take on Endwalker as a Paladin for a different reason. It felt... right. After all she'd been through, it felt right to let Sophiane return to the role of valiant protector. Paladin has always felt like Sophiane's ARR class. As an Archer, and a Lancer, she felt... timid, unsure. It wasn't until she felt the security of steel and shield that she started to come into her own as an adventurer. Outside of pursuing the lance further in the Coerthas section, she was a Paladin, but cast it aside after The Parting Glass. So returning to Paladin was a card I was always saving for when the time felt right.

And right it felt. Endwalker soon got to work making me feel rewarded for all my effort, all my preparation. All my investment.

I felt rewarded for becoming so attached to Sophiane.

And Endwalkers themes felt perfect next to my own themes for Sophiane, as if the narrative had been tailor made to be perfect for just me. I wonder how many other people have shared that sensation.

And... everything came to a head at Ultima Thule. Sophiane's journey, my own journey, they were reaching the end. Finally grasping the weight of her presence and the impact she'd had on the lives of those around her, she finally got to stand tall, alone at the end of everything.

I was... consumed as soon as I headed to Ultima Thule. I would not, could not dare stop before I reached the end. And I am ever grateful I did. Ultima Thule is the pinnacle of any gaming experience I have ever had. Because I made it so. Because I role-played.

Which... leads me to the one instance where I broke from tradition, where I didn't use the trailer job for an expansion.

I imagine that smirk already tells anyone who recognises it what comes next, but... My one big criticism of Shadowbringers is Ran'jit. While his place as Thancred's antagonist is was well done and the Thancred solo instance was one of the great solo instances, Ran'jit always felt hollow in opposition to Sophiane. Forced, contrived. As we returned to the source and were confronted by Fandaniel, who revealed that Zenos had a hard-n for a rematch, it clicked.

Zenos was right back in Stormblood. He and Sophiane are birds of a feather, two sides of the same coin. Through all the anxiety, the suffering, the thing that kept Sophiane getting back on her feet was the thrill of battle. And after a healthy dose of Trauma and some good friends, she was finally able to actually think about that and understand that.

And as she did, once she knew that Zenos had become a reaper, Sophiane screamed at me to let her become one as well. She wanted the rematch to be on equal terms. To bring her all to bear against him. And while I loathe edgy classes (the reaper role quests did make me roll my eyes a couple of times) I pushed through it and let her be a reaper.

And oh how WORTH IT it was. The GOAT solo instance. The reward for a long and worthwhile journey.

at 4:38am one May morning, I finished 6.0. And FFXIV cemented itself as my forever game. But, so close to Dawntrail, the grind didn't stop, I had so much preparation to do for my first expansion. The cycle continued once more.

Once Dawntrail arrived, I just... let myself enjoy it. I knew Sophiane extremely well, and I trusted in my own ability to have fun and...

We had an absolute blast together. And a year later, I wouldn't give her up for the world. Happy Birthday Sophiane. I wonder where we'll be in a year.

How long you've wandered, burned bright as a star.

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years ago

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Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 6

sketch

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fluff, romantic vegetable chopping, the chapter of realizing things

AN: Well, it’s been six fucking months, but it’s finally here!! It’s a little shorter than I’d prefer, and took a lot of iterations to get here, but I’m very satisfied:) Thanks, as always, to my lovely @doinmybesthere for editing and encouraging. I hope you all enjoy! I think there’re maybe 1 or 2 parts left in this story, that’ll hopefully be out more quickly than I managed this one. Please let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 5 here)

Finals week passes in a slow blur, barely leaving enough time for you to breathe between essays, exams, and one presentation that you think takes at least a year off the end of your life. It’s much the same for everyone else, as well — you barely see Levi, not counting the nights you spend alternating between your bed and his, and you don’t see Hange at all. Consequently, there’s no opportunity to break apart what happened on Saturday. No chance to peel back its layers and find how you really feel. Although, to her credit, Annie doesn’t appear again, so you’re able to shove it into a corner of your mind for the time being.

Saturday brings with it both a new winter storm and an overwhelming sense of relief. You let it fill you completely as you sit and watch snow swirl outside. The street below your kitchen window is bustling with students trying to outrun the storm to get home for vacation. But you have nowhere to be, nothing to do. It’s nice.

The door opens, bringing with it the stomping of Levi’s boots. You turn to watch him shake snow from his hair, sinking deeper into the reassurance of knowing that everything you need is here under your roof. Safe.

Hmm. What the fuck?

You choke on the next sip of your tea as the realization of what you just felt hits you square in the chest. Through your coughing and hacking, you reach again for that fleeting sense of home. Childish, content, warm.

“Are you okay?” Levi calls from the entrance, looking at you with pinched brows halfway through hanging up his jacket.

“Fine,” you cough out, pushing back from the table to hunch over and catch your breath. “I’m okay.”

It takes a moment for you to stop breathing hard, though when you do, your heart rate doesn’t return to normal, instead pushing blood to your face and neck and making your body feel light. Levi doesn’t help when he finally joins you in the kitchen, all floppy hair and bright cheeks from the snow. All leisurely about the way he stretches his lean body to take his favorite blend of Earl Grey from the top of the fridge.

“I was thinking about dinner,” he starts, completely oblivious to the way you’ve started sweating under your cardigan. “We shouldn’t order because of the snow, so I brought home stuff to make soup.”

“What kind?” It’s a miracle the words come out normally.

“Chicken noodle.” He turns to face you. “My mom’s recipe.”

—

“I don’t get why guys are always so uppity about kitchen knives,” you say, picking up what Levi’s told you is a utility knife. “Like, it’s just a knife. I’m not about to stab myself with it.” Your finger drags along its sharp edge for only a split second when Levi’s slim fingers are suddenly around your wrist.

“Don’t. Touch. The knives,” he growls, taking the utility knife gently from your other hand and placing it back on the counter. “I just sharpened them last week, you could’ve seriously cut yourself.”

His steel eyes hold yours for another long moment until you nod your head mutely. You haven’t been able to shake the knot of hyperawareness that’s been settled in your belly since your what the fuck moment, and it only twists tighter when he’s so close to you. His hair is dry now, curling slightly because he hasn’t bothered to comb it since he got home. You have to actively resist the urge to twist a particularly enthusiastic curl around your finger in the split second before he backs away again.

Muttering under his breath, he returns to the simmering pot on the stove that he claims has turned into stock, though you hardly believe it. Growing up, you’d never been taught kitchen skills, let alone anything close to actual labor.

For a while, you’re content to watch, sitting at the table and nursing both the ache in your chest and a fresh cup of chamomile, but the urge to join him in his quiet work overwhelms you as he’s washing the vegetables.

“Levi, please, can I help?” Your tone edges on whining, prompting him to huff and shift on his feet. “I promise I won’t touch the knives! There, just, must be something I can do.”

You see him roll his eyes, swear under his breath, then turn towards you with a glower.

“No talking, no questions, and go wash your hands.”

“Yes!” you cheer and stand up with a bounce.

The scent of the bar of soap as you lather and wash cuts pleasantly through the spices and thick scents already filling the kitchen. It’s not something you’ve experienced often, and you relish in what you realize must be home comfort, your grin settling from enthused to contented.

Levi is arranging carrots, celery, and onions next to the cutting board when you join him again.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch the knives?”

“You’re not, until I show you how to do it without chopping off your fingers.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you tease, but nevertheless settle in beside him to watch as he lines up a carrot and picks up the utility knife.

“We’re generally going for even pieces, though it doesn’t matter much because it’s a soup. Put your fingers like this,” you lean over a bit to see how he’s arranged his left hand holding the carrot, the tips of his fingers just barely tucked under the knuckles, “so that you can chop like this—“ he begins slicing, knife guided by his knuckles “—and not lose your fingers. Always point the blade away from yourself and others, and never hold the handle like you’re going to stab something. That’s not effective, anyway. If you have to use this as a weapon, it’s much more effective to slash rather than stab, considering bone density—“

“Uhh,” you cut in, “pause. Are we slicing carrots or fending off home invaders?”

He stops chopping. “What did I say about asking questions?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Anyway. Considering bone density, you’ll have better luck aiming to cut big veins than forcing through ribs.”

He’s done with the first carrot, now, lithe fingers flipping the knife so the blade is up.

“Never drag the blade along the surface sideways. Flip it over and use the blunt edge to move food.” He demonstrates, moving the little pile of carrot slices to a corner of the cutting board. “Your turn.”

And then, like it’s nothing, he’s offering you the handle with a flat expression.

“Uhm.” You press your lips together and eye it for a long pause. “Are you sure?”

“It’s just a carrot. You’ll be fine.” He lets another unsure moment slide into being, then sighs and reaches out to wrap your hand around the handle. “Here, like this.”

And like you’ve suddenly stepped into a poorly-written romcom, he’s guiding your hands under his to the next waiting carrot, curling your fingers exactly like he showed you before, and scooting over to let you stand in his place. You just let yourself go along with it, hoping desperately that he won’t feel your hands grow clammy or see the way your chin has tucked itself shyly to your chest so you can watch.

Fucking shit carrots, useless goddamn root vegetable, can’t chop itself, has to make me do all the work—

Your aggressive inner monologue takes you all the way through the second carrot, then his hands are leaving yours and he’s placing a third under your waiting blade. Time to fly solo.

—

When you fall asleep in the armchair that night, sated and full of comfort food, Levi sketches in pencil on scrap paper. He sketches his hands over yours in the kitchen and he sketches the steam rising from the pot on the stove. He sketches you sitting with a bowl of soup in your lap, face illuminated by the TV and he sketches your sleeping body curled up, hair in your mouth. He sketches a close-up of your face, with special attention to the curve of your bottom lip, and he considers it practice for finishing the painting in his room.

Levi doesn’t think about how if he doesn’t do something soon, all of this will change. About how you’ll get over your heartbreak and move out at the end of the year and he won’t see you every day and every night. And he definitely doesn’t think about how he’ll have to adjust back to sleeping without your soft body tangled in his, and he doesn’t wonder how he ever slept before you.

No, instead of thinking, he just cracks his knuckles and gently scoops you from the chair and into his arms.

It’s as he’s climbing into his side of your bed that you stir and snort and blink sleepy eyes open.

“What time is it?”

“Ten forty,” he whispers, “go back to sleep.”

You hum and turn on your side to face him, face half hidden by the squish of your pillow. He settles more comfortably in, tucks your head under his chin even though you’re taller than he is, and drapes his free arm around the curve of your waist.

Quiet breathing is the only thing that fills the room for a long while, and he finally thinks you’ve drifted back off, when:

“Hey, Levi?”

“Hmm?”

“I... I’ve been thinking a lot, and...”

The tone of your voice is odd and it makes Levi’s throat seize up for a moment while you hesitate. He swallows deliberately.

“And?”

Your next words are more confident, like you have really been thinking a lot, your voice not sleepy in the slightest. It’s matter-of-fact and soft and lovely.

“And you make me feel really safe. Just, like, all the time. And I’m glad I met you. You make me feel, um...,” a small sniffle, “You make me feel held.”

Levi tightens his arm around you and swallows again. It feels like he’s balancing on the head of a pin, and a thousand angels are swirling around him, and it’s taking all he has not to get pushed off.

“Well, I am holding you.”

“Psssssht,” you wriggle slightly back so you can look at his face. You look simultaneously exasperated and vulnerable in the shadows of your bedroom. “You know what I mean.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well, I guess...”

You pause to think for a moment, eyes flicking away from Levi’s face for a split second. Then, they’re back on his and he can feel the vulnerable honesty already spilling from you.

“I’ve never really, um, gotten a lot of physical affection? From people in my life? And, uh, it’s not just that, it’s that you’re so... so— so familiar, and not just because I know you, godimnotmakingalickofsense, but because it feels like I’ve always known you?” It’s said like a question, like you want to know if he feels the same. “And you just make me feel held.”

You pause on a shaky inhale of breath, then cover your face with your hands and roll onto your back away from him.

“God, I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense at all, I’ll just—“

“Stop,” Levi cuts you off, pushing up to lean over you and grasp your wrists in one hand and cover your mouth with the other, a mirror of the pair of you in the kitchen weeks earlier. “It makes sense. I get it.”

Your doe eyes stare up at him just like they did then and he selfishly indulges in an extra second of staring back before he releases you and slides back to rest on an elbow. Your hands stay demurely tucked by your chest where he put them and your tongue flicks out to lick at your lips as your eyes follow him.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“Okay. Good.”

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t feel like going to bed. He feels like running for miles or painting until his hands ache or hitting something, anything to distract him from doing something incredibly stupid right now. The mattress sinks as he sits up and spins his legs out of bed, muttering something about tea and not tired yet, and he almost doesn’t catch the sensation of you sitting up behind him.

He turns halfway back to tell you to go back to sleep, but your fingers catch his chin and he’s abruptly out of breath.

The curve of your bottom lip is perfectly, exactly the way he sketched it in the semi-dark. It’s slightly chapped.

When you kiss him, soft and certain, he topples off the pinhead and back into his body just in time to do something incredibly stupid and kiss you back.

—

(read part 7 here)

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x fem!reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kiyojin fanfic #female!reader #levi ackerman #fluff #swearing #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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Erotica Explained

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer discovers his girlfriend’s writing.

A/N: Hey Heyyy- this is my twenty-sixth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! It’s based on this request- and I did end up using a small snippet from one of my other fics! Sorry this ones out late too lol had a very difficult day. Feel free to leave me an ask here (I promise I don’t bite) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Sub!Spencer, Unprotected sex, A little bit of grinding, A little bit of overstimulation, Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count:1.7k

I don’t use technology often, if I can help it I don’t use it at all. But, I had to use it right now, there was something I needed to look up on the computer. It wasn’t for a case or anything, I was just too curious and too impatient to wait to go to the library.

Because I don’t use technology often at all, I didn’t own a personal laptop. The only one I regularly used was the one I was given at work, and that was done begrudgingly. Though I couldn’t use that one right now as I was at my apartment I shared with my girlfriend. My girlfriend however, happened to have a laptop that she wouldn’t mind me using.

When I opened up her laptop, it was already unlocked with a tab already opened. My eyes unintentionally quickly glazed over the page, my eyes widening as I flitted across the page. It was some sort of story, one that contained things that made me blush. At the end of what was visible without scrolling down it read,

His fingers twitched at his side when you blew cool air onto his length, you sneered again, “If you touch me I’ll stop.”

My own trousers started to grow a little tight after reading that, then confusion made its way into my face, wondering what in the world I was reading. I clicked around, not really knowing what I was doing and I fell into a wormhole of reading. It wasn’t until I glanced up to see who owned the documents it all clicked together. They were my girlfriend’s stories.

They were her stories about a slew of characters that already existed in other media, the first one I had read even happened to be about a Star Wars character- Poe to be specific. Once it all clicked together I slammed the computer shut, feeling like I had invaded her privacy. Then I swiftly got into a cold shower, ready to freeze my arousal and wash off my shame.

—-

My foot was tapping even crazier than normal as I sat next to my girlfriend. We had decided on a night in, choosing to order take out and watch a few movies on a rare night off for me. It was her turn to choose, and unsurprisingly she chose Star Wars.

“What’s wrong?” She asked me when I started to basically vibrate when Poe came onto the screen. I couldn’t keep it in any longer, the guilt was eating me alive sitting here while I watched a constant reminder of what I read.

“I’m sorry-“ She was about to open her mouth to probably ask me why I was apologizing, but I steamrolled over it by ranting, “I looked at your writing- the erotica you write. I- I think it’s about already existing characters? Which I hadn’t heard about before-“

She finally did get a chance to cut me off by calling out my name, getting me to stop my nervous rant, “Are you mad- that I umm am writing about someone who’s not you?”

“No! It’s natural to be attracted to different people even while you’re with someone…” I was already falling down into another rant, this time however I caught myself and found the point I had been looking for, “I actually think it’s kind of hot.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyebrows had shot up almost high enough that they were up into her hairline. I flushed a little at that, feeling vulnerable under her gaze even though I knew she always kept me safe.

“I- um actually was wondering if you could do to me-“ The words died on my tongue when my eyes met hers again, and just by her eyes I could see that she knew what I wanted. She just wanted me to say it out loud.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Wh-hat I read- can you umm-?”

She didn’t let me stumble any longer, cutting off my stuttering, “You want me to do the things you read about to you?”

I nodded vigorously, but that wasn’t enough for her. She leaned forward, grabbing my cheeks between two of her fingers, then prompting me, “Use your words.”

I whimpered at that, remembering seeing it in one of her writings. I learned from the character, who had mouthed off in the fanfic, instead breathily answering, “Yes, I want you to use me like you wrote.”

Soon enough my clothes had been taken off by me as I had to follow her command to ‘strip’. She did so as well, then straddling me, starting immediately to grind on my cock. I moved my hands to her hips to try to get her to do something more, but they were quickly pushed off. She then pinned them above my head, leaning forward to whisper into my lips, “No you don’t get to touch unless I tell you too.”

“Yes, Miss!” I gasped out instantly, wanting to be perfect for her.

“Mmmm good boy.”

That made me keen even more, loving the praise she gave me a dash of, I craved her showering it onto me. She kept her course of action, grinding onto my cock until her own arousal completely soaked it. All it would take was for the head of my cock to notch at my entrance, she was so wet I could slip in easily. But, all I could do was wait until she let me have her. I’m sure if I begged she’d only smirk at me, so I kept my mouth shut and took what I was given.

She finally sunk down onto my cock, though it was excruciatingly slow. I tried to fight my instincts, keeping my hips flush with the couch so I wouldn’t get scolded for moving without permission.

When the backs of her thighs finally hit the tips of mine, I groaned unintentionally. She seemed to love it, starting to buck her hips enthusiastically at my response. My hands balled up into fists, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping them. It was taking so much to not cum already, her hands pinning me and how beautiful she looked above me making it overwhelming.

“Awww are you already so close? You love getting used like this don’t you?” She goaded once she realized how much I was fighting my release with my squinted eyes.

It took me a minute to find the words, as all my mind could focus on at the moment was how she felt around me. My IQ was completely slashed to 60, but I did eventually get out, “Yes miss”

She sped up her pace at my words, alternating from grinding down into me hard and bouncing vigorously on top of me. When she lent forward to give me a bruising kiss, she swallowed all the noises I was making, until she dipped her head down to mark up my collarbone. It was all too much; I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on.

“You’re such a good boy for me Spencer.” She gasped above me, writhing on my cock while she continued to bounce. It was getting so hard to bear, especially with more praise, but I wanted to wait until she came. She looked like a goddess, especially just as she was about to cum, which she soon signaled by saying, “Oh god baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

All I could do was watch as she removed one hand from where they were wrapped around my own to rub circles into her clit. She tipped her head back, mouth dropped open in a moan, and thighs shaking as her orgasm washed over her. She shook above me for a minute, hips stuttering as she tried to continue the pace she built while her orgasm was ripping through her. Once she had come down from her release she then focused on mine, building the pace back up to be even faster than her original one.

“Go ahead and cum baby boy.” With one more swivel of her hips, I fell off the edge at her command, filling her all the way up with my release. She held my hands up above my head still and still moved her hips while I rode out my high. When she stopped her movements once I whimpered loudly out of overstimulation, she finally let go of my hands.

I let myself relax as she slumped over onto me, resting her head onto my still somewhat heaving chest. With my hands once again free I wrapped my arms around her middle, entrapping her this time.

Looking up I then noticed the movie was still going, completely unobstructed by our actions. It was towards the end of the movie already, telling me how long we had been going at it. Though I didn’t care that I missed it, I got to act out a partial storyline from it, even if it was a made up one. The movie could only hold my attention for so long, there was someone far more interesting with me.

“So are you gonna write some with me?” She giggled out while tracing her fingers up and down my chest, lingering over my sternum. Her proposition was an intriguing one for sure, especially now that she explained some of it to me. Though, I think my writing style is more suited for more of an academic setting.

I snorted a little, giggling a little myself, then brushing my hair out of my eyes so I could see them more clearly. When I tipped her chin up with my fingers and their eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. She was definitely trying to get me riled up again, but I had a quip back of my own, “I don’t think I’d be good at it- but maybe you’ll let me read from now on? I wouldn’t mind editing some as well, it sounds fun.”

Ask Me Anything

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

“Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can’t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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a good jedi {obi-wan x reader}

summary: obi-wan kenobi always knows what to say, and he's always right - most the time, it's pretty annoying, but when you need advice? you're in luck. (this is platonic obi-wan x padawan! reader btw! for @raeshin -- i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: it probably has language in it somewhere? at this point i don't even know when i do and don't swear.

enjoy!! if you'd like to read more about commissioning a fic, the faqs are here :)

- jazz xx

The Jedi Temple had been scary at first.

With it's high walls and long, tangled history, you felt the pressure of being a warrior weigh on your shoulders almost the minute you set foot in the grand corridors. You'd been just a kid at the time - wide eyed and filled with some kind of weird, naive hope - but in your few, short years in the galaxy, you had heard more than enough about the Jedi. Who they were, and what they stood for; the adventures they went on and the way they brought balance to the Galaxy. The connection you felt to them had never seemed to be anything more than a youthful obsession with a world you wanted to be a part of.

Then, not long after your sixth birthday, things began to make sense. A mysterious man in a cloak paid your home planet a visit -- for you. Your interest in the Jedi hadn't been coincidental. Not in the slightest. Your connection to the Force was almost overwhelming, and it was something that Obi-Wan Kenobi could sense the minute he met you for the first time. For a young kid who had been torn away from their family and had the trajectory of their life changed entirely, your upbeat approach to the change of circumstance was pleasantly...surprising. It was clear from the get-go that you had a thirst for adventure, and a strong sense to do the right thing. Two things that, arguably, would have made you the perfect Jedi.

Obi-Wan was a good example of one; he was calm under pressure, patient as a mentor and things were never boring. It didn't take long for him to become like an older brother to you, and for that, you were grateful. There were other Padawans who hadn't been as lucky -- their mentors were either obsessed with the rules, or they were more preoccupied by their outstanding missions and meetings with the Council. Obi-Wan had always made you his main priority, focusing on your training and making sure that you didn't make the same mistakes as him (but let's face it -- were there many?).

Perhaps, it was that idolisation that had lead you to become scared of opening up to him about your own fears. Of course, he would never judge you, but the irrational, anxiety-induced voice in your head didn't know any better. You were terrified of letting him down, and even more fearful that he might lose faith in you for having doubts. Doubts in yourself, doubts in the Jedi, doubts in everything they stood for. What kind of warrior questioned their dedication and the morals of the order to which they were seemingly destined to be a part of? A bad one - or so you told yourself.

It had been easy to push them down at first; to brush aside your worries and tell yourself you were being silly. But, what had started as a little voice in the back of your head soon became a loud, all-consuming bellow. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Obi-Wan had thrown around the idea of beginning practice for your trials. You were no longer a child anymore, but a young adult. It was time for you to start moving up in the world, and in the Jedi Order, and that would mean reaffirming your commitment to them. You'd near enough dedicated two decades of your life to the cause, but it was only now that the doubt was truly starting to plague you.

It was becoming harder to hide it from Obi-Wan. Not only was he extremely intuitive and pragmatic in himself, but the Force connection that your Jedi-mentor relationship had provided you with made it even harder to kick your emotions under the fridge like ice and pretend they weren't there. Even when you gave him your best fake smile and promised you were excited for what was to come, he saw right through it. Your thinly-veiled emotions were no match for a man who could read you like a book.

"We have to report the council." Obi-Wan said. He stepped aside, allowing you to exit the ship with him in tow. "It might be useful for you to deliver the mission report. Good practice for when you're out there on your own-"

"- master, we haven't even got a date for when I'll be doing the trials." You cut him off. The Temple wasn't too far of a walk, but it took you through the gardens. "I'd rather not get ahead of myself."

"It's always better to be a few steps ahead then a few steps behind." He shot back.

"Yeah, I suppose." You muttered. "I think I'm where I need to be right now. Not ahead, nor behind."

He thinned his eyes at you. "If you're sure."

"Very." You forced a smile. "Besides, I'm tired out. It's been a long few days."

"I find myself doubting the sincerity of your statement given that you threatened Anakin over a game of holochess just mere seconds ago-"

"- he was cheating!" You exclaimed. "But really, master, I am shattered. I'd be grateful if you'd let me retire for the night, unless you're really that desperate for my presence in front of the council."

"Very well." Obi-Wan nodded. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning for training?"

You stopped in your tracks, just in front of the corridor that lead to your chambers. Normally, you were pretty good at coming up with excuses - now, your ability had failed you entirely. It wasn't that you didn't want to wake up early and train, but rather that you were so caught up in your own concerns and doubts that it would affect your ability to fight at all. And, with all due respect to Obi-Wan, the last thing you needed was to be thrown half-way across the room at 5AM on a Saturday morning during combat training.

"I'm not sure," you nervously shuffled from one foot to another. "I might skip training tomorrow and focus on my readings."

Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. "Something is going on with you."

"There isn't." You tried to sound confident in your words. "I'm just-"

"- tired?" He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

"Of course." You replied quickly- perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Hmm." Obi-Wan clearly wasn't taking your bullshit. "You know that you've been my Padawan for the better part of twenty years, don't you?"

"Right."

"I can tell when you're lying." He continued. "We'll finish it here tonight but I'm not done with this conversation."

"There's nothing to talk about." You coldly said. "Good night, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed, blue eyes flittering to the floor. "Good night."

True to your word, you slept through training the next day. You didn't even bother setting an alarm, instead choosing to snooze right through til late morning. It was a much-needed lie in -- between your missions, your late-night stressing sessions and constantly running away from the subject of your trials, you were shattered. The sleep had been good, but it didn't much when it was your soul that was tired.

You found yourself in the Temple gardens not long after you woke up. They were the most peaceful place in the entire building -- fields of fresh, green grass, and tangles of unkempt plants that stretched out as far as you could see. The late-morning sun was hanging high in the sky, casting a golden glow on your skin as you slowly wandered down the path. There were a few other people sat on the lawns, either meditating or reading a book. Instead of doing either, you simply meandered. It was hard to remember the last time you weren't doing something...Jedi-ish.

"That isn't reading."

You froze at the sound of your Master's voice -- he was sat on one of the benches, lunch laid out beside him. Knowing Obi-Wan, he'd probably risen at 4AM and done ten times as much in his waking hours than everyone else in the Temple had done in a week. He was always on the go, always dedicating himself to something. Sometimes, he took you along for the ride.

"I was taking a walk." You shot back.

"I can see that." Obi-Wan said. He tossed his sandwich into the bin and stood up, dusting off his trousers. "Let's walk and talk."

"Master, I'm going to be honest with you, I really wanted this time for myself." You explained. "And with all due respect, most of the Padawans out here are alone, and not with their masters-"

"- so you're too cool to be seen in public with me now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I can sense your anxiety and I think it would be good for us to get to the bottom of it."

You sighed to yourself -- the gig was up. But, to give credit where credit was due, you had been able to hide your woes from him for the better part of six months. You could feel your heart-rate picking up in your chest at the thought of coming clean. What if he was disappointed in you? Or worst, insulted that you were worrying about the Order he had sworn his life to?

Obi-Wan placed his hand on the small of your back, forcing you to start walking beside him, through the gardens and towards the temple. So much for a peaceful morning.

"Talk to me." He said. "What's troubling you?"

"I..." you let your eyes fall to the floor. "Look, if I tell you, can you promise me one thing?"

"Of course."

"That you won't be disappointed in me?"

"I could never be disappointed in you." Obi-Wan replied. "If you've made a mistake, it's fine. How else are we supposed to learn?"

"It's not so much a mistake, so much it is a feeling." You began. "I've dedicated most of my life to this Order, and the things it stands for, and by the looks of it, the rest of my life will be too. That was amazing when I was a kid, and not entirely capable of thinking for myself. Now I can, and I find myself full of...doubt."

"Right," He pondered on your words for a moment. "Doubt about what, exactly?"

"The Order." You replied. "There are so many rules to follow, and so many codes. It's been okay up until now but what if one day, I find myself wanting to make a decision that goes against it? Or making a choice that I think to be correct, but the Council see as wrong?"

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. He felt your words in his core -- he'd had his moments like that too. Many, many moments of doubt, sprinkled throughout the last three decades. But, just a few was plenty enough for him to remember - the hesitation, the worry, the endless thoughts of leaving and breaking free plaguing in his mind. There had been so much loss; so much grief and hurt that had pushed him to the edge. Qui-Gonn, Satine, members of the 501st who had fallen victim to the ongoing Clone Wars. There were days where he came closer and closer to his breaking point - in the same way there were days that it felt like it was inching further away. Like the day that the two of you went to Corellia, and he saw you hold your own in battle for the first time, or the day that he managed to get himself kidnapped, and you and Anakin came to rescue him and make a joke out of it. It was the days like that which he'd clung onto so tightly.

You never would have known, not from his outward appearance. From where you were standing, Obi-Wan Kenobi was calm and collected. He always stood his ground and did the right thing, and aside from a few grey hairs that had cropped up in his otherwise-strawberry-blonde hair, you never would have known the losses he had faced. The sacrifices he had made.

And it broke his heart that you feeling that same misgivings and apprehensions that he had.

"Master, you've been quiet for a really long time." You murmured. "Maybe I should just forget it, pretend I didn't say anything-"

"- Not every decision that I've made has been in line with what a good Jedi is." Obi-Wan cut you off. "But you don't need to worry, I can assure you of that much."

You peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You might not always be a good Jedi, but you'll always do the right thing." He explained.

"You think so?"

"I know so." He replied. "I see it in you. Whatever way you interpret the Jedi Code, you needn't worry, because you can't be a good Jedi until when, stripped back to the very core of your humanity, you're a good person. And you are, undoubtedly so."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"There are going to be times when you doubt everything you stand for, and everything you dedicate your life to." Obi-Wan continued. "And when I find myself doing that, I look at it from a different angle. The be-all-and-end-all of what we do is to help and protect others, whether that's under the guise of the Jedi, or as a civilian. That's what matters."

"That makes sense." You nodded. "Thank you for listening. I was worried you were going to be disappointed in me."

"I've been disappointed with the Jedi Order itself hundreds of more times than I've been disappointed with you." He said. "Your ability to question authority when necessary is going to get you far. It's better to be overly cautious than overly naive."

"Does that apply to your authority too?" You grinned.

"If need be - but I like to think I'm a pretty relaxed master." Obi-Wan replied. "I could be a lot harder on you. Especially on mornings when you lie to me and sleep in."

You groaned. "It won't happen again. I can assure you that your current methods of teaching are more than sufficient."

"Sufficient enough that you're ready for the trials?"

"Maybe." You cautiously said. "I suppose we could at least talk to the council about it."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan grinned. "Then you can finally get rid of me."

"I could never." You shot back.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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renee-writer · 3 years ago

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Faith 's Journey Home Chapter 2

AO3

“Your serious or believe yourself to be.” He nods.

“I am serious and know myself to be. I know it sounds insane but, I swear lass, it is true.”

“How?” He takes her hand. She waits as he gathers his thoughts.

“There are those who can travel across time. I am one, your mama was another. I am praying you can still. Those of us that can do it in lots of ways. One way is traveling through Standing Stones. Only on certain days though. There are times when the veil between worlds is thin. Between times. We are approaching such a time now. October 31st. Sanheim to the Scots, Halloween to the Yanks, All Hollows Eve, to the Catholics. That is why we must go now. I must see you safe before.”

She doesn’t like to talk about it, his impending death. Her head starts to shake. “Uncle Ray we don’t..”

“We must mi’ cheri’. I have done all I can to see you safe, as I did for your mama. Now, I must see you back to her and your papa, before I pass.”

“You are my mama and papa.” Her voice breaks and she leans against him, tears running down her face.

“Mon enfant, ma fille, I am honored to be. But, I am leaving. I need to see you to your first parents.” He holds her as she weeps in near silence. À flight attendant comes by.

“Sir, is she alright? May I help?”

“Thank you for your concern. She is alright. We are just facing some hard truths.”

“Ring if you need anything.” He nods to her.

“I can’t bare it.” Admitted through her sobs. “You leaving me.”

“Nor can I.” He wipes her face, “but there is nothing either of us can do. Seeing you to Claire and Jamie is all I can do. Madonna will heal your heart.”

“Madonna?” Despite her overwhelming grief, she wonders why he calls her mama this.

“Claire, she has a very blue aura, like the blessed mother ‘s cloak. Your papa, his is red, like his hair.” He stokes her own. “Yours is deep purple, a perfect blend of them both.”

She nods. “Uncle Ray, why did you do it? If I believe you did, why did you?”

He sighs. “What else was I to do? I knew bringing you here could safe you. Would you would I didn’t ?”

“How could I say that? It is just, why me and why didn’t you tell my parents?”

“I saw something in you, even before you were born. When I first meet your mama in Paris, I knew the child she carried was special. When you came early, there was just one thing I could do. As for telling your parents, Jamie was in the Bastille and your mama, she was near death. I saw her safe, and intended to tell her but, I got you here and then couldn’t leave you.”

“You couldn’t come back?” Her eyes, so like her papa’s, meet his. “When I was older?”

“Leave you! How was I to do that? How was I to explain it?”

“I don’t know.” She took a few deep breaths. “Uncle Ray, I don’t know. But, when I was a little girl, I would have believed it better.” He nods with a small smile. Something occurs to her. “Would you have told me, if you hadn’t been diagnosed?”

“Ouí mi cherí. I was going to soon. The diagnosis just speeded it up.”

She sighs. They get quiet as the quiet plane ride continues. “What are they like, my parents?”

“Your mama is the one I know best. She is strong, courageous, stubborn. Beautiful. She is beautiful. Tall, though your papa is more. You have her smile. Her laugh. She has a light, it shines brightly. It is the first thing I noticed about her.”

“Her aura?” she rests against his side. He chuckles into her hair.

“Ouí, but past that. She had so much life. It is what you inherited most from her. It is what helped you live”

“And papa?”

“He is a Highland Viking warrior, through and through. Strong too. His best quality, outside the physical, is his deep love and devotion to your mama. I’ve never seen a man love a woman more. As for the physical, well, you see him in the mirror.”

“They will love me?”

“Oh, my darling Faith, they will adore you. They may wish to kill me, were the cancer not, for keeping you from them.”

“How am I to say goodbye to you there?” He starts. Oh, she doesn’t understand that it will be a one way trip for him.

“Faith, I won’t be leaving the past.” She sits up and gasps. It is loud enough to start to draw the flight attendant over again. She stops at his shake. “I’ve not long and, I want you by my side. I want to be buried where you can visit.”

She bites her lip to keep from weeping again. “I want that too.” They get quiet again. As they start to fly into the sun, she asks, “What will it be like to go through?”

He settles back, glad the flight is almost over. His body is constantly in pain and the seats are quite uncomfortable. “Like traveling outside yourself. Literally. Recall the scene in Willy Wonka where they transport?” She nods. “How the child came apart and was reassembled? Well, you seem to do just that only..”

“Without becoming tiny?”

“That and.. it doesn’t physically hurt, non, it is deeper then that. It is a physiological pain. Like all those pieces of you are screaming, in pain, at the same time. Then there are the screams.”

She is pale as a corpse. “The screams?”

He nods. “Ouí, they seem to be the parts of the travelers stuck forever in the space between. For you do leave part of yourself there, a toll, if you will. It only lasts, in reality, just a few seconds. But it seems to be a whole lot longer.”

“Uncle Ray, I am an adult. I could just stay here. You could until..” a swallow, “We needn’t ..”

“I know it is a fearful thing but, they deserve to know you and you them. I took you so I could give you back to them.”

“If you can go through that while .. I can.”

“That’s my lamb.”

“Okay. What do we need to do once we get there?”

“To Scotland or Fraser’s Ridge?”

“Let’s start with Scotland.”

“I’ve a storage unit there. It contains all that we need to blend in. Clothing, coin. We will pack up what we need and change, close to the Stones. Then it is a simple matter of touching the biggest one.”

“Simple!”

“In a very relative way. Don’t fear mi’ child. I will be right there with you.” The other passengers start to stir as the lights come up and the plane prepares to land.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #faith's journey home #chapter 2 #jamie and claire #jamie #Claire and Faith #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years ago

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Epiphanies and a Roof Over Their Heads

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Nile Freeman & Nicolo di Genova

Read on AO3

///

Nicky hummed as he sipped his hot chocolate, the warmth seeping into his bones, making him melt further into the armchair. A crash of thunder startled him upright, eyes blinking at the subsequent flash of lightning. Sighing, Nicky shifted until he was once again comfortably reclining in the arm chair, one foot on the broad window sill. Closing his eyes again, Nicky allowed his other senses to take over. The taste of warm chocolate still stinging his tongue, the faint strums of music from the spare bedroom Nile had converted into a temporary studio, the plushness of the armchair molding to his body. The nearly overwhelming scent of petrichor and wet trees wafting in from the open window.

They had arrived at the safehouse in Indonesia a few days before, and were waiting for the rest of the team to join them. Andy and Quynh had said they would stop by Vietnam, so it would likely be a week before they showed up. Joe and Booker had said they were en route and would try to be there in a couple days. Given that it was monsoon season, and a cyclone had been spotted, Nicky thought they would probably arrive with Andy and Quynh.

Lifting his other leg to cross his ankles on the window sill, Nicky sipped away at the drink in his hand, just enjoying the rain pouring outside their house, enveloping them in this phantom bubble of isolation from the rest of the world. He had always found peace in the rain, felt like the water washed away all the troubles of the world, at least temporarily. If, of course, they were not forced to trek through treacherous jungles or muddy hills during the downpour.

After some time he heard the faint music cut off, a door opening softly. He took another sip of drink. He tilted his head in Nile’s direction when she finally peaked over the head of the large chair, smiling softly at her sheepish expression.

“Sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t sure if you had fallen asleep.”

“It’s ok sorellina. I was not sleeping.”

Nile came around the armchair, an eyebrow raised as she saw him sprawled comfortably in his perch. “So, what are you doing?”

“Watching the rain.” Nicky replied, one corner of his lips raising in a faint smirk, as Nile let out annoyed groan.

“I thought we said no more dad jokes Nicky!” Nile said petulantly.

Nicky chuckled. “Si, Si, sorry. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

At that Nile brightened. “Yes!”

“There is some in the kitchen, pour yourself some and come join me.” Nicky said, gesturing in the direction of the other armchair.

Nile nodded before disappearing from sight.

Nicky took another sip of the hot chocolate, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment, until the sweetness became too much, and swallowed. Nile was humming happily as she made her way over to him, one hand clutching a mug, the other maneuvering the armchair beside Nicky’s. Nicky placed his mug on the windowsill before helping Nile with the chair. Once she was comfortably settled, he retook his position. Nile opted to curl up in her chair, letting out a small groan of satisfaction as she first tasted the chocolate.

“Swear to god Nicky, I have no idea how you do it, but you make the best stuff.” Nile said, voice slightly fair away.

Nicky beamed at her, a different warmth blossoming in his chest as his dear friend enjoyed one of his creations. “Grazie Nile, we got lucky I still had some of the chocolate I had bought in Belgium. I was planning on making hot chocolate for all of us, but then the call came in.”

“And it’s difficult to make hot chocolate when you are sneaking around the warehouse district of Nice?” Nile asked wryly.

Nicky winked at her, making her snort. Nile leaned her head against the side of the armchair. “You know, I think out of all the different weathers, rain is the strangest to me?”

Nicky tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“We have all kinds of weather in Chicago, but we don’t get that much rain. And then Afghanistan, I mean. It’s Afghanistan, I got used to the heat. But rain like this?” Nile gestured at the window, where the rain was still falling in such strength they could barely see their compound’s wall. “I’ve never really seen it before.”

Nicky made a noise of agreement. “Genoa got a lot of rain. I always liked the rainy days best.”

“Yeah?” Nile asked, that curious wonder still in her voice. She still relished any opportunity to hear about their early years. None of the team had a problem indulging her.

“Si. I always found it very peaceful.”

As if to contradict him, a flash of lightning whited out the world before a rumble of thunder roared overhead.

“Yes, very peaceful.” Nile mumbled into her cup.

“Of course that rain was not quite like this. We had our bad storms, I remember the fishermen were always tense when they expected bad weather. But for me rain offered me a kind of escape.”

“Escape how?”

Nicky shrugged, taking another sip as he sorted out the words in his head. “Escape like freedom. Like there was no one else except me when it was raining. Rain meant mud and extra chores, laundry that took twice as long to dry. But it also left the earth smelling of life, the flowers seemed to blossom brighter in the aftermath.”

“I can see that.” Nile said after a minute. “So. Did you ever have a epic romantic kiss in the rain?”

Nicky choked slightly on his drink as Nile giggled next to him. “Epic kiss?”

“Yeah, you know how in the movies, one of the romantic scenes is if the two people find each other after having had a fight or something, and then share this huge kiss while like the music swells around them?”

Nicky chuckled as he shook his head. “I can’t recall anything quite like that.”

Nile pouted at him, making him snort.

“There was one instance though…” he trailed, enjoying how Nile scooted forward in her chair. Nicky closed his eyes, trying to bring the memory to the forefront.

“I must have been around 100, 110? Joe and I had only recently met up with Andy and Quynh, and had been travelling through Europe when Quynh said she wanted to introduce us to her homeland. So, we headed towards Vietnam. It was my first time so far East, and the sights felt like a different world. I had read and heard the stories from the three of them, but nothing quite compares to seeing the lands in person. We got stuck near Bangladesh? Or maybe Assam?

Anyways, we had to stop because the monsoon season hit, and both Andy and Quynh insisted the trip would be more enjoyable when we weren’t soaked to the bone. We found an abandoned house to camp out in for the season, and went about getting it ready. But still, nothing could have prepared me for the ways the skies opened, the way all the water in heaven seemed to fall out at once.”

“Must have been quite the sight.” Nile said softly.

Nicky nodded. “I don’t have the words to describe it. I used to stand by the door for a long time, just watching how the rain seemed to literally fall to the earth, crashing against the soft ground. Finally, maybe three or four days later? I decided I wanted to feel the rain.”

“Feel? Like walk in the rain?”

Nicky nodded once. “I had done it sometimes in Genoa, when I was a little boy. Stood alone in the rain, felt the water wash over me. It left me clean, like it didn’t just wash over my body, but my soul itself. I hadn’t done it in years, but the urge was so strong. When I saw the clouds darken, I stepped out of the house, walking just a few feet away.”

Nicky opened his eyes, training them on Nile, who was staring at him with an intense focus. She made a noise, encouraging him to continue.

“Standing under that monsoon rain. If the Genoan rain seemed to wash my soul, this one seemed to remake me. Each drop hurt as it fell on me, but it felt…like a benediction. I had caused so much death I could still see the blood on my hands. I had finally accepted I loved Joe, and was beginning to accept he mattered more to me than my faith’s claim that loving him was signing my soul for an eternity of damnation. But standing in that rain. None of that mattered. The world didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. And it was ok.

I’m not sure how long I was there, I had fallen to me knees at some point. I was brought back to myself when Joe touched me though. He was shouting something, I couldn’t hear what, but I remember the look in his eyes. I think he thought I had finally lost my mind. I just started laughing, harder than I ever had. It didn’t help ease his concern, but the rain, it had washed me of all the guilt I had been carrying. I pulled him down with me and kissed him. It felt like I was doing it in front of God. It felt like He was telling me it was ok. That I was allowed to live, allowed to love this perfect man I did not feel I deserved but would fight the world to keep by my side.”

The only noise in the room for some minutes after Nicky finished his story was the drumming of the rain.

“Wow.” Nile said finally.

Nicky huffed. “Does that qualify?”

Nile nodded, laughing brightly. “Definitely. Although, for most of the characters the epiphany comes before or after the kiss, not during.”

Nicky shrugged. “Maybe that’s because you can’t see the character’s thoughts as they are kissing.”

Nile nodded her head. “Fair enough.”

Nicky tilted his empty mug towards her. “Care for a refill?”

Nile nodded, getting up and taking his mug. “I’ll fill yours, you look far to cozy to disturb.”

Nicky grinned. “Thank you Nile.”

Nile returned with two full mugs. Nicky grabbed his own, only to pause when Nile held out her own. “To epiphanies in the rain.”

Nicky laughed. “And what epiphany have you had?”

“That I do not want to be a poor sap who has to walk in these conditions. Ever.” Nile said firmly, bobbing her head.

Nicky laughed harder, his mug shaking slightly. “To epiphanies and a roof over our head.”

Nile beamed. “To epiphanies and a roof over our head.”

After they toasted their mugs, they each took a long drink, letting out identical sighs of satisfaction. Giggling, Nile waved her mug. “Thanks for the story Nicky, between that, my art, and this wonderful hot chocolate, I am ready for a nap, and Mother Nature has a great soundtrack on. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sogno di oro, habibti.” Nicky told her as Nile walked away.

Once she was out of sight, Nicky lifted both his feet onto the windowsill, and leaned back on the armchair. Setting the empty mug on the floor, he carefully spread the blanket he had curled beneath his back over his legs. A nap sounded quite nice indeed. And if he could not fall asleep next to Joe, at least he would fall asleep to the sound of rain.

#my fic #my writing #the old guard #tog #nicolo di genova #nicky TOG #nile freeman #nicky & nile #nile & nicky #let me know what you think!

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lifeofkaze · 4 years ago

Text

An Art of Balance #26

Orion Amari x MC

Word Count: ~ 3.100

_________________________________________

Chapter 26: The Right Path

After dropping Lizzie off at the Transfiguration classroom, Orion had found Murphy in their Common Room. In a stark contrast to the days leading up to their match, the circular room was pleasantly silent. The older students were nursing their hangovers while most of the younger ones were outside soaking in the sunshine.

Orion and Murphy had retreated to one of the reading nooks recessed in the masonry. A scroll of parchment lay in front of each of them and both had their brows furrowed in concentration as they tried to transfigure them into quills without using the proper incantation out loud.

Nonverbal spells usually weren’t a problem for Orion, the main thing required being a strong focus. But today the transfiguration didn’t work, no matter how often he repeated the words in his mind.

It was no use, he knew his head was elsewhere; all the events of last night swirled around his centre in a vortex that was tugging at his concentration. Neither could he blank out the exhilaration that had coursed through him as he and Lizzie finally had kissed, nor could he ignore the sorrow he had felt as he had tried to soothe her through her bitter tears. Seeing her fall apart in front of him had cut through his heart, but he couldn’t deny the sting of disappointment as he thought about Rowan’s accusations as well.

He knew he shouldn’t have kissed her again and he hadn’t meant to, but his mind seemed to lose control of his body whenever she was near. With the way she had been looking up at him, equal parts hopeful and scared, his wish to hold her close had become overwhelming. It had been hard letting go of her, but he stood by what he had told her; if she didn’t solve the conflict between her and Rowan and put her mind to ease, any connection between them would be overshadowed by the loss of their friendship.

McNully let out a small cry of triumph as his parchment finally changed its shape. It still looked a little bit too yellow and too brittle to pass for a proper quill, but contrary to Orion, he had at least managed to pull the transfiguration off.

His friend laid his wand aside and inspected his feather. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What lets you think I’m bothered?”

Murphy glanced at his non transfigured scroll. “You’re usually much better at nonverbal spells than I am.”

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have any numbers backing your observation?”

“Don’t offend me, of course I have,” Murphy shook his head indignantly. “I just don’t think it’s the time for statistics now.” Ignoring Orion’s sceptical look, he put his wand away. “It’s about Lizzie, isn’t it?”

It had taken McNully a good amount of prying and guessing to get last night’s story out of his friend. Given Murphy’s chattiness, Orion had initially wanted to keep it to himself, but Murphy just knew him too well. It was only after filling him in that Orion had noticed how relieved he was to have someone to share his thoughts with; talking about it with Murphy made it feel more real and less like a dream, both the good and the bad.

McNully took Orion’s silence as a sign to go on. “Don’t worry about her,” he smiled encouragingly, “she and Rowan will be fine.”

“I hope so,” Orion sighed, “Lizzie has fallen off balance; I have never seen her so disconcerted before. I’m worried about her.”

Murphy’s eyes dropped to the table as he spun the feather between his fingers. “The rumours going around at the moment won’t help either.”

When Orion didn’t respond, he looked up sharply to find a hint of confusion on his friend’s face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard?” he asked in an astounded voice. “It’s the talk of the school; I have heard five different versions of the story so far.”

“What story, McNully?” Orion asked, but even though his voice was patient, he could feel his shoulders tense.

Very uncharacteristic for him, Murphy seemed to struggle to find the words he was looking for. Not finding a proper way to nicely phrase what he was about to say, he answered only hesitantly. “The common theme seems to be Lizzie screwing with Charlie Weasley and… well you, I suppose, at the same time,” he finished meekly.

Seeing Orion’s expression darken considerably, he quickly added, “Which is nonsense of course; we both know Lizzie would never do something like that.”

As much as Orion wanted to believe him, he found a tiny flicker of doubt tugging at his faith in Lizzie; he had known her for so long and had always believed her to be a person that wore her heart on her sleeve; instead, she had tangled herself in a web of lies that were falling back on her now. He had been honest when he had told her that he didn’t hold it against her; but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe he didn’t know her as well has he had thought.

As if on cue, the sneering voice of Everett cut through the silent atmosphere of the room; he and a few of his friends had just entered the Common Room. He held his head even higher than usual and a smug grin was plastered onto his face. He was talking loudly to his companions as he made a point of walking past Murphy and Orion.

“From what I’ve heard, Jameson’s had a fling with Weasley for over a year now; apparently they hooked up at his home over the Christmas break.” He let out a menacing laugh. “But I’m not surprised, to be honest, I always thought she was a rather loose one.”

“Watch your mouth, Everett,” Murphy cut him off angrily. “These rumours are absolutely baseless; the chances of them being true are so low, they’re not even worth calculating.”

Everett turned towards them, his eyes looking down at Murphy condescendingly. “Is that so?” His smile grew even wider, the complacency positively dripping from his words. “Well big news, McNully, I heard it from her best friend myself.”

Before he had a chance to stop himself, Orion’s head went up at his words and his jaw locked. The motion was only minuscule, but Everett had noticed it all the same.

“Her little prefect friend was bitching to Penny Haywood this morning on their way to breakfast. She seemed pretty sure they have something going and Jameson’s been lying straight to their faces the whole time, kept the whole thing her dirty little secret. Just shows what kind of person she really is.”

His attention turned to Orion; he was sizing him up gloatingly. “If you ask me, kind of pathetic someone like our Captain fell for her.”

Murphy was bristling up but Orion silenced him by putting a hand on his shoulder. The calm expression he held Everett’s gaze with was a stark contrast to the anger boiling under his skin. His whole philosophy was against fighting another person, let alone a member of his own team, but much to his surprise, he felt the tips of his fingers twitching with suppressed rage and the sudden desire to wipe the smug grin off Everett’s face.

Everett’s confident smile started to waver as Orion’s gaze bored into his; he may have looked composed but there was a cold fire burning in his eyes that made Everett flinch subconsciously.

“I understand the frustration of being rejected where others are not may run deep,” he answered coolly, “but be careful; spreading rumours is playing with fire.” His eyes grew harder and he raised his chin. “Take care not to burn yourself.”

Everett held his gaze for a moment longer before he dropped his eyes with a derisive snort. He motioned his friends to follow him and stalked over to the other side of the Common Room, as far away from Murphy and Orion as possible.

Murphy watched with a scowl as the group shooed a few first-years off a sofa. “Do you think what he said is true?” he asked silently without looking at Orion.

“No,” Orion answered brusquely, sounding much more determined than he felt, however. “I don’t think we could have been so wrong about her after all these years of knowing her. And even if there was some truth to it, it would be unfair to judge without having heard both sides of the story.”

Murphy opened his mouth to say something but Orion shook his head. “I don’t want to discuss this any further right now. Whatever may have happened between Lizzie and Charlie in the past is in the past; what matters is the present and at present, I’m feeling unsettled.”

He got up and cracked his head from side to side; the muscles in his neck had tensed considerably since this morning. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Orion didn’t know for how long he had been balancing; he had lost track of time in the process of turning his focus on his inside. He opened his eyes for a moment; judging by the light of the sun, it was probably way past lunchtime, but he didn’t care too much about a missed meal right now.

All of his concentration was needed to stay upright on his broomstick, that was hovering a good deal above the Quidditch stands. He was thankful for the peace his meditation exercise was giving him. All his thoughts were focused on his steady breathing and his muscles balancing his body in the air, leaving no room for distraction.

He was facing the pitch, his back turned to the rows of wooden seats beneath him, so when he heard a familiar voice calling his name, he couldn’t help but jump a little from being broken out of his concentration so suddenly.

It took him a moment to secure his footing again before he abandoned his standing position and sat down on the handle of his broom. Looking down, he could see Lizzie sitting on the middle row of the stands, her feet resting on the seat in front of her. He had no idea how long she had been there already and he felt his lips curve into a smile as he flew down to meet her.

She stood up as he landed and looked up at him; Orion had never really noticed how big the height difference between them was. As the beating of his heart sped up, he took a deep breath to not lose the calm state of mind he had acquired over the last few hours so quickly. But he couldn’t help it, Lizzie’s presence alone was enough to brighten his mood considerably, all thoughts about focus and balance forgotten.

“It seems like you almost knocked me off balance, Chaser,” he greeted her with an affectionate smile.

Lizzie, however, didn’t smile back at him. She didn’t answer him either; she was simply watching him, her expression stern, the look in her eyes unusually sad. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held her elbows as if she was hugging herself.

Orion felt the smile fade from his face and his brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

She evaded his eyes and turned her head, looking out over the sunbathed pitch. If possible, she looked even paler than this morning.

“I followed your advice, Captain,” she finally said quietly with a bleak voice. “I talked to Rowan.”

“What did she say? Were you able to settle your differences?”

Lizzie hugged herself tighter. “Yes.”

She turned her head from the pitch to face him again, a humourless smile tugging at her lips that didn’t reach her eyes; if anything, it made her look sadder than before.

“She gave me a choice.”

Now it was Orion’s turn to remain silent. He fought the urge reach out to comfort Lizzie when she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, eyes dropping to the ground again as she struggled to continue. The warmth he had felt moments before was starting to subside, leaving him cold and tense in anticipation of her next words.

“Rowan is willing to forgive me and give our friendship another chance; under one condition,” Lizzie raised her eyes to meet his again and there was no need for her to continue; Orion knew what she was about to say.

“I have to choose between her and you.”

The silence following her words was deafening. Both of them were standing on the wooden stands of the Quidditch pitch, facing each other without a word as the hot rays of the sun burned down on them.

After what felt like an eternity, Orion loosened his grip on the handle of his broomstick, that he had subconsciously gripped tighter, and inclined his head.

“I think I know where your choice fell,” he finally managed to answer.

He could see Lizzie was fighting back her tears as she quickly looked away and pressed her lips together, her chest rapidly rising and falling from trying not to cry. The wish to hold her was so strong it almost physically hurt him, but Orion didn’t move; he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice close to breaking. She extended her hand as if to touch him, but stopped halfway, her hand dropping down to the wooden railing.

“Don’t be sorry,” Orion heard himself say; despite of what it meant for him, for them, he couldn’t stand seeing her so devastated. “Rowan is your oldest friend and your bond is worth preserving.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, careful not to scare her as he felt her muscles tense beneath his touch. The desire to embrace her grew close to overwhelming but instead he focused on his words.

“While I understand that she is hurt, it is not fair to demand such a decision from you. Do you want me to talk to her?” he added after a moment, knowing full well that she wouldn’t hide behind his back from the effects of her own doings.

And sure enough, Lizzie quickly shook her head. “I don’t need you to fight my battles,” she answered with a trembling voice, but he could hear the hard resolve behind it. “I caused this mess and I have to face the consequences.”

“But this doesn’t only concern you,” Orion responded quietly. He saw Lizzie’s determination waver in the way her brow slightly creased and her lips parted to say something, but instead, she averted her eyes.

“Don’t make me question my decision,” her voice had a desperate tinge to it as she added a quiet, “please.”

“Then I will understand and respect your choice.” He ran his thumb over her shoulder, hoping to give her at least some sort of reassurance.

“No matter how much your decision pains you, if you follow the path your heart is showing you, you are sure to go into the right direction.” He offered her another smile but he knew the sadness that was darkening her eyes was mirrored on his own face.

Lizzie opened her mouth to say something again but stopped herself at the last second.

“Thank you for understanding,” she whispered instead.

She reached up and covered his hand with hers. She tilted her head so she could press her cheek against it for one last moment before gently brushing it off. Without looking at him again, she turned around and vanished into the shadows of the staircase.

Orion stared after her for a moment, still feeling the touch of her cheek against his hand before he sat down on the wooden seats, restlessly raking his fingers through his hair. He let himself fall onto his back, watching the clouds above roll by.

When he was balancing, his goal was to clear his thoughts and empty his mind. Right now, he had no thoughts as well, but the silence inside his head wasn’t peaceful, it was crushing; he felt anything but balanced.

Lizzie barely made it into the cool darkness of the tower before the tears started welling up in her eyes. She bit them back a few moments longer until she was absolutely sure Orion wasn’t following her. She didn’t expect him to; he had always respected the boundaries she’d set. But she knew full well, if he made the unlikely decision go after her, her resolve would crumble into nothingness.

When she had reached the last landing of the stairs, she sank down onto the topmost step and hugged her knees, burying her face in her arms as the tears finally started falling. She tried not to sob, so no one would hear her and the effort took her breath away, shaking her whole frame violently as she dug her nails into her thighs. The physical pain gave her something to cling to as she struggled to regain her composure.

She repeated the words she had told herself ever since she had made her decision in her mind over and over again, like a steady mantra in the chaos of her thoughts. She had done the right thing, made the right choice; she had been a bad friend for far too long.

She had known Orion would understand and accept her decision, but she wished he hadn’t. She wished he had challenged her, called her out for running, told her they would find a way and give her the excuse she so desperately needed to allow her to be with him regardless.

But instead, he had followed her wish and let her go; the way he had looked at her as she had brushed his hand off her shoulder had been so sad and yet so caring at the same time, it made Lizzie’s stomach twist with regret, the guilt she felt increasing beyond measure.

His words were still ringing in her ear and made a bitter smile appear on her face. ‘If you follow the path your heart is showing you, you are sure to go into the right direction.’

But if she was on the right path, then why did it hurt so much?

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #lizzie jameson #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad

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gubesboo · 4 years ago

Text

That should be me

HEY!! ITS MEEE! I posted quite some time ago that maybe I should post a fic so HERE IT IS FINALLY MY FIRST FIC! I’m in nursing school so it can be difficult to write also I read all of these amazing stories and think I could never so hopefully you enjoy this!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: uhhh cursing, suggestive sexual language, mutual pining, fluff (cause I’m a fluff whor3), maybeeee angst? idk I think that’s it other than pretty bad writing!

Italicized = readers thoughts

Bolded= spencer’s thoughts

Word count: 3.5k

Y/N POV

Working at the BAU is not what you were expecting. Long hours, early mornings, sleepless nights. Don’t kid yourself, you loved your job, but at times it can seem that the bad outweighs the good. Only one thing could lighten you up on your darkest days and it was him. Doctor Spencer Reid. Spencer was everything that you hope for in a potential partner. He’s patient, caring, intelligent, also did I mention insanely attractive. Over the years of working there you and Spencer had become best friends, even rivaling Derek Morgan as his, and Penelope Garcia as yours. See being best friends is great, although completely platonic, the late night movie marathons, weekly coffee meets, along with working right beside him on your darkest days, you have come to love the brown mop of curly hair and hazel eyes that is Spencer Reid. Well, the problem that now is… BEING in love with Spencer Reid.

The bullpen having it’s normal hustle and bustle left you with your thoughts. You didn’t even recognize the man of the hour as he called out to you.

“Y/N…? Y/N... Y/N!!”.

“Oh.. sorry Spence, what’s up?”, you blushed a little, embarrassed that this man could have the power to zoned you out any minute of the day.

“Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.” Spencer so worriedly responded.

It’s the little things like this that could someone so easily make anyone fall in love. Spencer Reid could read you like a book, which is not something out of the ordinary for him. These microscopic gestures is something he knows that you take close to heart.

“What? OH! Yeah I’m fine Spencer this paperwork is seriously getting to me now.”

He let out a little laugh at your response. “Yeah I can see that, that’s why I offered you a fill on your cup of coffee.”

Yeah you know what else you can fill. You thought in your head for the quickest second but just as quickly you could feel the heat rising in your face. With this you were quick to stand up to take the attention off of you. “You know what yeah Spence that would a-actually be great! I’m just gonna...uh… go see Penny real quick, I forgot I was meeting her to give her back her… s-sweatshirt she left at my place!”.

Oh god are you screwed. Dammit Y/N get it the FUCK together. “Oh ha.. You know, that might be helpful” you reply trying to act aloof. Spencer just smiles hesitantly parting your ways as he walks towards the break room for coffee, and you go to Garcia’s to give her the ‘sweater’.

Spencer looked at you quizzically causing you to quickly turn to head that way. Just before you walked out of the bullpen you heard Spencer say “Uh.. Y/N.. do you want your bag?”.

Barging through the door of Penelope’s headquarters, she turns around at you wide eyed like you have just escaped a wild tiger.

“Y/N are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Great. “Penny I am LOSING it here.”

She looks at you worried like you actually have tossed your head off of your shoulder. “Oh this is about boy wonder now isn’t it” she so dubiously recognized.

“Yes Penny I have no idea what I’m doing here, I can’t focus on my work, I’m embarrassing myself left and right, and to make matters worse this whole thing is completely one sided!”.

Penelope looks at you sadly, she wants more than anything for you and Dr. 187 to get together but the stress of seeing you in this state almost breaks her heart. “Y/N, have you tried talking to him about it, we see the way he acts with you. Always going out of his way to make sure you are safe and happy, he doesn’t do that with just anyone…”

You had to give it to her, Penelope always puts on the bravest face for you, that’s why you love her so much. “It’s not just me Penny, what about JJ… or Emily even, he does the same for them… look I’m just trying to be realistic. Someone like Spencer would never go for someone like me. He IS a genius, and I can barely make it through one day where my mind doesn’t get sidetracked.”

Penelope had had enough with your self doubt, she knew you were one of the most talented on the team. “Y/N ENOUGH! First of all, JJ and Emily never stay with Spencer and binge watch Doctor Who til’ the break of dawn. We all notice the longing stares on the jet between him and you, the maybe a tad too long hugs before you guys leave… it’s obvious he’s into you. You know Spencer has a thing for germs yet he shook your hand on your first day here. Let that sink in for a second Y/N. Secondly, you are one of the smartest and talented people on this team. Remember last week when you guys were in Dallas, and YOU pieced together the unsub had a partner.. Y/N there would’ve been so many other victims if it weren’t for you, you have no idea how much everyone respects and values your accomplishments on the team, INCLUDING Spencer.”

Tears had welled up in your eyes, you never knew how much you needed these words of endearment. Sometimes it can be hard to believe this when you are always in your head about what you could've done better or simple mistakes that could've been avoided, sending you into a downward spiral. “Thanks Pen”, you smiled subtly. “I think I’m gonna go to lunch, do you want anything?”

“No Y/N I’m good. Please go talk to Spencer, I have faith that it will really end happily for you” Garcia replied kindly.

“You know what I will, also one more thing…” She turned back in her chair cautiously at what you might say next.

“Yeah?”

“Um.. if anyone comes in here asking what I was doing, can you say I returned a sweater to you?”

“Oh Y/N” Garcia said, releasing a school girl giggle, “You have SO got it bad”.

You laughed out of her office, timid of what the rest of the day had left to offer.

SPENCER POV

Ok that was odd, I hope Y/N is okay. Was it something I said? Oh God what if Morgan spilled the beans on how I feel about her. She’s my best friend, no what Morgan would never do that...well...would he? Just my luck Morgan was in the break room filling up his mug, walking in he gave me the slightest smirk.

“Well pretty boy how is it going with Y/N? Ask her out yet?” he said, taking a sip of his coffee giving him the side eye.

“What!? No.. Morgan you know she doesn’t feel the same about me, she’s never demonstrated anything that could elude to being more than friends. I know it will never happen.” sadly stated, Spencer began filling up the two mugs.

“Oh and you have?” Morgan said chuckling at Spencer’s reply, it was obvious that not even the genius had shown any type of actions that would sway Y/N into thinking he wanted to be more than friends. Spencer of course recognizes this but the simple things must account for something right? The subtle cuddles on the couch, constantly getting her refills on coffee, late night hangouts when Y/N was having a crying breakdown. He doesn’t just do that for anybody, she has to know this right? Maybe it wasn’t too obvious.

“Look Morgan, I’m trying alright? You haven’t told her anything have you, she’s been dodgy around me lately.” Spencer crouched into himself, thinking how he could mess up something that hasn’t even started yet?

“Come on Spencer, I mess with you a lot, but not when it comes to ya girl man. Look if you think something is bothering her just ask her about it, I think you guys are close enough as friends to where you can ask her about something like that right? And if she does know about your feelings then you have your answer, if not, lay it on her Reid. You always miss 100% of the shots you don’t shoot.”

Listening to these words almost encouraged Spencer but the weight of the fact that he might be rejected by the one girl he has opened up his heart to is too much to handle. It is easier to sit on the sidelines and wait for the opportunity to erupt then seize it himself.

“Yeah Morgan you’re probably right. I’ll ask Y/N about it at lunch. Thanks Morgan I’ll keep you updated.”

Morgan chuckled to himself “Well hopefully you don’t have to tell me, you can show me when you get back.”

With that, Spencer walked out of the breakroom with his and Y/N’s coffee right as she walked back into the bullpen looking slightly disheveled. “Hey Y/N! Lunch?” Spencer smiled at Y/N.

“Ummm… Yeah! Sandwiches?” Y/N replied, Spencer realized she usually had sandwiches when she was stressed. Carb loading seemed to make everything better. He mentally noted this to ask about later.

“Sounds perfect.”

With that Spencer and Y/N walked out of the office timidly, overwhelmed with their inner battle tension fighting at them.

LUNCH- Y/N POV

Walking into their go to sandwich shop down the street had a warm and inviting atmosphere. Almost like a hug from your grandma, it never gets old. The smell of freshly baked bread spread through the room and even calmed the nervousness that had surrounded Y/N and Spencer. The girl at the register you’ve come to know as Jessica, noticed her most loyal customers and greeted them with a warm smile.

“Y/N! Spencer! Welcome back you guys! Are we having our usual today?”

Almost embarrassed by the amount of times that they come in that the waitress knows their order. They nod in agreement. A BLT with mayo for Y/N and a ham and turkey club for Spencer.

“Don’t you know it Jessica” you replied, giving her a wink and handing her a 20. “Keep the change” you smiled.

“I’ll have it out to you guys soon!” She replied before going to the counter to assemble the lunch.

Spencer has seemed on edge since he asked you to lunch. Oh no had he caught on? Did he hear me and Penelope.. No he couldn’t have. Just breathe. It’s okay. You noticed Spencer about to say something when you were pulled out of your thoughts by an unfamiliar voice.

“Hi...Y/N?” you turned around to reveal a rather handsome man. What some would consider tall, dark and handsome. His black hair sat wavy on his head. He was cute you had to admit, just the perfect balance of toned without it being overbearing.

“Uh, Hi. I’m sorry I don’t mean to come across rude but...Do I know you?”. There was something about him that was right at the tip of your tongue. He did look familiar but you couldn’t place the face with a name.

“Oh right. Hi um Chase! From Easton Heights? We went to high school together.”

“OH MY GOD! Yes! Chase! We had Biology together right? Wow look at you! You look amazing, how are you?” Wow he has definitely aged well.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. Maybe it was in his head but he could definitely see a connection between the two of them.

“Oh sorry Chase this is my friend Spencer, we work together.” Ugh friends, even saying the word left a sad tone on your tongue. So much hope and wanting in the word, that the one you hope would notice was completely blind to the idea.

Chase extended his hand for a handshake but was matched with Spencer’s typical skepticism, waving back at him instead of returning the endeavor.

“Don’t mind him, it's a germ thing.” you said to Chase seeming almost offended by Spencer’s action but nodded in an almost condolence type of way.

This brought you back to your first day with the team. After exchanging handshakes with Hotch, JJ, Rossi, Emily, Morgan and a bone crushing hug from Penelope (you knew at that second this woman was going to be your rock), last up was the genius himself. To his surprise along with everyone else's he extended his hand to meet yours to introduce himself. Everyone around gave skeptic looks to the other, but to be honest, it was hard to notice everyone else when looking into Spencer’s eyes. From that moment on, you were hook line and sinker to the pipe cleaner with eyes.

You reminisce about this moment along with Penelope’s words from earlier when you are pulled out of your thoughts by Jessica calling from the counter.

“Y/N, Spencer! Your sandwiches are up!” Jessica shouted from the counter.

Spencer went to grab the sandwiches from the counter while you and Chase continued the small talk. What he walked back in on made his heart sink to the pit of his stomach.

“Look Y/N I don’t mean to be forward but you obviously look great. I-I mean you’ve always looked great, I’m just saying adulting looks a-amazing on you. Anyways is there any way you are free tonight? Maybe we could meet up at this great Italian place in the city? Catch up a little?” Chase offered.

You had to hand it to him, he knew how to play his cards. As much as you wanted to hold out for Spencer, it was a stagnant relationship. No pull or tug anywhere as much as you wanted to, you didn’t want to set yourself up for heartbreak if you didn’t have to. You looked over at him. His face seemed unbothered by Chase’s actions. If he cared about you in more than a friend's way this would have bothered him right? If it did, he didn’t show it so you know what? Fuck it. Maybe it is self sabotage but, maybe this would be good for you.

“Uh, you know what? Yeah that would be nice. Maybe we can meet up around 7:30? Today is paperwork day at the office so I should be off at 5, gives me enough time to go home and change. Unless a case comes in of course.” You said handing him a card with your name and number on it, usually for business, but why waste time writing it down anywhere else right?

“Great I’ll see you then. It was nice meeting you Spencer.” Chase said with a warm smile before making his way out of the shop leaving you and Spencer in a limbo.

Well… THAT just happened. You thought to yourself as you walked out of the shop. Spencer seemed awfully quiet the walk back to the office only nodding and responding to your thoughts when absolutely necessary. Not even so much as the facts that you found completely endearing. You tried to brush it off as the midday lag, the sleep deprivation finally catching up to him, but that didn’t seem like the whole story. But at this point, you were tired of trying to read Spencer. Bigger and better things were waiting for you besides the man walking next to you. Or at least you hope there were.

THAT NIGHT- SPENCER POV

After an afternoon full of methodical paperwork, coffee, and self deprecation. Spencer goes home to his empty apartment, something that seems so full of light when Y/N is there.

If he had to admit it, this is something that Spencer had nightmares about. He knows it’s no one's fault but himself but he was right there. At lunch he was finally going to grow some balls and tell Y/N just how much he liked, probably loved her. But Chase happened. What if you fall in love with him, leaving Spencer in the dust. There is no way there could be time for a best friend AND a boyfriend. Especially not when Spencer wants to fill both rolls. He wants to be the one whose arms you wake up in. Who tries and horribly fails to make dinner for. To possibly get married and have kids with.

He ponders this while staring at you contact information on his phone, finger hovering over the call button. It is now or never. Spencer thinks.

“Fuck it.” Spencer says before grabbing his keys and coat, heading out the door.

YOUR APARTMENT- Y/N POV

Walking though your door and shedding your coat, you walk into your barren apartment thinking about the day you had. The rest of the work day had trudged along unbearably slow. You couldn't help but feel guilty accepting the date in front of Spencer. Sure, you guys were friends but on the way back and the rest of the day in the bullpen, Spencer had been avoiding you. When you looked over your eyes would meet, Spencer would clench his jaw and look immediately back down. He stopped the coffee refills, which was fine, but at some point he walked in on you pouring coffee just to do a straight 180 to walk out the door.

Ultimately feeling blue you decide to pick up your phone and text Chase to cancel the date. Not that you want to, but your head just wasn’t in the right place to go out. Even through the guilt of saying yes to Chase to get over Spencer, you thought this would be good for you, but it has only resulted in disappointment. Spencer should be happy for you! But it is obvious that this has affected him negatively. But why? Unless… no it can’t be.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts. Checking your phone it read 6:17 p.m.

“Huh?” you thought out loud.

Looking through the peephole you notice Spencer at the doorstep. Albeit sweaty like he ran a marathon, curls sticking out each and every way, you answer the door.

“Spencer? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Bending down to put his hands on his knees he holds up a finger to catch his breath. Finally waiting for a beat he straightens up.

“Don’t go.” He puts simply.

“What? Spencer.. What are you talking about? The date?” you say heart hammering against your ribs. This is actually happening right?

“Yes the date Y/N. Don’t play dumb. I can’t sit here and know you're going out with him Y/N. I… I love you. And I know it has taken me way too long to admit it but I thought about the future you could have with him, and to be honest that should be me there in that image, not him. I’m sorry if this is bad timing or if I’m too late, but I don’t care. I had to come here and tell you before I lost my nerve. I love you Y/N.”

You sat there mouth gaping open, staring him in the eyes. It felt like you just jumped into a freezing lake. Body frozen and heart hammering in your ears. Apparently this is the wrong move because Spencer noticed this reaction and turned to walk out the front door.

“SPENCER WAIT!” you called out to him. It was now or never too.

“I cancelled the date.”

“What?”

“Spencer, I cancelled the date. After I saw how you were acting, I.. don’t know… I felt guilty? Maybe it's because I’m trying to get you out of my mind. And I felt guilty for using Chase because Spencer, I am hopelessly in love with you. I mean unfathomably so. I just didn’t know you felt the same that’s why I never said anything. And I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought of the future with you in it Spence. I love you Spencer.” you say walking over to him grabbing his hands, intertwining fingers.

You never even noticed the tears in your eyes while you stared into his. The world seemed to melt around you as he leaned in locking his lips with yours. Salty tears mixed with the taste of him and everything felt right. It felt safe and normal.

You pulled away both of you smiling ear to ear as you wiped away the tears on his cheek. Leaning back in to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“So what you’re saying is you have no plans for the evening?” Spencer so cheekily replied.

“Only with you.” You grin back with a soft chuckle pulling him to your couch for a long overdue Doctor Who marathon filled with cuddles and soft kisses.

#first fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #new writers corner #matthew gray gubler #mgg #female reader #im so soft #fluffwhore #derek morgan #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner

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irwintry · 4 years ago

Text

the air before a storm

Warnings: just a bunch of good old fluff, swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: yes this takes place in the outer banks no u are not allowed to mention the show—they are nothing alike. anyway i’m back :) hi

Summary: Y/N and Luke are neighbors in a beachside town where tourists are annoying and tropical storms aren’t rare. And they just can’t stop flirting.

Word Count: 5.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pelican Perch was a dead-end street.

It was well-wooded, wax myrtles and river birch kissing sandy chunks of pavement while homes too small for the average nuclear family were nestled behind thick, invasive vines. Quaint homes designed to keep the rain and the bugs out. Local homes. Each had their own shimmering windsock hung out front that was already tattered from storms, gifted to them by the neighborhood community last spring. Personalized homes. Beach homes that shared every aspect without even trying. Almost every shingle had been defaced by weather damage throughout the years. And the air always smelled of hot gravel and honeysuckle on breezy days. Homes on this road were loved.

You loved yours most of all.

With a front porch stuffed full of plants—ferns, strawberries, tomatoes, the lot—and knick-knacks you had collected throughout the past year, it was easy to love and call home to something that had once been temporary. The baby blue bike perched against a yaupon bush was proudly your preferred mode of transportation. Snuck far up the driveway sat a rusting 2005 Toyota Corolla with sand painted across its rear, and it was not well-loved, though it had been well-lived. The windsock hung off of your porch matched the color of your bike.

The last house on the street never put their windsock up. That house was right beside yours.

He had been there longer than you—you weren’t entirely sure how long, but your arrival prior to last season was greeted with his kind smile. A kind smile, gentle words, and eyes that melted into the ocean, far beyond the whitecaps where the sky touched the sea. All of that beauty, and you never caught his name.

For months on end, you watched him when he wasn’t looking. He left for work during your kitchen stumble for cold brew, nothing but a plain white tee and mesh shorts as he climbed into his jeep, sunkissed and sleepy. Minutes later, you would bike to work and find his Jeep along the way. He worked at the Island Rescue Squad, a small building that held more responsibility than being a simple motel receptionist. He paid his bills by saving lives; you paid yours by telling guests that they couldn’t swim naked in the swimming pool.

You didn’t know him beyond the sights through your kitchen window. But the evenings you crossed paths were treasured.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he’d ask, a nonchalant smile gracing his cheeks before darting his gaze the other way.

After some time, you found enough confidence to reply, “Not bad—you?” as you knocked out the kickstand on your bike.

He was always in the middle of hoisting a backpack over his shoulder. And then he would shrug, smile never fading, and say, “Not bad,” right back. That would be it.

You knew that his blond curls were your favorite thing before you even knew his name. But you also knew, in good faith, that the latter half was going to change.

That was why you should at his door late in the evening in July, a saran-wrapped plateful of coconut macaroons in your hands while your eyes scanned the details of his front porch. A white surfboard beside the front door had experienced its fair share of weather discoloration on the tail. At the end of the deck, withered plants were lined up along a wooden shoe bench. The doormat beneath your feet had nylon paw prints stitched in beside the welcome lettering. When you knocked on the door, a heart-stopping voice called out, “Just a minute!”

You tucked your ankles inward as his face appeared behind the screen. His smile was bold and bright, and from up close, you could hardly breathe.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked in his normal fashion, opening up the screen door so he could step outside with you. His gaze fell to the plate of macaroons while he leaned up against the door. “You’re kidding—did you make those for me?”

Six more words than the usual conversation; you were off to a successful start.

“Yes,” you said, fingers brushing his beneath the ceramic plate when you passed it over to him. “I had to figure out a good way to come over here and formally introduce myself. A whole year later. Better late than never, I guess.”

He smiled along to your words and nodded. “These look so good. Thank you.” He held out one of his hands for you to shake.

His name was Luke. He was only a few years out of school. Taller than any man you knew and flirtatious with his grin, and he kept his eyes locked on you as you spoke. He shared information through little words yet maintained a steady conversation. Talking to old friends was harder than this.

It was difficult to stomach—the way his quiet chuckles and wide smiles were decidedly the best things in the world and how your heart was a concrete block in your chest. It occurred to you, after waving goodnight on your way down the porch steps, that his smile never died. But you pinned it all on his kind heart over anything else.

Life between the two of you felt cyclical. Until one morning he caught you on your way to work.

“I’m gonna be up in Manteo,” he began, tossing a duffle into the backseat of his Jeep with a quiet grunt. “Just a few days. Some ridiculously boring conference that could probably be summed up in a Skype or whatever. Better than leading rope rescue trainings again though.”

Your lips pulled down into a playful frown. “You’re leaving me?”

Luke’s responsive laughter was a good start to your morning. “I’m sorry. Promise I’ll be back. They’ve got us all in some four-star inn. Free wifi and breakfast.”

“Oh, look at you. Living like a king.”

“Right? I’m tired of paying for my own Cheerios.”

It was nice to have someone to talk to, you thought, but you knew you were searching for more than a friend in him. Your heart was warm under his company. You didn’t know how, but it felt easy with him.

“Would you be able to do me a favor?” he asked as he leaned against his car. He kept his distance, his driveway to yours while the patch of dry grass between you watched with intrigue.

“Anything but mowing the lawn, yes.”

Luke cracked a grin. “I’m not that mean. No. Could you—uh, could you water a few plants for me out front? Just once or twice. I’d pay you back in macaroons, but I’m a shit baker.”

“No worries,” you said and situated your bike against your thigh. “I’ll water your plants. But that just means you’ll have to make up for the macaroons somehow. I’ll let you think on it.” You started off down the driveway before he could answer.

“Hold me to that!” he called after you. You sent him a smile in response and sped off toward the main road.

Later that evening, you found that Luke had left a note beside each potted plant on the shoe bench. Betty – allow to dry between waterings next to the Begonia, Calum – keep moist for the Caladium, Tom – water twice a day for the newly planted tomato plant, and Babe – water sparingly for Basil. Each note was signed with a smile and a heart.

—

The next time you heard from Luke, he wasn’t alone. Four days plus a hankering for human interaction—aside from tourists that asked for restaurant suggestions every hour—had left you craving a different kind of intimacy. An intimacy that didn’t require physical touch but was only fulfilled through his presence. Just knowing that he was next door comforted you in ways you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know him, but you knew that he was someone you could rely on.

You heard his car door slam before anything else. Through the window of your kitchen sink, you peeked out into the darkening night, searching for his lanky figure only to find a small animal instead. A dog. You forgot that you had been staring when Luke came into view. His wave tore you from your gaze.

You cracked the window open before you could hesitate. The overwhelming buzzes and clicks of cicadas were immediate to greet you.

“Are you gonna introduce me?” you called out to him, grinning wide as you pressed your elbows down onto the window sill. With the edge of the sink digging into your abdomen, the position was less than comfortable, but you didn’t think about it.

Through the waxing darkness, Luke’s smile was bright. “Only if you come give her a head scratch—then she’ll fall right in love with you,” he said.

You were outside within a few seconds. The side screen door slammed behind you as you hurried over, knees meeting the rough grass so the lovely lady could easily bound over to you. She nestled her nose into your palm and let out a snort. Above you, Luke chuckled at the sound.

“Name’s Petunia,” he said, bending down beside you to pet Petunia’s bum. “A friend of mine is moving ‘cross country—couldn’t keep her. I love the damn girl, so I immediately wanted to take her in. How’re the plants doing?”

“She’s the sweetest,” you mumbled. To him, to yourself—it didn’t matter. You were captivated. “And Betty, Calum, Tom, and Babe are great. The names, by the way? Genius. You have a talent. I’ll have to get you to name my plants. So far, I just have Candace and Big Mama.”

“Big Mama?” Luke’s short giggles filled the air. “I think you’ve got the talent, too.”

Petunia leaned into your scratches before turning back to Luke. So, you stood, brushing sandy dirt from your knees, and Luke soon followed.

“If you ever need someone to take care of her,” you said, “I’m always around. And I won’t make you bake anything. I’m a big dog person, so that’s already enough. I mean, I’m not opposed to a few cupcakes every now and then.”

A lopsided smile grew on Luke’s cheeks. “Red velvet?”

“It’s like you already know me,” you gasped out. “How was Manteo? That’s where you were, right?”

“Well, nothing beats free Cheerios in the mornings, so it wasn’t too bad,” he told you as he wrapped Petunia’s leash around his wrist. She nudged herself between his legs. “Manteo actually has a real downtown, so that was kinda nice.”

“You better not be thinking about leaving me.”

“Leave you? Never.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

“Besides, tourists down here are the reason any of us even have a job.” He scratched the corner of his eye as he spoke. “I’d rather not be saving drunk middle-aged men from rip currents, but I’d never leave Hatteras.”

The corners of your lips twitched upward. “Good, cos’ if you leave,” you said, pointing to your other neighbor’s house, “then I’m stuck with Judy and Ted. You can’t do that to me.”

“Oh, God, no.” His eyes widened as he shook his head. “I’d never do that to you. Or I’d just make you come with me.”

Now, your heart was on fire. You raised a brow in reaction to his statement, and his eyes widened again. The words had slipped out—that was easy to understand, but he couldn’t take them back. You wouldn’t want him to.

“Um, yeah—” Luke placed a hand on the back of his neck and backed away toward his home, Petunia following in tow. “Thanks for watering my plants. Expect cupcakes soon.”

“Don’t you dare.”

His grin reached his eyes. “Goodnight,” he said.

You were certain that you were a fool.

—

NC-12 was worse on Saturdays. The highway was congested with incoming and outgoing travelers, some careless and some too careful. On the way to work, you were among its passengers. Your baby blue bike was swallowed up whole by the minivans and SUVs that occupied the road. Somehow, you made it out alive every time. All it took was a spontaneous sharp turn from a truck to send you rolling onto the pavement.

It was a miracle you ended up with a dozen scrapes and a sprained wrist. The medical bill wasn’t worth missing a few days off of your paycheck, no matter how horrible the weekends could be. A few members of the rescue squad had shown up at the scene of the minor accident—you were glad that Luke hadn’t been with them. But you also wished that he had.

When you powered through the pain as you pedaled home, you weren’t sure if you wanted to see him. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see his reaction—mild injuries and all, and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to buy out all of the cupcakes on the island to make you feel better. Nevertheless, you didn’t have a choice. He was already getting out of his car once you pulled up.

He waved and smiled, and then his eyes grew wide. The scrape on your left cheek told all.

“Shit, love, you okay?” he said, walking towards you slowly. He kept his movements careful and calculated—he had seen the tears fill your eyes before you realized they were there.

“I’m dandy,” you replied breathily, waving your hand to shake off the emotions. The faux smile you put on only faltered, and the skin beneath your eyes stung.

Luke looked horrified. You could see the twitch in his hands, the way he almost reached out for you as he approached, but he held back. And you could see it in his eyes—all he wanted to do was make you feel better.

“You don’t happen to have any cupcakes, do you?” you asked with a sniff. Your smile wavered, and a small tear slipped down your cheek.

When he chose not to hold back—when he chose to pull you in close, then you decided not to hold back either. With his arms circled around your waist, you didn’t care about soaking through his t-shirt with your tears. You didn’t care that your breathing had picked up to near hyperventilation. You felt safe and warm, so you couldn’t care.

The hug lasted until your quiet sobs calmed. Luke’s chin pulled away from the top of your head as you wiped your cheeks with the back of your wrists.

“What happened?” he said, voice soft.

“Dumb vacationers—” Sniff. “—can’t use a fuckin’ turn signal.”

Luke let out a quiet sigh.

“I’m fine, I just… hurt.”

He glanced at his home over his shoulder and then back at you. “Would you wanna come over? I don’t have any cupcakes, but I have frozen pizza. And Petunia misses you.”

You could hear the unspoken words in his voice. I miss you.

This was what happened when you finally learned someone’s name.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but his living room looked like him. Light blue, wooden walls with collected posters unevenly nailed onto the panels. An old couch was the centerpiece, tan and woven with Petunia snuggled onto it with a blanket beneath her. Bookshelves full of CDs and vinyl records stood on either side of the room, but they had been untouched for some time. The home smelled like him, as strange as it sounded. Warm, woodsy, and comfortable.

From the couch, you sat up straight once the oven door shut. You counted each smell beep as the timer was set. Luke walked into the living room a moment later.

“You sure you don’t want some Advil or something?” he asked. “Or—I dunno—a beer? Maybe? I don’t have a lot, but—”

“A beer actually sounds good,” you said to him, folding your hands over your lap. “It’s been a bit of a shit day.”

He continued talking to you as he headed back into the kitchen. The home was small enough for any voice to carry, and you were glad he could maintain a conversation. That alone told you how much he cared. Despite how long you had lived on the island—a year and four months—and despite how long it took you to know him, it mattered greatly to you that he cared. You cared about him, too. It would be hard to see such a friendly face every day and think otherwise.

“Where’d they take you to get checked out?” he called to you from the next room over.

“Urgent care in Nags Head.”

“You’re kidding.” The sound of bottles clinking on the counter followed.

“Wish I was.”

Pop tops landed into a quiet clatter as he said, “how long were you there?” He joined you in the living room a few seconds later and handed you a bottle of Corona.

“Six hours.”

“Six hours?”

You nodded, sharing your best laugh before taking a sip of the fizzing liquid. “You better believe it. All for some cuts and a sprained-frickin’-wrist. And I’ll bet you my bill is gonna be chewing me up for the next year.”

Luke furrowed his brows and kept his gaze low. He appeared to be thinking about something else. “Did they call my squad?”

“A few guys showed up, yeah.”

He bit his bottom lip. “Dunno why they didn’t call me. I would’ve just took ya home.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know that everything he said made your heart race pick up. If your day hadn’t been so long, then your nerves would’ve eaten you alive by now. You were lucky, for the katydid calls outside masked any hint of tension between you.

“Thanks for the drink,” you said, words heavy in your throat. Thinking about your nerves only made them worse. And being around him only made you want him more.

He had called you love earlier; it had to mean something.

Luke’s smile was small, but it said enough. “Anytime.”

Although the pizza was cold in the middle and the taste of your drink had gotten old, what mattered to you was the company. Not the sprained wrist that ached with each movement. Not the tight bandages that tugged at your skin because you shifted a certain way. Nothing about the day mattered because it brought you to this.

His laughter was hypnotic—intoxicating almost—and it took away your breath every time. Making him laugh was addicting. Getting to see those few moments when his eyes light up with joy put shame to the ocean only a mile or two away. You wondered how on earth it had taken so long to know him.

And still, you didn’t know him. Just a name, a face, and a dog named Petunia.

“So, the rescue squad, huh?” you teased at one point as you situated yourself closer to Petunia. You learned that her nickname was Piggy and that, while she was cute, she also had the stinkiest farts—according to Luke. Nevertheless, you pressed your face close to hers and smacked a kiss to her forehead. She rolled over to give you access to her tummy. “What’s it like?”

Luke’s soft smile was etched into his skin. “Fuckin’ stressful,” he answered. “But great. It’s like a family.”

“I can imagine it’s not the prettiest job.”

“No.” He shook his head, and his smile fell. As he spoke, he twirled his bottle on the edge of the coffee table. “It’s not. A lot of tourists just don’t pay attention to the ocean, y’know? We put a million signs out there, and they just think that it will never happen to them. Suddenly you get waves going different directions, and you’re floating out with the current. You never know what’s gonna happen.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you listened. He took his job seriously; some people didn’t.

“It’s just—uh, s’just terrible to see it,” he continued, keeping his head down low. “When you save someone from the surf, but they’re not breathing… and then their families are there—their fuckin’ families are screaming and crying. They just wanted a fun day on the beach. And you gotta make sure that no one dies. I’m just lucky to not have seen it much.”

“It’s horrifying.”

He hummed. “Yeah. And I don’t like it when people call us heroes. Cos’ we’re not. I’m not. We’re doing our job. We wanna keep people safe. We wanna make sure no one has to go through that. B-but when it comes down to you, and you have someone’s life in your hands—” Tears pricked at his eyes, and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “—how the hell are you not gonna try to save them? People over-glorify hero moments. We’re all just trying to take care of each other so we’re not mentally scarred along the way.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You have?”

“I used to vacation here as a teen with my family,” you said, “before I officially decided that tourists are the fucking worst. I just wanted to live here and be on my own. And you’re right—about the screaming and crying. The families stand there to break your heart. I bit my tongue until it bled when I saw that jet ski go out on the water. It doesn’t happen every day, so I just never assumed it would happen around me. Didn’t think forty minutes would pass with nonstop chest compressions. Didn’t think anyone would give up either. Maybe ‘hero’ isn’t the word, just ‘good people’.”

Luke’s eyes were glassy, but he smiled through it. His fingers twitched in your direction on the neck of his bottle. “So—” He cleared his throat. “—what do you do?”

“Oh, it’s my turn now?” you said, biting back a smile. “Just you wait until you hear about all of the trauma I get from being a motel receptionist. I’ll have you beat.”

Once again, his laughter filled the room. All you felt was warmth.

The house rocked after then, lights flickering with the gust, but the wind quickly died. You and Luke shared uncertain glances.

“I’m guessing it doesn’t usually do that.”

Luke shook his head. “Not usually.”

An empty bottle of Corona sat between your palms, moisture growing on the surface from how he made you feel. You asked yourself it was normal to feel this way, if it was something more than the sudden admiration of a mysterious neighbor. You liked him, but how much?

You wanted to spend every moment with him to figure it out. But the last thing you wanted was to overstay your welcome.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” you said, ducking your chin. “For the pizza and stuff. Maybe you’re not a bad neighbor after all.”

Luke smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Your knees creaked as you stood, bones still aching from the impact of the pavement. You wondered how many bruises would appear on your body by morning. Luke stood along with you, towering high but keeping his presence small. He had to know how much he affected you.

“Love you, Piggy,” you mumbled to Petunia with a quick scratch behind her ear.

She huffed in response.

Luke laughed. “She said I love you, too.”

“I’m gonna have to learn how to bake doggie treats for her.”

“But then she’s gonna love you more than she loves me.”

You smiled over your shoulder on your way toward the front door. His eyes had already been burning the back of your head. “That’s the goal,” you told him with one hand on the doorknob. “See you tomorrow?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. You swore you could see a hint of pink tint his cheeks. “See you tomorrow.”

—

A tropical storm was set to hit two days later. It became a hurricane overnight. Category 1. Category 2. It finally settled on 3, its path set for the Outer Banks before it was meant to swing up the East Coast. A mandatory evacuation was set in place by the next morning.

The air was thick, trees restless and wind loud as it picked up. The sky was a permanent dark gray, and the clouds looked like something one would see in a disaster movie. It wasn’t your first time dealing with tropical storms and hurricanes, but they never failed to make your heart race. The unpredictability—the fate of your home, your belongings, and so on—always scared you.

You loaded as much as you could into your Corolla. The wind didn’t care about your disheveled hair or how high it blew your shorts. It didn’t care that it was tossing sticks off of trees, down onto the roof of your home. You said a quick goodbye to the shingles while you were at it; a few were bound to end up in Pamlico Sound by the end of the week.

As you shut the car door, another door opened behind you. Luke rushed out of his home with Petunia toddling behind.

“You okay?” he called to you. He had two bags over his shoulders, another in his hands before he tossed them into the back of his Jeep. “Know where you’re headin’?”

“Think so,” you said over the wind. “Can’t wait to pee my pants in traffic. Any of the guard staying?”

Luke nodded as his curls danced around his chin. “They’re gonna be spotted up and down the coast. You stay safe out there, all right?”

“Yeah, you too.”

It wasn’t the preferred way of saying goodbye, but the hot, stale air trapped itself in your lungs. You were ready to greet the clicking air conditioner of your broken car like an old friend, and then one turn of the ignition turned into two, three, four, and many more. The headlights flickered off and on, yet the light never stayed long. You hit the steering wheel with the base of your palms in frustration.

A sudden knock at your passenger side window took all of the frustration away.

Luke opened up the door and said, “come with me.”

That was how you ended up beside him, stuck in two-hour traffic while you thought about the way his lips molded around words. Soft rock played quietly on the radio as you sat without making a sound. But it was comfortable silence. Thankful silence. The air before the storm disguised the thick tension.

Petunia wandered around the back seat, on occasion whining before flopping back down onto her blanket. Every so often, you would lean back and scratch her head, and Luke would smile at you. Unspoken words were better than no words at all.

“Tell me about yourself,” you said after a while. With the Bodie Lighthouse to your left, the ocean to your right, the wasn’t much else to keep you occupied. “Not like, childhood trauma stuff, but basic stuff. Favorite color, favorite food—that stuff.”

Luke had one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against his chin while he leaned on the car door. He faced the road yet had his eyes trained on you. “Well, what if I really wanna open up about my childhood traumas?” he asked playfully.

“Hey, I’m all ears. We’re gonna be stuck in traffic until the mainland.”

He chuckled and rubbed beneath his lips. You didn’t know that such a small action could make your cheeks flush. “Favorite color? Hm. Blue, I guess. Favorite food has gotta be those damn macaroons you made me. They were absolutely delicious, babe.”

Your smile lit up the car.

“If you wanna know everything about me, all you gotta do is check out my mum’s Facebook,” he said. “Liz Hemmings. She posts every photo I send her and talks about my love life when she’s bored.”

“Love life, huh?”

He huffs quietly. “Her profile has been a little dry lately then, I guess.” When his eyes found yours, a small smile grew on his lips. “She’d love you. I’ll have t’let you know when she comes to visit next.”

“Oh man,” you said. “I’m already meeting my neighbor’s mom.”

Luke chuckled. “Uh oh. I didn’t push it too far, did I?”

“Didn’t know we were there yet, s’all. But I’d be happy to meet her.”

He set his hand down on the gear shift. Inches away from yours. “She’d just wonder what the hell you’re doin’ around me. Tell you that you’re too good for me. Stuff like that. I mean, it’s true.”

“Just tell her that I can’t afford to move, so I’m stuck with you.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that.”

“Unfortunately, no. I don’t mean that.”

“Good,” he mumbled, glancing out the window. “Cos’ I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

—

The hurricane made landfall at two in the morning. The hotel walls of the Quality Inn shook and rain pattered hard against the window. The alarm clock beside the bed turned black. From across the room, you could barely hear Luke stir in his own bed. And despite the storm, your heart still tugged at the thought of him there with you.

The wind was the worst thing of all. You thought about your home, the plants you dragged inside, and the windsock you forgot to take down. Maybe Luke would let you borrow his. But all that mattered, in the moment, was the voice calling your name through the pitch-black night. Somehow, it carried over the storm, over the howling wind and the rain coming down in sheets. It pulled your heart right out of your chest.

Your eyes were heavy with sleep as you said, “Luke?

You could hear him turn over in bed, but through the dark, you could only make out the edges of his figure. You hoped he had turned to face you.

“Hey. You okay?” His voice was soft, and you felt the storm slowly slip away.

“Can’t sleep” you answered. “Not a big fan of storms.”

He was barely awake, quiet words of “wanna come over here?” floating in the air-conditioned air. Your own words were stuck in your throat. So you didn’t answer. You rose from your bed instead, feet padding to the opposite side of his bed before crawling under the sheets beside him. His warmth radiated off of him.

Luke’s hand was right beside your hand. You swore you could hear his breaths over the wind. If you were able to see his features so close to yours, you would cease to exist. Your heart had found a comfortable home in your throat.

Fingers wove in between yours, gentle and warm like they were barely there, but they were all you could feel. Rough in the right places. Luke’s hand rested on yours, his pulse beating low and steady.

You knew that words would steal the moment away.

As his fingers traced your skin, the heat in your chest grew. It was normal. It was beautiful. And it was yours. So you held his hand right back.

When his forehead met yours, you knew you were done for. The storm completely faded from your mind. Noses touched and breaths fell into sync, but your heartbeat was loud in your ears. All you could think about was the feeling of his lips brushing yours. You couldn’t remember when your eyes closed. The last thing you felt was Petunia nudging your foot at the end of the bed, and then you fell asleep in Luke’s arms.

The kiss was nothing but a dream.

You were allowed back on the island three days later. Unsaid things invaded your mind on the ride down the coast, but you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to say a word. Luke was busy humming along to every song that came on the radio. That was all you needed to hear.

Pelican Perch road was covered with leaves and natural debris, but the homes were well intact. As the car neared the end of the street, you caught a glimpse of your windsock swaying in the breeze. It was a miracle it hadn’t blown away.

Luke helped you with your bags in silence, a small exchange of smiles and brushing hands to fill in the empty space instead. This wasn’t how you wanted it to be. Yet, you never said anything.

Once the night crept in, you could no longer distract yourself with streaming movies through overused cellular data. The power was still out on the island. Everything in your fridge had gone bad, and your phone was near death by ten o’clock. And the winds, despite the long-gone storm, carried on.

You slipped on a pair of flip-flops—never mind the wet, sandy dirt caked around the edges—and walked over to Luke’s. The bugs were especially loud that night. There were no lights to guide you, no way of knowing where you were stepping, and then something hit you. Someone.

“Jesus,” he muttered, gripping your elbow to balance you.

“Luke?”

“It’s me.”

You set your hand on his arm just to feel him. His hold on you never left. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Well—” His hand slipped down to your wrist as he chuckled. Beautiful. “Comin’ to find you, I guess. You okay?”

“I’ve got a hankering for ice cream, but it’s all melted,” you said. “But I don’t suppose your freezer is working anyway. I just didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Me either, darling.”

“Darling. That’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“I like it.”

He stepped closer to you, slow hands finding yours.

“Coming to find me, huh?” you asked.

Luke hummed and set his forehead on yours. Now, you didn’t know what to say. You figured it was best to not say anything at all. You leaned into the kiss and allowed his lips to mold against yours. Every moment you were apart was replaced with another kiss, excelling in desperation and satisfying any need through its touch. It was heavenly and full of heat and desire.

He cupped your cheek, pressing himself closer to you as he deepened the kiss one last time. You were breathless and cold without him near.

“I still owe you cupcakes, don’t I?” he asked quietly. You could see his smile through the night.

“At least two dozen by now.”

His chuckle filled your heart with warmth. “Anything for you, love. Would you like to come inside?”

You tightened your grip in his hand. “Gladly.”

—

hey! thanks for reading! since i haven’t been in the game for a while, i’m gonna tag a few ppl, if that’s ok! @goth5sos @irwinkitten @sublimehood @softforcal @cxddlyash @wildflowergrae hi y’all <3

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

Text

Unintentionally Unrequited

Lesley Smith-Juniment x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader tries to hold back their love for Lesley while he’s still reeling from his broken engagement.

A/N: Hey Heyyy!!!! This is my first fic for Lesley guys!!! It’s also my twenty-fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! It’s based on this request- I had a lot of fun with it!!! (Hope I got his character right 🤞) Lol low key I might have been projecting my love of the cold in the first paragraph- im sorry to all my warm weather lovers!!! 😂 Feel free to leave an ask here (I promise I don’t bite, I swear) Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Warnings: I swear three times- that’s it 🥰

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.5k

The sun beat down hard on me, making my eyes squint and my skin hotter than I would have liked. Normally I would have been wallowing in misery as I thrived in the cold, even though I lived in Texas. That’s where my job was and that’s where Lesley was, so I swallowed up my complaints, especially now.

Lesley was grabbing our drinks, which was more of a challenge than I expected. I watched him stumble about a million times in his closed toed Birkenstocks he still insisted on wearing, kicking up streams of sand while the concession worker snickered. Instead of laughing like most I smiled brightly, finding it incredibly endearing rather than using it as a reason to make fun of him. I may have not found his closed toed Birkenstocks very fashionable, but he loved them, and I loved him.

I could only say that in my head though, he was still unequivocally in love with Summer- even though she had stomped on his heart. He had thought he found love and watched it cruelly be ripped away from him when Summer broke off their engagement. Normally with whirlwind engagements it was expected that they wouldn’t last. But, with Lesley and Summer I had really thought that they would stand the test of time. I loved him too much to break the fragile happiness he had, though it turns out someone was going to do it for me anyway.

Lesley was still holding a torch for her, I could tell by the way he got a little melancholic sometimes when he talked to me. I did my best to get his mind off of it, that’s why we were here, on this unremarkable beach.

I was glad I at least did something good when I whisked him away to the beach for a while so he wouldn’t have to see Summer or be reminded of her. I knew that eventually we’d have to go back, but it was nice to pretend in this utopia I had crafted for us for the time being, even if the beach was slightly shitty. And, I meant that literally; there was tons of uncleared bird poop everywhere. We had to find a specific spot that was somewhat secluded to find a spot not covered in it.

When he came back with our drinks, it was a little more graceful than the first time, though the worker still laughed when his back was turned, which earned him a glare from me. As we sipped on our slushies while sitting on a rickety bench by the beach, I contemplated everything that had happened in recent months. I had been by his side through it all, mostly with my eyes blown wide at how ridiculous it all was.

Six months ago we had been very different people, sure we had the same personalities and acted relatively the same. But, our experiences over the last months have changed us into different people. I still knew Lesley, better than anyone, and certainly better than Summer claimed.

It was getting too difficult to keep trapped up inside anymore, each day I chose to say nothing made it even more painful. I sucked on my staw, trying to keep it bottled up, keeping it down by the colorful ice that tasted artificially sweet. It felt like I was choking on the love, it wanted to spill out and compel me to confess even though I didn’t want to.

Before I even knew what I was saying it started to tumble out, bubbling up to the surface getting ready to explode any friendship Lesley and I had,

“I know you never will feel the same way, but I have to tell you this,” He cocked his head to the side in question, not expecting what was about to come out of my mouth next, “I love you.”

His mind had obviously short circuited going by the look on his face, jaw dropped open, eyes blown wide, and fingers shaking in shock. It took him a minute to process, frozen in the same place trying to understand what I had just said.

Not long ago he had made the same confession to someone that ultimately ended up leaving him heartbroken. I was afraid I was due for my own dose of unrequited love.

His body must have caught up with his mind as he stood up, knocking over his red colored slushy in the process, staining the sand. He was rubbing the front of his khaki shorts in panic, I grabbed them without thinking; he could hate me now and never want to touch me again.

However, he did not pull away from me, in fact he gripped my hands in a tighter hold while he also squeezed his eyes shut a few times. I opened my mouth to say something, but found myself completely choked up at Lesley’s own admission, “I love you too.”

“I thought you still loved Summer?” Tears were falling down my face, but each drop was quickly brushed to the side by my hands, not wanting to have Lesley see me cry. I had thought Summer had meant the world to him, the way he looked at her made me think that he’d never look at me the same way. I had never even thought to turn around and see if he was looking at me in the first place.

“No, I don’t she was- Never mind it doesn’t even matter. All that matters is that I love you- it’s always been you. You’re the only person who really knows me, really sees me for me.” His hands enveloped my cheeks with cold from him holding the slushy cup while he said his own confession, much more wordy than my own. With his confession heat began to bloom in my cheeks, warming up his cold hands. They were warming up from sheer embarrassment rather than the sun that was still beating down on us overhead. It seemed so silly now, to keep my love for him secret while he walked into a romance his heart wasn’t fully in.

“I’m sorry.” I meekly whispered, dipping my head down in shame.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I didn’t tell you…” He then tipped my head up to look at him with confidence I didn’t often see from him.

“You told me now and- that’s all that matters.” Bridging the gap that had slowly been decreasing between the two of us, surprisingly he initiated the kiss.

His lips tasted like the cherry slushy he had been drinking, mixed with the blue raspberry one I had been downing. It was a sugary sweet combo almost sickly, but all I wanted was more. I had deprived myself of the sugar I had been pining for, for so long, I didn’t care if it was somewhat overwhelming to my taste buds.

We had both been idiots, colossal idiots for not getting the nerve to open our mouths and speak up to one another. Though maybe I was the bigger idiot because I had watched him pretend to love someone else, not noticing all the looks he had probably thrown my way. I had been so convinced that he would never love me back that I let the sweetness of him be used by someone else, even though it was always meant for me. Running my fingers through his hair I pulled him even closer to me, touching him without pause or thought of the repercussions. It felt good to be free, like I was flying high up above the clouds unrestricted by my own self doubting thoughts that always tried to sabotage me.

Lesley had been kissing me back with the same amount of force as I was, not a shred of hesitation in sight as he sucked on my bottom lip. Unfortunately I had to let him go when I noticed the concession’s vendor eyeing the two of us while eating a bag of peanuts. Glaring hard again at the man I then refocused onto Lesley, and I never wanted to stop looking. He seemed disappointed at first when we seperated; he had tried to chase my lips as if that would be his first and only taste. I gave him a quick kiss on the tip of his button nose, another taste of the affection he’d be treated to as long as he’d let me give it to him. Speaking softly I then expanded on my confession from earlier, “I promise there’ll be more where that came from- I love you and I never want to let you go.”

He looked down at our intertwined fingers still with shock, he brought them up to his lips, giving his own affection to the tops of my hands with two sweet pecks. “I love you too.” He then mumbled into our palms, giving them one last peck before releasing them.

Tugging his hands I then walked backwards towards our shitty hotel rooms that matched the shitty beach, though I wouldn’t be separating from him once we reached mine. “Come on let’s go.” I said with another tug before breaking out into a run with him right behind, ready to start our adventure of requited love.

Ask Me Anything

—-

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#lesley smith juniment #hot air #lesley smith juniment x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler fluff #lesley juniment smith #matthew gray gubler #mgg fluff #hot air mgg #hot air movie

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ao3theskyisblue · 4 years ago

Text

So, I’m just going to leave this here and dip

When the words that felt like a sea of knives piercing his skin left his lips, Carlos was expecting to be met with anger, maybe even acceptance.

There had been an overhanging cloud of unresolved questions ever since that day at the fire station, when Carlos had failed spectacularly at avoiding a question that he knew would have come up sooner than later.

He thought he had more time, but his parents had caught him off guard today, and he knew that the cloud of unresolved tension would only amass to a thundering darkness of dissonance if he didn’t address it.

(Suddenly, telling someone to pull the leech off and actually being the one doing the pulling seemed to differ greatly in mental fortitude)

Instead, something akin to horror being mixed with confusion and what seemed to be determination flickered in TK’s eyes, and Carlos didn’t resist when he moved past him towards the living room. He watched, as TK moved to sit down on a chair.

With just that simple action, Carlos felt something twist painfully in his chest. Instead of the sofa, TK had opted for the chair - a chair that only sat one person and made sure that the other would have no choice but to face him.

“You didn’t tell your parents that I was your boyfriend?”

No cutting corners, just straight to the point.

Carlos shut the door quietly, his movement slower than usual to give him a moment to gather himself for the conversation they were about to have. He didn’t know what expression he was donning right now, but he could clearly see TK’s, and if this were any other day, they would both be on the sofa, one of them lifting an arm so they could be as close to each other as physically possible.

But it wasn’t.

Instead, Carlos remained standing by the door. He almost wanted to take his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms - to semblance some sort of wall of protection, but found his arms suddenly heavily laden with lead.

“Carlos.”

It was the way TK’s voice seemed to coax him to look at him that stopped his eyes from wandering too far. He was usually pretty good with eye contact, but somehow this– them, sometimes got his emotions twisting in every so direction that he couldn’t think straight.

“Are you angry?” Carlos blurted out, seeming to be just as surprised at his words as TK was.

TK just stared at him for a moment, his eyes filling again with that mixture of emotions Carlos had seen in his doorway just moments ago, when the bitter words ‘are we breaking up?’ cascaded out on instinct.

“A little.”

It came out quiet, subdued, and Carlos heard his breath hitching before he felt the painful throb spreading through his chest again.

“But not at you.” TK’s gaze had lowered at the previous admission, but now his eyes were almost piercing through his, as if determined to see this through.

...Did he plan to see this through?

Carlos swallowed down the uncomfortable lurch in his stomach at that thought.

“I’m just - confused. I think. Mostly confused, and...and worried.” TK admitted, his green eyes flickering with a hint of sadness. “You avoided the topic about your parents, and now suddenly you bring up-“ TK trailed off at that, but Carlos knew what he wasn’t saying.

The words never cut less deep, no matter how much he’s tried to rehearse it in his mind.

“I guess I just, want to hear it from you - want you to talk to me.”

And that was just it, wasn’t it?

Talking.

Carlos knew they talked. Hell, he hadn’t texted with a single person this much other than Michelle before TK came into his life, and they’ve gone on dates, he’s given his spare key to him, they’ve been going out for months, and yet...

And yet, did they even know each other at all?

Apart from the obvious, Carlos had been suddenly struck, trying to think of anything he knew about the man sitting in front of him other than what the world has let him see.

They’ve known each other for what feels like a lifetime, but how much, truly, did that knowledge span?

They became us on that one faithful night after the solar storm, but what lies beyond that?

Does his presence in TK’s life coincide with what TK’s presence meant in his life?

It was all just-

“It’s not you.” Carlos said quietly, feeling his legs slip free from an invisible hold, moving to sit on a chair in front of TK. The sound of leather creaking underneath him rippled through the silence, yet not enough to disperse the ever-present tension in the air.

“And it’s not really me either. Well, it kind of is, but I think it’s more...us?” Carlos couldn’t help frowning at his wording, knowing he was probably being a little confusing. “I know it sounds a little stupid, but I sometimes feel...” TK remained silent at his hesitation, and Carlos suddenly felt a little bit bolder at the silent queue for him to go on.

“-that we don’t know each other.” TK seemed a little taken aback at that, but still, remained quiet.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure how to express it well myself, but I just-I don’t know. My parents always drilled in our heads that we should bring home partners that we can show with our 100% and I’m- I’m sure about you but I’m just not sure about– about us. Where we stand, I guess, is what I’m trying to say.” Carlos knew he must have been rambling, but his mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. The only clear thought pulsating through his head was how much he wanted TK to stay and just...listen.

And laying all his cards on the table seemed like a good start.

“It’s not stupid.”

The sudden declaration took him a little off guard, and Carlos looked up to see TK watching him with his eyes shining with spirals of emotion. Familiar warm hands reached out to cover his own that were currently resting on his knees.

“It’s not stupid, Carlos. Your feelings matter, you matter.” TK leaned forward towards him slightly, his eyes never straying away from his. “And to answer….earlier, I don’t want to break up. Honestly, that thought never even crossed my mind because Carlos,” Carlos watched as TK’s eyes softened now, his expression turning a little shy but the determination in his gaze only seemed to only harden. “I like you. I really like you. And that’s something I hope you won’t ever question.” TK’s words nearly punched all the air out of his lungs, and he had to swallow back the lump forming at the back of his throat. He opted to reach forward, and TK’s hands reached forward to meet his, their hands encasing each other on Carlos’ lap.

“I don’t do things by halves.”

The lump was back, but this time, Carlos accepted it graciously and didn’t hide away his teary gaze as TK just continued to look at him affectionately.

“I would never, especially not with you.” And the smile that surfaced this time was one that Carlos had seen so many times. The way the corner of TK’s eyes crinkled gently, eyes brimming with overwhelming fondness and Carlos could only stare, staggering at how beautiful he looked.

And suddenly, he felt like he could finally breathe.

“I don’t want to break up either I– I like you, so much.” Carlos lifted their interlaced hands to his forehead, leaning against it gently as he closed his eyes and took another deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, TK was watching him with a suspicious wet shine in his eyes as well, his smile turning gentle. Carlos felt his own lips mirroring that smile, and it only widened when TK lifted their hands up to kiss the back of his hand.

“Guess we’re both a work in progress, huh.” Carlos said lightly, feeling the hand in his giving a tight squeeze.

“I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I.”

Neither of them made an attempt to move away from their position, even though Carlos’ shoulders were starting to feel a little sore from the sudden release of tension and TK’s back couldn’t be doing much better.

“I’m all in, Carlos, for our work in progress.” TK murmured, and Carlos felt the beginnings of a smile that made him feel lighter than he has in days.

“As am I.”

#Tarlos #A fic #I dunno how to feel #I saw so many theories and I just...kind of compiled them?#I think?#I'm sorry #tk x carlos

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flightlessangelwings · 5 years ago

Text

Leap of Faith

Mando x gn!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Rating: PG

“Shit,” Mando’s voice rang through your communicator over the commotion.

You ran as fast as you could and avoided the blaster fire from behind you. It wasn’t the first time you and the Mandalorian were in a sticky situation, but this one was particularly bad. You and Mando were after a bounty, as usual, when they found a way to outsmart the two of you and they took the child as ransom. As angry as you both were, you had to act fast to get the baby back.

That is when you and Mando ended up at a large towering building that the gang used as their base. To cover more space, you decided to split up, and you made you way towards the top of the tower while Mando covered the lower levels. You made it almost to the top when you were ambushed by two men. After you fought them off, you called for your partner on your comms, “I haven’t found the kid yet. I hope you’re having better luck on your end.”

You could hear grunts from the end of a fight, and you figured that he got ambushed as well. Maybe splitting up wasn’t the best idea, but you were both desperate to get the child back.

“Not yet,” Mando finally answered before you both cursed at the same time.

With your blaster ready, you made your way around the surprisingly complicated corridors in search of the child. Your heart pounded in your chest with anxiety and you tried to keep yourself from imagining the worst. After you busted open several doors to empty rooms, you finally found what you were looking for.

“Found him,” you said into your comm before you entered the room with your blaster held up.

Unfortunately, the child was well guarded and you fought off more attackers before you could get to the child. The room had four guards, two of which you were able to kill swiftly. The other two, however, gave you more trouble. The child watched you with wide eyes as you switched from your blaster to your vibroblade for hand-to-hand combat with the last guard.

You held your own for some time before the last, and biggest, of the men pinned you against the wall. A large hand wrapped around your throat as the other held you down. Panic rose within you as you tried to call to the Mandalorian through your communicator.

“Mando,” you gasped.

He answered immediately, “Hold on! I’m coming!” If you weren’t in such a bad situation, you would have picked up on the urgency in his voice, but you were too focused on keeping yourself conscious.

Before he could get to you, though, your attacker suddenly released you and held his hands over his throat. You coughed as you were able to fill your lungs with air again before you looked up at see why he backed off. The child stood as tall as he could and held his hand up in the air. He squinted as he concentrated all of his energy into contracting the guard’s throat. You smirked before you drove your blade into the man’s gut.

As his body fell to the floor, you rushed over to the child, “I got you. You’re ok.” You picked him up and cradled him in your arms after you checked him for injuries, “Thanks, kid,” you said to him as you met his bright eyes. The child cooed and smiled up at you, and you were just as happy to see him.

“I got him, Mando,” you touched your ear to update your partner.

He breathed a sigh of relief, “Good,” he tried to keep his voice more level. It took him a long time to admit to himself how much he cared about you, and he wasn’t sure how to tell you. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to bring it up at all. But in the meantime, he would do whatever it took to protect you and the child. His family. “Meet me back at the front. There’s still more guys lurking, so be careful.”

“Got it. I think I hear some now,” you held the child tightly in your arms as you ran. You tried to backtrack your steps to reach the entrance, but you found yourself in another wing entirely. “Damn,” you cursed under your breath as you cradled the child. You could hear your attackers close in on you, and you were almost out of time. You tried to run in a different direction, but you could hear footsteps down that hall as well.

Your heart raced as you weighed your options. “Mando,” you hoped he could hear you on your comms, “I’m cornered.”

The sound of your name in his voice comforted you, “I’m still on the lower levels,” you could hear him fight off more men and you knew he would not reach you in time. The Mandalorian tried his best to work his way through the guards as fast as he could. Panic lined his movements as his mind wandered to dark places. What if something happened to you and the child? What if they killed you? Or captured you? No, he couldn’t let that happen.

A glance off the balcony gave you an idea, “How good have you gotten with that jetpack of yours?” you asked over your connection.

“Not as good as I’d like,” he replied before he paused. You could only imagine his body language as he asked, “Why?” He did not like where you were going with this.

“Cause we’re going to need a lift,” you were filled with adrenaline as you stared into the horizon.

“No, wait!” you could hear him shout in protest.

“No time!” you yelled back before you sprinted towards the balcony, “Hold on to me, little guy,” you tried to comfort the child as you ran.

“Shit,” you could hear him over the commotion as he moved as quickly as he could.

You held the child close to you and covered his head before you leapt off the edge of the balcony and started to freefall. The men who were chasing after you reached the ledge just a second too late, and they weren’t able to grab you before you jumped out of their reach. One obstacle avoided, you thought, one to go. You tried to hide your fear from the child as you squeezed your eyes shut and hoped the Mando would reach you in time.

Just as you were about to brace yourself to hit the ground, you felt strong arms catch you in mid-air. The impact took the breath out of you, and you opened your eyes once you steadied yourself. You were met with the familiar beskar helmet, and you let out a sigh of relief. “Nice catch!”

Mando couldn’t keep his gaze on you and the child, however, because you were still assaulted by blaster fire. He shifted you so that he only held you with one arm and pulled out his blaster to fire back. You were able to reach your blaster as well, and the two of you took out the last of the gang. Once they were all dead, the Mandalorian sheathed his blaster and wrapped his free arm around you so that he held you tightly with both arms. His grip was strong, and you felt safe in his arms. Once it was quiet, you found yourself lost in thought, and your thoughts landed on the bounty hunter. What you would give to fall asleep against him every night, or to even just tell him how you felt about him…

He was quiet as the three of you made your way back to the ship. When you stepped on board, Mando took the child from you and set him down to sleep. You watched him silently as you fidgeted with your hands. The baby cooed at him, and he caressed his face softly. Emotions overwhelmed you and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself.

Once he closed the door to separate the child from the two of you, his demeanor completely changed, “What were you thinking?” his voice was low but you could feel the anger there.

You flinched, “I was thinking I would do whatever it took to save the kid.”

“How could you be so reckless?” he pressed as he raised his voice. You almost missed the way his voice wavered. There was more there than anger, and he was grateful that you couldn’t see his face.

That irritated you, “It was either that or get shot, and I really didn’t want to get shot!”

“You know I don’t have this stable yet! What if I couldn’t get to you in time?” he shouted back.

“Well, you did,” you scoffed, “I don’t understand why you’re being such a hard-ass, Mando! We’re fine!”

“Because I can’t lose you!” He shouted before he realized what he said.

His angry, yet heart-filled confession took you off guard and you froze. “Mando,” you whispered as you sank down onto the bench against the wall. You were at a loss for words.

He sighed as he moved to sit next to you, “Listen,” he started in a softer voice, “I know you’d do anything for the kid. I would too,” he let out a dry chuckle, “But I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you too.”

You looked up at him slowly with wide eyes, “What?” You felt your face flush as your heart almost jumped out of your chest.

The bounty hunter held your hands, “You. The kid. I can’t lose either of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You’re so important to me,” he brought a hand up to caress your face and wipe away a tear that you didn’t realize had formed, “I love you.”

You leaned into his touch as the tension in the room faded away. “I love you too, Mando,” you spoke softly but sincerely as you nuzzled into his hand on your face and placed a kiss on his gloved palm. You could hear his breath hitch before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in to his chest. Being held in his arms felt even better than you ever imagined, and the bounty hunter held onto you as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let you go. Maybe that was his greatest fear. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not when you both found each other. Your love. Your family.

Notes: This was supposed to be just a little drabble but it ended up turning into a full fic lol. I liked the idea of Reader jumping out of a building and Mando catching her mid air and it just went from there. As always, thank you all for the love and support! And my Mando tag list is always open, so just let me know if you’d like to be added. I’m hoping next up will be the Equal Partners sequel and then some smut so there’s plenty more in the works!

Mando tag list: @ugly-wall-flower @spottedlekkudancer @smolashie @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @soapjay @ispilledmyink @bva14 @iamakindprincess @pascalisthepunkest @astronomyturtle @amazingiam00 @sinnamon-bunn @weirdowithnobeardo @sylvanas-lover @spaghetti-666 @hollandhiddles @lustriix @suuuckonmyballs @bi-readytobakepie-cry-and-die @catsandbats13

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #mando #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian imagine #mando imagine #Pedro Pascal

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ieattaperecorders · 4 years ago

Text

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 13: A Source of Ignition

Irrevocable actions are taken. CWs this chapter for eye trauma and mild violence.

Read on Ao3

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"How about now?" Sasha asked, from her seat by the computer. "I've deleted our files entirely, surely that's got to be worth something?"

"Still no," Tim said. "Can't write a damn word."

Jon pulled away from where he'd been standing by the wall, watching Tim's face grow more frustrated as he bent over Elias's desk, trying to put pen to paper.

"Told you it wouldn't work," he said, taking a deep breath. ". . . On to plan B, then."

"You sure about doing this?" Tim asked.

"I'm not sure about any of it. But this is the only other out I know of."

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small folding knife, hoping it wasn't too obvious why he'd had it on him in the first place. It ought to serve the purpose he'd need it for now.

"If this doesn't work," he cautioned, "you're all going to have to do the same thing. And I doubt I'm going to be very much help after this, at the very least I'll need assistance getting out . . . ."

"So we'll help you," Martin said, coming up beside him. His voice was quiet, and despite his best efforts had a tremor of unease in it, but his gaze didn't falter. "We'll get you out, set things off, then get you to a hospital."

"Right . . ." Jon breathed. "All right"

"Do you want help?" Melanie's voice was careful, unusually soft, and Jon couldn't help thinking about asking her the same question. A lifetime ago.

"No. I suspect it's important that I do it myself . . . by my own hand. A-and at this point I'm really just stalling, s-so . . . ."

He pulled just a little bit away from Martin, bracing himself against the desk. Bent forward.

And then.

A quick movement, and pain bloomed through him. The second jab was harder, and his hand faltered twice before reaching its mark. Then, darkness, and the knife fell from his hand. He felt something falter in him – a light going out, a breath released, a tooth forcefully pulled. Then he was on the floor, and someone was whimpering, and he realized it was him. He covered his mouth.

"It's worked!" Tim's voice. "Go, everyone – let's get this done."

From his place on the floor he was only vaguely aware of the others moving around him. A hand came down on his arm, and Tim said something near his ear that sounded like a question. Before he could even process the words there were hands around his waist, and he was grabbed and hoisted over Tim's shoulder. He collected his senses just in time to grip back as they started moving, making for the exit.

"Did you – did you all –" Jon muttered.

"We all left the letters, yeah," Tim assured him. "Don't worry about it. Just hang in there."

Jon's focus slid in and out, trying to stabilize himself against the pain and lightheadedness. He remembered a different late night in this place when he'd sat outside the room that Melanie had shut herself in -- back against the door because she didn't want him to come in but he couldn't bring himself to leave, phone that he'd called the ambulance with still gripped in his hand. When they took her away, the Eye filled his mind with images of transorbital injuries, lacerations, horrible accidents. How easy it was to pierce the brain, the agonies of infection, all the vivid, gory realities.

Maybe it had been trying to scare him off following her, or maybe it was just more horror to feed through him. Still, it was strangely comforting to have that knowledge now - to have medical realities and upper limits he could place on something so overwhelming, and he found himself going over them mentally as the others ran.

He was still contemplating aqueous and vitreous humors when he heard somebody shout shit. Tim stopped, and then Jon was slipping, then he was on the ground. One of his hands was on the stiff, carpeted floor, the other landed in a puddle of fluid which clung to his hand and sleeve. The smell hit his nose a moment later and told him it was petrol. He coughed once, and caught his breath.

"Wh- what's going on?" he asked. "Is there . . . ?"

He heard a familiar voice, and his entire body went cold.

"You'll want to stay exactly where you are," Elias said. "Rest assured I can keep an eye on all of you. And Jon, since you can't see you ought to know that the gun I'm holding is pointed at Martin."

Jon's breath caught in him, and the silence that followed was encompassing enough to hear the quiet, amused hm that Elias made before continuing.

"Well. It seems you've all been busy," he said. "You especially, Jon . . . sending knowledge across time isn't honestly something I thought was possible. But then, I suppose when time doesn't exist properly it makes getting around little things like causality a great deal easier."

"You knew. All along, you knew, didn't you?" Jon said softly, defeated. They'd been so close, and still they hadn't been fast enough. "You were just playing dumb this whole time."

"I'm flattered you'd think so, but no. It seems that whatever force has been keeping your secrets from me, its protection ended with your, ah, resignation. Regardless, at this point you can assume I'm caught up."

Jon heard a click, and a sharp inhale of breath.

"I said, stay where you are," Elias said. "I'd rather not finish it all this way, but I'm quite prepared to do so if necessary."

"Can't shoot all of us," Melanie's voice, low and serious. "Not before we reach you."

"You're absolutely right about that. However, I am certainly capable of killing at least one of you, probably a second as well before any of you reach me. Now, you, Melanie, you're probably not bothered by the thought of sacrificing two innocent people if it means getting your hands on me," his voice remained calm, detached and judgmental. "But I'm not so sure the others feel the same."

"As if you're planning to let us go–" that was Martin. His voice had gone high and tight, the way it did when he was frightened. "You're just going to kill us all anyway, if you've got the chance."

"On the contrary. As I see it, you all have what you wanted – you've solved your little mysteries and freed yourself from the Institute. I'd say our business with one another is more or less over. I'm perfectly content to let you all walk out of here unharmed."

"And we're just supposed to take it on faith that you won't -- I dunno, send some supernatural goon squad after us?"

"Of course, if you come after me again I will have to kill you, self defense, etcetera. But Jon down there can confirm I'm really not motivated by revenge," he said lightly. "You might be surprised how much of my professional circle has tried to kill me at one point or another."

"Pretty sure I wouldn't be," Martin muttered.

"So long as we end things here without any further firebug tendencies, you're all perfectly welcome to move on as far as I'm concerned."

". . . Until the world ends," Jon said darkly. "Until you end it."

"Well, obviously, yes. But you don't need to worry about that for a good, long while. It's evident I'll need to tinker with my initial plan considerably, going through an Archivist was clearly a misstep," he sighed. "I'll have to get back to square one, find some way of making myself the center of the ritual, ideally with a bit less discomfort than the route you took. It could take years, even decades. You might all live out your natural lifespans before things really get going."

The pounding pain in his head, the sound of Elias's voice, and the smell of petrol were all making him woozy, but his mind came back to what was still his pocket. He found his clean hand sliding into his coat, closing around the tiny store-bought thing he'd lit his last cigarette with. Slowly, he slipped it out and flicked it open, striking until he felt the heat of the flame beside his thumb.

"I see what you're doing, Jon," Elias sighed, in the tone someone might use with a teenager that they felt was ‘acting out.' "Planning to go out in a blaze of glory?"

"Hard to say," he grinned spitefully. "To be honest, I'm feeling very unpredictable right now."

"I suppose that would be climactic enough for you. But are you ready to take the others down as well? To die listening to their agonized screams as they burn?"

"Jon . . . ." Martin's voice. He sounded scared.

"It would be kinder than what will happen to them if you're allowed to go through with your plans," Jon said, but he felt himself waver. "A-and if I hear a gunshot, I'm not going to stop and find out if it hit. I'm just going to do it. So you should probably put the gun away."

"I think I'll keep it for now, thank you. Unless you're going to set us all ablaze if I don't?"

Jon was silent.

"That's what I thought. Now I'm sure you're enjoying all this attention, but let's be reasonable. You want to leave with your friends all alive, I'm willing to give that to you. Unless there's something else I can do to convince you to stifle your newfound pyromania?"

"I don't know, really . . ." Jon said honestly. "The only thing I want you to do for me is die. And I doubt you can be negotiated into that."

". . . Well. Since we appear to be at a stalemate, perhaps we should get to know each other a bit more." Jon felt the air grow heavy, felt the hair on his neck stand up as a vast and mindless power was channeled through the room. "Tim. You've always wondered what happened to your brother, haven't you? You know the generalities, of course, but the exact details . . . "

"Don't!" Jon straightened up, flicking the lighter closed. "There, all right? Just don't . . . ."

His stomach sank, and deep down he knew that they had lost the moment he'd hesitated to light the petrol. His head was pounding, and he felt himself sway. He was so, so tired.

"A wise decision. Now if you'd just place it carefully on the floor and slide it to your left . . . ."

He didn't, instead sticking the lighter back in his pocket. He stood slowly, being sure not to make any sudden movements. Elias likely wasn't pleased, but he said nothing.

"Martin?" Jon called. "Say something so that I know where you are . . . ."

". . . I'm here, Jon. Over here."

Holding a hand a few inches in front of him, Jon carefully followed the direction of the voice until his fingers brushed the edge of Martin's jumper. Martin's hand came to take his, helping to guide him. Without thinking much about it, Jon moved himself in front of Martin, folded their hands between them, and leaned into him.

"J-Jon? What are- " Martin stuttered, confused. He sounded scared . . . Jon felt sorry for him. He could still see the gun. "What are you doing?"

"If you're trying to shield him with your body, it wouldn't work," Elias sighed, sounding exasperated. "The bullet would just go through you."

"I know," Jon said softly.

"Then I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish."

"I'm not trying to accomplish anything. Not anymore," he said. "This is me giving up."

There was a thought that was cresting in his mind, just on the verge of being born. He tried not to contemplate it, not to let it fully form where it might be seen. Instead he focused on the pain, the roaring in his ears, the rough knit of Martin's clothing. The feeling of giving up, of surrender. Of letting whatever would happen next happen.

He heard rushing feet, a scuffle, and a crash, and he smiled against Martin's body. Heard Elias cry out and knew the others had moved, that they'd been brave and foolish and rushed him.

He heard the gun go off before he felt anything.

What he felt was an impact, as if someone had struck him in the back, then a tightness in his chest and warmth pooling in front of him. He heard a ragged sound come from Martin, and it was only then that he understood what had happened. The strength seemed to go out of his legs, and as he fell forward Martin crumpled under him. As his consciousness faded, he realized that Martin was bleeding too. Then his mind went out like a light.

#sdayl #time travel au #jon spends more than half of this chapter on the floor #i checked

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