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theladyofdeath · 3 years ago

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Engagement Pie {Elriel}

Naked Texts & Pie #5

Warning: nsfw. 18+. Dom/sub.

Written alongside @snelbz . Thank you for reading this awfully dirty mini-series that was just meant to be a drabble. (;

Azriel was about to have a panic attack.

Inside of his mind was not a pretty place to be, not that it lacked ideas of flowers and baked goods, but because it was a complete and utter mess.

All day, while Elain was gone, he had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off, unaware if he was doing everything right but sure hoping he was.

He was hoping it would be perfect.

He glanced at the clock.

He had about half an hour until she got home.

At this point, Azriel and Elain had been dating for a little over a year, and living with each other for nearly six months. Since Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, they knew, without a doubt, that they were meant to be together.

Then again, they had always known, just had never confessed it.

Their families had been less surprised by their sudden relationship and more surprised by the state they returned to the wedding reception in, but neither of them could find it in themselves to care. They were happy, blissfully, wonderful happy and in love.

Azriel opened the oven for the hundredth time, peeking inside to make sure things were still going smoothly. The pie was still there, it hadn’t run away, but it still didn’t have that beautiful golden brown crust that Elain’s always did. Sure, he could text her, ask what exactly he had done wrong, but that would ruin the surprise. He’d done his best to keep everything a secret so far. He wouldn’t ruin it now by texting her a question he could easily ask Google.

After doing so, it looked like he had done everything right, so he let it cook longer, forcing him to wait longer in anxious anticipation.

Azriel paced back and forth, fully aware that he had everything in place. He just needed the damn pie to hurry up and get done.

Elain would be home in twenty minutes, and Azriel needed to be in place when she walked through the door.

At ten until six, Azriel looked in the oven once more. It looked a little bit better, but not as done as he wanted it to be.

He’d wait until the last possible second. It wasn’t ideal, as there were other parts of his plan that required that pie to be done and, preferably, not piping hot, but he’d make do.

So he continued to pace in the kitchen until he heard the garage door rising, signaling Elain’s arrival home.

Hurrying to the oven, he threw the door open and pulled the pie out. The second it was exposed to the natural light of the kitchen, and not the watery bulb of the oven, he knew he fucked up.

It had bypassed golden brown and gone straight to brown, but thanks to the lighting in the oven, he couldn’t tell. He swore under his breath as he laid a towel on top of the washer and set the pie on top of it, letting it cool.

He’d ordered take out from Elain’s favorite restaurant, which had been delivered just a few minutes before, so thankfully even he couldn’t mess up dinner.

Right at six, he could hear Elain’s feet climbing the wooden steps to the front porch and he quickly sat at the kitchen table and popped open a bottle of wine, filling the two glasses.

When Elain entered, her purse on one shoulder, her keys in her hand, she stopped and a slow smile spread across her lips at the display.

“Wine and Rita’s?” she asked, setting her belongings down on the counter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Azriel smiled as he set the wine bottle down in the middle of the table. “Nothing special. You’ve just been working so hard that I wanted you to have a relaxing night with your favorite food.”

Her smile widened as she sat across from him, but then she stilled for a moment. “Do I smell…pie?”

“No,” Azriel said, then quickly changed his mind. “Yes. It was a candle.”

She blinked once, twice and said, “Huh. I didn’t know we had an apple pie candle.”

She let it drop after that, filling Azriel in on her day. It had been uneventful, a change from her usual hectic schedule, and she was grateful for that. The past month or so, she would come home, scarf something quick and easy down for dinner, and collapse in bed, ready to do it all again the next day. Tonight, she actually had some pep in her step.

“Dinner, wine,” Elain mused, running a finger over the back of Azriel’s hand. “Did you have anything else in mind tonight?”

One of her eyebrows was raised slightly and he knew exactly what she was referring to, which yes, he absolutely did, but first, he had something else he needed to do.

“Actually, yes,” he said, standing. He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Her other eyebrow had raised to match, clearly showing her surprise. “Okay.”

He disappeared for a moment, and when he returned, he held a pie in his hands, dark brown crust and all. It also had a massive “X” cut into the direct center. It didn’t look like a venting hole.

Covering the bottom half of her face with both of her hands, Elain tried to stop the giggles from bubbling from her lips, but she couldn’t. “I knew I smelled pie,” she said, still laughing.

“I sort of burnt it,” he admitted, setting it down in front of her.

“I see that,” she chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him. “I’m sure it will still be delicious.”

He was about to say something when she asked, “But what is that?” gesturing to the center of the pie.

“That….” Azriel started to say something, but wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was a nervous mess and not a lot currently made sense. “X marks the spot.”

Elain blinked. “What?”

“X marks the spot.”

She blinked, again. “I don’t follow.”

Azriel sighed. “Pirates… When they bury treasure… X marks the spot.”

Elain’s head fell to the side. “Babe, are you drunk? Are you high? Are you alright? You’re not-.”

Azriel sighed, and reached into the pie. His hand broke the crust, and Elain was so surprised by the gesture that she jumped, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “Az, what are you doing?”

His hand came back up a minute later, covered in apple filling. “You know, I had a whole, romantic thing planned out with the pie. Pie is our thing, and it was going to be cute as hell-.” His words fell off as he opened his hand, revealing a beautiful pear-shaped diamond on a thin, rose gold band.

Elain stared, her mind taking a second to process what she was looking at. He picked up one of the napkins from their dinner and wiped the ring off, as well as his hand, before dropping to one knee from the chair he was sitting in. With his clean hand, he took hers in his. He prayed she couldn’t feel it shaking as badly as he thought it was.

“I know we haven’t been together long, El, but I love you so much. You’re my entire world and my best friend. I can’t—.”

Elain’s lips crashed into his and they went tumbling to the kitchen floor. She pulled back, just enough to see his face and breathed, “Yes.”

Chuckling, Azriel said, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, kissing him again. “My answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

He sat up and Elain crawled off his lap, sitting next to him on the kitchen floor. He took her hand in his again. “Let me at least ask the important part, yeah?”

She was grinning like a fool, but she nodded, waiting for him to go on.

Resting the ring against the tip of her finger, Azriel asked, “Elain, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Yes. Yes! Of course, I will.”

He slid the ring onto her finger with shaky fingers before her mouth was crashing into his, once again.

Azriel wanted to ask that question for so long, and now that he had, not at all the way he had planned, it didn’t even seem like it had happened.

Yet, as she flung her arms around his neck, everything seemed completely and perfectly right.

Elain leaned back and peered at the ring. It was magnificent, lovely, perfect.

She slowly looked at Azriel. “You….hid it in the pie?”

He cringed, but laughed softly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Her eyes went wide and she glanced at the ring again. “You didn’t bake it with the ring in there, did you?”

“No, of course not,” he chuckled, pulling her back into his lap.

She went willingly, straddling his hips and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Okay, good. The pie would have been inedible then.”

“I think it’s inedible now,” he scoffed, his hands gripping her hips, while his lips found her neck.

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” she said, her voice going high and breathy.

“There’s something else I’d rather eat instead,” he replied, tilting her face down to meet his as his lips crashed into hers.

Elain hummed against his mouth as she fell into the kiss. After the millions of kisses that they had shared and the constant lovemaking that had come along with being helplessly, madly in love, Azriel never grew tired of being intimate with Elain.

In fact, he couldn’t get enough of it. Every time he was with Elain, he just wanted it more and more. He couldn’t grow tired of it, ever - it was impossible.

His hands swept up her back and tangled into her hair, and she cupped Azriel’s face in her hands.

He could feel the cool metal of her ring against his cheek.

Azriel rose, taking Elain with him, and laid her down on top of the table. Her head fell right next to the pie. She couldn’t help but glance over at it.

She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Something funny?” He asked, ducking away, trailing his nose down her neck as his lips found her collarbone.

“No.” It came out as more of a breathy moan than the sigh she was meaning it to be.

“Really?” His hands gripped her wrists, unwrapping them from around him, and he pinned them above her head with one hand. “That little laugh would suggest otherwise.”

His free hand began undoing the buttons on her shirt one by one, and Elain was practically vibrating beneath him by the time he was pushing her shirt to either side of her body.

Her bra was made of nothing but lace, and he could see her pebbled nipple through the fabric. He toyed with the idea of taking it off, but his lips closed over it, the rough lace scratching against the sensitive skin. She whimpered softly, her back arching off the table to better accommodate his mouth, and when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, the whimper became a moan.

Gazing up at her, he said, “Is anything funny now?”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip as she slowly shook her head. “No.” Azriel raised a brow. “No, what?”

Elain couldn’t help her spreading grin as pure excitement radiated throughout her body. “No, sir.”

Azriel smirked in return as he gave her his first order. “Stay still.”

“And if I move?” she asked, quietly. Since their first time, Elain learned that she liked to test her boundaries.

Azriel liked it, too - when she was naughty.

“Then I’ll stop,” he said, and slowly let go of her wrists before putting his fingers in the band of her black skirt and yanking it off. “And you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

She shook her head, watching everything he did, biting her lip. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table to hold herself in place. As he dragged her panties down, as slowly as he could, she wanted to reach out and touch him. She was nearly naked, while he was still completely clothed, but she figured that was exactly how he wanted her.

It typically was.

He was quite the tease, but Elain secretly enjoyed that fact.

Azriel took a step back from where she lay and crossed his arms as his eyes swept across her body, taking in every beautiful inch.

In response, Elain spread her legs wide for him.

Azriel took in a deep breath and nearly growled.

He loved the sight of her, longed for it, thrived on it. It made him weak in the knees, still, and he was certain it always would.

“I am amazed,” Azriel breathed, “by your beauty.”

His comment only made her spread her legs wider.

He smirked. “What do you want, sweet girl?” He trailed a finger up the inside of her thigh, getting so close to where she needed him, but not quite.

“You,” she sighed, but it sounded more like a gasp.

“I know that,” he drawled. “Be more specific.”

“Your mouth on me, please,” she replied, gripping the edge of the table harder.

Azriel smirked again as he gently brushed his thumb over her entrance and then circled her clit once. “You’re saying you want me to eat your pie?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her face.

“Yes, sir, please.” The words were breathy and quiet and he was fairly sure she was already trembling.

Azriel fell to his knees as Elain’s head fell back in pure ecstasy. It was the anticipation, the want, the need…

The second his tongue swept between her slick folds, Elain was already on edge.

Azriel had that effect on her.

Those hands that gripped the edge of the table tightened, and Elain’s eyes fluttered shut.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He had the first time, and he sure as hell did now as he took his clit between his lips and sucked, gently.

“Az,” she breathed, fully aware that when she said his name, it sent him wild.

He took her ass into his hands and pulled her closer to him.

She could never last long when his mouth was on her. The things he could do with his tongue made her see stars and she knew this time wasn’t going to be the exception. Azriel knew it, too.

He flicked his tongue over her clit and pushed a finger inside of her. “Are you close already, Lainey?”

She nodded, feeling his breath on her sex.

A second finger joined the first, and he curled them upward. “I couldn’t hear you. I said, are you close?”

“Yes, sir, I’m so close,” she panted.

Her arms were straining and he swore he heard the wood groan beneath her hands as she struggled to keep them where they were. It was surprising she’d held on for this long. He knew how badly she longed to have her hands in his hair or even kneading her own breast, still covered in that pretty, lace bra.

“Don’t come yet,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to the top of her sex.

He was torturous.

Purely evil, and yet, Elain thrived on it. Her entire body shook as pleasure swept through her. She was so close. So very close to the edge, ready to fall into the oblivion that was being loved by Azriel.

Her body jerked, and Azriel held onto her tighter.

Elain tried to obey, and tried to stay perfectly still, even though her entire body fought against it.

Azriel’s tongue continued to dance along her sex, continued to suck on her most sensitive of parts.

“I need you,” Elain begged.

Azriel didn’t respond, he only tugged her close, sucked her harder, praised her longer.

“Az, please.” It was more or a groan than anything else and he responded by sucking her clit between his lips and pulling hard. At the teeniest press of his teeth, she began to shake, and then he began to pump his fingers in and out.

Elain shattered, crying out and letting go of the table. Her hand dove into his hair and she lifted her hips, doing whatever she could to keep his face where it was.

Azriel worked her through her orgasm and when she stilled, he stood, wiping off his face and looking down at her. She was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, but that full bottom lip was caught between her teeth again as she watched him. She knew what was coming.

“You weren’t supposed to come yet,” he breathed, dragging a finger from top of her sex up her stomach and between her breasts. He reached her face and worked her lip from between her teeth. “You disobeyed me.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, even though she really, really wasn’t. The last thing she was was sorry.

“You’ll have to be punished now,” Azriel said, softly.

“Punished how?” Elain asked.

Azriel watched her for a moment before he said, “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, rolling onto her stomach, her ass in the air. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and raised his hand before smacking her across her ass.

Elain gasped at the contact and had to bite her lip to keep from exploding into a fit of delighted giggles.

The sharp intake of breath was her only response, she fought to keep in the quiet cry or moan that he wanted to draw from her. She was feeling bratty tonight.

Glancing down at the ring sparkling on her finger, she knew exactly why. She got to experience this sensual rush for the rest of her life. She was Azriel’s.

And he was hers. Forever.

His hand cracked against her skin again and she had to close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from moaning.

He did it again and again, but then he suddenly stopped.

“You’re getting even more wet for me,” he breathed, dragging a finger along her center. She was unable to stop her whimper. He added, “That’s not the point of a punishment.”

He knew exactly what his spankings did to her. He loved it, and if he kept on with it, she’d be dripping all over their kitchen table.

Without warning, he picked her up, carrying her into the living room and tossing her on the couch. She bounced gently, a pleased smile on her face.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he ordered, pulling his own shirt over his head.

Slipping the button down off her shoulders, Elain reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She watched as Azriel removed his belt and dropped it to the floor.

She tried not to let herself feel any disappointment as he discarded the belt. He’d used that once or twice before and the unyielding, stiff leather had drawn more than a few orgasms from her as he spanked her with it.

He popped the button on his jeans and said, “Touch yourself.”

Propping her feet up on the couch, she spread her legs for him and slid her hand over her pussy. He was right. She was soaked and so, so turned on. She circled her clit with one finger. She moaned softly, “But I want to touch you.”

“That’s too bad,” he replied, his eyes settling on her sex. “You’re being punished.”

She slid her finger between her folds, teasing herself. Adding a second finger, she just barely dipped them into her entrance, but no more than her finger tips. She was so sensitive, still riding the high of her orgasm and fought off a moan as she watched Azriel watch her.

Dragging the zipper down on his jeans, her eyes tracked the motion and she stilled, waiting for him to take them off.

“I don’t remember telling you to stop,” he said, regaining her attention.

Her fingers began slow motions, yet again, but she didn’t take her eyes off of where his own hands worked at removing his denim. She breathed, “And how long will this punishment last?”

Azriel’s eyes sparked as his chest rose and fell, slowly. “It’ll end when I want it to.”

Elain nodded as her fingers slid up inside of her and she let out a soft, low moan.

Azriel licked his lips as he tracked her every movement. “Keep up the good work and I may just let you choose your own punishment.”

“I’d rather have a reward.” Her voice was soft, low, but it was shaking slightly. The anticipation got her off just as much as her own fingers did.

He paused with his jeans hanging low on his hips. She could see the waistband of his black boxer-briefs underneath. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I want to touch you,” she said again, slipping both fingers inside herself again, deeper this time. Curling her fingers up, she reached for her g-spot, eyes falling shut when she skimmed over it. Her head fell back against the cushions and she groaned.

His approach was silent, but she felt his hand on her face and when she opened her eyes, he was standing in front of her. His cock was in his hands and he stroked it once. “You want to touch me?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” She continued to pump her fingers in and out and licked her lips as her eyes bounced between his eyes and his thick, proud length. It was just a few inches from her face.

“How do you want to touch me, Elain,” he asked, dragging a thumb over her bottom lip.

It was that tone, that deep, sensual tone of his that drove her mad.

“I want to take your cock into my hands,” she breathed, the words hitched. “Into my mouth.”

Azriel hummed, as if he was debating it. He nodded to the fingers that were pumping in and out of herself. “You can touch me when you’re finished touching yourself.”

Elain nodded, her hand moving faster as she pumped those two fingers in and out, then another, easily sliding in alongside the others.

Azriel stroked himself, slowly, again and again as he watched.

Elain’s other hand trailed between her legs and she began to circle her clit, pulling a loud moan out of herself. As her two hands worked, she drew closer to the edge, and Azriel’s breathing grew shallower.

Her words were high pitched and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she asked, “Can I come? Please, I’m so close.”

He ran his thumb over her lip again and waited until she was looking up at him. And then he smirked. “No, baby, you can’t.”

Elain wasn’t proud of the whine that she let out, but she slowed her fingers. She didn’t withdraw them, because she knew he wouldn’t like that, but stopped circling her clit. If she didn’t, she was going to come and as fun as another punishment really would be, she wanted her reward.

“Good girl,” he crooned, tilting her chin up to look at him. She’d been staring at his cock. There was a milky bead of precum on the tip and she wanted to lean forward and lick it off.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he ran his thumb over the thick head, spreading the wetness over the length. She tried not to whine again.

“You want me in your mouth?” He asked, shifting his hips forward slightly.

“Please,” Elain breathed, nodding eagerly.

“Do you think you’ve been punished enough?”

She frantically nodded, and Azriel wondered if she even knew she was bucking her hips, searching and needing release. He loved when she got like this, so needy and begging for whatever he’d give her.

Instead of giving her what she wanted though, he crouched, taking the hand that had been circling her clit in his. Raising it to his lips, he licked the tips of her fingers. He moaned quietly. “I will never get tired of the taste of you.”

Elain whimpered softly, her other hand still pumping in and out of herself.

“Do I taste as sweet to you as you do to me?” He asked, leading that hand back to her swollen clit and stood.

She began the slow circling again and nodded, and he knew if she was incapable of speaking, she was going wild with lust.

In the quietest of voices, Azriel said, “Prove it.”

Elain wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of his cock and lathering him with her tongue. Azriel let out a long, slow breath at the contact and when her finger slowed against her clit, he shook his head. “Don’t stop.”

Elain moaned, and the vibrations against him had Azriel’s fingers weaving their way into her hair as Elain took Azriel further into her mouth.

She continued the slow circling of her clit, but slipped the rest of her fingers from wet pussy. She reached for his cock, to wrap around what wouldn’t fit in her mouth, but he caught her hand. Her fingers were glistening, still costed in her essence, and he brought them to his mouth. “We can’t waste that,” he murmured, before sucking them between his lips one by one.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned softly as he released her hand and slipped his free hand into her hair as well, absolutely controlling her and the pace with which she worshiped him.

Or so he thought.

Opening her throat, Elain took him as deeply as she could, gazing up at him as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Azriel was unable to stop the groan as he fucked her mouth and throat with no abandon, until she began to gag softly.

He withdrew himself, dropping his jeans the rest of the way, and sat down on the couch next to her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her roughly. “That’s new,” he crooned, his lips dragging down her neck.

Her laughter was sensual as she continued to stroke him. “I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t think you’d be surprising me, too,” she admitted, bringing her hand up to admire the diamond sparkling on her finger.

Azriel wrapped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips, where he kissed the back of her hand, just below her ring.

“I’m just glad you’re not asking me to wait for this again until our wedding night,” he murmured.

Elain grinned. “I don’t think I would survive the wait. I’d have to marry you tomorrow.”

Azriel’s eyes sparkled as he took her hips and pulled her on top of him. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

Elain moaned quietly as Azriel teased her at her opening. “I don’t know. I kinda wanna make you wait.”

“That, and you want a big wedding,” he said, leaning up and trailing kisses along her throat.

“Not a big wedding,” she replied, trying to lower her hips. His grip was firm though, and she only managed another inch, teasing herself just as much as he’d been teasing her.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she tried to rock her hips, wanting more of him inside of her. He still held firm.

His smirk was devilish when she looked up into his face. “I never said you were done being punished.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. She squirmed and his grip on her hips tightened, his smile growing. “Az, please.”

“Hmm?” He leaned up again, capturing her lips with his and his thumb found her clit. Her body gave a jerk and her thighs burned with how hard she was trying to lower herself onto him.

Pulling away, she pressed her forehead against his. “Please… I’ll be a good girl for you. I won’t come until you tell me to. I just need to feel you inside of me.”

He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth and released his hold on her hips.

She sank down onto him, not gently in the slightest, and moaned as he filled her in one rough stroke. She bucked her hips, not rising but needing the friction as her lips crashed against his.

It was thrilling. There was always a rush that consumed Elain’s body the moment he filled her. A spark of excitement that never grew old, never faded.

Azriel knew it, too. There was a look that crossed her face that only showed itself the moment he entered her.

It was beautiful.

Consumingly gorgeous.

Elain’s head fell back as she rocked her hips - her hips that Azriel’s fingers were digging into, yet again, but he didn’t guide her.

She did that perfectly well on her own.

With his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Azriel’s eyes scanned Elain’s body, from her tilted back head, to her breasts at eye level, then to where they were connected.

“Better?” Azriel asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyelids fluttering shut.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and brought her lips to his. The kiss was not gentle, but he knew that wasn’t how she wanted it. Sure, they had sweet, soft sex sometimes, something they both adored on occasion, but nothing drove Elain wild as much as rough sex did. He had never dreamed she’d be as submissive as she was but gods, he was so glad of it. She was the other half he’d been waiting for and the fact that she was his for the rest of his life…

He growled quietly as he pressed his other hand to the small of her back and rocked his own hips up into her. She gasped against his lips and braced her hands on his shoulders as they found a rhythm that had her groaning his name.

There were very few things that pleased Azriel more than hearing his name on Elain’s mouth while they fucked. It broke him, unleashed something unearthly.

His hips thrust harder up into her, and each time he did so, his name grew louder and louder on her lips.

Azriel felt that magnificent, familiar feeling rising within him but he didn’t move his eyes from Elain. Her face was still close to his, her breath hot against his mouth. He cursed before kissing her, yet again, bringing her lip between his teeth and gently tugging.

Before she could anticipate it, he flipped them so they were laying on the couch, his body covering hers, and lifted one of her legs so it rested on his shoulder. It opened her up, allowing him to thrust harder, deeper, and she began clawing at his back. She cried out, and he groaned as she screamed his name.

His fingers gripped her chin and her lust-filled gaze found his. That hand slid between them and found her clit. The next thing he said wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

“Come for me.”

Elain did. She shattered, her body shaking with the force of the orgasm that slammed into her.

Azriel couldn’t hold on much longer, the feeling of her coating him, spasming around him, having him meeting his own end.

He came, one hand digging into the couch cushions, the other gripping her ass. His fingers would surely leave a mark.

Elain didn’t mind.

He fell onto her body, breathing heavily, sweat coating his skin. As Elain caught her breath, her arms wrapped around him.

His face was buried in her neck, and she felt his lips moving and heard him murmuring before she could understand what he was saying. But then she heard him, clearly, and she wondered how it had taken them years to realize it together.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His words weren’t just a quiet praise and reminder, but also a promise, as strong as the one that she now wore on her finger.

He pulled back, his eyes finding hers, even as his chest was still heaving as he caught his breath. Reaching up, she ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I love you, too.”

His gaze was soft as she leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. They stayed like that for a few minutes, slowly kissing each other, not in any hurry to start anything up again, but just enjoying the taste and feel of each other.

When Elain’s stomach growled, however, Azriel pulled back and looked at her with a raised brow.

“Work up an appetite?”

She laughed, quietly. “Maybe so.”

“Well, Rita’s is gone,” Azriel muttered, “but, there’s pie.”

Elains laughter grew louder, and even Azriel couldn’t help but smile down at her.

“It’s a little burnt, but I’m sure it tastes alright,” he went on. "Maybe."

“Pie sounds good,” Elain said, eyes bright. “Even if we can only eat the filling.”

Azriel scoffed. “That’s the best part.”

“True,” she agreed, and rolled off the couch from beneath him. “I’m going upstairs to clean up. Meet me in bed.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked over her shoulder. Azriel's eyes scanned every inch of her body as she said, “You bring the pie.”

Azriel was off the couch before she could finish her sentence, doing just that.

#elriel #part 5 #NT&P #acotar #fanfiction

184 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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i’ll keep you in mind, from time to time

cactus anon said: had a little dream about daddy tomura, but it's when his princess gets sick... like very sick. seemingly out of nowhere. we know he's always cautious about your health and well being, so this is odd to say the least. you could have got it simply from getting the mail or sitting out on the balcony. well you see, daddy has a very strict rule when he's working - you mustn't disturb him when he's in a vital meeting. and you feel so ill that you know you can't just wait until he's done (whenever that will be - it's hard to tell sometimes). you feel like you have no choice but to ask for help 🥺 and there's not many people daddy would allow in his home to come see you when he's not present. except for... dabi...

genre: angst

notes: is this set in the bmb universe????? tbh, yeah, probably. i wrote this with bmb tomura and bmb dabi in mind (my mind just goes straight to bmb tomura the moment i see daddy tomura ehehe). do you need to read the monster that is bmb before reading this? absolutely not, since it’s technically a prequel of sorts! | title credit: moose blood’s first album ehehehe

warnings: sad boi dabi, very sick reader, it’s implied that tomura has cut her off from everyone she knows, pining, daddy kink, mention of drugs

words: 2.9k

Nestled under Tomura’s fluffy comforter and curled in on yourself in his mammoth bed, your silk babydoll sticks to your damp, sweaty skin, teeth clattering together so violently it’s almost painful, even though your flesh is scalding to the touch. It’s a surprise that Daddy can’t hear it, that incessant clackclackclack echoing down the vacant halls, a surprise he didn’t come running immediately—like he always does—at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers as you burrowed deeper into his mattress.

He must be really, really busy today.

And you know better than to interrupt him when he’s really, really busy.

But—But it all hurts so much, head pounding with such vigour you can barely see straight, muscles aching and weak, a loud whine escaping your lips as you roll over, groping around in the blankets for your phone. It’s too bright when you finally locate it, eyes squinting and a hiss catching in your throat as you bring the screen too close to your face, quickly scrolling through your contacts in a desperate attempt to find someone—anyone—to come to your rescue.

You know you should wait. Really, you should. Your Daddy is jealous, and protective, and possessive, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s going to be upset when he finds out that you called someone else to take care of you.

But—But it could be hours until Daddy’s done with his work—sometimes he spends the entire night in that stupid wood-paneled office, and you can’t risk it. It’s terrifying, this nightmarish illness that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with its sudden onslaught of concerning symptoms worsening by the second, and you’re beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong, the thought sending icy spikes of anxiety shooting through your veins.

No, you can’t risk it—you can’t wait.

A thumb hovers over your mother’s name in hesitance, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider. Her place isn’t necessarily close, but she’s the relative that’d be able to reach you the fastest—even so, it’d take her at least two hours to get here, and that’s assuming there’s no traffic on the roads. But she isn’t exactly fond of your boyfriend, and the last thing you want to deal with while feeling like you’re dying is a fight between the two of them. You know how nasty they can get.

So you keep scrolling, fingers halting for a second time as your best friend’s name flies past your eyes.

It’s been months since you last spoke—Tomura being the topic of your last conversation, of your last fight. You’re spending too much time with him, they had claimed, eyes cloaked in a glossy sheen of tears as they frenetically searched your face, almost begging you to understand. It’s unhealthy! It’s unnatural! They had said with a vicious shake of their head. He has you in a fucking chokehold, can’t you see that?

Eyelids squeeze shut tightly against the familiar burn of tears, their last few words echoing through your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and reverberating, louder and louder and louder—

No. You can’t do this right now, your head throbbing in retaliation, a painful lump nestling into the column of your throat. It’s too much, too much, and you don’t want to think anymore, can feel that neediness rooting deep at the core of your body, a longing to just be taken care of and nurtured, frantically scrolling back up as urgent eyes search the names blurring by on the screen. A gasp falls from your lips as his name whirs by, fingers scrambling to scroll back down and find it again.

Dabi.

Daddy trusts Dabi, doesn’t he? Daddy likes Dabi, right? They’re friends, aren’t they? Out of all of the people you just scrolled through, Dabi is evidently the best choice, the most correct choice, is he not?

Your thumb trembles a little as it levitates over his name—you don’t know him well, have only spoken a mere handful of words to him in the six months you’ve been dating Tomura, but...but he appears to be your only hope.

His voice is rough when he answers, abruptly cutting through the dull second ring, evident surprise bleeding into it when you whimper out your name, mumbled against the receiver. He regains his composure a moment later, tone hardening as he asks you why the fuck you thought it’d be a good idea to call him, of all people.

Tears blur your vision, sniffling a little as you explain the situation, frail voice breaking as you tell him about how you’re terrified you’re dying, and Daddy’s too busy, and last time—last time you interrupted him you got in real big trouble, and he’s your only hope, you need him, and please, Dabi?

And God, he’s chuckling into your ear, low and hoarse and inspiring a flock of butterflies to soar through your stomach, a sensation you swear is from whatever sickness has infected your body. You’re so lucky you’re fucking cute.

He hangs up directly after that, doesn’t spare you a second to respond, arriving at in penthouse in ten minutes flat, and you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier to see his tattooed face.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he sees you, curled up beneath the fluffy comforter, strands of hair shining with sweat and sticking to your skin. Pace quickening, he places his knuckles against your forehead, your sore eyes slipping shut at the cool relief his skin provides. A sharp hiss slips through his clenched teeth and he yanks his hand back, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat as you try to follow his touch.

A head of inky tousled hair shakes back and forth as he hastily leaves Tomura’s bedroom. Glass and ceramic clink together, the sound echoing down the hall, as Dabi roots around in the kitchen, swearing softly to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

A cup of water is in his hands when he returns a few moments later, aspirin clutched in his other fist, still muttering under his breath about the thermometer not being where it’s supposed to be, and why the hell doesn’t Shigaraki have any cold and flu meds like, at all?

Perching on the edge of Tomura’s bed, he acts as if it’s such an inconvenience to him, as if he’s so annoyed that you’re sick and needy, but he really doesn’t hide it well enough. Because you see through his thinly veiled act even in your inebriated state—see the concern in his sapphire eyes as his eyebrows push together just a little, a tiny crease forming between them, see the way the corners of his lips keep pulling downwards with every single one of your pathetic little noises. A heavy sigh leaves his chest a moment later, body shuffling towards you, cobalt eyes still saturated with worry.

A large hand pets your sweaty hair, soft and gentle as the other tilts a glass of full water towards your lips, Dabi’s deep voice startlingly soft as he orders you to drink, princess.

And he doesn’t mean for the nickname to slip out, tells himself he only used it because he’s so accustomed to hearing Tomura use it—accustomed to hearing Tomura overuse it—panic’s sharp claws gripping his heart the moment it leaves his lips. But you seem too sick, too delirious, to notice or care, obediently swallowing the pills just like he told you to.

Good girl.

The praise just slips out too, those two simple words falling from his lips unconsciously, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and he chooses to focus on the fact that you drank the entire glass instead of the cute noise you make in response to his commendation, a trembling hand placing the empty cup on the oak bedside table.

The mattress dips as he prepares to get up, to move away, to put some much needed, necessary distance between the two of you, but a small, clammy hand catches his forearm, his entire body freezing in shock, stiff and still like a marble statue.

Sapphire eyes snap to the tiny hand gripping his arm, hyper-aware of the heat radiating off the sticky palm and seeping into his skin, and then dart to your face, wide and frenetic. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he wants to snap, words turning to ash on his tongue. Because, Christ, you look like you’re about to fucking cry, staring at him through your lashes with those terrified eyes, begging him softly, shyly, not to leave.

“I’m not leaving,” he says with a roll of his eyes, yanking his arm free from your weak grasp, a soft whine escaping your lips as you grope the air for him again. “I’m 90 percent sure you have a dangerously high fever—there’s no way I’m going to leave you on your own until your asshole of a boyfriend is done doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. I’m just gonna move to that chair over there—”

“No!” you gasp, coughing on the word in your haste to reach for him again. “Please, stay, here,” you look down at the bed pointedly, gazing drifting back to his a moment later. “H-Here, with me,”

Dabi isn’t stupid. He knows Tomura will be seeing red the moment those scarlet eyes meet ice blue when he re-enters his bedroom from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls. But when your boss’s plaything, his most prized possession, calls you in tears blubbering about how she’s sure she’s about to fucking die, well—coming by to take care of her is the lesser of two evils, don’t you think? Really, Tomura should be thanking him.

But Tomura returning from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls to meet ice blue in his bed, next to said prized possession? Well, that’s a different story entirely.

He’s frozen as he mulls over it, your blunt nails digging soft, tiny crescents into his flesh, little marks that will fade only a few moments after you let go.

“I can’t do that,” he says softly, almost regretfully, and his tone of voice surprises him, startles him, scares him. Clearing his throat, he steels himself, pulling free from you again. “It isn’t right,”

“Please, Dabi,”

He’s sure you don’t miss the sharp, sudden intake of air sucked through his mouth when those two words leave your lips. He’s positive of it, because then you do it again.

“Please, Dabi,”

Your voice is softer this time, and the look he gives you is nearly heartbreaking, the perfect picture of a man being torn apart from the inside out, tortured and beautiful all at once.

“I—”

“Just until I fall asleep?” You try to bargain, bottom lip pushing out into an involuntary pout. Crystal eyes hold yours for a second longer before he sighs, chest heaving with the force of it.

He isn’t happy about it, about his apparent inability to say no to you, grumbling about it the entire time—you’re such a little fucking brat, y’know that? and only until you fall asleep, understand?—as he settles back against Tomura’s stupidly massive headboard, body going rigid and words hitching in his throat the moment you latch onto one of his thighs, nuzzling your face into his hip.

And really, he should tell you to get the fuck off of him. He should push you away, scold you for such behaviour, remind you that it’s wrong. He should. He wants to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

The realization has his heart pounding against his rib cage, breath stilling in his lungs and then accelerating, escaping his nostrils in short, quick huffs, lithe fingers curling in the cotton sheets underneath him. Don’t be a fucking coward, his inner voice growls at him, berating himself for such disgusting weakness. It doesn’t matter if she’s fucking sick, that isn’t an excuse!

Because that’s why he can’t find his voice, right? That’s why his fingers are twitching with the need to comb through your hair and caress you jaw, right? That’s why your cheek, burning hot through his black jeans as it snuggles into his upper thigh, sends a whole slew of unfamiliarity—excitement and terror and all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, can’t begin to explain—rushing through his body, right?

Yes, that’s why. Of course that’s fucking why.

The thoughts cycle through his mind like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times, branding them into the tissues of his very brain itself, will make them true.

That’s why he allows you to sleep on him. That’s why his stomach flutters at the way your tiny fingers curl in the denim of his jeans as they readjust, pulling him closer. That’s why it feels like a zap of electricity buzzes through his veins as you murmur his name in your sleep, whimpering a little as your leg hitches over his calf.

That’s why. He’s sure of it.

His head snaps up the moment the double doors fly open, and he’s never been more relieved to see his boss’s face in his life.

Those crimson eyes scan the room twice—the first time quick, frantic and furious, the second slow, cold and calculating—before they finally connect with cobalt, gaze blazing.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Dabi breathes, words slipping from his lips subconsciously, body shooting off of the bed as if the mattress had pierced him, his movements jolting you awake. “She called me,” he snaps before Tomura can speak again, bewildered ruby eyes darting between the two of you. “She’s sick as a fucking dog, boss,” the words are spit between clenched teeth, all those nasty feelings, the feelings delayed by you, no doubt—anger, hate, jealousy, melancholy—finally surfacing, bubbling and boiling in the center of his chest. “She was too scared to interrupt your work, so she called me,”

And Dabi can see it, the vicious jealousy that flashes in Tomura’s eyes, can see the way it makes his jaw clench, makes his molars grind together, makes his breath slice through the air with each sharp exhale through flared nostrils.

“Daddy,” you whine, tears collecting in your eyes, glimmering in the golden sunlight as it sinks beneath the horizon. “D-Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so much,”

All of the derision etched so deeply, so firmly into Tomura’s face melts away in an instant as you make grabby hands for him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving gleaming trails of salt water in their wake, little half-sobs of that stupid pet name hitching in your throat.

“Now that you are no longer preoccupied,” Dabi draws Tomura’s attention back towards himself, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring his boss to retaliate. “I’ll be leaving. I trust that you can take care of her now, yeah?”

The words are practically snarled out, almost patronizing in tone, but he doesn’t wait for a response, tucking his head down as a shoulder knocks against his boss while stomping out of the room, heavy boots echoing throughout the quiet penthouse. Eyes squeeze shut tightly as he tries to ignore Tomura’s gentle coos, tries to ignore your cute, pathetic little wails and whimpers of Daddy, Daddy!, tries to ignore the sudden inexplicable ache that sears through his chest, settling deep at the core of his body and throbbing.

He can still smell you on his fucking skin, dainty notes of tiger orchid and toffee clinging to him. He promises himself he’ll hop in the shower and scrub any remnants of you off his flesh the moment he steps foot in his own apartment. He vows to himself that he’ll will this stupid, irksome feeling away—that he’ll rid himself of this irritating worry and unfamiliar concern the moment he gets home.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to get you out of his head, soft needy whines of his name and perfect pouty lips invading his mind like a virus, infecting all of his thoughts, worming their way through his brain like some sort of invasive parasite.

The whole excursion lasted a mere two hours, even though Dabi was sure he spent the entire day with you in that bed, leaving nearly his entire evening free, just like he wanted.

That is what he wanted, isn’t it?

Of course it is. Of course.

So why does he spend the entire night wondering if you’re okay, if Tomura is taking good care of you, if he called his personal doctor to come check and diagnose you? Why does he waste hours typing out a short text message to send to you, only to erase it and type it out again, over and over and over, chewing his bottom lip raw in the process? Why does he dream of you that night, of soft smiles and glittering eyes, cute giggles and tiny palms burning his skin, gentle whispers and Please, Dabi?

Why?

And he should be shoving these feelings away, should be burying them deep within himself, should be numbing them with soft white powder and pretty white pills, should be forgetting them.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #dabi angst #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #heLP ME OBI WAN KENOBI YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE #ehehehehe im sorry its just #there's one line in here inspired by that hahaha #you'll know it when u read it #AAAAAH ANYWAY #FOR ALL OF U CRAVING BMB CONTENT AS I CONTINUE TO WORK ON PART THREE #WOOOOOOO I HOPE U LIKE IT CACTUS!!

579 notes · View notes

cloud9in · 3 years ago

Text

Promises (Poppy x MC) Part (2/?)

Read Part ONE (summary for fic is there)

ITS BEEN A MINUTE. @iamsimpforpoppy I hope you’re still around to read :P I love this story lol. Hope you guys do too!!!

Word Count (2.8k)

Bea and Poppy’s relationship became official a month after their initial meeting. One would say they moved quickly, too quickly. But every love story is different. This one in particular seemed to have little to none flaws, if you ignored the fact that Bea was promoted to Carter’s right hand woman in the Southside Spades.

They did end up having that conversation after all.

“…Are you sure Carter? I mean this is a huge deal and a special role-“

“If I didn’t think you were capable you wouldn’t be here right now Goldilocks.”

Carter winked and clinked his half empty beer bottle against Bea’s, who surprisingly had a nearly full bottle. He took note of the abnormality.

The blonde instinctively rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Okay but that name has to go. We need codenames……ooooh how about bimbo and himbo.”

“I’m guessing…..no, hoping I’m the himbo?!” Carter comments as he promptly tries to stop the laugh escaping from his lips.

“Mmmmmmm, I’ll get back to you on that.”

They share a laugh and Bea feels Carter’s gaze latch onto her in her peripherals. She could sense the shift of energy in the space between them, it almost felt uncomfortable, and that was something she never felt with Carter. “I never asked you if you were okay with such a role. If you aren't, I understand completely, I just want the best for you.”

The blonde eyes soften at his comment and she looks at him, “never doubted that, where is this going though because you never express your feelings like a normal human being.”

He pulls on the strings of her hoodie until it completely caves around her face, burying her whole.

“Hey asshole!”

“That’s for talking too much.”

Bea yanks her hoodie open and sticks her tongue out in a mock expression. “Oh boohoo. Poppy literally says the same thing, I don’t get it. I talk, it’s a problem. I don’t talk, it’s an even BIGGER problem. Damn a girl can’t ever exist in peace.”

Carter places his bottle flat on the table and studies the blonde’s face.

She kept rambling on about her new girlfriend and the gang leader didn’t know it was possible to feel happy yet anxious at the same time. He was aware of when they entered the talking stage, went on their first date, and finally became official, because Bea told him everything. As much as the experience of being in a real relationship was new to her, Bea looked up to him and somehow she knew Carter would give her the best guidance possible.

It didn’t stop him from worrying. Like an older brother would. He feared the two would mix, and everyone knows that love and crime will eventually combust. He is no stranger to it.

“Bea.”

“Did you know she stole one of my hoodies and actually won’t give it back?? What am I supposed to do, just take it? No she’d murder me.”

“Jackson.”

Her voice slowly dies down after sensing the seriousness in his tone. She takes a sip of her beer to ease the silence that sat in the air, and Carter responds shortly after.

“You know I trust you with my life right? You’re very important to me, kid.”

“I know.”

Guilt was a feeling he chose to lock away in an unbreakable box and bury six feet deep. There couldn’t be guilt in a lifestyle like this. But Bea was his only exception. And she was slowly bringing that box back up to the surface.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t let these two worlds collide.”

“Carter….”

“One of you will get hurt. And I won’t forgive myself if it’s you.”

He leaves Bea at the table, the remnants of his comment still replaying in her head. She pulls out her phone and sees a text from Poppy on her lockscreen.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Can’t wait to see you tomorrow 😘

The blonde smiles unconsciously and opens the message to respond.

I’m missing you like crazy. I have a special surprise for you.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- You know I highly dislike surprises, just tell me.

And ruin the surprise? You must be crazier than I thought.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Jackson.

Patience babe…tomorrow it is.

Bea clicks her phone shut and slips it back into her pocket before downing the rest of the beer.

***

“You know your hand on my ass only makes them stare even more Jackson?”

Bea bites her lips and gropes the blonde’s plump backside shamelessly while slowly whispering into her ear.

“That’s the point, princess.”

Poppy shivers almost instantly at the boldness. “Is this the surprise you were talking about?” Bea doesn’t answer, instead trailing her hand up Poppy’s skirt. This was definitely not the time and place for such behavior but she was clearly still learning everything about her girlfriend.

And it definitely felt good to call her that.

“Since when did you get so brazen? You know you’re exactly the type of person my daddy told me to stay away from.”

Bea laughs at that statement and wraps her arm around the blonde’s waist, “yeah? And why’s that?”

“Well I can’t ask him now, he might rough you up and that’s my job.”

Poppy could feel the stares of everyone burning into them, but she could only focus on the blonde cuddled up against her. The shorter girl wouldn’t call herself an attention whore, but she sure loved the PDA that Bea projected without a care. It felt nice to be genuinely admired in public rather than putting on a mask everyday.

But it’s safe to say that Poppy preferred all the handsy stuff to happen in private.

“Do you want to grab dinner with me tonight Pops?”

“Am I picking the place?”

“…Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Bea rolls her eyes at the blonde’s downright shady self but smiles nevertheless.

“Now don’t cancel on me out of the blue. I will not be thrilled about it.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you this? Your dad always has something going on in his business that somehow has to involve you too.”

Poppy sighs and glances over at Bea, “well you know I’ll have to take over eventually. Especially since I’m legally allowed to handle deals now.”

“I hate that word. Legal. Ugh.”

The shorter girl scoffs and plants her hands on her hips, “yeah I bet you do.”

***

Bea dragged open her closet in search of clothes for dinner tonight but the dinging noise of a text distracts her.

C-Dog🖤- Need you tonight. Something came up, meet us at the garage.

Bea wanted to thank the gods up above that she didn’t promise Poppy that she’d show up for dinner. But that wasn’t going to save her from the fury of the blonde. Good thing it can’t get worse than that, right….?

Only it was. And Poppy will probably beat her up herself, if she wasn’t dead by the next day.

Bea’s mind and heart races as she digs her brain for a proper excuse to tell her girlfriend, but is very unsuccessful. She’s good at drug dealing though.

Going with the good ole truth never really hurt right?

Baby I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Got held up with the gang. I know I’m an asshole, I’ll keep in touch I swear.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- What else could I expect from my gang banger girlfriend 🙄 please stay safe..

You know I always do.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Do I? We need to talk about this tomorrow.

Of course Pops.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Call me every chance you get or I swear I’ll track you and trust me you do not want me to do that.

Yeah she definitely doesn’t. Especially since Carter sounded frantic over the phone. The last thing Bea needed was a paranoid girlfriend, so she played it cool like always.

Just simple stuff baby girl, talk soon.

***

“…What do you mean it’s gone?! So where is it? Do you know what this means Carter??”

The gang leader sighs frustratingly, rubbing his eyes in efforts to gain some stability. “The product was here, and now it is not. Which can only mean it was stolen. And when I find out which son of a bitch did it, they’re dead.”

“In the meantime, we are dead”, Bea emphasizes wildly. “This is the Red Raven gang we’re talking about. If they get any inclination that we lost their drugs, they’ll kill and replace us. No mercy. None.”

The blonde paces back and forth trying not to think about buying a plane ticket to Timbuktu.

Carter approaches Bea and plants his hands on her shoulder, “breathe Jackson. You are my partner. The leader of this gang. So get it out of your system and start being rational.”

The blonde lets her shoulders sag as she inhales and exhales in place for a while. The minute she’s grounded she catches Carter’s gaze and her eyes light up. “List. I need a list of whoever went in the room with all of the product. We need to narrow it down.”

***

“Jackson you’re a fucking genius.”

“It’s called having common sense but I’ll take the praise. It’s the only one I’m getting from you anyways.”

Carter resisted the urge to pick a fight with the younger girl, because finding stolen drugs and not getting killed seemed like a much better idea.

Bea figured out that Henry, one of the newly recruited members of SS was a thief, or maybe just a crackhead. Same thing. He was the last to be in that room so all eyes were on him, and guns.

“Heyyy buddy. Henry right?”

The shorter man trembled at the sight of a gun lodged right into his mouth. “Mmmm!”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you want to say something? Here let me just”, Bea clicks the gun which only causes the thief to panic even more. It was almost pitiful.

“Alright lay off the poor sucker.”

Bea pulls the gun out of his mouth and sits down on a stool in front of Henry with a grin. “So…where is the stash darling?”

He points almost immediately to a built in storage locker with a shaky finger.

“Ohhh well that was so easy Henry! Glad you could comply. You should tell your friends to be more like you. But…between me and you, they might already be dead”, Bea whispers that last part slowly, smirking when Henry’s lip quivers violently.

“Please just do it already! Why are you guys waiting?”

Bea raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced over at Carter who scanned the man’s face intensely. “I guess he wants to die? Talk about kinks I mean come on”

“No.”

Carter reaches his arm out towards Bea but never takes his eyes off Henry. The blonde watches in confusion until she realizes the thief is looking behind her, and so is Carter.

“It’s a setup Bea, duck!”

She dived for the ground quicker than lightning as a bullet flies through the air, leaving a trail of dust behind. Carter ducks for cover as well and starts firing rounds towards the men who snuck up on them. He managed to hit three of them but one grabs Bea by the leg and drags her against the rough concrete.

“Son of a- get your dirty hands off of my Dr. Martens. My girlfriend bought me these!”

A swift kick to the face shut the blonde up real quick but she manages to recoil and send the man sprawling backwards into a row of barrels.

Carter guns him down and Bea finds her footing, pistol in hand and a thirst for revenge. But they never stopped coming.

Her and Carter were left battered and bruised, but alive. Their product was gone again though. But atleast they were alive. Carter told her that it was a theft mission primarily and neither of them were meant to die. But it only made Bea wonder who those people were.

And why were they kept alive?

***

“Beatriz Naomi Jackson what the actual fuck?!”

“Oh not the middle name…”

Bea tries to avoid Poppy’s killer gaze as she surveys the damage that had been done to her girlfriend’s torso, legs, and face.

The strawberry blonde could barely mutter a word. Her mouth opened and closed in brief shock before collapsing next to the injured girl.

Bea could see the tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, which contrasted her porcelain skin. “Poppy…are you crying? I..please don’t..”

“What do you expect me to do Bea? It kills me to see you hurt like this. Who did it? Tell me!” The blonde chokes on her own words as her hands hovers cautiously over Bea’s wounds, afraid to make her feel pain.

“No I can’t tell you. I mean…I didn’t expect this to happen. It was a setup and we were outnumbered-“

“We need to get you to a hospital Bea oh my god.”

The blonde knew that she couldn’t go there. Not with the cops on the scene of the shootout, and actively looking for the people involved. Aka her and Carter. He told her to lay low and heal up, but she didn’t expect Poppy to be sitting on her bed waiting for her when she got home. The initial look on her face made Bea regret ever choosing this life.

She regrets it ever since being with Poppy. But it’s like a drug, once you start it’s hard to stop.

“I’ll call my father, he has the best doctors available and we’re gonna get your the right treatment and-“

Poppy immediately cuts off, her eyebrows scrunching up until she realizes something. “Wait…what do you mean you were outnumbered Bea?”

Bea swallows heavily, praying that this conversation couldn’t escalate further, but that isn’t the case.

“Bea, answer me”

“It..it was just me and Carter. We didn’t think there would be an ambush. We had just gone there to get goods we lost.”

“And where is Carter? Does he know you’re like this right now? Did he leave you, I swear to god Bea if he left you…” Poppy’s voice cracks as her whole body shivers in violent waves.

Bea pulls her girlfriend in for a hug even though it causes every inch of her body to sting harshly. It was the comfort that she needed though. Watching Poppy breakdown over the sight of her was too much, and she began to contemplate everything.

“Pops listen to me, I cannot go to the hospital right now. There are cops looking for us.” The strawberry blonde stares at her until she understands the velocity of Bea’s words.

“Fine. But there will be a doctor that will come to treat you at my house. And you’re coming, I don’t want to hear it.”

Bea knew not to protest that. It was quite obvious this whole incident has left both parties distraught and she didn’t want to try and tell Poppy how to feel.

“Just tell me something. Are you in immediate danger? Is someone trying to harm you right now.”

The blonde chose her words carefully. Because even after coming home beaten to a pulp, she still couldn’t tell the love of her life the full truth.

“No Poppy, they just wanted the drugs. They got what they wanted. I’m not in danger.”

For now.

“I will be okay.”

I hope.

“Don’t lie to me Jackson. I can’t do this if you lie. You promised me you wouldn’t get to the point where you’d have to choose between me and the gang.”

“I know Poppy…I-“

“You promised.”

“And I’m going to keep that promise-“

“Yeah the hell you are. And you’re going to promise me that you won’t ever come home like this again. You’re going to get yourself killed before we even start our life together. Our future.”

Bea sucks in a breath which punctures her chest. She couldn’t tell if the injuries or Poppy’s words had caused that terrible ache. “Our…Wait I..”

“I love you Jackson. I…don’t care if you think it’s too early to say that. I don’t care if I sound too cheesy for a mean girl. I love kissing you and feeling the laughter run through your body when we hug. I love being the reason you smile. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. I just..I needed you to know-“

“I love you too. Probably maybe from the moment I met you.”

Poppy’s eyes seemed to glisten once again and this time there was no sadness etched into the shape. She smiled a pure smile and wrapped her arms around Bea in a tight hug.

She captures her lips in a searing kiss that leads to a trail of kisses down the strawberry blonde’s neck, dip of her collarbone, and chest. Bea kisses her until her chest gives out from exhaustion and pain.

“Then you have to promise that this won’t happen again.”

“I promise.”

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

NOTES: They’re gonna be fineeeee, right guys??? Graduation next chapter woooo.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog

#i came up with that middle name on the spot lmaooo #no bug motivation this time just pepsi #poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy

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dumdumsun · 4 years ago

Text

Forever and Never

A/N: A long one because it was a fun one. My absolute favorite chapter!

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, rape, blood and violence

Word Count: 6135

—————————————

Six: The Breakfast Club

“What are you thinking about?”

“H-Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re smiling for the first time today. What are you thinking about?”

“...Stan.”

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

Apparently, I had slept through all of my alarms because when I awoke the next day, it was almost nine. Cursing aloud, I sprang out of bed and zoomed to my closet, ripping out any clothes I could find. Not having time to pull together something totally retro as per usual, I threw on a maroon hoodie, wedged into blue skinny jeans, and slipped on my white sneakers. I applied deodorant and stuck a piece of gum into my mouth before slinging my backpack on. The school was a fifteen-minute walk from my house. I was going to be so fucking late. I was skipping every other step on my way downstairs when I heard a voice call out to me.

“Whoa, you’re still here?”

On my right was Jacob, sitting in the living room and watching television. He stood from the couch and slowly approached me with a smirk. “What are you doing here still?”

“What are you doing here still?”

“I don’t have classes today, Bug,” He lightly teased before gently pushing me towards the door. “Let’s go before you miss anymore school. Hopefully, you don’t get detention.”

“I won’t, Jake.”

I did. As soon as I opened the door to my English class, all eyes were on me like a newcoming circus act. Ms Anderson’s eyes cut to me the second I stepped in and before I knew it, she was stomping towards me, gently ushering me out of the room with her. When we were alone, she crossed her arms and stared down at me. I felt like a child getting scolded for breaking an expensive vase or something. “(Y/N), this is your fourth tardy this month.”

“I know…”

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

There are so many things I need to talk about.

“No… I just… um… I-It’s been a rough few days…”

“Well, I would let this slide, but I’ve already broken the rules twice for you. I’m sorry, dear, but I’m going to have to give you detention. Okay?”

Dammit, Jake… “Okay, fine. Can I just go back to class now?” I sighed. My teacher nodded and opened the door for me. Stepping inside, I was met with the smiles of Dina, Stan and Ricky all directed towards me. I returned the smiles towards my two friends before taking my seat beside Dina. Throughout class, two eyes bore into the back of my head, and I tried my best not to turn and look at who they belonged to. He was catching on. On my way to choir, I heard Ricky calling out to me. He was pushing and shoving past students until he was by my side.

“Babe, what’s been going on with you?” He gently nudged me, but my eyes stayed trained forward. “Oh, so the silent treatment… Are you gonna tell me what I did or am I gonna have to figure it out?” Silence. “Right, okay. I get it. Hey, listen, when you’re out of your bitchy mood, make sure to come talk to me.” And with that, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. Letting out a breath, I slowed my pace along with the beat of my heart. I never wanted anyone to dictate the way I felt, the way my anxiety sky-rocketed when they were around. But it seemed I was letting Ricky do everything to me.

When lunchtime rolled around, I wanted nothing more than to eat my first meal of the day. All throughout English and choir, my stomach had been curling into itself and I felt stupid for not at least grabbing a granola bar before I left home. After grabbing my food, I joined Stan at a near-vacant lunch table. He had been mindlessly picking at his lunch when I sat across from him. “Good afternoon, beautiful.” I whispered. Hearing my voice, he didn’t need to look up.

“Hey, (Y/N)...”

“(Y/N)? Whoa, what’s wrong?”

“Uh, it’s just Syd. She won’t talk to me…”

A pang of jealousy went through my heart. Knowing we’d never talk about our kiss the other night didn’t prevent my wave of disappointment whenever he mentioned Sydney. I mean, how do you even kiss a girl and then talk about a totally different one days later? As much as I love Stan, he could be an idiot sometimes…

I hadn’t even noticed I was spacing out until his voice spoke loud enough for me to snap back into reality. He had been staring at me with raised brows, an expectant look on his face. “O-Oh, sorry… Uh, do you wanna hang out later? Like, when we get home?” I calmly asked, my eyes flickering to the fading bruise decorating his eye. He shifted in his seat and returned back to his lunch.

“Um… I’ll see.” He mumbled, my throat constricting at his words.

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

Whitaker watched me like a hawk as I turned into the girls’ restroom.

“Don’t think I don’t know that trick, (Y/L/N)! You better get to the gymnasium as soon as you’re done!”

“Yes, sir.” I mumbled and closed the door behind me. To be honest, I didn’t think he knew that trick and was absolutely planning on spending the entirety of my detention in the restroom. Letting out a sigh, I leaned against the wall and texted Jacob.

Me: I got detention. Pick me up at 7 please?

Jake: Haha! I’ll be there, don’t worry

Jake: And don’t try hiding out in the bathrooms. Whitaker knows that trick

Me: Noted

Pocketing my phone, I pushed the door open and trudged to the gym. Even with the doors closed, I could hear Whitaker screaming at whoever else was inside. With a small groan, I lazily used my body to open one of the doors, the principal’s voice quieting as the screech of the hinges echoed throughout the room.

“Ms (Y/L/N), I would have thought that after getting detention for tardiness, you’d learn to be more punctual. Take a seat!” Whitaker boomed. Rolling my eyes, I moved over to the bleachers, surprised to see Sydney, Stan, Brad, Dina and… Jenny Tuffield.

I could be irritated with people all I wanted, but I never completely ignored or even spat insults or such at them, unless they truly did something to hurt me or the ones I care about. Hence the reason I ignore Ricky. But Jenny brought out a side of me I really despised. It was a side of myself that thought of the worst things to say and spewed them out without hesitation, resulting in a back-and-forth war between the two of us. It usually ended with death threats and flipping the birds to each other, but we’ve never physically fought. That could change one day, who knows? I could feel her sickening smirk as I passed her to sit in front of Stan, who looked bewildered to see that I was here with him in detention. I patted his knee before turning back to Whitaker, who had been waiting for me to do as I was told. Satisfied, he continued on.

“Now that you all are here,” He cut me a look. “I want you to take the next few hours and think about your mistakes. And carve out in your mind a plan for change. Determine how to improve yourselves. Define what the word ‘respect’ means to you.”

Get a job, dude…

“Now you can start by respecting this beautiful gymnasium. Between now and seven p.m., you’re gonna scrape up every goddamn piece of gum from the bleachers,” He stepped forward and slammed a box down in front of us, no doubt full of the tools needed for our manual labor. The six of us all rolled our eyes as Whitaker stepped back again. “Get started.”

“Uh, Mr Whitaker, sir,” I heard Stan from behind me. “Um… Will there be a break for snacks or dinner?”

Silence was his answer. Whitaker stared at Stan as if he’d just asked him to lick his shoes before exiting the gym. From behind me, I felt him lean forward towards Sydney, picking up on their very quiet and very short exchange.

“Hey, I’m really sorry-”

“No. I’m not talking to you, okay?”

Reaching over, I tugged on Stan’s jacket sleeve, the boy shuffling so that our faces were right beside each other. “What are you doing in here?”

“I called File a motherfucker.”

“You- What?”

“Okay,” Dina’s voice interrupted us, causing everyone to turn to her as she stood from her spot beside Brad. “I know none of us wanna be here right now, but I was thinking, if we divide and conquer the bleachers, maybe we could be done before seven and Whitaker will let us out early, so…” Her suggestion earned a smile from her boyfriend and a sarcastic remark from Jenny, who I nearly forgot even existed. She clapped her hands, everyone turning to her.

“Go team!” She mimicked your everyday cheerleader as Dina sat back down, a look of irritation on her face.

“I’m not a cheerleader.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Maybe you should be in prison.”

“Ooh. That’s my wet dream…” She drawled out, running her tongue over her top teeth. I rolled my eyes and turned my head away.

“I don’t know, guys,” Stan spoke up. “This gum has been here for decades. I don’t think Whitaker actually checks. It’s just a social experiment, like a simulation.”

“Oh. Well, someone’s been smoking their supply.” Brad quipped. I narrowed my eyes and was about to give a sly remark when Jenny interrupted.

“You know what?” She whipped her body around to face us all, that wicked smile stretched across her face. “I have an idea. Why don’t we play Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

I couldn’t help myself. “What are you, thirteen?” I snarled. Our fellow delinquents stared between us with unease. “You say it like we’re about to huff some fucking gasoline. Are you supposed to be some kind of badass?”

Her eyes slid over to me, her grin widening. “Awe, Zip, I haven’t spoken to you in so long, I thought you died…”

“I wish you died…”

“So, who goes first?” Her head snapped towards everyone else, her finger moving towards each person in the room. “Eenie… meenie… miney… Brad.” She whispered out. Brad looked towards his girlfriend.

“Guess if I had to-”

“No. Not another word.” Dina shook her head.

“Oh, what about you, Miss Goody-Goody? Or are you too afraid to play?” Jenny gave a fake pout.

“Why would I be afraid?”

“Cool then. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Stanley Barber… Mr Whitaker… and… Syd.”

“Well, clearly, I’m killing Whitaker.”

“So are you gonna fuck Syd or marry her?”

Dina exhaled through her nose before looking to her right, eyes locking with Sydney. “Total life goal to marry your best friend, if Syd’ll have me.” She softly spoke, bringing a small smile to my face at their soft exchange. Of course, though, Jenny had to ruin it.

“Oh, so then it’s you and Stan in an all-day bone sesh. Ugh, you little slut.”

So over the sound of her fucking voice, I threw my head back in annoyance. “Jesus Christ, Jenny, you are so fucking boring!”

“No need to tell him about it,” She laughed tauntingly. “I’m guessing you wanna go next, since you got my attention. Or are you saving all of the sex and marriage for your little boyfriend?”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Ooh, where?”

Snapping, I slapped my hand down on the space beside me, my gaze set and locked on her. “No one gives a shit about you, Jenny!”

“And people care about you, Zip?! Where’s your fucking dad?!”

Fire in my eyes, I lunged towards her, but felt hands grabbing onto my shoulders and sitting me back down. The hands soothingly rubbed my arms as Jenny cackled. “Come on, (Y/N), it’s just all fun here… Now, for you, your very own Ricky Berry… Stan… and Dina.”

Scratching my cheek, I rolled my eyes so far back, I could feel them do a three-sixty rotation. “Fucking hell, you never give up. Fine, I’d marry Dina, fuck Stan, kill Ricky.”

Jenny lowly whistled as the hands on my arms slowly slid away. “But Zip, I thought you two were in love,” Her grin was something of evil as her brows bounced. “You guys had so much fun, fucking at his party. Oh! Or is it because you were drunk off your ass and he wasn’t?”

“Jenny, shut the fuck up-”

“No consent whatsoever… Boyfriend of the year…”

Having Jenny see me break down in front of everyone was not a moment in time I’d ever want to experience. She already got what she wanted, a reaction from me. She didn’t need a bonus. So, standing to my feet, I darted to the locker room, trying my best to block out Jenny’s laughing. I couldn’t help the tears that cascaded down my cheeks as I stood in front of one of the mirrors, hastily wiping them away.

Why are you letting her get to you? Why are you letting Ricky get to you? He can’t hurt you anymore, stop crying about it!

The creaking of the door sent my body into a stiffened, frozen state. That was, until I heard his voice, “Hey, lovely…” Turning my head to Stan, I sighed out.

“Hey, beautiful…” I sniffled as he made his way over to me. We stood in a comfortable silence, Stan understanding that I needed a moment to compose myself. “S-Sorry about that. You know I just fucking hate her guts-”

“No, I get it. We all hate her guts.” He cracked a smile. I quietly chuckled and stuffed my hands into my hoodie pockets. “Do you wanna talk about it, (Y/N)?”

“Not really… I don’t wanna think about it right now…”

“I know, but, like, it’s good to talk to someone about… you know, traumatic things that happen so it doesn’t bottle up-”

“Yeah, I know, Stan, I just can’t- I can’t think about it right now. We can do it, like, later… Not at school.”

He slowly nodded. “Totally. I understand. So… you ready to head back out? We’re not actually scraping gum. So we can just sit and talk.”

“I’d love to just sit and talk with you.”

Ten minutes later, everyone was spread out, Syd more than anyone. I had no idea where she’d gone, but apparently she stormed out shortly after I did. I guess Jenny knew how to get under everyone’s skin that day. Said girl was sitting against a brick wall away from the bleachers, where the other two pairs of us were. Brad and Dina were hugged up on each other, whispering into each other’s ears and quietly laughing. Stan and I were on the edge of the bleachers, the boy stretched across the one on the first level, and I on the second. As he fiddled with his rubix cube, my index finger reached out and gently traced his facial features. I started off with his brow, careful of his wound on the edge. It was clearing up and that caused a smile to appear on my face. Next, I let my fingertip brush across his lashes and he furrowed his brows, trying to focus on his cube. My finger then glided down the bridge of his nose. I quietly laughed when his eyes comically crossed to look at my finger. With a giggle, Stan jutted his chin upwards to gently kiss my fingertip. “Stop distracting me.”

My hand lazily dropped to his hair as I whispered out an apology. Not too long afterwards, I heard a voice quietly call out Stan’s name, but he was too fixated on his toy. My eyes looked to Sydney, who was standing in the doorway, desperately trying to get the boy’s attention. When she called out to him again, he actually looked at her. Looking between the two of us, she frantically motioned for Stan to come outside. When he only raised a brow, she did it again. Letting out a sigh, he wordlessly handed me his cube before sitting up and following Syd out of the gym, closing the door behind him to allow them privacy. Puffing out a sigh, I began playing with the multicolored cube in my hands. I never was very good with rubix cubes, my patience always ran too thin to finish them. That time didn’t seem to be an exception, either, because minutes in, I set it down and rested my head down to hopefully sleep off the rest of detention.

As I began to doze off, I heard the double doors screech upon Sydney’s arrival. She anxiously walked past me over towards the other side of the gym, where Dina and Brad had moved to suck face. I heard her call out to her friend a few times before she loudly spoke, “Look, Dina, I need a tampon right now.”

“Just dig in my bag.”

“I… I do need you, but for… but for something else.” She stuttered out. And with that, the two exited the gym. Suspicious about what my friends were plotting without me, I slowly sat up from my lying position and sat normally on the bleacher, waiting for one of them to come back. Hearing footsteps approach me, I knew it either had to be Brad or Jenny, and I was praying to the stars it was the former. As unusual as it sounded. The bleacher moaned under Brad’s weight as he sat beside me.

“Hey, Zip,” He greeted with a smile. I side-eyed him for a second before turning my gaze to my shoes. Scoffing, he shifted his legs. “You’re ignoring me now? Oh, come on. We’re friends, Zip. Good friends.”

“We are not friends, Bradley,” I almost laughed. “You’re friends with Ricky and I want nothing to do with him, so… I guess you know where the two of us stand.”

“Okay, well… Regardless, as Ricky’s best friend, I can say for him that what he did was fucked up. Right?”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Right! But listen, we all make mistakes, Zip. Ricky really loves you, you know that, right? He would never do anything to hurt you.”

I was silent for a bit, only to prevent myself from decking Brad in the nose. “Well, he clearly didn’t love me enough. Not enough to respect my right to consent-”

“Zip-”

“And you know what, Brad?” I slowly stood to my feet. “I’ve had enough of you defending everything he does! You can tell Ricky to get lost and leave me the hell alone!”

Before he could utter another word, I marched straight through the double doors. Three figures stood ahead, and I was more than ready to push past them, but I recognized each of them. Halting in my tracks, I saw Dina, Syd and Stan all nervously staring at me. Confused, I put my weight on both my feet. “Uh… what’s going on?”

Dina was the first to answer. “We… need your help distracting the janitor to get his keys.”

“W-What? Why?”

“Well, Stan and Syd hooked up in the library and got it on camera-”

“You guys hooked up again?” I turned to my best friend, who quickly turned to Sydney. She frowned and stood up straighter.

“You told her?”

“S-She’s my best friend! She tells me when she has sex!”

Widening my eyes, I let out a scoff. “I had sex, I don’t have sex.”

“Well, whatever, can you do it?” Sydney changed the subject. I looked between the three in confusion.

“Okay, but why me?”

“Because you have boobs. Like, a nice size.”

“Uh-”

“And,” Dina cut in. “Because you’re a great actress. The best out of all of us.”

My lips quirked up into a small smile, Dina satisfied that she boosted my confidence enough for me to accept. Lucky for them, my locker was just across from the gym, so I unlocked it and pulled out a spare tee. ‘Can’t seduce anyone wearing that’, Dina told me.

Shortly after, Stan and I were in a corner as I changed my top. He was nervously staring down at his shoes as I pulled my hoodie off. “I didn’t want you to be the distraction. Are you sure you’ll be okay doing this?”

“I’m not seducing him, Stan,” I chucked my hoodie towards him. He looked up to catch it, but as soon as his eyes raked over my almost bare chest, they darted downwards again. “That’s just a back-up plan.”

“O-Oh, okay…” He nodded as I pulled my shirt on.

Minutes later, I entered the classroom Carl the Janitor had been cleaning. He looked up at me and nodded. “Hey, (Y/N).”

“Hi, Carl. Listen. So, I kinda snuck out of rehearsal earlier and I need to get back into the auditorium. But guess what? The door’s locked. I really don’t want Ms Turner to find me out. Do you think you could help me? Please?” I tapped my fingertips together as he sighed.

“You know I can get in trouble doing that…”

“I-I know, but it would mean so much to me. I promise I won’t get you caught.”

“Well, what about the back entrance? She never locks those doors.”

He was right. Clearing my throat, I looked to the side. “W-Well, she did today…”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion for what felt like forever before relenting, handing his ring of keys over. “Okay, just get them back to me in twenty minutes.”

“You’re the best, thank you.” I grinned and stepped out of the room. Swinging around the corner, I found Dina and Syd waiting for me. Upon my arrival, they both grinned. “Nothing wrong with asking politely, ladies. We got less than twenty.” I cheekily smiled, handing the keys over to Sydney. Dina chuckled and crossed her arms as I took my hoodie from Syd and pulled it back on.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is quite simple.” Stan’s voice appeared as he approached us, two microwavable burritos in his hands.

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

“First, we distract Whitaker with burritos. I’m gonna put these in the microwave and blast these bad boys up on high, and then…”

The explosion muffled by the closed door was enough to get Mr Whitaker rushing out of the teachers’ lounge. “What the hell- What the hell is goin’ on down there?! Jesus!”

“...Whitaker will hear it and come runnin’. When he takes off from the teachers’ lounge, the coast’ll be clear straight through to the principal’s office, and then we make our move.”

As the principal moved past the closet we were all hiding in, Stan slowly opened the door, giving the four of us the chance to run out. As Dina and I silently followed Whitaker, Stan and Syd headed towards his office, keys in the latter’s hands.

“Syd, you’re the key man… Key lady.”

“Wait, why am I the key lady?”

“Because you’re… good with your hands.”

“Ew.”

“Dina and (Y/N), you two are lookout. You keep eyes on Whitaker.”

I crouched down and peeked around the corner as Dina did the same right above me. Whitaker had just opened the door to the microwave, the smoke engulfing him as he coughed and fanned it away.

“The burrito bomb should keep him busy for awhile.”

The two of us watched in amusement as he grabbed the fire extinguisher from the fire emergency supplies and sprayed it into the closet.

“That man cannot resist a fire extinguisher, which will give us the time we need to get in. Burrito bombs are disgusting. Last time I set one off, my whole house smelled like bean farts.”

“True story.”

“Gross.”

Sooner than we expected, Whitaker took off from the crime scene in a hurried pace. Dina and I quickly rushed towards our friends, the girl waving her arms in the air as I readied the door to the closet for us.

“Anything goes wrong, lookout crew, you signal us… and everyone take cover.”

Once Stan and Syd noticed Dina, they scurried off down the hall to hide. I pulled Dina into the closet with me and silently closed the door as we crouched down.

“That is literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s fair. It’s totally fair. Can you think of a better one?”

…

“Our best hiding spot’s probably behind the trophy case. And we wait…”

A collective sigh of relief filled the closet as the savior ringing echoed through the halls.

“...for the smoke alarm. Which will buy us more time. Which we will need, because there are a shit-ton of keys. Like a metric shit-ton, it’s ridiculous.”

After our principal took off away from his office again, the closet door slowly creaked open as Dina and I watched Syd and Stan successfully enter the principal’s office.

“Once we’re in, we head straight for the security system in the closet. And that’s it!”

The smoke alarm cut off its insistent ringing within seconds. My heart thumped in my throat as Whitaker’s form stormed down the hallway, towards his office in angry strides. Thankfully, Syd and Stan ducked down before he caught sight of them. As soon as he passed us, I gently nudged Dina out of the closet. “Go create some big distraction that’ll lure him away,” I whispered under my breath. “I’ll keep him from the door.” I stood up straight as Dina nodded and silently hurried down the opposite end of the hall.

“Whatever you do, do not panic. Do not bail… or we are screwed.”

Whitaker was seconds from the door and I had yet to come up with a way to get him distracted again.

“Okay, but what happens if your plan goes to shit?”

Finding the key on his ring, he began jiggling it into the lock.

“It won’t.”

I stepped out of the closet, breathing labored in panic.

“But what if it does?”

When the lock sounded, I let out an ear-splitting scream that had Whitaker jumping three feet in the air. When his gaze settled on me, he marched my way, steam practically shooting from his ears. “(Y/L/N), what the hell is the matter with you?!”

“U-Uh- Uh, something happened down that way!” I blurted out, pointing down in Dina’s direction. His head followed my finger before it snapped back to me.

“Well?! What ha-”

A crash sounded.

“Improvise.”

The poor man shook his head in exhaustion. “I’m too goddamn old for this shit…” He whined before taking off down the hall, away from his office. Once the coast was clear, Syd and Stan peeked up, watching as I gave them a thumbs-up. They gratefully smiled my way before standing and finishing the job.

“And if all goes well, as it should, we grab the footage, our sexcapade remains private, and nobody gets expelled.”

My shoulders sagged as Sydney walked out of the office with Stan behind her, holding up the flashdrive in her hand.

“Let’s hope this shit works.”

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

It totally worked. After our brilliant scheme, the four of us sat in front of the lockers to rest, my form sandwiched between Stan and Dina. He kissed the flashdrive and let out a breath. “Oh, I thought we were screwed…”

“We were screwed, but holy shit, we did it.” Dina quietly laughed along with the rest of us.

“Thank you guys,” Sydney smiled, the three of us turning to her. “Seriously.” She chuckled as I reached my hand over to Stan’s pocket. Catching onto what I was doing, he fished his case out himself.

“Wonderful idea, Nugget,” He pecked the back of my hand with his lips before I could move it away and slid a joint from his case. “Any takers?”

“You’re not serious.” Dina frowned as Stan took out his lighter. He nodded to her with furrowed brows.

“He is.” I grinned fondly at my best friend as he lit up the end of his joint and inhaled the smoke before handing it over to me. I happily accepted it and took a hit as Dina glanced around us, hoping no adults were around to witness the scandalous act. She choked out a laugh when Sydney accepted the joint from me.

“Since when do you smoke weed?”

Sydney slyly smiled and stretched the smoke over to her, my own hand taking it to give her better access. “Oh, come on, Dina. Everyone’s doing it. Don’t you wanna be cool like us?” We all giggled and watched as Dina hesitantly took a hit from the joint. Her own snorting encouraged our laughter to increase, the four of us blissfully unaware of what lay ahead of us just in the locker room down the hall.

We sat in that hallway for the next half hour, talking about everything and nothing as our time of release approached closer. When the joint was finished, we entered the gym to enjoy our fading highs in peace. Dina headed over to the bleachers, and Stan and I sat on the bench beside the locker room, as Sydney headed inside to use the bathroom. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence as he shifted the colorful columns of his cube. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, and soon after, I felt his head rest against mine. “So… are you gonna need a ride home?” He whispered.

“No. Jake is picking me up.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Um… now do you wanna talk about how you’re doing? I know that, like, we’re still in school and we’re not entirely alone, but I just wanted to see how you were after you had to-”

“I’m doing better,” I interrupted his rambling. “Thank you.”

His hands froze their fiddling before one shyly crept close to mine. I felt his fingers graze my thigh as he interlocked our fingers in a tight hold. “Of course, Nugget.” He muttered right as Dina walked to the door to the locker room, giving me a smirk before walking inside. Stan then held up his rubix cube and chuckled. “Wanna try and solve it together?”

“Oh, my god, yes.” I laughed. And with that, we were using our free hands to turn and shift the cube around, hushed laughter filling the gymnasium as we told each other ‘no, not that way’, ‘turn the blue one’, and ‘yeah, yeah, that one’ for the next minute and a half of peace. Once our time was up, the door to the locker room slammed open and a teary-eyed Dina stormed out, a frantic Brad behind her.

“Babe, wait, please. Syd’s lying, I swear to god! Please! She’s lying!” As Dina walked out of the gym, Whitaker walked in, watching her go. “You’re not seriously breaking up with me right now!”

“Hey! Which one of you punks eats burritos?” Our principal shouted, Stan and I stifling our laughter in each other’s hair and shoulder. “Alright, I don’t know what the hell went on tonight, but I wanna see everyone in my office first thing in the morning!” He gave us one last look before exiting again. As soon as he was gone, Brad turned to Syd with a clenched jaw.

“I offered you a truce, and you fucked it up. This is on you. You remember that.” He pointed at her before angrily stomping out. Stan and I detangled ourselves from each other as Jenny walked out of the locker room with crossed arms.

“Ah, another day in paradise,” She looked between the three of us as her smile faded. “So, you guys wanna get wasted?”

I scoffed. “Fuck off, Jenny.”

Waving Stan and Syd goodbye minutes later, I joined Jacob in his car. He smiled over at me as I clipped my seatbelt on over myself. “So? How boring was it?”

“Oh, a total fucking snoozefest.” I rolled my eyes, my cousin chuckling and pulling off towards our home. Halfway through the car ride, I heard him turn down his music and sigh.

“Bug, what’s going on with you?”

“Huh?” I turned to him with raised brows.

“You’re… You’re different. You’re quiet, you skip dinner sometimes, you’re sleeping in. You never do that, especially the quiet part. Jesus, you’re so loud-”

“Okay, asshole, I get it!” I laughed quietly before going completely silent again. Not realizing I proved his point, I jumped when he poked my arm.

“See? Something’s wrong with you. What is it? Is it Ricky?”

“I-” I don’t know why I wanted to keep the whole situation a secret. Things like this needed to come into light and Ricky deserved to be exposed. Sensing my hesitancy, Jacob nodded.

“There we go. What did he do this time? Did he forget an anniversary? No? Did he… cheat?” Silence. “Did he do worse?” My eyes darted away. “(Y/N), did he do worse…?”

“I don’t know if I should say, Jake-”

“You absolutely should say it, (Y/N). Did he hit you?”

“No.”

“No? Did he… you know, touch you?” His tone softened as tears welled up in my eyes. “Bug, what happened…?”

“H-He raped me…” I cried and covered my face. “I got drunk on his birthday and he took advantage of it. A-And then he lied and said we were both drunk. B-But everyone else said he wasn’t even drunk.”

A beat of silence passed before the roar of the engine slid in pitch. I looked up at the houses and street signs that flew past us in a blur. “J-Jake, what are you doing?!”

“We’re gonna pay Ricky a visit.”

Before I knew it, we were in front of Ricky’s house. Jacob silently released himself from his restraint and exited the car. I sunk down in my own seat as I watched Ricky walk out of his home and towards his car. Upon seeing Jacob, he happily waved, but his smile vanished when Jacob decked him in the face so hard he fell to the ground. My breathing sped up as I jumped out of the car, speeding over to the two. “Jake! Stop!” I screamed as he straddled Ricky, landing punch after punch on his face. Ricky cried out and tried to push him off, but it was no use. Jacob was so much stronger than him. I knew pulling on him and screaming at him would do nothing, so I looked up and turned all around, watching as some neighbors peeked out their windows and front doors to watch the scene unfold. When I heard a crunch, I whipped back towards them and almost hurled at the bloodied mess that was Ricky’s face. “Jake, come on!” I screamed and pulled him off.

Stumbling to his feet, Jacob grabbed Ricky by his collar and lifted him close. “I don’t ever wanna see you near her. I don’t wanna hear that you spoke to her, I don’t even wanna know that you looked at her,” He growled, Ricky frantically nodding. “Don’t ever associate yourself with my sister ever again or I will make sure your eyes are swollen shut next time. Got it? Got it?!”

“Yes.” Ricky wheezed out before he was dropped to the ground.

“We’re going home, Jake! Jake, let’s fucking go home!” I screamed and ran to his car, getting in the driver seat. Chest heaving, he strode back over to the car and got in the passenger seat, sighing heavily as I drove away, leaving behind a groaning Ricky. I hadn’t even noticed his bloodied and bruised knuckles until I parked the car. Like a worried mother, I helped him out and over to the front porch.

“Hey, lovely!” I heard Stan call out. Looking up, I saw that he and Syd were just about to enter his house. “Do you wanna-”

I fished out my keys and hurriedly unlocked the door, pushing my cousin inside and shutting the door behind us. After ordering him into the bathroom, I found some bandages and hydrogen peroxide and joined him inside. The next few minutes were spent in silence, save for the soft hisses that escaped him when I dabbed the chemical onto his cuts. As I wrapped his hands, I felt his eyes on me. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“If he tries anything ever again, tell me immediately.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious,” He ducked his head down to meet my eyes, his own shining with unshed tears. “I promise you, he won’t lay a finger on you as long as I’m around.”

Setting down the blood-covered cotton ball, I nodded and allowed my lip to quiver.

“I know.”

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow

#i am not okay with this #ianowt #ianowt x reader #stanley barber #stanley barber x reader #wyatt oleff #wyatt oleff x reader #i am not okay with this x reader #ianowt fanfic #ianowt stanley barber #forever and never

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supercasey · 4 years ago

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TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

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avintagekiss24 · 5 years ago

Text

Hot for teacher [1] > Bucky Barnes

PAIRING; Dark!Professor!Bucky Barnes x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 2,558

WARNINGS; Age difference, teacher/student dynamics, female masturbation, eventual dub-con elements

SUMMARY; You’re in your final year away at boarding school. There’s a new ethics teacher in town, and instead of helping you to straighten out your principals, he twists them all up.

NOTE; This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Precode Challenge. I chose the movie Madchen in Uniform from 1931, where a girl gets sent off to boarding school and falls for her teacher.

I’m not sure how many parts this’ll end up being, but I have a lot of ideas, lol. Reader is a smart ass in this one, but Bucky likes a smart ass. Hope you guys enjoy on this fine Saturday evening :)

☞ PART TWO | ☞ SERIES MASTERLIST

You tap your pencil against your open textbook absentmindedly as you glance around the room. Your foot swings wildly from side to side as your brain races. You take a deep breath. You’ve always loved and hated the first day of school. You hate it, because from the moment your alarm goes off on the first day of school, the anxiety and pressure sets in. The word perfect comes to mind. You have to be perfect - straight A’s for mommy and daddy and nothing less. You love it because it’s really the only thing you’re good at. You’ve been perfect for so long that you don’t know how to be anything else.

You always sit up straight. You always cross your legs. You always eat your salad with your salad fork and your dinner with your dinner fork. You say please and thank you after every interaction with another human. You are prim and proper and perfect - always have been, always will be.

You glance at the clock on the wall - leave it to the new guy to be late on the first day. You roll your eyes and let out another sigh as you continue to kick your foot out of boredom and anxiety. People talk and laugh around you but you tune it out as you chew on the inside of your cheek. You glance at the clock again - come on.

The door suddenly opens, snapping all of your attention toward it as a short haired, stubble chinned man enters, “Sorry guys,” he starts, as he moves toward his desk, “It’s not the first day of school unless I’ve set a bad example for you.”

Laughter sounds around you but you don’t join in. You blink slowly as you scoot to the edge of your seat.

“So, first things first,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his desk and stretching out his legs to cross them at the ankles, “I’m Professor Barnes, but I don’t want any of you calling me that. We’re all adults, right? I mean, you’re all almost eighteen, if you aren’t already. Call me Bucky.”

Bucky. You’re not sure why but a jolt of something flashes right through your body. Bucky. It’s oddly erotic. You sit up a little straighter (if that’s at all possible) in your seat.

Your eyes sink down his lean frame. He’s dressed like you’d think an ethics teacher would be dressed - a brown and beige sweater covers a striped button down dress shirt and matching tie. His legs are long in his brown slacks, the material hugging his thighs slightly tighter than they should. The outfit is capped off with a pair of brown loafers - the expensive kind - as he shakes his foot.

“I’m also not going to lie, I’m probably going to be late more often than not. I’m not a morning person.”

He chuckles after his admission and you groan inwardly. Your eyes squint slightly as you bring the eraser of your pencil to your mouth to chew on it. Your crossed legs start to sway to and fro as your eyes continue to move up and down his body. Your thoughts turn from straight A’s and extra credit to things that would make your mother blush. He looks like he works out. He looks… firm.

A short, dark haired girl lifts her hand from the second row and he nods towards her, “So, what happens if we’re late? Are you going to count it against us?”

He cocks his head to the side and bends his lips down before he shrugs, “What do you think I should do, Miss…”

“Amy, Amy Podkulski.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I think as long as we’re here within a reasonable time, we should get a pass. As long as we aren’t taking advantage of it, you know?”

He nods slowly, keeping his blue eyes on her as she talks, “I think that’s fair. I mean, listen, I’m supposed to be preparing you for real life, right? For college and beyond - look, things are going to happen. People are going to get sick, they’re going to oversleep, they’re going to have car trouble. That’s real life. I’m not a hard ass. I like to think of myself as understanding, so, as long as you all are honest with me and don’t take advantage of me, an occasional tardy won’t bother me.”

You watch as several students nod and smile, already catching onto his casual vibe.

“That’s cool,” Amy Podkulski nods and you can hear the smile on her face, “Thanks Professor Barnes.”

“I told you,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s Bucky. Any other questions? Come on guys, I don’t bite.”

Your brain spins at almost a million miles a second as you chew on your pencil. You lift your hand slowly, a smirk playing on your lips as you come up with something shitty to say. Being a smart ass just comes with the territory you suppose.

Bucky links eyes with you seconds later and you almost gasp at the intensity behind them. You swallow quickly and clear your throat, regaining your composure quickly.

“You say that you’re supposed to be getting us ready for real life, right? So, how would you letting us be intentionally late, set us up for success?”

He smiles at you and pride swells in your chest, “Things happen. I’m not allowing you to be intentionally late for the hell of it, I’m being understanding.”

“Yes, but what supervisor or manager cares about what your morning is like?”

“Good ones.”

You shrug, “How many good supervisors or managers have you had?”

He smiles again, but this time wider - broader - showing off his perfect white teeth and the crinkles that form at the corners of his eyes, “Touche. What’s um, what’s your name?”

“I didn’t say.” You smirk back, enjoying this banter back and forth.

You’ve always tested your authority figures, trying to see if they can keep up with your quick wit and sharpness. You’ve dismantled a few, earning yourself more than a few tense classroom experiences, with one even having you switched to another teacher. This Bucky guy though? He’s good.

Truth be told, this is exactly what you wanted. Not so much to challenge him per se, but to have his full attention, all on little old you.

“Okay,” he starts confidently as he stands and starts to pace, his arms still crossed over his chest, “You think I’m being too lenient?”

“Not so much lenient, but you giving us the belief that as long as you're honest, people will both believe and forgive you. That’s just not true.”

“Interesting,” he nods as he continues to pace. He stops and cuts his eyes toward you again, “That’s a tad bit cynical, don’t you think?”

You shrug again as you feel the eyes of the rest of the students on you, “Maybe.”

“So, you don’t think that you’ll ever get the benefit of the doubt? That every single time you do something that’s considered a punishable offense, you should, but more importantly, you will be penalized? You think that is the real world?”

“That’s what society has shown us to believe, isn’t it? People get fired every day for being a few minutes late more than twice a month, aren’t they?”

He chuckles again, “Well if that’s the case, I should have been fired years ago.” Laughter rumbles through the classroom, “So you believe that you should be held accountable for everything?”

“Would I be taking ethics as an elective if I didn’t?”

He matches your smirk. He stares at you for a few seconds, his eyes dipping down your face slightly before he returns them squarely to your eyes. Your body is shaky and hot, your panties wet for a multitude of reasons. You’re a show off, and it gets you off when you get to parade your intelligence in front of an audience. You like a quick banter, you like knowing that someone can stand toe to toe with you on an intellectual level. You also like him. Bucky.

You’re going to touch yourself tonight.

If you can make it that long, that is.

“How about we do this, miss I didn’t give my name. How about I hold you, and only you, accountable for your tardies, hm?”

You shrug defiantly, “That’s fine with me, but, how are you going to do that if you’re not going to show up on time?”

His voice drops to a dangerously low octave, “Oh, I think you just made me a morning person.” Your lips part as you sense the slight edge in his voice, “Anything else?” He asks, quirking his eyebrow.

You shake your head, “No sir.”

The next hour goes by all too quickly if you do say so yourself. You could listen to him speak for hours on end. You’ve got almost six pages of notes - things scribbled in the margins, arrows pointing every which way. You currently sit with your chin in your palm, your eyes squarely on him, your blood rushing as your clit throbs between your legs.

“Alrighty,” he sighs, checking his watch, “That’s all I’ve got today. I’ll see you guys on Wednesday, okay? Hope you enjoy the rest of your first day back.”

You shut your notebook as the rest of the class moves around you, chatter instantly filling the room as the bell rings seconds later. You shove your book into your bag and stand, adjusting your plaid skirt before you move between the seats and down to the door.

A hand stops you - thick fingers and a warm palm wrap around your bicep. You turn on the balls of your feet to face the strong jawed Bucky Barnes. He looks just past you as the rest of the students file out one by one.

“I’m going to take this as a personal challenge, I hope you know.” He simpers, still ready and willing to play with you.

“Well, I hope you do, Mr. Barnes. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“I can see that,” he winks. You catch a whiff of his cologne and it nearly bowls you over, “I look forward to this semester with you.”

You bat your eyes towards him and drop your chin as a small, soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “You as well Mr. Barnes.”

He lets you take a few steps before he calls to you again, “It’s Bucky.”

You stop, glancing over your shoulder, “I prefer Mr. Barnes.”

You feel his eyes on you as you pass through the door.

You’re not going to make it until tonight.

You check your watch quickly before you eye the sign for the girls bathroom. Seven minutes. You can make it happen in seven minutes. You make a quick b-line and push into the crowded bathroom, thankfully finding an open stall. You move inside and shut the door, slamming the lock into the small hole. You drop your bag to the floor - something you’ll ultimately regret later due to your germaphobic tendencies - and shove your hand into your skirt.

You close your eyes as your fingers start to move quickly, Bucky’s voice filling your head. I’m going to take this as a personal challenge, I hope you know. Your fingers dance between your wet lips, quickening as flashes of your excitement start to bounce through you. Your heart flutters. You can hear your wetness as you massage your clit, your hips starting to roll into your fingers.

Six minutes.

You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle a soft moan as your free hand slips into your shirt. You squeeze your breast before pinching your nipple to bring it to attention. You toss your head back as thoughts of Mr. Barnes’ beard scraping against your thighs as he sucks you off ravage through your brain. You shove your fingers into your wet cunt, pushing them in and out, in and out as you roll your nipple between your fingers.

You release your breast and slip your hand into your skirt to accompany the other. You rub quick circles against your clit as you fuck yourself in the stall, just inches away from the flood of girls that move in and out of the bathroom.

So you believe that you should be held accountable for everything? You grunt softly as his words replay in your head. You want him to hold you accountable all right. Bend you over his desk, lift your skirt, spank you like the bad little girl you are.

Five minutes.

Your stomach jumps into your throat when your hips hitch at the thought, your orgasm building faster and faster. You push your hips into your hands as your skin starts to prickle with sensitivity. A shiver runs the length of your spine as you work yourself over, trying to stifle the high pitched noises that squeak out from your tight throat.

Your muscles clench your fingers as they start to quiver from the impending rush. Your heart leaps into your throat, your breath quickens as your body tenses.

Four minutes.

You hum quickly as you focus on coaxing out the sweet orgasm you so desire. You bite your lip again, imagining that your fingers are Mr. Barnes’ - scratching, groping, fingering, pumping into your flesh. How he’d ruck your skirt around your waist, nibble on your neck and earlobe, whisper sweet nothings as he finger fucks you up against his desk.

So, you don’t think that you’ll ever get the benefit of the doubt? That every single time you do something that’s considered a punishable offense, you should, but more importantly, you will be penalized?

You cum with three minutes to spare. You grunt quietly, biting down on your bottom lip so hard that you think you might draw blood. Your cunt clenches around your fingers as your clit jumps with convulsions. You thrust your hips forward as it consumes you - your pussy squirting, your warm juices splashing against your thighs and the floor below.

You fall against the wall, rolling onto your back as your chest heaves. Your eyelids are heavy as you can barely see through the slits. You hum again as a smile spreads on your face and a giggle sneaks through. This’ll get through the day. Now, you’ll be able to make it until tonight when you can slip under the covers with your vibrating boyfriend.

Two minutes.

You clean up - wiping at your thighs and then the floor with some toilet paper before collecting your bag. You move out to the sinks and wash your hands, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. Girls buzz around you, applying makeup and laughing and talking as you dry your hands before smoothing them down your jacket and skirt.

One minute.

You throw your hair over your shoulder, take one last glance at yourself before you move out into the hallway. You hurry toward your next class, slipping into the large room and taking a seat in the second row just as the bell rings. You wait a few minutes until your trigonometry teacher is deep in his lecture before you pull out your phone, flipping to your mother’s number.

I need a new backpack… dropped mine on the bathroom floor.

#precodechallenge #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x black!reader #dark!bucky barnes x you #dark!bucky x you #you x dark!bucky #professor!bucky #professor!bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark!#dark!marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #avintagekiss24 #hot for teacher

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hrtiu · 4 years ago

Text

Do No Harm

Written for the 2020 @starwarssecretsanta, this is for @part-timewizard. Featuring Kix and some good ‘ol Blyla, I hope you like it! I think it might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written, so thank you for the inspiration! It’s also pretty long so you might want to read it on AO3. Happy holidays!!!

TW for some medical gore, non-graphic, star wars-y violence, canonical character death, and a vague mention of suicide

It’s not as sad as it sounds, I promise!

32 Years After the Battle of Yavin

The ordnance was supposed to be deactivated, but they’d all known that equipment this old was bound to be unstable. Salvaging the cargo was a calculated risk, and one that should have been mitigated by Kix’s experience with GAR resources. Unfortunately for the crew of the Meson Martinet, Kix was a medic, not a demolitions expert.

“We’ve got a hull breach in the cargo bay!” Reeg said, his large yellow eyes whipping back and forth as he looked from one monitor to the next.

“Kriff!” Quiggold said. “Well at least the goods can’t blow the rest of the ship up if they’ve been sucked out into space.”

“We should get to the escape pods!” Reeg said.

“No.”

Captain Ithano’s monosyllabic response was enough to completely shut down that line of thinking for the whole crew. Everyone, Kix included, looked to their sanguine leader for a long, silent moment. Then Sidon turned from them and took up his position in the pilot’s seat, his mask betraying no concern for their imminent demise.

“Well, you heard the captain!” Quiggold said. “Batten down the hatches! Lash anything that can move down!”

Kix jumped to attention, his soldiers’ instincts kicking in. He’d only been on the Martinet for six months, but he’d picked up his duties quickly and it didn’t take any additional prompting for him to rush to the engine room to secure maintenance tools and parts.

Kix tried not to think too hard about how impossible a landing Sidon was about to attempt. The Martinet’s captain had a knack for getting out of impossible situations, and as a crew they’d already decided to put their fates in his hands. There was nothing for it now except to prepare and hope.

“Everyone get in your seats!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit. “Brace for impact!”

Kix sprinted for his seat in the common area, strapping in and holding his harness with two hands. They hadn’t yet entered atmosphere as far as he could tell—now it was just a waiting game.

Reveth clicked in next to him, her eyes wide but her jaw set.

“You ready to die, Kix?” she asked, her words full of bravado but her eyes betraying fear.

Kix gave her a humorless smile. “Already did it once. What’s there to be afraid of?”

The ship jolted as they passed through the upper atmosphere of a nearby planet—Felucia, if he remembered correctly. Their breached hull had compromised the ship’s insulation, leaving them at the mercy of the burning heat of atmospheric entry.

Sweat dripped down Kix’s neck and his grip on his safety harness tightened. A thrill of fear raced down his spine, and a feeling so unfamiliar to Kix that he almost didn’t recognize it accompanied it: he felt alive.

Kix let out a harsh bark of laughter and Reveth shot him a wary look. “You alright there?” she shouted over the roar of their rapid descent.

“Yeah!” he shouted back. And he was. Ironic that now that his life was in real danger of ending, he’d finally started to care if it continued.

The searing heat gradually ebbed and the ship ground with effort as Sidon attempted to wrestle it into a controlled descent. Kix greeted the twins of powerlessness and mortal danger like old friends, his mind calling back to dicey drops and aggressive assaults of decades past. This was something he understood.

“Getting closer!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit.

Reveth’s breathing grew loud and labored, and Kix looked over at her, his instincts to assist and comfort overriding the sense of emptiness that had accompanied him since his awakening.

“It’ll be alright!” he said, loud enough for her to hear but somehow still imbuing his voice with the practiced compassion of a medic.

Her frightened eyes latched onto his, seeking solace in his peace. This is right, a voice from his past whispered. This is what you were meant to do. The voice was his own, from when he knew who he was and what he stood for.

BOOM!

The Meson Martinet made impact.

---

19 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

Bly dropped his head back behind the seat of the Separatist shuttle, letting it clunk hard against the durasteel wall. The distance between them and Maridun grew in proportion to Bly's sense of security. He closed his eyes, going through the steps General Secura had taught him for cooling down after battle. His breathing slowed, his racing mind calmed, and gradually the adrenaline of fighting for his life left him. His body was utterly spent, and now he could finally afford to let himself feel it. They were safe.

“Are you feeling better now, Master?” Commander Tano asked General Skywalker, the two of them seated next to each other across the shuttle from Bly.

“Yeah, not 100%, but close.”

Commander Tano let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

General Skywalker chuckled. “Whatever you say, Snips.”

The young Padawan’s concern for her Master was palpable, and Bly couldn’t help but remember her and General Secura’s conversation from earlier.

As a Jedi, it is your duty to do what is best for the group.

Bly couldn’t agree with that sentiment more. It was their job as clones, too. It was why he couldn’t afford to stop to memorialize Cameron, Lucky, or Flash. It was why he didn’t have time to mourn the loss of almost the entirety of the 327th. It was why he was prepared to lay down his life anywhere, at any moment, for the cause. General Secura understood that. It was one of the things he respected most about her.

His wandering mind recalled his feet pounding the earth, running away from the Separatist weapon as fast as his body could manage. Then he was flying through the air, a slender, strong arm wrapped around his waist. His heart was in his chest, but he knew he’d make it. He had absolute confidence in his General.

The shuttle docked on General Skywalker’s flagship, jolting Bly from his meditations.

“There’re rooms for you and Commander Bly in the officer’s quarters,” General Skywalker told General Secura, and she nodded her thanks.

They disembarked, and Bly followed General Secura to the rooms Skywalker had indicated.

“Are you alright, General?” he asked. She didn’t look injured, but things had been pretty rough-and-tumble on Meridun. And if she was hurt General Secura was likely to ignore it as long as possible.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s debrief before rest and recuperation.”

“Yes sir.”

He walked behind her through the halls of the Venator, blaster held at ready despite their relative safety and his aching arms. General Secura marched ahead of him and he could sense her mood. He doubted anyone else would be able to tell, but there was a weight to her step and a tension in her shoulders that spoke plainly to her anger and frustration. Bly’s grip on his blaster tightened. It took a lot to shake General Secura.

General Secura reached her room and punched the control panel with more force than necessary to open the door. Bly stepped in after her, wary of what was to come.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing across from her as she pulled a chair out from behind a large desk at the back of the room.

Bly obliged, setting his blaster down first and slowly sitting down. He waited for General Secura to start the meeting with her typical no-nonsense efficiency, but instead she set her elbows on the table and rested her forehead in her palms, her eyes closed and her shoulders tense.

Well, he supposed he could get the ball rolling. “Meteor Company is on leave in Coruscant. We can work with them until our fleet is rebuilt.”

“Rebuilt with what?” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

“Pardon?”

“I said, rebuilt with what?” General Secura said with more force, moving her hands away. Bly nearly flinched when he realized there were tears in her eyes.

“The shipyards are already at work on new Venators, and there are the next generation of trainees from Kamino-”

“Rebuilt with men,” General Secura said forcefully. “Nearly the entire battalion was wiped out. A battalion made up of men. Men who were my responsibility.”

Bly floundered for a moment, unused to seeing his General so conflicted. She was his anchor in the madness of the war. What would he do if she was unmoored?

“They were my brothers, and this loss is… difficult to bear,” Bly said, feeling strangely disjointed.

He was gutted by the death of the clones in his battalion, but at the same time he felt an odd sense of disconnect. Maybe it was some anti-social characteristic inherited from Jango Fett, maybe it was genetic engineering courtesy of the Kaminoans, but either way he didn’t feel the sorrow residing in his heart in the way he intuitively knew he should.

“My apologies, Commander Bly,” General Secura said. “I’ve been so focused on myself when this must be so much harder for you.”

Bly shook his head. “No, I mean… They were my brothers, so I know they understood their sacrifice. Myself and every other clone in the GAR is prepared to sacrifice ourselves for the Republic. It’s like you said, it’s our duty to do what’s best for the group.”

“That’s what I told Padawan Tano, and I believe it. But there’s a difference between not allowing personal attachment to cloud your judgment, and just standing back while tens of thousands of men die.”

“We did all we could-”

“But it wasn’t enough!” General Secura said, rising from her seat and slamming her fist on the table.

Bly fell silent, thinking there was no response he could give that would help. General Secura stared at him for a long moment as her frame shook with anger and frustration. Gradually, the rage melted and gave way to a deep, abiding sorrow. She sat back down again, her customary grace and stillness returning to her.

“Bly, I swear to you today that so long as it does not endanger civilian lives, I will do whatever I can to protect you and your men,” General Secura said.

“Ma’am, that’s not neces-”

“Yes it is! Each and every man who died in Quell mattered to me. You matter to me. It’s one thing to stop missing my Master too much. It’s another thing entirely to casually dismiss the deaths of my men. If that’s what it means to be unattached, then it’s not worth it to me.”

Her declaration shocked Bly into silence. Nothing was more important to General Secura than the Order, and he couldn’t imagine her turning her back on one of its precepts.

“General,” he ventured cautiously, “You’re distraught, and that’s understandable. But perhaps that’s not the best frame of mind in which to decide to leave the Order.”

“I’m not leaving the Order,” she said firmly. “I’m only recognizing that, as a Jedi, I have multiple ideals that, should they come into conflict, I need to prioritize. And my promise to you—my promise to myself—is that I will always prioritize compassion over detachment.”

Bly’s throat tightened. It wasn’t often a clone was told that he mattered, and for that sentiment to be coming from someone as beautiful, as kind, as gracious as General Secura? Even Jango Fett’s cold heart couldn’t help but be moved by something like that.

“I’m honored, General,” he choked out.

General Secura’s features softened and she rose from her chair, walking around the table to put a hand on Bly’s shoulder.

“I need someone I can trust, Bly,” she said. “I need someone to guide me and push back if I’m not thinking clearly or if my decisions are rash. I need someone to help ensure that this never happens again.”

“I can be whatever you ask of me, General,” Bly said staunchly.

“Please. Call me Aayla,” she said. “What I need is a friend.”

---

“Execute Order 66.”

General Skywalker and Commander Tano stood in front of Kix, their backs to him. Next to him, Rex, Fives, Jesse, and Tup slowly raised their blasters, expressions grim but determined.

“No! Wait!” Kix called out to them. “It’s a trick! Don’t shoot!”

But it was too late. All four of his brothers opened fire, catching their superiors—their friends—completely off guard. Skywalker and Tano both dropped in an instant.

“No!”

Then, to his horror, Kix’s hands raised his own blaster. As he watched on, eyes wide and mind unwilling, his fingers squeezed the trigger three, four, five times, sending burning blaster bolts into their prone bodies.

“No!”

Kix thrashed in protest, and pain exploded from his legs and chest. He opened his eyes, frantic, but he didn’t see General Skywalker or Captain Rex or anyone else he’d just imagined. Dreaming, he’d only been dreaming.

Kix’s hazy mind still had no idea what was going on and he knew his body was in bad shape, but so long as the nightmare wasn’t real, that was alright with him.

“He can’t come in here, he’ll endanger my other patients.”

“Lady, he’s easily the most injured person here. Who the kriff is he a danger to?”

Voices sounded above and around Kix, noise buzzing in and out of his fuzzy head. He tried to sit up and a firm hand pushed him down.

“Just relax, friend. Don’t move too much,” came Reveth’s voice.

“That thing was made for violence, and I won’t serve him,” the voice said. It was female, but Kix didn’t recognize it. That wasn’t really unusual. He didn’t recognize most of the world he’d awoken to several months earlier.

“That thing is my crewmember,” came Captain Ithano’s raspy voice in harsh rebuke.

“Are you a doctor or not? I thought you weren’t allowed to refuse to help someone in need,” Quiggold added.

Kix’s blurry vision slowly cleared and the sight of blue skies, thick vines, and glowing fungi greeted him. The ordnance, the explosion, the crash—it all came back to him. They’d made it to Felucia, at least mostly in one piece.

Ugh. Thought I’d never have to see this blasted planet again.

“Fine. Bring him in. But as soon as he’s well enough to stand, he’s out of here,” the unidentified woman said.

Kix craned his head up, catching a clouded glimpse of a middle-aged woman with a stern look and odd, blue-ish hair.

“Suit yourself lady,” Quiggold said, and suddenly Kix was moving again.

---

It was past 0300 and the lights of the Venator had been switched to the flickering dim of the night cycle hours ago, but requisitions flimsiwork didn’t care how little sleep Bly had been getting lately. He signed off on a request for more medical personnel—there never seemed to be enough—and set his datapad down for a good stretch. He was closing in on the end and sleep was in sight, but there were still a few things left to do. There always were.

Bly’s office consisted of a small alcove open to the main hallway just off the bridge, and though he would have appreciated some privacy he understood that space was at a premium on a military vessel. The only person onboard who got a private office (or a private cabin, for that matter) was Aayla, her office connecting to Bly’s through a small door at the back. The layout made Bly feel like a glorified secretary at times, but he accepted it since it made it easier to get ahold of the General.

Bly checked what was next on his to-do list. Oh yes, order more munitions for the AT-TE division. Bly braced himself, then settled in for another round of tedium.

“Ahh!”

A loud gasp sounded from behind Bly, and he whirled around in his chair. It was coming from Aayla’s study. Without a second thought Bly jumped from his seat and sprinted through the door separating him from his General.

“General! What’s wrong!”

Aayla looked up from her desk, a hunk of mysterious food hanging from her mouth and a look of surprise on her face. Whatever was going on, she was definitely not in danger.

“Bly! I’m sorry, I was just reacting to this broadcast.”

“What broadcast? Is someone under attack?”

“No…” Aayla said, her lekku flushing a deep blue.

It was then that Bly decided to pause and actually listen to the broadcast.

“But how could Gorges be the murderer? He wasn’t even at the depot when Mr. Waxillium died!”

“He may not have held the blaster, but he set events in motion to cause the death of his supposed good friend, Mr. Waxillium. Didn’t you, Gorges? You were the one who told Mr. Waxillium to go to the depot that night, weren’t you? You were the one who gave Jasna the blaster, weren’t you?”

“You can’t prove a thing!”

Bly’s brow furrowed, the audio from Aayla’s transceiver only confusing him more. “What… what is this?”

“It’s a transceiver drama,” Aayla said with a sheepish smile. “It’s my guilty pleasure, I’m afraid.”

Bly pursed his lips, unsure how he was supposed to respond. It was difficult to imagine Aayla having any guilty pleasures, and he had no idea what a “transceiver drama” was supposed to be.

Aayla’s smile wilted the longer Bly went without responding. “You… don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

She grimaced. “It’s Aayla, especially when we’re not talking business.”

Bly coughed. “I’m afraid not, Aayla.”

It was still so hard to call her Aayla. He’d managed to start thinking of her as Aayla in his head, but actually saying the words aloud? As if they were friends? As if they were in any way on equal footing? It was a struggle.

“Transceiver dramas are pieces of fiction that are broadcast over transceiver for entertainment. They’re just… fun stories to listen to,” Aayla said. “I don’t listen to them often, but I’m partial to the mysteries.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You never listened to any dramas? Or watched any holos?”

“Only for educational purposes, si-” Bly cut himself off with a curt shake of the head. “Aayla.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Aayla said, standing and pulling a chair from the corner of her study to rest next to hers. “Come, sit and listen with me.”

“I still have some requisitions-”

“Come on, Bly. Everyone needs to relax sometimes. It will help you work better tomorrow.”

Bly still hesitated for several heartbeats, though he knew he’d always end up doing what she asked. He sat carefully in the chair, as if it might eat him alive for slacking off, and slowly eased into the back cushion. Aayla watched him with an amused expression.

“You won’t know what’s going on in this one, but another starts up right after this. You’ll love it—there’s a detective who’s looking for the man who murdered his wife, and he’ll stop at nothing to find him…”

Aayla excitedly described the plot of the upcoming show, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she delved into the twists and turns of the detective’s search. Bly had never imagined that she had such a carefree side to her, never envisioned her indulging in melodramatic entertainment, but he was thrilled by the discovery. She looked so relaxed and at ease, and there was a simple happiness to her habitually world-weary demeanor that Bly desperately wanted to see more of.

The new show started and, despite the mess of names and plot points swirling around in his head, Bly soon found himself sucked into the story. He gasped when Aayla gasped and added to her theorizing when a new clue was discovered. It was fun, an emotion that Bly barely recognized.

Aayla gave him a piece of whatever she was eating and Bly inspected it carefully, discovering after some study that it was dried meat.

“Try it,” Aayla said.

Bly gave the hunk of meat an experimental chew. His tongue was met with an intensity of savory flavor that he’d never imagined could exist, and his eyes widened. “That’s good!”

Aayla chuckled. “A lot better than what they serve in the mess, I’d wager.”

“Definitely.” Bly paused to chew the meat, not expecting it to be so tough. Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait a second, I thought Jedi were vegetarians.”

Aayla looked at him blankly then burst out laughing. “Certainly not! Take Master Yoda, for example. His species is carnivorous. If he was vegetarian he’d starve.”

“Oh…” Bly said, heat rising to his cheeks. “Well I… how was I supposed to-?”

“Shh! We’re missing the next clue!” Aayla said, still trying to hold back her laughter.

Bly slouched into his seat with an undignified pout, and Aayla leaned over and patted him on the arm. The motion should have felt patronizing, but By couldn’t bring himself to resent anything that resulted in her touch.

The drama continued, ending the episode on a cliffhanger with the detective about to be captured by the Hutt crimelord. Advertising played and Bly sighed, bracing himself to get up and finish the requisitions forms.

“...There’s another episode after this one, if you’re interested,” Aayla said with forced indifference.

He really shouldn’t. He was constantly running short on sleep—he needed to finish his work and hit the bunk as soon as possible. He opened his mouth to say as much, then noticed the hopeful tilt of Aayla’s brow.

“Sure, I could stay for one more,” he said.

What was a few more hours of lost sleep?

---

Kix came to in an aged hospital bed, both legs in splints and his chest aching from what could only be broken ribs. For half a moment his eyes sought Coric, or Rex, or someone else who could tell him what was going on. Then he remembered.

Kix sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. Maybe it didn’t really matter that much where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Reveth stirred at Kix’s bedside, her eyes widening as she noticed Kix.

“You’re up!” she said, sounding almost cheery.

“Yeah,” Kix said, struggling to sit up without hurting his ribs.

Reveth jumped to her feet and lent Kix a hand, stacking a few pillows behind his back so he wasn’t staring at the ceiling. They were at the far end of a long room and he was lying in one of several beds partially cordoned off by screens and curtains. The familiar sight of medical equipment provided Kix with a sense of comfort, though the equipment was old and the furnishings dingy.

“How long have I been out for?” Kix asked.

“Just a day. The doctor says you’ll be all better pretty soon.”

“Any other injuries?”

“Us in the common area got it the worst. I had a concussion and a broken wrist,” she said, raising up the bandaged appendage. “Everyone in the cockpit was fine.”

“And the Martinet?”

Reveth grimaced. “She’ll fly again, eventually. Progress is slow because there aren’t any major starports nearby. Kriff, we’re lucky this clinic is even here. I think the doctor is one of those do-gooders who goes to the ass-end of nowhere to serve the needy.”

“Hmm…” Kix said, recalling the way the doctor had at first refused to treat him. She hadn’t seemed particularly charitable then. “How angry is the captain?”

“Ehhh…” Reveth hedged.

“Am I dead? Or just kicked off the ship?” Kix asked. Sidon Ithano was a fair captain, but even he couldn’t just look the other way when a crewmate led them to treasure that ended up tearing apart their ship.

Reveth waved a hand. “The captain seems tough but he’s softer than you’d think.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d avoid him for a few days if you don’t want another broken limb. But he’ll get over it.”

Kix tried to sit up taller but his ribs protested. He fell back into his pillows with a grunt. “Thanks for the advice.”

“It helps that Reeg thinks he can salvage the explosives from the other cargo bay. Only by the grace of the Force did they not blow up in the crash.”

Kix raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Reveth shrugged. “Probably. He said he can extract the titanoid from the charges without setting them off if he soaks everything in moletan first. Still sounds risky to me, but it’s his leather hide.”

Kix nodded thoughtfully. The deconstructed charges wouldn’t be quite as valuable as they would have been whole, but much safer to transport. And that amount of titanoid should make their excursion profitable enough that Sidon probably wouldn’t decide that Kix had to pay for their losses.

“Oh yeah, and your box of stuff was in cargo bay two as well,” Reveth said, reaching for a crate under her chair and kicking it over to Kix.

Kix leaned over the side of his bed with a wince, confirming for himself that the crate really was the one he’d recovered from the crumbling Republic medical center a few days earlier. It was this modest collection of possessions that had brought Kix to back to the old base; the explosives had just been a monetary justification for the trip. The entire crew of the Marinet had understood that, which was why Kix’s concern for Sidon Ithano’s ire was real. They’d risked carrying dangerous explosives onboard just because Kix had wanted to recover a tiny box of worthless personal effects.

Reveth grabbed the crate and set it on Kix’s lap.

“Thanks.”

“So what’s in there?” Reveth asked, leaning forward to see. “What was worth all the trouble?”

“Not much, really. Just a few odds and ends,” Kix said vaguely.

Reveth looked doubtfully at him but didn’t press.

Kix opened the box and pulled out the first item, a medal he’d been awarded in medical training on Kamino. Medals didn’t interest him much—he still remembered the swell of pride when it had first been awarded him, but now it seemed more like an empty method of placation. He dug further, rummaging around his Phase I helmet, a field medicine guide for venomous creatures and poisonous plants, a musty pair of gloves. He finally found the old pauldron he was looking for,the faded blue painted over with designs of starfighters and explosions—the result of an energetic, easily-distracted mind.

He held the pauldron up to Reveth. “My friend painted this. He sacrificed himself for our company, crashing an enemy fighter into their ship to break a blockade.”

The gently mocking angle that always seemed to tilt Reveth’s mouth disappeared. “Sounds like he was a great man.”

Kix nodded, putting the pauldron carefully back in the crate. “He was.”

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do with all this stuff, but the idea of it left to turn to dust on some distant, abandoned base was unacceptable. Despite the crash and despite Captain Ithano’s anger, Kix was glad he’d gotten it back.

The door at the end of the room whooshed open, and the doctor Kix vaguely remembered from before walked in.

“Hey doc! He’s up!” Reveth called.

The woman walked across the room and fully opened the screen that marked Kix’s territory, her nose scrunched up like she smelled something foul. Now that Kix got a better look at her, he realized she was a Twi’lek hybrid. Stubby lekku extended from the back of her head down to her shoulders, barely visible through a shock of thick, blue hair. Her skin was a distinctly human hue of tan.

“He’s conscious? Good,” the woman said, looking Kix up and down. Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the crate that still rested on his lap, and without comment she picked it up and pushed it under his bed. “How are your ribs?”

“Broken,” Kix said.

The woman nodded. “They’ll hurt for a while. Some nysillin will help, but time is the best healer.”

Kix groaned his agreement. The splints on his leg looked good and the room, though out-of-date and spartan, was well-maintained. Whoever this woman was, as a man of medicine Kix could respect her.

“Well, try to get some sleep,” the woman said, making some notes on her datapad. “You’ve got a punctured lung, a few broken ribs, and two broken legs, but considering the state of that ship of yours, you’re in pretty good shape. I’ll be using some bacta on those legs and you should be able to get around fairly easily in a day or two.”

Kix closed his eyes again, performing a mental self-examination to confirm her diagnosis. It all checked out.

He opened his eyes again. “I’m Kix. Who are you?”

The woman pursed her lips like she didn’t want to tell him. He remembered what he’d heard when they were bringing him in. That thing is made for violence.

“You can call me Dr. Bosc,” she said eventually. “Pleased to meet you.”

---

“Bly! I need you to get over to that ridge and bring down those turrets!” Aayla shouted over the din of blaster fire and mortars.

“On it!” Bly shouted back, motioning for two ARC troopers and two heavy infantry to follow him and sprinting out from behind cover.

Bly. Bly. Bly. She never called him Commander anymore. Everything would be so much easier if she would.

His team made short work of the turrets, moving with the grace and efficiency Bly drilled into them day in and day out. It was that skill that would hopefully keep them alive.

Until the day Aayla had broken down after Maridun, Bly had just assumed he’d end up dead before the war was over and hadn’t thought too much about it. Now he thought differently. He wanted to live and he wanted desperately to ensure that every man under his command lived too, no matter how impossible that sounded. It was harder to live this way—harder to maintain hope every day only to have it dashed by the devastation of each casualty his battalion suffered—but Bly could live with the pain. Anything was better than the empty detachment of resignation.

Other things had been different, too. Now that he’d convinced himself he’d live beyond the end of the war, he’d started thinking about his life after. And that was dangerous, dangerous thinking for a clone like him.

“Get down!” Quark yelled.

Bly barely had time to throw himself to the dirt before a hail of blaster fire tore through the air. He crawled through the gravelly earth to the base of the turret they’d just destroyed, using the low platform on which it rested for cover. His team stayed pressed to the ground for several minutes while Bly looked for an opening, but it was no good. A whole company of battle droids had followed them up the ridge, blocking their way out.

“General Secura,” he said into his comm, “We’re pinned down on the ridge. Requesting backup.”

“On my way,” came her snappy response.

I didn’t mean you had to come personally, Bly thought. She surely had more important places to be on the battlefield. He knew she had more important places to be—he could hear that from the comms.

“Sir! They’re flanking us!” Broadside yelled, and sure enough, a squad of clankers was coming up the other side of the ridge, boxing them in against the steep dropoff beyond the turret.

“Damn,” Bly said. “Alright, we’ve gotta go over the edge. Clankers are worse at covering terrain.”

“Sir?” Broadside said, alarm evident in his voice. “We’ll be totally exposed!”

“I know, but this is our only chance. I’ll try to provide covering fire as long as I can.”

“Sir-”

“That’s an order, soldier!”

Broadside saluted sharply, then pulled his WESTAR M5 from its harness around his back and handed it to Bly. He and his fellow ARC trooper attached their grappling hooks to the base of the turret, lashed themselves to one infantryman each, and started a rapid, precarious descent down the steep face of the ridge.

Bly grabbed the M5 and switched it to burst mode, then unleashed a spray of blaster bolts on the advancing droids, trying his best to draw fire away from the exposed troopers. After a minute or two of concentrated fire, he chanced a look down to check on their progress. Three troopers were dashing back to the safety of the rest of the battalion, while a fourth lay broken at the bottom of the ridge.

“Karking hell,” Bly hissed. He’d lost another one.

A blaster shot singed a glancing blow off the top of his helmet, and Bly put a halt to his self-recriminations. One of the ARC troopers had helpfully left his grappling hook attached, so Bly grabbed it with two gloved hands and barrelled headfirst down the steep incline. He let his momentum carry him, his feet finding their next hold by instinct and sheer luck, and in less than a minute he was at the bottom. His hands tangled in the wire of the grappling hook, and in the split second it took to free himself, a high-powered blaster bolt nailed him right in the ribs, cutting straight through his plastoid armor.

Bly was on the dirt, face up, waiting for death, when a pair of arms grabbed him under the elbows and dragged him away.

“You’re not dying today, sir!”

The chaos of battle sounded around him, but Bly had very little sense of what was going on. Then the unmistakable whirr of a lightsaber cutting through air and metal filled his ears, and he started to believe that he might make it out alive.

The trooper dragged him into a somewhat sheltered alcove, and suddenly Aayla was by his side.

“What happened, Bly?” she demanded, her elegant features hovering tense and fierce across his field of vision.

“Clanker nailed me,” he managed to get out. “Forgot to duck.”

She narrowed her eyes at his attempt at humor, then sliced the chestplate right off him with several expertly-placed cuts of her lightsaber. She let out a sharp hiss at the sight of the wound, and Bly couldn’t bring himself to tilt his chin downwards to look.

The sound of fighting grew near again, but Aayla didn’t seem to notice. She knelt over him and carefully placed both hands just around the searing pain emanating from his ribs and closed her eyes, her breath coming in deeply through her nose. Nothing happened.

For several long moments all Bly could hear was the not-so-distant crackle of blaster fire and the slow, even breaths of his General.

“They’re closing in on our position, sir,” a clone voice called out, and Aayla cursed under her breath.

The hands on Bly’s torso pressed down with slightly more force and Aayla gritted her teeth. He could practically feel the force of her will urging his body to knit together, but nothing happened.

“Why oh why can I never heal when I need to?” she muttered, her accent growing thick with frustration.

The sound of blaster fire drew closer, and the shuffle of nervous clone feet reached Bly’s ears. Expending nearly all of his remaining energy, he forced a hand up to grab Aayla’s wrist.

“Aayla. You told me to tell you when you’re being rash.”

The harshness of her expression held for a moment, then melted into resignation. She looked up to some trooper outside of Bly’s field of vision.

“Broadside, I want a medevac for Commander Bly right now.”

“Yes sir!”

She placed a hand on either side of Bly’s face and pressed her forehead to his, her breath warm and comforting against his face. “Don’t die on me, Bly.”

He muttered something about promising and that he’d be fine, but his vision was already starting to blur. More friendly arms lifted him up and onto a stretcher of some kind, and suddenly he was moving again.

All he could see was the sky above him, fixed and immovable as terrain warped and shifted in his peripherals. His thoughts were muddled and confused, but they always seemed to end up returning to the same fact: he was in love with Aayla Secura.

---

It took four days for Kix to be able to put weight on his legs again.

“It would have been faster if I could spare more bacta,” Dr. Bosc said as she helped him out of bed. “But my resources are limited.”

Having watched her clinic operate the past four days, Kix had to agree. Dr. Bosc was the only medical professional for miles, and she was regularly inundated with patients seeking treatment for a variety of maladies ranging from eye infections to traumatic brain injuries. Kix imagined the unpredictability was also difficult to manage—some days were slower and other days she was entirely overwhelmed.

“I understand, doctor,” Kix said, gripping Dr. Bosc’s forearms firmly to steady himself.

Dr. Bosc gave him a curt nod, then stepped backwards, urging him to test his newly-mended legs. Kix took a tentative step forward, his leg shaking slightly under his weight but ultimately holding firm.

“Looking good there, Kix!” Quiggold called from his seat in the corner, and Kix thanked him with a small smile.

At least one member of the crew had come to visit Kix every day, which he appreciated. It still wasn’t close to approaching the feeling of having his brothers at his back, but Kix was beginning to feel a genuine camaraderie with his crewmates. It was one of the only things about his new life that gave him any measure of comfort.

Dr. Bosc led Kix in several wobbly loops around the clinic, past a Felcuian laid up with a high fever, a Human with a broken leg, and a Weequay woman suffering from dementia. The clinic had really filled up in the past day or two, and Kix had to give it up for the doctor for juggling all her patients with no help.

They passed by Dr. Bosc’s desk, where stacks of paperwork and prescription orders towered, some teetering precariously close to the edge. The only other thing on the desk was an odd sort of T-shaped wooden totem with a chain of connected wooden ornaments dangling off each end.

“Now that I’m mobile I could lend a hand with your clinic, doctor,” Kix said.

Dr. Bosc shot him a contemptuous look out of the corner of her eye. “No, thank you.”

“I’m a medic. I have training. And it looks like you could use the help,” he said, looking pointedly at the desk.

“No,” she said, leaving Kix to balance on his own for a moment to straighten out the stacks most in danger of falling. When she was finished she picked up the totem and placed it in the neatest corner of the desk, careful to keep it safe distance from the edge.

She returned to Kix, and he pursed his lips but said no more. If any of these patients died because their doctor was too stubborn to accept help…

They finished their final loop around the room and Dr. Bosc helped Kix back onto the bed. Kix started to get settled back into his pillows, but Dr. Bosc disappeared into a storage closet and returned with a set of crutches.

“Good job,” she said, handing the crutches over. “You’re discharged.”

Kix held the crutches and blinked up at her in surprise. Surely she wasn’t serious.

“He can barely walk, doc. He can stay another day, can’t he?” Quiggold asked.

“Does this look like a daycare center to you?” Dr. Bosc said, gesturing to her other patients. “I said he could stay until he could walk. He can walk now, so he’s no longer welcome here.”

Quiggold got to his feet. “What is your problem, lady? If you have a problem with Kix, you have a problem with all of us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dr. Bosc said, her golden-brown eyes flashing in anger.

“It’s ok, Quiggold,” Kix said. Then he turned to the doctor, curious to understand the mystery that had been eating at him since his arrival here. “My friends know what I am because I told them. How do you know what I am?”

Dr. Bosc glared. “Because you look exactly like my father.”

Kix froze, his brain short circuiting. Father. Father. You look exactly like my father.

“What?” said Quiggold.

Kix’s fingers tightened around his crutches, his knuckles turning white. “Your father was a clone soldier?”

“Yes,” Dr. Bosc spat. “So I have firsthand knowledge of the violence and deception hard-coded into your DNA.”

Deception? Violence Kix could understand, but deception?

“Well hey there, that’s uncalled for-” Quiggold started.

“It’s alright,” Kix said, struggling to his feet. “I’ll see myself out.”

Kix hobbled to the exit as fast as his busted limbs would let him. If this woman really was the child of a clone, then she probably had some justifiable grievances. Her father was likely a very limited part of her life, and perhaps he’d been more than simply negligent. But that did not mean that Kix was about to sit here and listen while this woman disparaged millions of his dead brothers.

Quiggold followed after him, lending him a hand once they were out of the clinic and guiding him through the musty town to where the Meson Martinet had landed.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “Is she really the child of a clone?”

“I don’t know,” Kix said shortly. “It’d be a strange thing to lie about.”

“I guess that makes you her uncle.”

Kix leveled a flat look at Quiggold, and he raised his hands in self defense.

“Hey, just an observation!”

Kix entered the cracked-open shell of the Martinet’s living quarters, stubbornly ignoring the ache in his leg though his medical expertise told him he couldn’t afford to.

“Just hand me an arc wrench so we can fix this ship and get off this miserable planet.”

---

“Get back!” Aayla yelled as the blast doors to the control room burst open.

Bly reflexively ducked for cover, knowing better than to hesitate when it came to his General’s orders.

They’d been pushing to take out the Separatist base for days now, and they’d finally reached the control tower where intelligence told them the Separatist general would be. The nearness of their goal only reinforced the need for caution in Bly’s minds—those who led from the back often fortified their positions with the toughest security.

Bly used his viewfinder to sneak a peak over the duracrete barrier he’d claimed for cover, his alarm spiking as he realized why Aayla had warned her men away.

Aayla was locked in heated battle with the bald, malicious Sith assassin, Ventress. The dark Force user was wielding her twin sabers to great effect, and though Aayla was a famed duelist, her skills were clearly being put to the test.

“Hold your ground,” Bly repeated over the comm to his troops. He understood that they all had the same instinct he did to rush to the General’s defense, but Aayla had given Bly very specific instructions should this exact situation arise.

“If I meet another Force user in battle, I want you and the men to steer clear, you understand? Those abilities are above your pay grade and my opponent will not be above using you as sentient shields to get to me.”

Bly understood this in theory—had agreed with her, even—but putting it into practice now was a different matter.

Bly had seen Aayla spar thousands of times, frequently against other Jedi. She was undoubtedly more technically skilled than Ventress. But as Bly kept watch over the duel through his viewfinder, it became clear that Ventress had a ferocity—a raw, hateful power—that the General lacked.

Back pressed against the duracrete, Bly’s fists clenched as he watched the duel progress. He fought the instincts that screamed at him to intervene, to assist, to defend—over all of those urges was the ultimate tenet of obedience.

The duel had moved its way down the hallway and away from the blast doors, and Aayla was now backed up against a wall of transparisteel with nowhere to go. There was a fatigue in her shoulders that Bly knew well, and she didn’t hold firm against Ventress like someone who knew they were going to win. Something snapped in Bly’s mind, and a decision was made.

“Everyone else, continue to hold your ground until I or the General say otherwise,” he said into his comm.

A chorus of “Yessirs,” followed him, and he leapt over the barrier and sprinted towards the duelists. When he was still a good 30 meters away, he pulled out his rifle and aimed carefully. All he needed to do was distract the assassin for a brief moment, enough to give Aayla an opening.

The shrill whine of blaster fire tore through the air as Bly opened fire, squeezing off five shots in rapid succession at Ventress’s back.

Ventress whirled around, dodging and deflecting with sinuous grace. None of Bly’s shots struck true, but that hadn’t been the point. He’d wanted to get her attention, and he’d succeeded.

Behind Ventress, Aayla noticed her opening and lunged, but Ventress was already gone. She was sprinting full-tilt towards Bly, a sneer on her lips and murder in her eyes. Bly kept shooting at her, using his knowledge of Aayla’s movement patterns to predict where the assassin would dodge. One of his bolts singed her arm, but that only enraged her even more.

In an instant she was on him, his blaster tossed to the side and her hand around his throat. Bly resisted the urge to close his eyes, memories of what had happened to Colt passing through his mind. At least it would be quick.

“You dare to attack me?” Ventress hissed, her voice low and smoky.

Her fingers tightened around Bly’s windpipe, squeezing the air from his lungs. Bly summoned up the last of his breath to respond to her.

“Always.”

Ventress’s sneer turned vicious, and her fingers tightened further, completely starving him of oxygen and summoning black spots to his vision.

“Get away from him!”

The fingers around Bly’s throat disappeared and his body crumpled to the ground. Bly’s hazy world tilted sideways, and through his distorted vision Aayla pounced on Ventress with the ferocity of a gundark.

She slashed downward onto Ventress’s head and Ventress lunged sideways to avoid the strike. Then Aayla swung her blade around for a second strike, faster than lightning, this time aimed at Ventress’s midsection. The Sith assassin jerked backwards, but only far enough to avoid a killing blow. The tip of Aayla’s saber dragged a searing slash across Ventress’s torso, and she howled in pain and fury.

Aayla pressed her advantage, moving in on Ventress, but Ventress simply leapt away, switching off her lightsabers and disappearing out a nearby window.

Relief flooded Bly’s cloudy head, and he closed his eyes, letting himself relax. His blessed rest was interrupted when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Bly? Bly, can you hear me?”

Bly opened his eyes, the beautiful sight of a healthy and whole Aayla Secura greeting him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then get back to the med tent ASAP.”

“Sir, I can fight-”

“Now, Bly.”

Aayla directed a trooper to help Bly to a medic, and several hours later found Bly waiting in his blacks, still foggy and dazed, in the corner of the med tent along with the rest of the non-critically injured.

The comms told Bly that their operation was over, and not long afterwards Aayla herself marched into the tent, looking tired and angry. She scanned the room, finding Bly quickly and coming to fetch him.

“Debrief in my office. Now,” she said

The harshness of her tone cleared Bly’s cloudy mind, and he jumped to attention, following after her like he always did. They entered the tent that served as Aayla’s office in the field, and as soon as the flap closed behind them, she rounded on him.

“I was very explicit about what to do if I engage an enemy Force user, was I not?”

“You were,” Bly conceded.

“And yet my orders were not heeded.”

“All due respect, sir, I followed your orders until it looked like following them might get you killed.”

“It was a direct order, Bly.”

Anger bubbled up in Bly’s chest, a foreign feeling to him, especially when it came to Aayla. “I made a judgment call! You told me you needed not just a Commander, but a friend. If we’re going to be equals in any way, you need to trust my judgment.”

Aayla took a step towards him, her whole body tilting forward like she was still on the battlefield. “Well I don’t trust your judgment when it puts you in mortal danger!”

“I’m a soldier, Aayla! It’s my job to be in mortal danger!” he said, his voice rasping as his vocal cords reminded him of the abuse they’d been put through today.

Aayla stopped herself from saying more, though she was practically vibrating with anger. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the tactic successfully calming her after several breaths.

Bly eyed her warily, though when she opened her eyes again there was a calm resignation there that assured him their friendship would survive. There was something else in her bearing, though, that gave him pause. Not hostility or anger, but something charged and weighty. It made Bly nervous.

She took another step towards him and lifted her hand to his chest, her fingers not quite touching though Bly could swear he felt the impact. She raised her hand further and pressed her fingers tenderly into the skin of Bly’s neck, and any remaining frustration from their argument was instantly erased.

“Are you alright?”

He swallowed, and he knew she could feel the muscles in his throat constricting under her fingers. “I’ll live.”

“You’d better. Hold still.”

Aayla closed her eyes and hummed in concentration, her entire body calming and entering a state of perfect stillness. The air buzzed with energy, but the flowing, peaceful energy of the ocean rather than the frenetic energy of lightning. Bly had never felt so complete.

Her hands remained on his neck, and under her touch his skin warmed, then the ache gradually lifted, the tenderness melting away.

Bly expected her to step away, but she stayed close, her hand sliding down his neck and landing on his shoulder, one thumb resting along his collarbone.

“I know you’re a soldier, and I know that means you’ll always be in harm’s way,” she said. “But if you died to protect me? If you died because of me? It would kill me, Bly.”

This couldn’t be real. Aayla was so much more than Bly was. She was more powerful, more beautiful, more important. How could he matter so much to her? Bly stared hard at her and shook his head, willing thoughts of kissing her, of loving her, out of his unworthy brain.

“That’s… silly,” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

“Why would that be silly?” Aayla asked, her beautiful hazel eyes going wide with confusion. She was still so close to him he could see the subtle shift in color of her irises. He’d never been close enough to anyone besides his brothers to see that before.

Her body leaned further and further into his as he floundered for an answer, his training on Kamino providing absolutely no insight. “I don’t matter that much,” he said eventually. “I’m just… Bly.”

She smiled, the motion crinkling the cerulean skin around her eyes. “Exactly.”

Her nose brushed his, but she didn’t move any further. She just stayed there, breathing the same air as him, teasing, taunting. For several tense, protracted moments Bly resisted. This was definitely not the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with a superior officer. This wasn’t the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with anyone.

Then Bly looked down into Aayla’s eyes again, and the love and affection there overwhelmed him. His brothers loved him, but this was a different kind of love—it was warm and fierce, possessive and generous, selfish and selfless all at the same time. She was so close to him, and she wanted him. Who was he to deny her?

Bly surged forward, catching Aayla’s lips in his. She gasped a little, as if she hadn’t actually believed he would kiss her, but she recovered quickly. She held his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking across the golden tattoos on his cheeks, and her careful, tender kiss made him feel like the only thing that mattered in the galaxy.

It was Bly’s first kiss and he had no idea what he was doing, but he thanked Jango for whatever instincts kept him from making an utter fool of himself. He sensed some uncertainty from Aayla, too, though she was better at hiding it. He decided not to worry too much and to just do what felt good and natural, so he slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed, the action heaving her chest against his, and he tightened his hold. Aayla slid her hands into his hair and deepened their kiss, her mouth moving against him with greater purpose and intensity.

Even though she was brave and strong and could kill him in a second if she wanted, she felt small and vulnerable in his arms. He wanted to envelope her completely, to protect her and love her and be her place of rest. He wanted to do some other things to her, too, that felt less pure but still mutually desirable.

One of Bly’s hands crept up her waist, his thumb hesitating at the bottom of her ribs, and the other moved to cup the back of her head under her lekku. She moaned and the sinful sound demanded retaliatory action. Bly took several steps forward, backing her into her desk, and he pressed himself against her hard. Her fingers tightened in his hair and her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his.

“General Secura! ARC trooper Broadside here with a status report!” a voice called from just outside the tent.

Bly and Aayla shot away from each other like two identically polarized magnets.

“Come in,” Aayla called, fussily sitting herself behind her desk and trying to distract from the azure blush to her cheeks.

Broadside came in and saluted sharply. “Sir! No more Separatist forces found in the area. Casualties are high and our medical resources insufficient to treat them. Requesting backups from the 361st.”

A slight frown crinkled her beautiful brow. “Of course. Stitches should have requested it even if I’m not there—there’s no need to wait.”

“We’re not allowed to request medical aid without your permission, sir. Stitches was looking for you for a while but couldn’t find you.”

Aayla’s flush deepened and she looked down at her desk, shuffling a few pieces of flimsi around pointlessly. “Well he has my permission now. Dismissed.”

Broadside left the tent and Bly stood awkwardly in the corner while Aayla rested her elbow on her desk, all signs of the happy, eager woman of a few minutes ago gone. Bly knew what she was going to say before she even said it. Hell, he even had to agree with her.

Aayla’s eyes flicked up towards Bly. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

---

The first person to show up to the Martinet looking for Kix had a broken toe.

“I went to see Doc Bosc, but she told me Mrs. Xelaut is having a baby today and to come back tomorrow. It really hurts and I don’t want to wait that long!” the young Tholothian boy said, balancing precariously on his good foot just outside the Martinet’s main port.

Kix showed the kid mercy, letting him inside and finding him a chair. It had been two weeks since their crash landing and the crew was still in full-on rebuild mode, working long hours and getting creative with their supplies to put things back together with limited resources.

“I dunno, kid. I think the good doctor might not like it if I start treating her patients,” Kix said, his hands on his hips.

The boy’s face fell. “I’m not going to stop seeing her. I just need someone to wrap up my foot, and she’s busy right now!”

Kix studied the boy’s hopeful face, trying to weigh out exactly how much trouble he’d cause by lending a hand. Then his eyes fell to the foot the boy kept hovering a few inches off the ground so as not to jostle it. His shoe was off and his big toe was swollen black and blue. Kix’s jaw set. He was a medic, and it was his responsibility to treat the injured, no matter what anyone else said.

“Alright then,” he said, helping the boy to his feet. “Ship’s got a small medbay. I can get a biocast for you and get you some meds that will take the edge off a bit.”

The boy whooped and Kix couldn’t help but smile as he provided a steady arm for the boy to balance with while hopping through the ship. A half hour later and the boy walked out of the ship with a pair of makeshift crutches, a tiny biocast for his toe, and a smile on his face.

Word spread quickly of Kix’s services, and soon locals who couldn’t find a spot at Dr. Bosc’s clinic were showing up to see Kix at the Meson Martinet on a regular basis. Quiggold grumbled and Captain Ithano silently disapproved at first, but they changed their tune once grateful patients and their families started making an extra effort to get them the supplies they needed to fix the ship.

At first it was only one or two people a day, and sometimes nobody at all. Dr. Bosc was an excellent physician, after all, and most of the time she could see her patients as soon as they needed. But then a nasty bout of the flu made its way around town, and soon there were five, ten, fifteen people coming round the ship a day.

Leveraging all of his scrappy field medicine skills, Kix jury-rigged together a tent with some cots and set up a clinic outside the ship. Captain Ithano’s patience was limited, and Kix figured the more he could keep patients from getting underfoot during the repairs, the longer the Captain’s good graces would last.

The flu was a particularly nasty strain, but thankfully as the ship’s doctor Kix had insisted that the whole crew get vaccinated for a wide variety of ailments several months ago, so none of them fell ill. The rest of the town was not so lucky, and soon it seemed every family had been affected one way or another.

By day four of the outbreak, Kix was more tired than he’d been since waking from cryo-sleep. He was constantly inserting IV’s, taking temperatures, changing sheets, getting bedding, and preparing bacta capsules. He was so busy that it took him awhile to realize something strange: he was happy.

Each discharged local felt like a personal victory. The relief writ clear on his patients’ faces when he told them he could help filled, at least partially, the hole inside of Kix that his brothers had left behind. He was in his element, using his skills and expertise to assist those in need.

That newly-discovered happiness deflated when he saw Dr. Bosc marching up to his tent clinic with narrowed eyes and balled-up fists.

“I need to speak with you immediately,” she demanded as soon as she was within hearing distance.

“Certainly,” Kix said, first making sure his patient was comfortable, then leading Dr. Bosc away from the tent where she wouldn’t cause a scene.

“How can I help you, doctor?” Kix asked once they were a reasonable distance away.

“You know exactly why I’m here,” she accused, her tan features taking on a reddish hue.

Now that Kix knew her father was a clone, he could see the resemblance. The lekku were obviously not part of her father’s legacy, but her light brown eyes, thick, dark hair, and the way her mouth set in a wide, flat line all reminded him fiercely of his brothers.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be specific, doctor. I can’t imagine why anyone would be angry at a medic providing medical treatment.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose, as if to question the audacity of his statement. Kix had to admit that raising her ire was somewhat satisfying.

“You are stealing my patients. What kind of a person takes advantage of sick people for profit?”

“I don’t charge my patients anything beyond the cost of materials. They are getting my time for free,” Kix said as calmly as he could manage.

“But money isn’t the only problem! These are patients who I’ve developed a rapport with! Patients whose medical histories I know! They’re happy you’re helping them now, but what happens in a month or two, when you’re not here anymore? Did you even think about that?”

“Yes, I did think of that, which is why I offered to help you over a week ago. But you said no. Then what was I supposed to do when people who couldn’t find a spot in your clinic showed up asking me for help? Turn them away? I swore an oath to heal the wounded and restore the weary, and I will not break it just to sooth your wounded ego!”

Dr. Bosc recoiled like he’d physically attacked her. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, her expression shifting between rage, guilt, and confusion.

“Maybe when you’ve figured out what you’re actually upset about we can talk,” Kix said.

He turned on his heel and walked away, trying his best to just leave it at that. He didn’t know what this woman’s father had done to her, but it didn’t justify the way she was treating him. It didn’t justify her judgment of all of the clones.

“Wait!” Dr. Bosc called from behind him, but Kix just kept walking.

She caught up to him and blocked his path, arms spread wide. “Just wait a second, ok? I’m sorry.”

Kix raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that so?”

“Yes, you were right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

“Fine,” Kix said, moving to walk past her. “Apology accepted.”

“No, wait, please!” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “I really am sorry, and the truth is… I could really use your help.”

“Really?” Kix said flatly. “Now you want my help?”

Dr. Bosc took a deep breath, then exhaled, her posture relaxing and her expression contrite. “Look, I have a lot of problems with my father, but that’s not your fault, and I apologize for letting it affect the way I treat you. I have resources you could use. Set up your tent outside my clinic, and together both our lives will be easier.”

Kix narrowed his eyes at her, attempting to gauge her sincerity. And even if she was sincere, would they be able to work together peacefully?

“Alright. I’ll move everything tonight,” he said.

He’d treated patients in the middle of open warfare. How hard could it be to get along with one middle-aged doctor?

---

Bly was back to calling her General.

He knew it hurt her feelings, but if he was supposed to forget the way she tasted , the way her body felt pressed up against his, then there was no way he could continue to call her Aayla.

They left the GAR headquarters on Coruscant together late one night, the details of their strategy meeting still buzzing around in Bly’s head. The war wasn’t going well. The GAR had seen some decisive victories recently, but it wasn’t enough, and there was no sign of hostilities ending any time soon.

“I’m shipping out tomorrow, but you should report to the Coruscant Guard in the morning. I agreed to lend you to Commander Stone to help oversee the training of a company of new arrivals from Kamino,” General Secura said as they approached the speeder that would take her back to the Jedi Temple.

Bly stopped in his tracks. “More training, General?”

General Secura turned her head back to Bly, her eyebrow raised. “Is there a problem?”

Bly’s jaw clicked. “No, sir.”

“Good.”

She opened the door to the speeder and slid inside. This was the part where Bly stood on the landing pad and watched while General Secura flew away, then turned back to the GAR headquarters and went to sleep in his tiny bunk in his tiny quarters. This was the part where he obediently listened to orders and did what he was told.

Bly slid into the back of the speeder after General Secura, shutting the door behind him and signalling the driver to depart. The driver shot General Secura a questioning look, and she first looked doubtfully at Bly, then nodded to the driver.

“Got something to say, Commander?” she said.

“You’ve got to put me back on the front lines, sir. It’s where I belong.”

“You’re just as much use to me here, Bly.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Please don’t do this out of some misguided attempt to protect me. This is what I want. This is what I was meant to do.”

A pained expression crossed General Secura’s face. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, and there’s no shame in it. I’m a soldier. I’m good at it. I enjoy it. Let me be what I am.”

“You are an amazing soldier, Bly, and I’ll bring you on this next campaign if that’s what you want. But are you sure… Are you sure you’ll never want anything else?”

The question gave Bly pause. “...I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I think that sometimes we have different purposes at different times in our lives. Maybe now you were meant to be a soldier, but some time in the future you can be something else. Maybe now I am meant to be a Jedi, but some time in the future…”

Bly stared at Aayla like she’d grown an extra head. Was she suggesting she might someday leave the Order?

Aayla shook her head and she rubbed at her temples. “Don’t listen to me, I’m just feeling… out of sorts.”

Bly had noticed. Before their strategy session the General had come from a meeting at the Jedi Temple, and he’d seen the tension in her shoulders and the distant look in her eyes.

“Is… something wrong at the Temple?” he asked tentatively.

General Secura looked sideways at him, her gaze hard and measuring for a moment before she relented. “Not wrong, exactly. I was just coming from the tribunal for Ahsoka Tano.”

“Oh.” Bly had heard about that. The young Jedi he’d first met at Quell had been accused of planting bombs at the Jedi Temple. It seemed unlikely to him, but you never knew. People could surprise you. “What was the result?”

“She was ejected from the Order.”

Bly remained silent. He’d known men who’d died in that blast.

“She wasn’t ejected because we found her guilty. She was ejected in order to stand trial in a GAR court. She hasn’t been found guilty yet,” General Secura clarified.

“I’m sorry. She seemed like a really good kid.”

General Secura sighed. “I don’t know if she did it. Maybe we’ll never know. But if one thing is clear it’s that something isn’t quite right within the Order. And I worry for Ahsoka and the other young Jedi. I worry what they’ll face in the years to come.”

The idea of the Jedi Order being less than perfect was entirely foreign to Bly. The Order was beyond reproach, it was the source of leadership for the entire GAR, the font of their moral authority. That General Secura would confide in him her doubts was both incredibly unsettling and a sign of immense trust.

“Well… You are a part of the Order. So I know it must be good,” he said, his eyes flitting shyly up to meet hers.

She smiled a soft, sad smile and rested her hand atop his on the leather seat between them. “Thank you, Bly. And thank you for… understanding.”

She didn’t elaborate, but Bly knew what she meant. He felt the same way. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for understanding the things that are important to me. Thank you for understanding why we can’t be together. Thank you for understanding me.

“Of course, Aayla.”

---

Dr. Bosc and Kix got used to working together surprisingly quickly. They were both medical professionals used to setting aside the minor problems to focus on the life-threatening ones, and cooperation was an absolute necessity due to the severity of the flu season.

At first Dr. Bosc was constantly checking over Kix’s work, grilling his patients about his bedside manner and double-checking that he’d given the right medication at the right time. It grated on Kix’s patience, but there was no place for ego on the battlefield, and he refused to let his irritation with her harm any of the people coming to the clinic for help.

Kix also felt the urge to be on his best behavior to prove Dr. Bosc wrong about clones. It rankled him that he cared what she thought, but he couldn’t get himself to let it go. It wasn’t fair to have to serve as an ambassador for all of his kind, but then again he was the last living clone. He was quite literally the only representation of who they were left in the galaxy.

Over time Kix’s consistent competence combined with the sheer amount of work to get done meant that Dr. Bosc stopped hovering and gave him more and more freedom to treat his patients as he saw fit. His grudging respect for her grew as well, as he witnessed her medical knowledge and the kindness and compassion she showed to everyone who stepped through her doors. Everyone but him, of course.

After another week of taking temperatures, replacing fluids, and administering medicine, the flu outbreak finally abated and the deluge of patients slowed to a trickle. Kix packed up the tent and temporary cots, but he kept on helping Dr. Bosc at the clinic. Work on the Martinet was progressing slowly, and Kix felt more useful assisting at the clinic than guessing at the right wrench to hand Reveth on the ship.

“Kix, can you get the maternity med unit ready for me?” Dr. Bosc asked one morning not long after the wave of flu patients had ebbed.

Kix looked up from the sterilizer he was using to clean their bio-injectors. “Another one?”

Two women had already delivered at the clinic since Kix had arrived—both Felucians. Kix had been busy with the fever patients at the time so he hadn’t assisted with delivery, but he’d seen the women walk out of the clinic the next day with their tiny, rotund babies.

Dr. Bosc shrugged. “Felucians have a cyclical mating season. And seasonal mating-”

“-means seasonal birthing.”

“Exactly. And I’d appreciate it if you lent a hand on this one since we’re having a slower day.”

“Sure thing,” Kix said, finishing up with the sterilizer and going to get the maternity med unit out of storage.

“I won’t need help with anything too complicated.” Dr. Bosc said when Kix returned. “All you’ll need to do is-”

“Actually I’ve delivered a baby before. She wasn’t Felucian, but my understanding is the process is pretty similar.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I didn’t realize you were trained in that sort of thing.”

“We focused on field medicine, yes, but we got a rough overview on everything else, too.”

“And when did you run into a woman in labor on the battlefield?”

Kix gave her a secretive grin. “Oh, it’s a long story.”

Dr. Bosc frowned, but any further questioning was halted by the arrival of the expectant mother, her round eyes wide with fear and her hand clenched tightly against her very pregnant belly.

They got to work, ushering the woman to her bed and giving her painkillers while explaining how the long process would go. Kix had only just gotten her settled when a panicked voice shouted out from the entrance.

“Hey! I’ve got a badly injured kid here!”

Kix and the doctor whirled around and a disheveled man staggered in carrying a young boy in his arms. The boy’s leg had been mangled almost beyond recognition and was covered in blood, his face ashen white as he clutched tightly to the man’s shirt.

“Oh my goodness!” Dr. Bosc rushed over to him and directed him to the nearest bed while Kix ran to get some bacta and a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

“We were out on the combine when his leg got stuck on one of the beams and…” the man who’d brought the boy in said, choking off into sobs.

Kix grimaced as he tied the tourniquet tight and examined the leg. Some white was visible through the red, and his skin was torn to shreds.

The Felucian mother shrieked from somewhere behind Kix, and he jumped. He’d forgotten her in the rush.

Dr. Bosc put a hand on his shoulder. “You handle the kid. I’ll come over to lend a hand whenever I can.”

“You sure?” Kix asked. She’d been fiercely protective of her most serious cases so far, feeling ultimately responsible as the founder of the clinic.

“Yeah. You’re much better at trauma than me.”

Kix nodded, then turned back to the kid. “Alright. Now we’re going to stop the bleeding, then see what we can do to save the leg. What’s your name, kid?”

The kid was shivering, his eyes wide and his skin clammy with shock. “K...K...Kin.”

“Well that’s almost like my name! I’m Kix,” he said as he set bacta patches on the pieces of skin that wouldn’t need sutures to heal. “You’ve been very brave so far, and I know you can do this, alright? We’ll get through it together.”

“O...Ok.”

By nightfall the boy was resting peacefully in his hospital bed, a bio-cast over the entire length of his leg and a stuffed convor tucked under his arm. A tiny Felucian baby slept in a bassinet in the corner while his mother rested on the med unit. Kix and Dr. Bosc checked one last time to make sure there was nothing more their patients needed, then they both retreated to the storage room and nearly collapsed onto the futon at the back of the room.

“Ugh, what a long day!” Dr. Bosc said, stretching her arms wide and cracking her neck.

“I thought things would get easier after flu season,” Kix said.

“That’s the life we signed up for. At least every day is different.”

Kix’s mouth quirked upwards into a weak smile, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Better than the battlefield.”

Dr. Bosc leaned back in the futon and eyed Kix appraisingly, her stubby lekku fitting just over the backrest. “You’re a good doctor, Kix. Kin would have lost his leg if not for you.”

Kix’s smile grew into a smirk. “I’m a medic, not a doctor.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That kind of certification only matters on a planet like Coruscant. Out here the only thing that matters is your ability. And by that measure you more than qualify.”

Kix didn’t need her approval. He hadn’t even really wanted it. But there was still something pleasant about knowing that working with him had increased her respect for him. “Thanks, doc.”

Dr. Bosc twisted her hands together nervously, and Kix noticed for the first time the blue shade of the palms of her hands. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to trust you. But I do now. Thank you for helping me.”

Kix laughed and let his head fall back over the top of the backrest. “Well, what else was there to do?”

She chuckled softly, and Kix closed his eyes, a deep fatigue setting into his bones. During the war this was when he would have busted out the stims, but Dr. Bosc didn’t have many of those and he didn’t want to keep them from people who really needed them.

“How are you still alive?” Dr. Bosc asked, the curiosity strong in her voice.”You should be much older. You should be dead.”

“I was in cryo-sleep,” Kix said, stifling a yawn. “From right before the end of the war until a year ago. It’s… a long story.”

“For another night,” Dr. Bosc said, getting to her feet with a groan. “You can sleep here overnight if you want. On the futon.”

“You just want me to take care of the baby when she wakes up in an hour.”

“The thought had crossed my mind…”

Kix wanted to say no. He wanted to get up and walk down the hill to the Martinet and collapse into his tiny bunk. ...But it was so far away.

“...You get first shift,” he said.

“Deal.”

---

Tomorrow might be the last day of Bly’s life.

That was technically true every day, but the possibility felt especially distinct tonight.

Bly looked over the holo displaying the plans for their assault, the blue glow of the projection appearing so benign compared to what it all might mean for him and his men. Each of those dark blips on the holo represented a full company of battle droids, and each battle droid was more than capable of firing the shot that killed any one of his men. But the munitions factory the droids guarded was key to their victory, so tomorrow they’d launch their assault.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” General Windu asked.

Commander Fisk nodded smartly next to Bly. “Yes sir.”

Bly found himself distracted momentarily by his fellow commander, the man who had replaced Ponds. Fisk stood with one arm behind his back, just like Ponds always had, and Bly wondered how much a clone’s Jedi General influenced his personality. He wondered if Fisk felt like just a replacement to the ever-stoic General Windu.

“Bly?” General Secura asked.

“No questions, sir.”

“This is likely to be a long, difficult battle,” General Secura continued. “But our victory will protect the lives of millions of Republic civilians, and help our other GAR battalions, too.”

General Windu nodded his agreement. “We’ve got a tough day ahead of us tomorrow. Rest up. Dismissed!”

Fisk and General Windu left the bunker they used as a portable command center and Bly turned to follow them.

“Hold up a moment,” General Secura said from behind him.

“Sir?”

She was standing behind the holo, the Jedi robes she rarely wore draped loosely around her shoulders to ward against the cold of the frigid planet. Her hands twisted tightly in front of her and she bit her lip. “Tomorrow… could be a bad day.”

She was as radiant as ever, her beautiful azure skin glowing luminescent through the lights of the holo, but there was something heavy and serious about her demeanor.

“Yeah. But… we’re prepared,” Bly said, trying to find some words of comfort.

“We’re as prepared as we can be, yes. But even so, many men won’t live to see tomorrow night.”

Bly set his jaw. “We’ll both do everything we can to save as many lives as possible. That’s what we do.”

Aayla stepped out from behind the holo, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “I know, and I’m not pessimistic. I believe in our men, and I believe in the Force. But there’s something I want to give you before tomorrow.”

“Give me?” Bly asked, confused. He wasn’t really in the habit of owning things.

“Yes. I was waiting for the right time, but considering the dangers, I don’t want to miss my opportunity waiting for the perfect moment.”

She took another step towards Bly, but he stayed put by the door, ready to escape if he needed to. It had never been easy holding back his feelings for Aayla, but lately it’d been getting harder. She’d been closer, more familiar, always aware of him in a way that thrilled and tortured him. But he had to stay strong, for both their sakes.

General Secura noticed his caution, a look of hurt briefly flitting past her face. She stopped with a healthy distance between them, and she forced her hands to her sides .

“As soon as the war is over, I’m going to leave the Jedi Order.”

Bly’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking it over for some time now, and I’ve made my decision. I can’t leave now, not with the Republic and the 327th depending on me, but once the war is over I will renounce my vows.”

“But… why?”

She pulled something from a pocket in her robes and stepped just close enough to reach out and hand him a small wooden cube. He turned the cube in his hand, its smooth surface interrupted by precisely carved designs. Three sides depicted a yellow rectangle, identical in design to the tattoos on his cheeks. The other three sides were painted with diagonal blue stripes.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Among my people there is a tradition. We pass down a wooden totem from mother to daughter, and when a woman gets married she adds a piece to it representing herself and her partner. As a Jedi, I never expected to participate in this tradition, but now that I am leaving the Order…”

Bly froze, his eyes still trained on the wooden block in his hand. The golden-yellow of his tattoos, the deep blue of her skin.

Aayla closed the distance between them, setting her hand on his and closing his fingers around the cube. “When I leave will you go with me? Will you be part of my family?”

The textured sides of the cubes felt sharp and distinct under his hyper-sensitive fingers. It was like watching his own life from above, from the side, from anywhere else. Because how could this be real? How could this be happening to someone like him?

When they had kissed before it had made a strange sort of sense. General Secura was under a tremendous amount of stress, and though she talked tough and didn’t let it affect her command, she’d always had a soft spot for her men. Under those conditions he could understand her momentarily forgetting herself and misplacing her emotions onto him.

But this? Taking the time to carefully consider and then choosing him?

“I don’t understand,” he said, the understatement of the century.

Her head tilted to the side and her eyes softened as she stepped even closer to him, resting a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Bly. Why should it be so hard to believe that I love you?”

He melted at her touch, all of his defenses instantly neutralized. He closed his eyes and turned his cheek into her palm, the hand that wasn’t holding the wooden cube coming up to rest on the back of her hand. Still, he could not speak.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Bly,” she said, her voice now a whisper, “And I would be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

A decade of training on Kamino, thousands of meetings about discipline and regulations, even the very structure of his DNA weighed against him, holding him back, pulling him down. Then he opened his eyes and looked into her powerful, fierce, compassionate, beloved face, and he found the strength to speak.

“Yes!” He gasped. “Yes, I want that. I want you. Aayla Secura.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, a feeling of breathtaking, unbelievable joy taking hold. His cheek rested on her lekku, and her fingers anchored into the lines of his back.

“When the war is over, we leave together,” Aayla said, nuzzling gently into his neck. “No matter what anyone says.”

“Together,” Bly agreed.

---

It took two months, some elbow grease, and a lot of creative use of scrap, but eventually repairs on the Meson Martinet were finished.

Quiggold insisted on a going-away party, both to celebrate the Martinet’s repairs and to thank the locals who had generously lent a hand. Reveth and Captain Ithano were against it, but Reeg was excited for any excuse to drink and Kix thought it might be nice to spend one last evening with Dr. Bosc, so the three of them outvoted the rest.

A generous spread of grilled fungi, nysillim soup, and other local delicacies filled up the small counter space in the ship’s mess, and the crew crowded around the table with Dr. Bosc, several local scrappers, and a farmer Reeg had grown close to. It was the Martinet’s way of saying farewell to the town they’d called home for two months.

The conversation was friendly and the food comforting, and Kix found himself relaxing, his mind called back to similar camaraderie in the mess hall and simpler times.

“And then Reeg came home with a power converter he bought off a Jawa, and he was surprised it didn’t work!” Reveth said, crowing with laughter.

“That power converter did work. It’s not my fault you broke it!” Reeg protested.

“Back me up here, Kix,” Reveth said.

Kix leaned back and laughed, feeling light hearted for the first time in what felt like ages. “It was busted from the beginning and you know it, Reeg.”

“Don’t listen to him, the hole in his head has turned his brain to mush!” Reeg said, his eyes glowing the particularly vibrant yellow that always accompanied an Arcona who was well in his cups.

Kix gave Reeg a mostly playful shove. He didn’t mind some good-natured ribbing, but Reeg’s joke hit too close to topics Kix would rather leave alone.

“I noticed that incision, Kix. What happened there?” Dr. Bosc asked curiously between sips of wine.

Kix grimaced. He’d thought his hair had grown back enough to cover it up, but he supposed it was inevitable that a trained eye like Dr. Bosc would pick up on it.

“Just a minor procedure. Not a big deal,” Kix said, eyes trained on the wall across from him.

“Not a big deal?” scoffed Reeg. “I’d say removing a mind control chip in your brain is a pretty big deal!”

“What?” Dr. Bosc asked, alarmed.

“Really, Reeg. Cut it out,” Kix warned.

The table fell silent, and Kix looked down at his plate and unenthusiastically pushed his fungus steak around. Out of the corner of his eye Dr. Bosc kept shooting him worried looks, like he might break out into a violent rage at any moment. Great. And I was just finally getting her to trust me.

“Doc, there’s really nothing to worry about,” Reeg said, noticing Dr. Bosc’s disquiet. “Good ol' Palpatine had a finger in every clone’s brain, but Kix figured out how he was doing it and had the chip removed.”

“I don’t know what you’re-” Dr. Bosc started.

“Got them to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t have done otherwise. How else do you think the Republic got every clone to summarily execute the Jedi without so much as a hearing?”

Kix’s grip on his fork tightened, whitening his knuckles. He really did not want to talk about this. The clatter of metal on ceramic echoed around the mess, and Kix looked up. Dr. Bosc had dropped her fork, and she looked about two seconds from throwing up.

“Doc, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Reeg said.

“Would you shut up already? Haven’t you done enough?” Reveth hissed.

Dr. Bosc shot to her feet, face sickly pale and eyes wide, and fled from the table without so much as a goodbye. Kix stared after her for a long moment, completely at a loss as to what to do.

The rest of the table fell silent and Kix swallowed, turning back to his plate. He started to take another bite of his fungus steak, but a cough from Captain Ithano forced his gaze upwards. The Captain was lounging comfortably in his chair, but his arms were crossed and his masked head tilted sideways. He caught Kix’s eye and jerked his head towards the door. Kix got up and started out the door after the doctor. The Captain wasn’t the kind of person you said no to.

Outside the ship, Felucia’s legendary night sky painted the heavens. It was a little cold, and Kix rubbed at his arms as he followed Dr. Bosc to a small clearing not far from the ship. She stood in the middle of the clearing, looking up at the sky with an oddly blank expression on her face.

“Hey, Dr. Bosc, I can leave if you want, but I wanted to make sure you’re ok-”

“Is it true, what Reeg said?”

“Is what true?”

“That there was some sort of mind control involved in the execution of the Jedi Order?”

Kix shifted from one foot to the other, unconsciously scratching at the still-puffy scar above his ear. “Yeah. I was in cryo-sleep when it happened, but I found out about it beforehand. I wanted to warn the others, but the enemy learned I knew and captured me. As far as I can tell, none of my brothers had any ability to resist when the order came through.”

Dr. Bosc stayed turned away from Kix, her oval face tilted up at the full moon. Kix maintained a respectful distance between them, though the shimmering reflection of moonlight on Dr. Bosc’s cheeks suggested she might be in need of comfort.

“Do you know why I hated you at first?” Dr. Bosc asked eventually, her voice cracking slightly on the words.

What did she mean? Kix had thought it was because her father had treated her poorly. “I’m… not sure.”

“My mother was a Jedi General, and my father was her second-in-command. When they sent me to my uncle and aunt, they said that they loved me, that they loved each other. But only a few months later when the Republic accused the Jedi of treason, my father killed my mother. Shot her in the back without a second thought.”

Kix’s heart stopped, and he stared at Dr. Bosc as if seeing her for the first time. Her stubby lekku extended just beyond her blue, curly hair. The palms of her hands were tinged with color like she’d been writing with a leaky indigo pen. She was tall and elegant, her doctor’s hands moving with a warrior’s grace.

“I came here to Felucia because this is where it happened,” Dr. Bosc continued. “I don’t really know why. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe I just wanted to understand why it happened. But now, maybe I finally have an answer.”

“Your father didn’t willingly kill your mother. That I can promise you.”

“That’s what I’d like to think, hearing what Reeg said about the chip in your brain. But I don’t think I’ll ever really know. How can I know what he was thinking?”

“Is your first name Ayy?”

She froze. “How did you know that?”

“Wait here,” Kix said, then he rushed back to his bunk on the Martinet, locating the crate of personal effects he had stowed underneath it. He rummaged around, then found what he was looking for at the bottom of his crate.

He turned around only to find Dr. Bosc waiting in the doorway to the crew quarters. Kix walked over to her and handed her the object, placing it carefully in her hands. She opened her fingers slowly, revealing a small wooden cube with yellow rectangles on three sides and blue stripes on the other three sides.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Kix said.

---

Bly thanked the Force and whatever gods there were that he was there when Aayla collapsed.

“Ahhh!” she moaned on the hard durasteel floor of her office on the Venator, her hand grasping at her abdomen.

“What is it?” Bly asked, alarmed. Aayla was tough, and he’d seen her take blaster fire to the back without flinching.

“I’ve been having these pains all day, but I took some stims and painkillers and brushed it off. But now- Ahhh!” she cut off with a sharp cry.

“Aayla? Aayla??” Bly crouched down by her side, unable to get her to her feet. She clutched tightly to his arm.

“Find a medic, please,” she said between gasps.

Bly rushed out of the office, and blessedly one of the first men he saw walking the halls had the red medic cross on his arm.

“Medic! Yes, you there! I need assistance immediately!”

Judging by his blue painted armor, he was one of the medics on loan from the 501st for training. If anything that might be for the best—Bly preferred as few troopers as possible see their General in her weakened state.

“What’s your designation?” Bly asked as he punched in the code to get back into Aayla’s office.

“CT-6116. Kix, sir.”

The door whooshed open and Bly and Kix rushed to Aayla’s side.

“What happened?” Kix asked.

“I don’t know…” Aayla said through gritted teeth. “My stomach… hurts.”

Kix pulled off his helmet and set it on the ground, a grim expression on his face.

“Could be appendicitis. Let’s get her to the medbay-”

“No!” Aayla said. “No… Just… Find out what’s wrong first. Here.”

Bly shot Aayla a confused look, but she just shook her head. Not now.

“If you say so, sir. Commander, help me get her onto the couch.”

Together they lifted Aayla onto the couch in the corner of the office, and Kix stuffed a few pillows under her shoulders to keep her head elevated. Kix knelt by Aayla’s side and began asking her a series of rapid-fire questions and Aayla answered as best she could between gasps and moans of pain. Bly hovered uselessly overhead, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other.

“Commander, would you go to the medbay and bring me a portable med unit?” Kix asked.

“Right away,” Bly said, understanding that Kix was probably just trying to get rid of him but wanting to be useful all the same.

When he came back with the med unit, the door to Aayla’s office was shut and locked. He knocked on it, and Kix opened it only long enough to pull the med unit inside. When Bly tried to walk in after him, Kix shook his head.

“It’ll be just me and the General here for a bit, Commander.”

“You can’t order me-”

“General’s orders, sir.”

The door shut in front of Bly’s face, and he blinked uncomprehendingly at it for a long moment before going to his desk and sitting down. The longest thirty minutes of Bly’s life passed and Kix opened the door and motioned for Bly to come in. Aayla lay in the med unit, hooked up to various sensors and drips, but looking much calmer and at peace.

“So do you know what’s wrong? Will she be alright?” Bly asked.

Kix nodded to Aayla. “She can probably answer that better than me, sir.”

Aayla opened her eyes and reached a hand out towards Bly. He shot a sideways glance at Kix, but took her hand in his.

“Bly,” Aayla said, her eyes full of a strange mixture of fear and delight. “I’m in labor.”

Bly’s brain stuttered to a halt. In labor? Aayla? Aayla kept talking in front of him, but he heard her words as if through water. Did this mean she was about to become a mother? Did this mean he was about to become a father?

“Bly! I need you to focus!” Aayla’s sharp voice cut through the haze.

“Yes sir!” Bly barked.

Aayla let out a weak chuckle and squeezed Bly’s hand. “I know this is strange, but we have to figure this out. We won’t have much time if we want her to have a good life.”

“Her?” Bly asked.

Aayla nodded towards the medic. “Kix says It’s a girl.”

“How have you been pregnant this whole time, and nobody ever noticed?” Bly asked.

“I suspected... But I was so busy, and it seemed impossible…” Aayla said.

“It helped that Twi’leks bear smaller children, and on top of that this one’s premature. It’s still pretty surprising that nobody realized, though. We can only hope that the child will be healthy,” Kix said.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Bly that his child might be in danger, but as soon as the words left Kix’s mouth a fear he’d never before experienced took hold of his heart. How strange, that a being he hadn’t even known existed mere minutes earlier had such power over him already.

“I’m about to get to the hard part. I want you here with me,” Aayla said, her fingers tightening around Bly’s.

“Of course,” Bly said, kneeling by her side.

“The silver lining of such a premature birth is that labor will probably be relatively easy,” Kix said, moving down to Aayla’s feet and helping her get into position. “That being said, a lot can go wrong, and the General has requested that we bring no other medics in unless absolutely necessary. Be ready for anything.”

Bly held Aayla’s hand and offered her encouraging words while the 501st medic coached her through her pushes. He felt powerless to offer any real assistance, but Aayla seemed to take comfort in his presence, so he tried not to let his feelings of inadequacy show. Aayla was beautiful and fierce, her warrior spirit showing through in spite of the sweat and blood and roars of effort.

When the child finally came, Kix wiped the mess of childbirth off and handed her to Aayla, her tiny pale form shaking from the shock of her grand entrance into a new world.

She was gorgeous. She had wispy, blueish hair and tiny lekku nubs on the back of her head, and her delicate hands faded in color from a pale tan to a greyish blue. She cried and cried, but to Bly they were the miraculous sounds of a brand new body working, and he’d never heard something so melodious in his life.

“She’s so small…” Aayla whispered. “And pale.”

“She’s quite a bit smaller than the average Twi’lek newborn, but her vitals are good,” Kix said. “And newborns are always born looking pretty pale. She’ll get her color soon enough.”

Aayla held the little girl out to Bly, and he took her delicately in his hands, handling her like a live grenade about to explode. Her tiny face scrunched up and her cloudy grey eyes blinked open and closed as she turned her meandering gaze on the room, her eyes never quite focusing on anything. Bly held a finger out to her, and her tiny digits wrapped around his index finger, her grip surprisingly strong. Bly’s heart rose to his throat, and he didn’t know what to say.

“She’s perfect,” he choked out eventually, handing her back to Aayla.

Tears were coursing down Aayla’s cheeks. “She is,” Aayla said. And for five perfect minutes, they simply basked in that fact.

The little girl’s crying stopped, and she blindly snuggled into Aayla’s chest. Aayla looked up at Bly, the tears of joy in her eyes turning cold and full of regret. “And now we have to find a way to keep her safe.”

“She doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, but this ship doesn’t really have the facilities to care for a premature newborn,” Kix said.

“And if anyone finds out where she came from, I’d be decommissioned, you’d be kicked from the Order, and who knows what would happen to her,” Bly said.

“I have family on Hosnian Prime who will take her in,” Aayla said, arms cradling her child even as they talked about sending her away. “I can issue the order to Kix now, give him whatever authorization he needs. I’ll send them word and ask that they watch over her until the war is over.”

“Until the war is over…” Bly repeated. He’d only just met this child, but he might not see her again until the end of this seemingly endless war.

Aayla hugged the child to her tightly, and she started to cry a tiny, mewling cry.

“We don’t have any other choice,” Aayla said.

“I know,” Bly said, resting his hand on Aayla’s shoulder. “But… we should enjoy what little time we have with her now. What should we name her?”

Aayla held the little girl out in front of her, careful to support her neck, and looked into her adorable, slightly-smooshed face. “How about Ayy? It means star.”

Bly smiled. “I love it.”

They had thirty minutes with her. That was all. Then they handed her to Kix, who’d made a makeshift bassinet for her that he could use to transport her without drawing too many questions. Kix left them in Aayla’s study, and Bly held Aayla as she lay crying in her med unit until she fell asleep.

He knew it was for the best, but it felt wrong on a deep, visceral level to be sending their child out there into the universe without anything to help guide her way. If Bly had held any reservations about leaving the GAR after the end of the war before, those reservations vanished with the birth of his child. Anything that kept him from being in his daughter’s life was not worth the sacrifice.

An idea occurred to Bly and he jumped up from the med unit, kissing Aayla on the forehead and murmuring to her that he’d be right back before leaving the office. He jogged down the halls of the Venator to the shuttle bay, where he knew Kix would be headed with the baby to catch the first available flight off the ship. Hopefully Bly would be able to catch him in time.

Kix was already halfway up the gangplank to the shuttle when Bly found him.

“Hey, Kix! Wait up!”

Kix looked back, his hands still carrying the piece of cargo that looked like a simple crate but actually held Bly’s newborn child.

“Yes sir?” he asked.

Bly fished around in his utility belt for something, an object he kept with him at all times. It would be hard to see it go, but he wanted Ayy to have some piece of her parents to keep with her, so she’d always know that they loved her. He found the small wooden cube and placed it in Kix’s hand.

“Will you give this to her? Or to her caretakers, to give to her?”

“I’ll see to it personally, sir,” Kix said.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea. It would look strange to anyone watching, and might bring up questions. But Bly didn’t care. He knelt down next to the crate Kix was carrying and set his hand on it, leaning forward to rest his forehead against its cold metal surface.

“Know that you’ll always be loved, Ayy.”

---

“After I left General Secura and Commander Bly, I went straight to your aunt and uncle on Hosnian Prime. They took you but they wouldn’t let you keep the cube. They said that to other Twi’leks, it would be obvious what it meant. It would be too incriminating,” Kix said, sitting next to Ayy on his narrow bunk aboard the Martinet.

She fingered the cube in her hand, silently studying its painted surface. It had rested, untouched, in the vacuum of space for most of its existence, so it didn’t show any of its fifty years’ wear.

“They were right. This was definitely meant for my mother’s kalikori,” she said.

“Kalikori?”

“You know, the figure on my desk? It’s a wooden totem that Twi’lek families keep. A sort of genealogical record.”

“Ah,” Kix said, remembering. “Well I’m glad I could finally return it to you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Ayy’s fingers curled around the cube, and her expression hardened. “Brain chip or no, if he loved us how could he have killed her?”

Kix pursed his lips. This was the hard part. How could anyone who hadn’t experienced Order 66 themselves truly understand? How could Ayy come to know the intentions of her long-dead father’s heart?

“You know that we were manufactured, right?” he said eventually.

“Yes… On a planet called Kamino.”

“That’s right. The Kaminoans created us to be the perfect soldiers. They tweaked our DNA, gave us specialized training, and even included a sort of failsafe. A chip in our brains that, when called on, could override our individual agency and force us to follow certain commands.

“I’ve read accounts from fellow troopers who were part of the destruction of the Jedi Order. It was an impulse that was impossible to overpower, completely inescapable. And afterwards, most troopers didn’t even realize what they’d done. Only a very few were able to break free, years later.

“I know it might be hard to believe but… I don’t want you to have to go through life believing your father willingly killed your mother. None of us had a choice. None of us ever had a choice, really.”

The sound of laughter coming from the mess of the Martinet penetrated their quiet bubble, and Ayy closed her fingers around the small cube and shut her eyes. She bowed her head, and for a moment Kix wondered if she was meditating, or praying, or somehow trying to commune with her departed parents. He wondered if it was working.

“Did you keep the chip after you had it removed?” she asked eventually, eyes still closed.

“Yes, in storage in the medbay. You can examine it, if you like.”

“I would like that.”

She leaned back against the cold metal wall of the ship and folded her arms, her eyes distant and contemplative.

“What were my parents like?” she asked. “My uncle and aunt didn’t really know my mother very well, and they didn’t know anything about Commander Bly.”

“I didn’t know them as well as I knew the people in my battalion, but from what I saw, General Secura was very disciplined and dedicated to the Jedi Order. She understood the sacrifices required of war, and prioritized the mission over individuals, including herself. Bly was the same, and he was also extremely loyal to General Secura. To be honest, I was shocked that they were involved. They were alike in a lot of ways—the last two people I would have suspected of breaking any rules for personal reasons.”

“Really?” Ayy asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Yeah. When I was helping with your delivery, and I realized that Bly was the father?” Kix shook his head at the memory. “Well I guess it’s just a testament to how much they loved each other.”

“Perhaps....”

She held the cube up to her face, examining it carefully with her golden-brown eyes. It was amazing how much things could change. He’d seen her as a brand new infant, only minutes old, with eyes a cloudy grey and skull still soft and malleable. There was something gratifying about having seen her then and now witnessing the woman she had become.

“Why is your name Bosc?” Kix asked. “If you’d gone by Secura I would have realized much sooner who you are.”

“My uncle and aunt’s cover story for me was that I was a distant cousin. They were trying to protect my mother, trying to prevent anyone from realizing who she was. And then after she died they heard rumors that the Empire was hunting down anyone related to the Jedi, so they kept it a secret.”

“And they were the ones who told you about your mother and father?”

“They heard about her death, but it wasn’t until later that they found out it was my father who’d pulled the trigger. When I was older, I looked up his service record. I thought I might find something to help me understand. Or I thought I might find that there was a mistake—that it was someone else who’d actually killed her.”

“Did it help?” Kix asked.

“Not really. He was a model soldier, even more decorated after the fall of the Republic than before...” she trailed off, her eyes going distant as she stared into the wall opposite Kix’s bunk.

Then her brows furrowed, and she grabbed Kix’s arm in a vice like grip. “You know what he did after the war?”

“...What?” Kix asked.

“‘Above and beyond the call of duty,’ it said. ‘Exceptional bravery,’ it said. He was killed in combat not very long after my mother, rushing an enemy’s fortified position without backup.”

A terrible sense of dread built in Kix’s chest as he realized what Ayy was suggesting, what his brother might have been driven to by the dissonance between the screaming of his heart and the chip in his brain.

“The man I knew wouldn’t have been able to stomach how the war ended, even if his mind wasn’t his own,” he admitted, his gut tying in a knot of mourning that resurfaced any time he stopped working long enough to think about his lost brothers.

Ayy’s grip on Kix’s arm tightened until her nails dug into his skin, and her jaw clenched and unclenched as an understanding of who her father was and what he had done slowly dawned on her. She bit her lip, and a single tear slid down the bridge of her nose—a strong, arched nose that could have been copied right off her father’s face. Kix thought of how the older cadets had comforted him each time he’d failed in training, and he reached the arm she wasn’t holding over to her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

The dam broke, and Ayy collapsed onto Kix’s shoulder, her sobs quiet but powerful. The physicality of it all was unfamiliar to Kix, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, hoping that his simple proximity might help in some measure.

As his brother’s daughter cried in his arms, Kix noticed something strange. The knot in his stomach, the twisted coil of sorrow and regret and thousands of lost faces, slowly began to ease. The coils loosened and some pieces even slipped free, and he realized that Ayy Secura was perhaps the only person left in the galaxy who might mourn as deeply as he for his lost brothers.

“It’s not fair,” Ayy said, her voice hoarse from her tears.

Kix nearly barked in gruesome laughter at how well she’d summed up the past several years of his waking life. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled back from her, holding her shoulders so she could look him in the eye. “But they have some small scrap of justice, now. Something I think would make them happy.”

“What?” Ayy asked, wiping at her eyes and looking to Kix for guidance as if she wasn’t almost thirty years’ his senior.

“You know that they both loved you. You know where you come from.”

The corner of Ayy’s mouth turned up into a smirk that Kix had seen a thousand times on the faces of his brothers, though the skin of her lips had a distinct blue tinge to it.

“In the GAR we used to always say we were brothers. Same heart, same blood. You’re part of that brotherhood now, Ayy. So long as you want to be. Always.”

Ayy’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, and she wiped at her eyes again. “I’m glad your ship blew up over my planet.”

Kix laughed, though the more he thought about it he had to agree with her. Before coming to Felucia he’d begun to doubt that there was anything of importance left for him to do in the galaxy. Now he realized his brothers had left behind a great work for him to continue, and a legacy to protect.

That night he walked Ayy back to the clinic, and they talked about everything Kix remembered about Bly and Aayla as they strolled through the humid night air. When Kix ran out of things specific to her parents, he told her about the GAR, about his brothers and the Jedi who commanded them, about their camaraderie, skill, and passion.

When they reached the clinic, Kix lingered a long while. He didn’t know how good his odds of coming back to Felucia were, and it was hard to say goodbye to the person who felt like the last vestiges of his old life in the galaxy. In the end he didn’t have to say goodbye, because Ayy invited him in to help her with something important.

Kix followed Ayy to the corner of the clinic, unsure what to expect, but Ayy’s intentions became clear when she reached for the kalikori still standing watch from her desk. She pulled the wooden cube Kix had given her out of her pocket, and skillfully inserted it into an empty link in the chain of one branch.

“I used to have a fake one here, for the people who were supposed to be my parents,” Ayy explained as she worked. “But once I decided nobody cared who I was I took it out. It felt wrong.”

She stepped back and revealed the updated kalikori, the blue-and-yellow cube hanging between an intricately carved unpainted block and another block below it with symbols Kix recognized as both traditionally Twi’lek and Human. The kalikori was complete, the gap in her family tree filled.

“Thank you, Kix. I hope our paths cross again,” Ayy said.

“Me too.”

The next day as Felucia disappeared in the rear window of the Meson Martinet, Kix’s thoughts turned to the future for the first time since he’d awoken. He was ready to move forward now, doing what he always did. Healing.

Epilogue

Kix hadn’t meant to join another army, but somehow or other his wanderings brought him into the Resistance. He no longer fought, instead spending his days in the Resistance base’s medbay on D’Qar treating freedom fighters and researching improved procedures for restoration.

He never found out how she found his holonet address, but one day he received a message from a far-away friend on Felucia.

Dear Kix,

I realize that I never apologized for how I treated you, and I’d like to do so now. You’ve made my family whole. You’ve helped me be proud of myself and where I came from—both halves. In many ways you’ve given me back my parents. I wish you well in all you do, and know that you will always have a place here if your journey ever takes you back to Felucia. I am proud to have an uncle like you.

With my whole heart,

Ayy Secura

#swsecretsanta2020 #star wars #the clone wars #fanfic #tcw #kix #blyla #aayla secura #commander bly #holy crap this is a long one-shot #i honestly love this story so i hope you love it too

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raendown · 4 years ago

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Another follower milestone gift fic! @uintuva asked for the prompt word somnolent!

Pairing: TobiramaKakashi Word count: 1919 Rated: T+ Summary: Kakashi hurries home, excited for something he honestly never expected to be excited for.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

To Bed, Perchance To Sleep

In the privacy of his own mind where no one would ever hear him being this ridiculous Kakashi wondered, if he were excited enough, whether he could vibrate out of his own skin. With every step and push he could practically feel nervous energy gathering in unexpected places inside of him until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop moving when he finally did make it home.

He was going to babysit.

What he wouldn’t give to reach back in time and see how his younger self reacted to the news that he was actually excited about this. For years he’d held firm to the belief that he didn’t like kids and kids didn’t like him. If anything he tended to scare them. How time had changed him that he should be pushing chakra in to his legs to run faster just to get there in time to be a part of this.

Okay so maybe it wasn’t really him that was babysitting, more that Tobirama was the one being trusted with properly caring for such tiny lives, but Kakashi lived in the house too so he got to be babysitter number two by default. If he could get home in time. Somehow even getting himself thrown back in time several generations still did nothing to staunch the habit of taking too many missions and running himself in to the ground without thought. Tobirama was working on that. Which was laughable.

Hashirama was working on both of them, in truth, and his efforts were at least slightly more successful.

Thin clouds of dust puffed up around his feet as Kakashi dropped through the trees to land in the middle of a road very few would ever find unless they knew where to look, a road that twisted through trees grown of Hashirama’s mokuton so that none could ever pass through here unnoticed. He was so close to the Senju compound he could practically smell the ever present pall of smoke that came from living without electricity. Now the smell of home in his mind; how strange the things that had changed since he found himself in another time.

Several pairs of eyes tracked his progress in to the hidden compound, though none made any move to reveal themselves or stop him. Kakashi bounded past the gate with the sort of energy that would usually exhaust him just to watch from afar. He made his way through the lazy throngs of off duty Senju with light feet, rebounding off of walls and spinning around one granny with particularly bad knees, blithely ignoring the indulgent smiles that followed him all the way to the Senju main house he still had trouble believing he was allowed to live in. Even before he and Tobirama had somehow fumbled their way in to an emotionally constipated relationship he’d been given the honor of calling this his own home.

Being a time traveller came with some really cool perks and catching the interest of a genius was one of the better ones.

The front door very nearly banged open when he crashed through it; Kakashi only managed to stop it with a very undignified lunge at the last second, not wanting to scare the children deeper inside. One of the lower clan members who came in to clean the home watched him with an amused smile. Ignoring them, he toed off his sandals and scurried away down the hall until he was pausing outside of a door cracked just enough for Tobirama’s familiar rumble to whisper through.

When Kakashi pushed the door ever so slightly he was treated to the sight of his partner cradling a small body between his arms and speaking down to the babe with the same serious expression he used when laying out battle plans. A tiny influx of chakra to his ears and suddenly Kakashi wasn’t sure if he wanted to break down crying or burst out laughing.

“That’s when you add the sulphur,” Tobirama was saying, “but it’s important you do so very slowly or else the solution will spill and it’s very corrosive on human skin.”

“Maa, trying to start teaching them young?”

His partner looked up at him with a blink and then pouted defensively. “She hasn’t fussed once since I started talking, doesn’t that mean it’s interesting?”

“I think it means she’s six months old and enjoys the sound of your voice.”

“Hmph. It could be the science.”

“Yes, I suppose it could be.”

Kakashi stepped further in to the room and very carefully did not melt in to a little puddle on the floor when a second figure waved at him from underneath several blankets against the opposite wall. “Kaka-ojisan!”

How on earth Hashirama and Mito could have two children who looked so much like their father yet still possessed the grace of their mother could be nothing short of miraculous. Although no one had ever worked up the courage to say so to their clan head, most of the Senju had been part of the betting pool when Mito first got pregnant, passing theories back and forth about just how goofy any child of poor Hashirama would turn out. No one had really suspected these adorable little mites.

“Is it bedtime already?” Kakashi asked, aware his voice carried just a hint of whining protest.

“After the story is finished, yes.” When Tobirama nodded it was with just a hint of sympathy like he’d tried to put this off for as long as possible.

“But I didn’t get to play!”

Little Takuma immediately began trying to extricate himself from the many blankets tucked in around him. “I’ll play with you Kaka-ojisan!”

“Mmn, you will tomorrow,” Tobirama cut the boy off. Before either of them could protest he shook his head. “I promised that we would try to wait for Kakashi’s return but I did not promise we would do away with bedtime entirely. You need sleep, little one, or you will never grow.”

“You don’t sleep!”

“I am already grown,” he pointed out in a bland tone.

Kakashi watched Takuma pouting and honestly wanted to do so himself. He’d been so looking forward to this. For the first time in his life he’d been excited to spend time in the company of children. Now it felt like someone had dangled a toy in front of his eyes only to snatch it away as soon as he reached for it and he was uncomfortably aware of how similar to the children he was acting. Such awareness was all that kept the protests behind his teeth as Tobirama instructed their nephew to lay back down.

Since he had apparently missed playtime Kakashi figured he might as well soak up what he could. Despite the fact that he was already buried under several layers Takuma seemed to enjoy having his Uncle Kakashi come over to tuck the blankets up under his chin, showing his appreciation with a massive yawn that almost cracked his jaw in half. Tobirama murmured a few more lines of whatever experiment he’d been describing as he transferred the babe in his arms to the crib Hashirama had grown for her and then there was little to do but to say goodnight.

“But I’m not sleepy,” Takuma insisted even as his eyes drooped.

“Of course not,” Tobirama said.

“I’m really not! I wanna play with Kaka-ojisan!”

He opened his mouth to say more but yawned instead and Kakashi’s heart clenched in his chest.

“We can play tomorrow, how does that sound?” he bartered. Takuma thought that over.

“Not now?”

Tobirama was shaking his head as he herded himself and Kakashi towards the door. “Now is bedtime.”

A very small part of him hoped that when he looked back he would be met with bright and eager eyes ready to leap out of bed. The rest of him very reluctantly acknowledged that his partner was right, small children that age really did need as much sleep as they could get to grow healthy and strong. Already Takuma’s drooping eyes were sliding shut only to snap back open to half mast in the hopes he could convince either adult that he was okay to stay up. A wasted effort. By the time they closed the door Kakashi was sure the boy would be fast asleep.

He didn’t need the amused lift of his partner’s left eyebrow to know that his mask was formed around the shape of a pouting bottom lip. Kakashi stuck his nose in the air and turned to march down the hall as if he weren’t feeling a very childish temper tantrum building up in his chest. Unfortunately he only made it as far as a few steps in to the room they shared before Tobirama caught up to him, strong arms sliding around his middle even as one foot reached back to kick the door shut.

“You got home much later than I expected you to.”

“I tried to be fast,” Kakashi murmured. “Just took a lot longer than I wanted it to.”

“Mmn, isn’t that always the way.”

Eyeing the bed wistfully, Kakashi sighed. “You know, I’ve never liked kids all that much but I really was looking forward to playing house with you and all that. Just for a day. Just once.”

“Knowing my brother, I’m certain there will be many other opportunities for him to foist his responsibilities on to us. Mostly paperwork, no doubt, but a man does need some alone time with his wife every so often.”

“Wanting alone time is something I can understand.”

Tobirama nuzzled in to the back of his neck with an agreeable hum. “Now what do you say we get you cleaned up and in to bed as well?”

“I’m not sleepy,” Kakashi declared with a smile. Pale fingers reached around to tug at the edge of his mask until it fell down around his neck, face exposed to the world. Then those same fingers pulled at his chin to bring him around so he could see the unimpressed look on his partner’s face.

“Did I ask if you were?”

“But why would I go to bed if I’m not sleepy?”

“Sage preserve me, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Even as he spoke the words Tobirama’s voice was so tender it would have been impossible to miss the blatant affection in them. He made a big deal out of rolling his eyes and puffing with annoyance but in the end he leaned in to capture Kakashi’s lips with his own, drawing out the kiss until they were fumbling their feet and twisting their bodies to face each other properly.

“Are you feeling sleepy now?” he mumbled eventually. “Or do I need to convince you a little more?”

“Oh no, I am simply beyond exhausted all of a sudden. Bed time. Yes. Shower and bed. Woe is me but I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it on my own!” In pretending to swoon Kakashi very nearly missed the tender affection worn so openly on his partner’s face.

“I’ll help you,” Tobirama told him.

Kakashi didn’t bother to hide his interest. He may have started his day out excited for something entirely different but maybe a change in plans wasn’t entirely terrible. As his partner had said, there would be other opportunities on other days. For now he was content to follow wherever the man in his arms wanted to lead him.

Especially to bed.

#rae writes #follower milestone #tobikaka #kakatobi #kakashi #tobirama #fanfiction

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attackonmyself · 4 years ago

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July 3--Untying a Bikini Top (NSFW)

^The swimsuit in question

Brought to you by @voltage-vixen‘s Summer of Smut!

Warnings: cunnilingus, vaginal intercourse, semi public sex

Standing in my room in the private beachfront villa, I picked up the tiny piece of black fabric once again, and sighed. How had the girls convinced me to wear this?

“Oh no no no,” I yelled from inside the changing rooms. “Not this one. It barely covers anything.”

I heard giggling outside, then Anna saying, “Come on out and show us anyway.” I sighed and tiptoed out to where she and Kiki were waiting.

“Wow,” Kiki whistled. “That’s it. That’s the one you gotta take with you.”

“What!?” I cried. “I can’t be seen in public like this! The one time I tried to go into a lingerie shop, he pulled me in the opposite direction before I could even set foot in it. You really think he’s gonna let me out of our room like this?” I scrambled for something, anything to cover up with. There was nothing.

“MC. You should know by now that he doesn’t let you do anything. You decide for yourself,” Anna reminded me. “If you really don’t like the suit, we won’t push the issue.” Kiki’s protests at that statement were silenced quickly. “But you do look stunning, and I personally think you should buy it. It’s not like you get to go on a spur of the moment vacation to the Spanish beachfront every weekend.”

“Unless you’re Victor Li,” I muttered under my breath. “But okay. If you guys really think it’s the one--”

“It is! For sure!” Kiki interrupted. “No way he’s able to resist you in that.”

“Why do I feel like you guys are more interested in getting me laid than I am,” I groaned.

“Just get the suit.” Anna stood up, and grabbed a giggling Kiki by the arm. “We’ll meet you out front.”

So I bought it. But, I was beginning to lose my nerve now that the time had come to actually wear the thing. Just put it on, I told myself. What’s the worst that could happen?

I quickly slipped it on, a cover up over it, and then went into the lounge where Victor was waiting. He was reading something on his tablet, sipping his coffee on the couch.

“Ready at last?” He teased, putting down the tablet and eyeing me as I walked towards him.

“I didn’t take that long!” I cried indignantly. “I just couldn’t find my suit.” A fib, obviously, but I couldn’t let him know that I spent five minutes worrying over what to wear when I literally only had one bathing suit packed.

“Hmm.” He got up and ran his fingers through my hair. “The meteorologist predicted wind this afternoon. You might want to tie this up.”

I pulled the hair tie off my wrist and put my hair into a quick ponytail. “There. Let’s go!” I grabbed the beach bag off a nearby chair and headed for the sliding door that opened onto the beach.

He chuckled at my enthusiasm, then followed me out the door, his loose white shirt flapping in the already present wind.

We walked along the shore for a while. I commented on the various shells I picked up, putting each into a side pocket of the beach bag Victor was now carrying for me. The sun shone bright, warming our bodies despite the cool wind. We eventually happened upon a secluded inlet surrounded by large rocks which blocked off most of the wind, and there I decided to make my move.

“It’s kinda warm, don’t you think?” I commented lightly, slipping off my cover up when Victor was looking in another direction.

“What, can’t take a little sunshi--” Whatever he was about to say next was cut off as soon as he saw my suit. His eyes trailed up and down my figure, and I began to get a little nervous.

“See something you like?” I said in what I hoped was a sensual tone, but in reality was more likely a timid one.

“A bold choice,” was his first comment. “I will have to admit that I am glad we are alone here, however.”

My heart sunk. “It looks that bad?” I winced and looked at my feet, insecurity seeping in.

He padded over and lifted my chin with a finger, looking directly into my eyes. “Quite the contrary.” He set down the bag that was in his other hand. “But this will be for my eyes only, understood?”

Self-doubt still present, I asked, “So you do like how it looks on me?”

His eyes darkened. “I do. But do you know what I would like even better?” My eyes widened as I felt a hand trail up my back, stopping to play with the tie. He leaned in close, lips brushing the corner of my ear as I felt the bow I carefully tied come undone. “I’d like to see it off of you and inside your overly large tote bag.”

He tugged the halter over my neck, and I quickly slid my hands under his shirt, pulling him towards me and into a passionate kiss. He was the one to break it, leaning down to grab a towel from the bag and lay it on the sand. “Lie down,” he commanded. I obeyed, and as soon as my bare back hit the fabric he was on top of me.

His kisses moved down my neck and onto my front. He moved to take one nipple into his mouth as he untied the sides of my bottoms with deft fingers. His lips left me for just a moment. “We won’t need these any longer,” he said in a low voice, looking me straight in the eye as he slipped them into the beach bag. He trailed his tongue through the valley in between my breasts, then slowly downward, sending shivers up my spine. He approached my core, but sucked at the hollow of my hip instead of giving me what I wanted most at that moment.

“Victor,” I groaned. “Please.”

“Please what?” Came the response. He left a soft kiss in the bruise he had just made, and rubbed his thumb in the space where my thigh met my torso.

“Please sir,” I shot back. Two could play at this game, or so I thought.

“Cocky, but you know what I mean. Be more specific,” he ordered, drumming three fingers on my left thigh.

“Please...you know,” I blushed. I hated it when he did this.

“Use your words, dummy.” Victor gave me a rebuking stare. “Or you won’t get anything.”

“Pleasefuckme,” I said as fast as I could. For all my confidence in the office, I was never any good at dirty talk.

“Better,” he praised. “But not yet. Have patience while I prepare you.” He ducked down, and I felt only his tantalizing warm breath on my pussy for a moment, then sighed as he finally placed a soft kiss on my core.

Despite having officially been together for six months, we had only begun to move to more intimate activities in the past two. I didn’t have much experience from previous relationships, but Victor hadn’t even blinked when I told him this, instead vowing that even though he wasn’t my first, he would be my last and best. He hadn’t been wrong, either. I quickly learned that he derived his own pleasure from giving me pleasure, and one of his favorite ways to do so was with his tongue and fingers between my thighs.

He flicked his tongue back and forth over my clit, broad hands holding my legs apart. I let out several small gasps and moaned as he closed his lips over my folds. He took his time, thoroughly teasing me until I was dripping. Only then did he slip one finger inside me, somehow immediately hitting my sweet spot on the first try.

“Victor!” I cried out. He smirked, and added a second finger, scissoring the two to open me up. “I’m close.” I warned. I groaned as he removed his fingers, wiping them on my thigh.

“Since you’ve pleased me, I‘ve decided to give you a reward.” He stated. “You get to choose where you cum.” He looked me in the eye, making sure he had my attention. “My fingers, my mouth, or--”

“Your cock, please!” Want overrode any inhibitions or shyness I previously had. “I want to cum on your cock.” My hands bunched in the fabric of the towel as I blinked back tears of pleasure.

“As you wish.” I heard the sound of a zipper being undone, then felt the tip of his cock breach my folds. He let out a low moan as he entered me slowly. I grabbed at his shoulders, focusing on searching for a handhold to keep me from cumming that instant. He set a rather rapid pace, his own release closing in on him as well. All it took was his hand reaching between us to brush my clit and I was cumming--hard. I clenched down around him as ecstasy overtook every sense, and he carried me through the entire peak and come down, restraining himself until he was sure I was spent. He pulled out quickly, and with a few strokes spilled all over my front, both of us panting hard.

After we regained our breath, he grabbed another towel and cleaned me off. As he stood up and brushed the sand off himself, I grabbed my phone out of the bag and texted my group chat with the girls: you were right, he couldn’t resist it. I heard many alerts go off as I put my suit back on, but ignored them in favor of grabbing Victor and pulling him into a deep kiss.

#mlqc #mlqc writing #my writing #mlqc victor #mlqc victor smut #Summer of Smut Writing Challenge

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part nineteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part nineteen: The Flagstaff Horse Fair is about to kick off, but not without a hitch. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Fortunate Son’ - Creedence Clearwater Revival, ‘Backwoods Company’ - The Wild Feathers. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. I especially want to thank Kay, who has beta’d Ride from the very beginning, but needs to take a break from Tumblr to focus on school. I will miss her dearly, but I’m super thankful that Mana is willing to take over. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

With a black bumper-pull trailer in the rearview mirror, Dean’s beloved ‘67 El Camino rolls up Interstate 17. The windows are down, allowing the wind to wash in, like waves crashing onto the beach on a hot summer day, the cool air welcome and refreshing.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan left around three o’clock, the column of three pickups and trailers now heading towards Flagstaff, Arizona. Bobby and Jo lead the company in his powerful Ford with an impressive gooseneck in tow, which currently accommodates five horses. Benny follows in his four by four, with three horses on board another large trailer, facilitated with a small living quarters. Dean is the last wagon of the train, Meadow and one of his calmer geldings in the back, and Y/N beside him in the passenger seat.

The cowgirl is soaking up the scenery, the hills that flow next to the highway, the mountains in the distance, the blue sky above them. The tall saguaros that dominate the landscape at home are swapped for ponderosa pines, dusty desert for green grasslands. The forest is already beginning to change color, autumn painting deciduous trees in shades of yellow and orange. It’s remarkable how different her current surroundings are from the Phoenix area, only two and a half hours south.

With Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing on the old cassette deck of the classic car, Dean drums against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song. He absently hums along, mouthing a few words every now and then. When he glances aside, a small smile forms on his lips. The woman, who managed to calm him after the disturbing news Bobby delivered, is breathtaking without even trying. Loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and dance in the playful wind, her maya blue blouse fluttering against her Arizona sun-kissed skin. She looks at the world through her shaded Ray Bans, lost in thought and wonder.

He returns his gaze to the road as he reaches for her, laying his hand on her knee to get her attention, softly rubbing his thumb over the denim. Awoken from her daydream, she glances over, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she lays her hand over his, warmed by the touch.

“Nervous?” he wonders, dropping her hand just long enough to turn down the stereo before he laces their fingers together once again. “A little bit,” she confesses. “Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine,” he reassures. “Besides, your class ain’t till tomorrow.” “I’m not nervous about riding.” The wrangler moves his focus from the asphalt to his girlfriend. “What about then?” She’s quiet for a second. Shy, just like she was the first time they met. “Just… This is your scene. People know you, and I don’t know anyone.” He smirks, lightly. “Concerned about former flings?” The cowgirl shrugs, half admitting her insecurity. “Yankee, you have nothing to worry about. Hey…” He squeezes her hand, glancing over again. “I’m with you, okay?”

A smile breaks through the surface as Y/N glances at the handsome wrangler she gets to call hers, his green eyes making a silent promise. For a guy who claims not to be good with words, he’s doing a pretty great job. She takes a breath when he concentrates on the road again. “So, how are you going to introduce me?” she wonders. “As my girlfriend,” he returns, matter-of-factly, cool confidence sitting on the edge of his mouth. He honestly can’t wait to introduce her as his.

Y/N is unable to hide her contentment, the corners of her mouth creeping up further as she gets lost in the sight of him. There it is again; that tingly feeling, his confirmation breaking down the doubt bit by bit. “What about Bobby?” Y/N checks. “He still doesn’t know.” “Believe me, Bobby will be too busy strikin’ deals and sellin’ horses. He’s not gonna notice us,” Dean states, not concerned about his uncle. “It’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna have a blast, trust me.”

After shooting her that grin she’s loved from day one, he glances past the trucks and trailers in front of them. They drive by a large sign made from stone and wood, that says ‘1882 - Flagstaff, Arizona’, the city up ahead and Humphreys Peak in the backdrop. The caravan turns onto I-40 going west, before taking the exit a couple of miles later.

When they come over the hill, the competition grounds come into view. Flags reach skyward and wave proudly in the Western breeze, the stars and stripes alternating with the state flag of Arizona, the American Reining Horse Association, and many others. There’s the main arena, several training areas, stables, and amusement rides, complete with hundreds of trucks, trailers, and RV campers filling the fairgrounds. Observing the scene, it becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just a local show.

Dean was right, this is the perfect practice run for her and Meadow, but the sight of the large event has her stomach in knots. Right, those lovely performance nerves that never fail to torment her. She hopes she can survive tomorrow and still be able to eat without throwing up, because it wouldn’t be the first time that the highly strung feeling she experiences right before a ride has her physically sick.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan enters the show grounds, Bobby following the directions of the parking officer. After a short drive, they park the trailers next to each other on a large field, adding to the rows and rows of pickups, trailers, and even semi trucks with pop out living units. “I’ll check in with the stable manager,” Jo announces when they get out of the cars, heading over to the stable office to check which boxes are assigned to them.

Y/N picks her hat off the seat and pushes it on her head, leaving her shades on the dash now that she doesn’t need them anymore. She opens the hatch of the black trailer behind Dean’s Chevy, peeking inside. Meadow greets her with a slightly nervous neigh, eager to get out now that they’ve stopped moving. Lovingly, her rider pets her nose, trying to calm her a little, but the spirited mare begins to scrape her hoof on the rubber coated floor, nonetheless. “She okay?” Dean asks. “Yeah, she just wants to get off the trailer. I’m going to unload her, let her graze a little,” she says, attaching the leadrope to her halter. “Could you get the lid?”

The wrangler nods and walks around to the back, opening the latches as Y/N unties her horse. The cowgirl pushes the divider away and gently leads Meadow down the ramp. The beautiful bay Quarter Horse takes in her surroundings with large eyes, alert and ready for action, belting out another loud neigh to announce her arrival. She circles around her owner, who can’t help but laugh at her cocky attitude; she could have sworn her granddad bought her a mare, and not a stallion, even though Meadow behaves like one at times. Eventually she drops her head and cuts a few bites of grass, before pulling up her head again while chewing, staring at another animal in the distance.

“She really is a character, ain’t she?” Dean laughs, watching the pair. “Sure is,” her owner chuckles, rubbing the mare’s withers. “She knows it’s showtime. She can feel it.” Y/N crouches down to remove Meadow’s travel leg protection while Dean holds the feisty horse, glancing in the direction of the stable office, from which Jo returns. “Tent B. Box sixty-four to seventy-three,” the ranch owner’s daughter informs. “Let’s unload.”

Within thirty minutes the ten stables are ready, the heavy trunks installed, the tack rooms decorated and the horses unloaded. Y/N does her bit, rolling the wheel barrow from the truck to the stables with hay bails and wood shaving bedding, but it’s clear the Gold Canyon crew has taken this many horses to a competition before. Benny, Jo, Dean, and Bobby operate like a well-oiled machine, although the head of the ranch is moving a little bit slower these days.

Y/N tapes a form to the stable with Meadow’s name and an emergency phone number when Dean comes back from the water point, a full bucket in each hand. He and Benny have been going back and forth a couple of times now, supplying the ten horses. When the head wrangler walks by carrying the water, she’s distracted from the task at hand. Watching his shoulders work under his plaid shirt, she can’t help but get a little lost in the view. His biceps flex against the fabric, back strong and firm while he transports the heavy buckets with steady steps. God, he is good on the eyes.

“Are you gonna continue to drool over my cousin or are you gonna come with me to the show office to pay our fees?” Y/N’s eyes shift to Jo, who’s leaning against the stable door with her arms crossed in front of her chest and an amused smirk on her lips. Without a doubt, the blush that fires up her face is hard to miss. “Let me get my bag,” she says, straightening her back and turning to the head wrangler. “Dean, is the car still un--”

Before she can finish her sentence, her boyfriend has dug up the keys to the El Camino from his pocket and tosses them to her. Y/N catches them skillfully. “Awww, so you can read each other’s mind now, too?” Jo comments, earning a glare from Dean, causing her to shrug. “What? It’s dead cute!” “I’m not cute!” Dean counters, his face contorting as if she just called him something foul. “No, you’re a tough, manly man. We get it, Cowboy.” She passes him, patting his shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” “You keep tellin’ yourself… somethin’,” he stammers, struggling to stand up to the reputation Jo is undermining.

She walks on, laughing, not even granting him another look. Bothered with his own unimpressive reply, the wrangler watches his cousin catch up with her father. God, sometimes he wishes he could shut her up without having to deal with her sassy attitude. Annoyed, he turns back to Y/N, who can’t hide her amusement as she steps closer. He eyes her, which only causes her to chuckle. “I’m not cute,” he underlines.

The cowgirl smirks and pushes him into the tack room, out of sight and safe from Bobby’s judgement. She takes his hat from his head and leans in, connecting her lips with his. The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s long enough to make Dean’s head spin. When she parts from him, he opens his eyes again, taking her in as she places his Stetson back over his tousled hair. “You’re adorable,” she says. Dean half pouts while furrowing his brow, still trying to establish that he is neither cute or adorable, but breaks character when his girlfriend smiles widely before she spins around. Fine, maybe he is turning a bit soft, but it’s all her doing.

Jo joins Y/N with her father’s wallet in hand, the two friends almost skipping to the exit of the stable, joking and laughing as they go. Dean watches the pair and shakes his head, not missing Benny’s wide grin coming his direction. The lovebirds might have stayed out of the ranch owner’s line of sight, however, Benny had a clear view of the endearing interaction. He’s leaning against a tack trunk, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and playful judgement that’s impossible to miss. “Get it over with,” the head wrangler mutters. “Got anything to add to that?” “Nah, I reckon the gals made their point,” the Southerner chuckles.

“So, you two are still doin’ good, huh?” Jo glances at Y/N from the corner of her eye while pushing her father’s wallet into her back pocket. She leans against Dean’s car, careful not to scratch it, knowing that all hell is going to break loose if she does. “Surprised?” her friend counters, picking up her bag from the front seat, before closing the door. “Just checkin’ if the woman-oholic isn’t suffering from tremors, hallucinations, insomnia,” the cowgirl states. Y/N grins at that, pushing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, ready for her friend to lead the way to the show office.

“He’s not, don’t worry,” she claims, very much aware that Jo is just toying with her. “He’s been really wonderful, actually. I honestly didn’t expect him to be so attentive and sweet.” “No one did. Hell, I don’t think even Dean knew he had it in ’im. Guess you bring out the best in my notorious cousin.” She hooks her arm around Y/N’s neck, pulling her in for a side hug.

On their way over to the show office, Jo is greeted by multiple familiar faces, asking her how she's doing and the ranch owner’s daughter returning the question in a quick exchange. It becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just Dean’s scene, but Jo’s as well.

She soaks up her surroundings, glancing left and right as they walk up a two story building, a little further up the slightly hilly property. Stalls are lined up along the boulevard, selling all sorts of things, from horse gear to fashion and interior design. It’s not incredibly busy yet, the people waiting in the short lines for the food stands mostly riders, trainers, and horse owners. The organisation is probably expecting a bigger crowd on the weekend.

A ferrier is hammering a loose shoe under a horse’s hoof, the large animal waiting patiently until the job is done, while a promoter tries to sell a new tractor to an interested party. Cheers roar from one of the arenas, excitement heard in the voice of the commentator, who echoes over the terrain through the speakers. The smell of cotton candy when they pass a concessions truck reaches the cowgirl’s nose as she watches children having fun riding a Shetland pony from the local riding school.

Content, Y/N smiles, because apart from the temperature, the atmosphere on this show isn’t different from the events she’s been to when she was still living in Freeport. The nerves she felt in the car earlier seep away with the familiarity, excitement taking its place. Before she came to Gold Canyon Ranch, she was buried under pressure and books, working on her thesis around the clock. The last competition she rode was the State Championships. God, she missed this circus. This life. This is where she belongs, not behind some desk, no matter how good the salary.

“Jo Singer, it’s good to see you again, my dear,” the woman behind the counter in the show office says, recognizing the blonde cowgirl instantly. “How are you and your family doing?” Reading glasses balance on the tip of the nose of the kind secretary, who smiles at both the girls. Her ash blonde hair is short, and worn in a fashion you would expect for a lady in her sixties. “Good to see you too, Mildred,” Jo returns, pulling Bobby’s wallet from her pocket. “We’re okay. How are the boys?”

Y/N glances at her friend from the corner of her eye as the two acquaintances make small talk. She noticed the hint of doubt in her claim that everything was fine with the Singer family, followed by the quick counter question to avert the attention back to the woman on the other side of the desk. Aware that the information Dean shared with her is confidential, she didn’t discuss it with Jo, even though she wanted to. While she didn’t want to get the head wrangler in trouble, she was also unaware of how up to date the youngest Singer actually is. Now that she heard the slight hesitation, however, she’s getting the idea Jo knows more about the ranch’s financial struggles than her bubbly and carefree personality leads on.

“How many horses are you competing, hon?” Mildred asks, pushing her glasses up her nose as she searches for Jo’s name on the competitors’ list. “Two. I’d like to pay for Dean as well, and one entry for my friend here. She’s riding one of ours.” “Winchester, right?” the secretary checks, crossing off names. Jo nods, picking at her father’s credit card. “Yeah.” Mildred flips the page until she finds the one on which the riders filed under the letter ‘W’ are listed. “Four horses for Dean? Your cousin has a busy weekend ahead of him,” she chuckles, warmly, and looks up at the young woman that accompanied Jo. “What’s your name, sweety?” “It’s Y/N L/N,” the intern answers. “I’m competing two horses, one of my own. I’d like to pay for Meadowsweet separately.” “Not a problem.” Mildred focuses on the blonde cowgirl again. “So that's an entry fee for seven horses, plus the stable fee for nine. Y’all brought two horses for auction, am I right? I remember because I had your father on the phone just this morning.” “Yeah, we do. Do we have to pay to enter the auction too?” Jo wonders, nervousness lacing her tone. “Yes, the auction entry is 200 dollars for each. After the sale the amount will be settled, together with the commission,” the elder woman informs. “Entry fee is three bucks per horse, stable fee is fifty each, so that will be 877 dollars in total.”

Jo takes a breath and offers Mildred the card. The normally confident cowgirl seems on edge all of a sudden as she watches the secretary swipe it. Several seconds tick by while they wait for the machine to accept payment, and apparently it’s getting on Jo’s nerves. Y/N’s friend fiddles with her father’s wallet, tension coming off her in waves. Then the machine bleeps, a long high tone cutting through the heavy silence.

Mildred looks up at the blonde rancher, sympathetically. It’s in her eyes and Jo’s heart drops to her gut before she even speaks. “I’m sorry. It’s declined.” “W - what? No, that - that can’t be,” Jo stammers. “Can you try again?” The kind lady swipes the credit card a second time, even though they know it’s not going to make a difference. The same message appears on the small screen, followed by the monotone beep. The sound is interrupted by the door opening and closing, two other competitors now entering the show office, getting in line to pay as well. Jo curses under her breath.

“Any other way you can pay, darling?” the secretary asks, kindly. “Uh - I have…” She leafs through the banknotes with trembling fingers, counting the money, her face turning red. “I have 300 dollars. I’ll check if there’s more in the truck--” “I got it.” Y/N steps closer to the counter, pulling her wallet from her purse. “What? No, c’mon,” Jo objects. But her friend isn’t taking no for an answer. “It’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out with your dad later,” she assures, handing over her own card. She returns her attention to Mildred again. “Could you add my fees as well?” “I sure can. That will be 930 dollars,” the elder woman states, changing the number on the terminal before swiping the credit card.

This time it beeps three times, confirming payment without a hitch. “Alright, all good to go. Good luck on your runs, ladies,” Mildred says, cheery, trying to clear the awkwardness with her warm smile. “Thank you,” Y/N returns genuinely as Jo gives the woman behind the desk a nod.

The girls exit the show office, Jo pulling her hat over her eyes a little deeper to mask her flustered face. The redness slowly starts to leave her cheeks again after a minute, as they walk down the boulevard in silence. Y/N isn’t sure if she should say something, and so decides to give her friend some space. Her mind is going over the incident, however. A maxed out credit card; that can’t be good. The writing on the wall is applied with a paintbrush, the black letter getting bolder the more she learns about the suffocating situation. Her mind hasn’t stopped reeling since her talk with Dean in the cafeteria earlier this morning. There has to be ways to tip the scale.

Jo eventually speaks up, voice clipped with embarrassment. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. My dad will pay you back.” “I know,” Y/N responds, not doubting it for a second. “It’s no big deal, seriously. No reason to apologize.” “Still... Thanks,” the blonde cowgirl utters, embarrassed nonetheless. It’s now Y/N’s turn to wrap her arm around her friend’s shoulder, hoping the gesture will ease Jo a bit. “That’s what friends are for, right?” she comforts her. “Come on. Let’s head back. What’s your starting time?” Jo glances at her watch. “Eight thirty. Thirty minutes after the opening. So that gives me an hour and a half.” “Better ready your horse then,” Y/N smiles. “You’ve got barrels to race.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome on this Friday night to the eighteenth annual Flagstaff Horse Fair!”

With Y/N’s hand in his, Dean walks up the bleachers, as if he’s afraid to lose her in the crowd. Plenty of people have settled down in their seats already, only a few spots left now that the opening ceremony is about to begin. She’s glad he’s keeping a hold on her, though, because once again she feels slightly overwhelmed by the number of strangers who all seem to be very much aware who her boyfriend is.

Several times Dean was held up on their way over to the main arena, by acquaintances, former and current clients, old friends and forgotten faces. She could tell he was doing everything he could to ease her nerves, his hand on the small of her back, engaging her into the conversation by introducing her. Yet she felt relieved when the ring came into view, hoping to find a time to take a breather from keeping up appearances and pretending she’s comfortable amongst new company.

“Dean!” Y/N almost flinches at the female voice calling out for the cowboy. For a brief second Y/N shuts her eyes and takes a breath; guess she needs to keep her mask on a bit longer. She turns to face two women, who greet the wrangler, the one with dark, boy cut hair the first to embrace him. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says, warmly. “Hey, Jody.” Dean returns the embrace, genuinely pleased to see her too, before he directs his attention to the happily smiling blonde. “Donna, it’s been a while. How are you doing these days?” “Hiya, handsome. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” The woman with a strong Minnesota accent pulls him into a tight hug as well, pressing her dimpled cheek against his. She backs away, her delighted eyes bouncing from him to the girl behind the cowboy. “Are ya gonna introduce us to this lovely lady?”

Dean adjusts his hat and reaches for Y/N, his hand slipping behind her back when he nods at the brunette. “That’s Jody Mills - she takes horses off our hands regularly and finds us buyers - and her business partner Donna Hanscum. Good friends of mine, good friends of the Ranch.” He then gently pulls her a little closer, the pads of his fingers lingering on her hip. “Jody, Donna, this is my girlfriend Y/N,” Dean responds, unable to hide his proud smile.

Both women share the exact same reaction, their jaws dropping to the floor. If Y/N wasn’t so nervous, she would have found it comical. “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaims. “Are you tellin’ me that Dean Winchester is off the market?” Dean nods, his grin not faltering. “I’m spoken for.” Delighted, Jody laughs. “Well, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” “Took you long enough,” Donna jokes, teasingly pushing his shoulder, before she winks at the cowgirl next to him. “You must be one heck of a gal if you managed to tie this one down. C’mere!”

Before Y/N can escape, the woman with the vibrant personality pulls her in and gives her a warm hug as well. She can’t help but to chuckle, because both Donna and Jody seem like sincerely kind people. The warm welcome eases her, helping her to feel more comfortable amongst these new friends. “Why don’t you sit with us?” Jody suggests, after Donna lets go. “Because I wanna hear all about this miracle woman.”

They take a seat and Y/N soon engages in conversation with Dean’s friends. Contently, he watches his girl, listening to her enthusiastic voice as she tells them about their meet cute. Dean chuckles at the memory himself; never in a million years could he have guessed he would be where he’s standing now, together with the then so timid and slightly prissy intern. She opened up like a wildflower in spring, blossoming into the carefree spirit that years of studying and discipline hid away.

Damn, he fell hard for her, didn’t he? She isn’t the only one who developed; because Jody wasn’t wrong. He too never expected to be able to commit, to be faithful to one woman, yet he can’t even imagine being with anyone else but her now. She taught him to look further than tomorrow. He has to admit, he has been thinking about the future more in the past week than he has in all the prior years combined. His thoughts are interrupted by the commentator, who’s voice echoes through the speakers, mentioning the sponsors of the event.

“We thank you for comin’ out here this weekend. Folks, right now I would like to ask Alex Jones to enter our arena floor with the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.”

Dean glances at Jody, who proudly watches her adopted daughter trot into the ring on a palomino. She’s dressed in a red shirt, blue and white fringe on her sleeves and chaps playfully dancing in the breeze. The end of the flagpole rests on her stirrup, the American colors fluttering in their wake. The crowd rises to their feet as the flag is carried in, respectfully doffing their hats.

“As we gather in the spirit of the Old West, let us be reminded of the part that the horses we cherish have played. They offered our forefathers safe travel, partnership, and the freedom to roam this great land. The same unbreakable bond between man and horse still remains today, as we ride for our country. We ask you to remain standing for the playing of the national anthem.”

Y/N holds her hat by the brim and squares her shoulders, following Dean’s example when he places his right hand over his heart. A calm falls over the bleachers, every single soul watching the flag with the same steady reverence that only blue-collars truly can. The riders in the warm up area are standing side by side, facing the Stars and Stripes, and even the younger inexperienced horses seem to pay their respect.

“Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?”

The hairs on her arms rise up as Y/N softly sings along. She knows every word, taught in school of course, but it’s more than that. She believes them. And since she was a little girl, she has dreamed about the Star-Spangled Banner. She imagined it would play while she was standing on the highest step of the podium at the major events: Congress, the Derby, and who knows, maybe one day at the World Equestrian Games. It’s a long shot, maybe, but a goal nonetheless, one she will continue to chase until the day comes that she fulfills that dream.

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

The cowgirl and her horse began circling as the end of the anthem neared, speed increasing. Alex is galloping along the boarding of the arena, the Stars and Stripes flaunting proudly, standing tall. After the last note, the crowd cheers and claps, rallying the rider on as she takes the flag out of the arena at high speed.

“Give it up for Alex Jones!” the commentator encourages. “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, get comfortable, take a load off your feet, take a seat, and get ready. We’re gonna kick off the competition with Barrel Racing for three year old horses. Let’s ride!”

“Jo is sixth, right?” Y/N checks as they sit down. Dean nods, leaning his elbows on his knees, watching his cousin in the warm up pen. “Yeah, after the drag.” “Smooth footing. Could work in her advantage,” Y/N notes, linking her arm with his. “I was wondering; why don’t you teach Jo?” The wrangler snorts. “Because she would claw my eyes out.” His girlfriend laughs now, leaning into him and sweetly resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Hey, we’ve tried, but we just fight like cats and dogs. It ain’t a good fit,” he chuckles.

The first horse and rider combination shoots from the holding box and the audience’s motivating cheers rise from the stands into the Arizona air. Being a good sport, Dean claps too. “Ever raced barrel, sweetcheeks?” Donna wonders, leaning forward to make eye contact with Y/N. “Once or twice when I was a kid,” she admits. “You?” “Oh, you betcha!” the cheery blonde states.

The rules to the game are quite simple. Three barrels are set up in a cloverleaf in the arena and the horse and rider pair need to cleanly negotiate the pattern. The cowgirl who’s the fastest without knocking over any barrels wins. It’s a thrilling sport to watch, perfect for a horse’s speed and agility when the rider knows how to bring it out in them.

The second rider kicks off, setting a better time that pushes her up the board. The third follows, knocking over the second barrel, landing the poor girl a five second time penalty.

Y/N keeps an eye on Jo, who gets instructions from Bobby. The ranch owner’s daughter is riding a mare called Sundance, who she started up about eight months ago, being the first person to ever ride her. The young horse had her first practise run a couple of weeks ago, but today is her show debut. The atmosphere of a big competition like this can be quite daunting for an inexperienced horse, but Jo prepared her well.

The fourth goes wide around the first barrel and swerves to the third, wasting valuable time. Number five has a clean run and betters the leading result; 17.13 seconds is the time to beat. A tractor enters the arena and the crew removes the barrels, white spray paint indicating where they need to be put back once the sand around it is dragged. When the footing is smooth again, the barrels are placed back.

“Next up is Joanna Beth Singer with Sundance. Now, this young lady knows how to ride, with multiple wins under her belt, so let’s see what she will do with this youngster today.”

Y/N moves to the edge of her seat, her heartbeat picking up. She might not be the one competing, but sometimes being the person on the sidelines is more nerve-wracking than actually being the one in the saddle. Bobby walks with his daughter to the entrance of the arena, the young mare next to him already bouncing with excitement. Rousing music only adds to the exhilarating atmosphere surrounding them, the spectators waiting for the thrilling ride that is about to start. The second Jo’s father lets go of the rein, Sundance bolts away, locking on the first barrel like she has been doing this all her life.

“And she’s off! Look at that speed, people!”

“C’mon, Jo!” Y/N encourages, joined by Dean, who has gotten on his feet in anticipation. The crowd cheers when the fast horse turns sharply. Focused, Jo pushes her heels into the bay’s flanks, hands towards the mare’s ears, guiding the youngster through the pattern to the second barrel. They are making good time. “Smoke them, Jo! You got this!” Dean shouts, voice lost to the crowd that seems to favor Jo and Sundance.

The clock ticks; eight seconds, nine, ten. Sand clatters against the metal as the eager horse cuts the third obstacle, so tight that you could barely fit a piece of paper between her boot and the barrel. It starts to tip, and Y/N grabs Dean’s arm when the drum almost tumbles over, but Jo pushes it back with her reins in hand so that it stays upright and the audience erupts.

“Yeah! Bring it home!” Y/N squeals, excitedly. At full gallop the two shoot back to the gate, Jo flat on the Sundance’s neck, the energetic horse accelerating until they pass the finish line. The clock stops at 16.35.

“Folks, if that ain’t horsemanship, I don’t know what is. What a ride and what a horse! Jo Singer and Sundance are in the lead!”

Dean grins proudly and whistles on his fingers, glancing down at his girlfriend, who is still applauding excitedly. “Dean, is that mare for sale?” Jody checks, the trader clearly interested now that she has witnessed the talent. He chuckles. “Depends on your offer.” “Fair enough. I’ll go have a talk with Bobby then,” she returns, aware that for a horse like that, she needs to raise the stakes. “We’ll walk with ya,” Dean states, glancing aside when Jody’s friend doesn’t follow. “Donna, you comin’?” “I’ll meetcha guys later. I’m gonna watch some more runs with Alex.” She nods at Jody’s surrogate daughter, who just sat down in one of the first rows.

They say goodbye and the wrangler places his hand on Y/N’s lower back as they walk to the stairs and get down from the bleachers. She can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but she senses his relief. Jo delivered and just secured more than just a place on the podium with that solid ride. The buyers are going to be lining up for Sundance, which means they can keep the price high. It’s a win Gold Canyon Ranch so desperately needs. The cowgirl bumps her shoulder against his, drawing his attention. The smiles they exchange say enough, she knows what’s on his mind, and he knows she understands. “I’m gonna see if I can catch Jo. It was really nice to meet you, Jody,” she announces, shaking Jody’s hand before turning to Dean. “See you in a bit?” He nods and meets her in a sweet, short kiss, before she runs off to the stables. His gaze stays fixed on her, lovingly, until he loses track of her in the crowd. Only then does Dean notice Jody’s knowing smirk. “What?” “You got it bad,” she comments, an earnest laugh falling from her lips. He tilts his head, nodding; there’s no denying it. He’s known Jody for a while, and even though they only see eachother every now and then, he considers her a dear friend.

“She’s amazing, really. It’s all still kinda new, though,” he admits, comfortable enough to let some of that softness show. “Oh, which reminds me... Bobby doesn’t know yet. So could you not mention it?” The raised eyebrow and judgemental look she sends him says enough. Jody stares him down as if she’s about to use her mom-voice, causing Dean to slightly cower. “She’s the intern and it’s kind of a touchy subject. I wanna time it well so that he doesn’t bite my head off,” the cowboy excuses. The woman who is tough when she needs to be, turns soft now, rolling her eyes slightly. “Fine, I won’t tell him. Don’t wait too long, though. It’s Bobby, he wasn’t born yesterday. He’s going to find out sooner than later,” she reminds him. “I’ll tell him soon,” he promises. “This is a big first for you, ain’t it?” The female ranch owner smiles at him warmly, apparently amused with the somewhat uneasy behavior of the cowboy. “It is,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s good. Never thought I’d say it, but I could get used to this.” “I’m glad you’ve met someone, Dean. You deserve a slice of that apple pie life.”

Dean smiles at his boots, knowing she means more with those words than would seem so at the surface. From a young age, even before Dean moved in with the Singer family, she has kept a watchful eye on him and his little brother whenever they were at the same shows and rodeos. Even though she’s only a few years older than him, she was always taking care of others, protecting those who needed it, and apparently she sensed the Winchester boys could use some support. To be honest, she wasn’t wrong. She has seen a few things, picked up on the tell signs. That knowledge adds to the weight of her kind message.

“And if you ever are in the need of advice only a woman can offer,” she continues, “may it be suitable birthday gifts for the lady, or choosing an engagement ring, you know who to call.”

Dean’s eyes widen, glancing aside at the fierce woman, walking beside him. He thought about what is to come, but he didn’t think that far ahead. Especially with her internship ending March next year, he’s slightly careful to presume she is going to want to stay with him. Yes, he will fight for her, but he can’t predict the future. Who knows what will happen when she’s due to leave. “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he laughs. “We only just started dating, y’know?” “Yeah, I know, but she’s a keeper, I can tell,” Jody counters, sure of herself. “Give it some time, I’ll remind you of this conversation at your wedding.”

The cowboy chuckles, but doesn’t contradict her. Jody Mills is a smart woman, one who usually is right. She can read people, and despite the small age difference between the two of them, his caring friend often mothers him with her wisdom. He can’t believe the thought crosses his mind, but it flashes through his conscience nonetheless. I hope she’s right.

He doesn’t want to dwell on it too long, though, because the glimpse of what he secretly hopes one day will come true, takes him by surprise. Somewhat daunted, the wrangler redirects the focus. “I’ve haven’t spoken to Gabe in a bit. How’s he doin’ these days?”

There’s a hint of guilt in his voice, even though he tries to suppress it. Gabriel had worked at Gold Canyon since 2005, until Bobby had to let him go last year. The head wrangler felt horrible, especially since he taught Gabe the ropes when it came down to training horses, and getting fired was the last thing his friend ever expected. Just like with Ash, he would have done anything to prevent the lay off, but their boss didn’t have much of a choice. Thankfully, Gabe got a job as a horse trainer at Jody’s ranch. They kept in touch, but over time the calls came and went less frequent. Lately, it’s been quiet, though, and the woman next to him looks up at him stunned, a mixture of remorse and empathy in her eyes.

“You haven’t heard?” she asks, appalled. Dean shakes his head. “Heard what?” “Oh, honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she starts, averting her gaze to the ground, as if she’s trying to find solace in the dirt underneath her feet. “He had an accident earlier this week. He’s in hospital.” The wrangler snaps his eyes at her in shock, a frown puckered between his brows. “W-what?” “Yeah, he--” she pauses, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it, “- he was working with a stallion, quite a special case. He turned aggressive and Gabe got trampled. He suffered multiple fractures in the vertebrae.” The head wrangler stops dead in his tracks, causing his company to turn to face him. In shock he stares at Jody before his gaze drifts off, the unpleasant surprise still evident, though. Not sure what to say, he moves his hand to his face, tracing his stubble as he tries to digest the news. “Fuck…” he stammers. “Is he - he’s gonna be ok, right?”

“The doctors haven’t given us much yet. From what I’ve heard, the first tests showed very little reflexes, but there was still a lot of bruising and swelling. They hope to be able to get better imaging soon, but right now it’s not looking good. He most likely damaged his spinal cord; he can’t move his legs,” Jody explains, observing the disoriented man before her with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know he is a friend of yours. Honestly, I expected you would’ve gotten a call from his brothers.”

The cowboy still stares at nothing in particular, unable to grasp what he just learned. “We - uh, we didn’t talk as much as we used to. Kinda fell out of touch after he left Gold Canyon.” Jody nods at that, the endearing smile that was there when they were talking about his newfound relationship now gone. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, the worry and guilt aging her in a matter of moments. “It’s really tragic. Honestly, I feel awful. It happened on my land, the horse was my client’s.” “Hey, this is not your fault, you hear?” Dean replies, gently gripping her upper arm. “These accidents can happen. We forget sometimes, but we still work with thousand pound animals who have minds of their own. It’s dangerous, and he knew that.”

Jody swallows down the guilt and turns to slowly stroll to the warm up area, not walking away from it entirely, but giving herself something to do. Dean adjusts to her pace, shoulder to shoulder with the rancher. “I found him in the pen. He was screaming in pain,” she tells. “Of course I happened to be the only other person on the premises. Donna was delivering a horse to a new owner.”

Shaking his head, Dean glances aside. Damn it, he wishes she didn’t have to go through that. Waiting on an ambulance must have been horrible. Dean knows Jody treats her staff like family, their bond much like the dynamic between the Singer family and their personnel. Dean cares about those he works with deeply, he would never forgive himself if an accident like that would happen to a member of the crew. “He’s gonna bounce back. Gabe’s a tough one,” he soothes, hoping to offer at least a little comfort. “Yeah, I hope so.” She sighs as they reach Bobby, who is having a conversation with two older men on the sideline, without a doubt doing business. “I’m gonna talk to your uncle. See if we can come to an agreement on that horse.” “Better get in there fast, before he sells her to someone else,” Dean advises, after which he turns around. “See you at the party tonight?” “Depends on how much money I spend at the auction, but I’m certain Donna will drag me there anyway,” she says, doing her best to pull together a playful grin.

Dean watches Jody step up, politely interrupting the negotiation, not even a bit intimidated by the possible buyers who have already named a price. She’s tough, something that he has always admired. The woman stands her ground in a man’s world of horse traders, runs her own ranch and built her own network. An extraordinary person, who always has his back. He carries nothing but respect for her.

As he makes his way to the stables, tipping his head to the people he knows on his way over, his thoughts go to Gabriel. Jody is not the only one who feels guilty about his current condition. He just told her she shouldn’t blame herself, so why is it that he wishes he would never have let his good friend go? Maybe if Gabe had stayed, he wouldn’t have broken his back. Maybe if he had taught him better, he would’ve still been able to walk.

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the notion. But like a mosquito the mental picture keeps patronising him, buzzing into his ear, draining him and stealing the wrangler’s peace. When he nears the stable tent B, he picks up pace, however. Because he knows that the one person who will calm his mind and make him feel better with just her smile is right around the corner.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty here

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

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Caught In The Act - Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Requested: Yes

Warnings/notes: For anon! It’s really bad because I’m practically half-asleep, and probably slightly OOC but I hope you like it anyways! I tried to make it fluffy, but I failed xD

Wordcount: 2275

Summary: Your friends, the golden trio, has been taking note of your strange behavior lately. They follow you after you run off and catch you sneaking around with their sworn enemy.

It was a calm Friday afternoon in the Gryffindor common room. You were sitting around the fire with the golden trio, Hermione and yourself studying for the upcoming Charms’ test while Harry and Ron were playing a game of Wizard’s Chess.

You found yourself unable to focus on your task at hand, your attention instead being drawn to the clock on the wall time after time. Hermione, finally catching on that you weren’t listening to a single word coming out of her mouth, nudged you in your side, following you gaze before looking at you.

“Why do you keep looking at the clock, (Y/N)? Do you have somewhere else to be?” She asked finally, pulling you back to reality and causing you to jump in your spot.

Turning to her, you gave her an apologetic smile. “Yeah, actually, I just realized I forgot my Transfiguration book in the classroom, I’ll see you guys later. Bye!” You hurried out before standing up, giving them no time to respond before rushing out of the portrait and taking off down the stairs.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, before looking to the table where you had left all of your things.

“Her Transfiguration book is right there.” Harry stated, eyeing the book that was flipped open on the table.

Ron scoffed. “She’s been running off a lot lately, what could she even be up to?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione hummed, slowly closing the book in her lap and standing up. “But I think it’s time we find out. Whatever it is, she shouldn’t have to hide it from us.”

You didn’t even remember how you had gotten into this mess in the first place. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin? That was not something you saw every day, especially not when the Gryffindor in question was best friends with the golden trio and the Slytherin was their sworn enemy.

But here you were, giggles and chuckles bubbling up your throat as Draco left a trail of kisses down your neck and shoulder where he had brushed your shirt to the side to expose the soft, sensitive skin.

“I love you…” Draco mumbled as he kept kissing you, his words slightly muffled as his lips were pressed against your skin.

You bit your lips, leaning your head back against the trunk of the tree and letting your eyes fall shut at the feeling. “I love you, too.”

You felt Draco smile in the crook of your neck, and before you knew it his lips were back on yours, moving in sync as his hands moved to the small of your back, your own hands settling in his hair and pulling at the strands softly.

A small moan left your mouth at the feeling of his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your shirt to caress the skin of your waist, the sound being swallowed by the feverish kiss you were sharing.

“Draco…”

The boy in question hummed as a response, moving even closer to you and pushing your back against the rough bark of the tree gently, one of his hands moving from your waist to rest next to your head on the tree trunk.

He broke the kiss briefly, muttering out a small “I love you,” before reattaching them again, and then repeating the small pattern a few times, until suddenly, a twig snapped somewhere to the side, causing you to break apart.

Turning your heads to the source of the sound, you were face to face with a shocked and very furious golden trio.

“Crap. Guys, I can explain.” You hurried, pushing yourself off the tree, but not away from Draco, instead letting your arm fall to your side to capture his hand, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Ron.

“Merlin’s beard, (Y/N)! What are you thinking?!” The ginger boy exclaimed loudly, walking forward with Hermione and Harry close behind. His freckled face was nothing but furious as he stared at you, the betrayal evident in his eyes.

As Ron went to charge for Draco, the silver haired boy wasted no time in pushing you behind him, but before Ron could land a blow in his face, Harry and Hermione held him back.

“Oh, would you quit it, Ronald!” Hermione yelled out, struggling to hold on to the boy’s struggling arm. “At least let her explain before you do anything drastic!”

You turned to her, giving her a soft smile in thanks, but you could see the betrayal clearly on her face, too. Turning back to Ron, you spoke up. “Alright, I’m just going to go ahead and say it. Draco and I have been sneaking around behind your backs for six months. There’s no need in denying the obvious and sugarcoating the truth. Was it wrong to keep it from you? Yes. Do I regret it? Also yes. But do I regret being with Draco? No, not in a million years, which is why I will never stop being with him. And if that means you won’t want to be friends with me anymore, then so be it. But before you make that decision, I want you to listen to me.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you continued. ”I don’t know who started it, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Draco and I know it’s not an excuse, but somewhere in the middle of your seemingly everlasting, and frankly very stupid, rivalry, he kept going simply because he wanted to defend himself in order to not be looked down on. Again, not an excuse, I know that. But he doesn’t actually hate you, and what better time than now to put your differences on the shelf and come to a mutual agreement to stop this fight. You don’t have to become friends; you don’t even have to talk to each other. Just settle your differences and, just, not be mean.”

Hermione and Harry stood quietly and listened intently, Draco standing at your side just as silent, but the second you stopped talking, Ron snorted out loud. “Yeah, right, as if that’s ever going to happen. Good luck trying to get that git to agree to that.” The Weasley boy turned to his friends, pulling on their arms. “Come on, I think I’ve seen enough.”

But, much to everyone’s surprise, Hermione pulled her arm back, staring her friend down. “Do you hear him protesting? No, he’s not. The only one protesting is you, in other words, you act like you want to keep bullying each other back and forth. What does that make you, Ronald?”

Harry, who had been quiet this entire time, took a step forward then, pulling himself loose from Ron’s grip, although a little gentler than Hermione had done. The Boy Who Lived stared right in Draco’s face, speaking up for the first time since his arrival.

“Do you love her?”

You were startled by his words, eyes widening slightly. You would’ve imagined him to say something in the likes of what Ron had said just moments before, but no. You were shocked, to say the least. But beside you, Draco didn’t flinch, staring Harry down with the equal amount of intensity as he was receiving.

“I hardly believe that’s any of your business, Potter.” Draco sneered finally, eyes narrowing slightly. You heard Ron starting to fire up again and hurriedly kicked Draco in the leg slightly, telling him to play nice.

He spared you a glance, seeing your hopeful expression, before turning back to Harry. “But if you must know, then yes. I do love her.” He told him; his face now more relaxed. “And I tell her every day.”

You saw Harry analyze his face for a moment, eyes doubtful and hard, but after a minute, he gave a curt nod. “I still don’t want to be your friend.”

Draco scoffed at that, the two still not breaking their staring contest. “The feeling’s mutual, Potter.”

Harry gave another nod, before turning to you. “I’m happy for you, (Y/N), but if he breaks your heart, I won’t play nice, anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Draco spoke up, much to everyone’s surprise, causing Harry to take another look at him. A few seconds passed, before Harry nodded a third time, however, this time, it was a nod of acceptance.

Forgiveness? No. Respect? Absolutely not. But in that moment, they silently agreed that both of them wanted for you what was in your best interest. And to you, that seemed to be Draco.

Turning to Ron, Harry grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled at him to break him from his hateful trance-like state, starting to pull him with him. “Come on, Ron.”

Hermione stepped forward, and you let go of Draco to meet her halfway, her arms soon coming to wrap around you. You squeezed each other long and hard, before she backed away and moved to follow the others. “I’ll see you in the dormitory.”

Nodding your head, you shared a small smile, before she hurried off after the boys, disappearing back into the castle.

Draco and yourself made your way back inside in your own pace, the previous mood completely thrown off by the sudden turn of events. Your hands were intertwined as you walked, you head resting on your shoulder as he led you up the stairs to your common room.

Once you reached the last set of stairs, you stopped, not wanting the Fat Lady to be bothering you when you bid each other good night. Turning to face Draco, you instantly felt his hands coming to cradle your face, the tips of his fingers slightly cool from being outside.

You looked into his stormy eyes, your own hands coming up to your face to hold onto his wrists as his thumb caressed your cheek. Neither of you said anything as he bent his head down and captured your lips with his in a kiss, pressing them together for a long moment before pulling back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You mumbled as he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed. He nodded, bending down to peck your lips one more time before opening his eyes.

His hand found yours as he started moving back down the stairs, stretching your arms out in front of you as far as you could. “I love you.” He said finally, causing your face to break out into a big smile.

“I love you, too.” And with that, you let go of each other’s hands and he started jogging down the stairs, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You watched him until he was no longer in your field of view before going up the final set of stairs, giving the Fat Lady the password to get inside the common room. As you entered, the fire was still burning strong in the fireplace.

It was empty, as to be expected as it was long after curfew, and you hurried up the stairs to the Girl’s Dormitories before someone caught you out of bed and decided to go rat you out to Filch. Sneaking into the room, you were careful to not step on any of the creaky floorboards as you made your way over to your bed.

You quickly got out of your school uniform and into your pajamas, before getting under the covers and letting your head hit the pillow. However, just as you closed your eyes, a voice whispered from beside you.

"Why do you like him?"

It was Hermione who had asked, as her bed was to the right of yours, yours being the one furthest to the back wall.

You thought about her question, knowing the answer without a doubt in your head but not quite being able to put it into words. "I don't know.” You finally whispered back, rolling over so that you were facing her. “He's just... I like him because I know what he’s really like, I guess. I know it might be hard to believe but he’s not the person he puts on.”

Hermione didn’t answer, and you could see that she was staring into the floor beneath your beds, deep in thought. You took this as a sign to continue. "The sky screams out loud before it cries.” You started. “People? Not so much. They cry behind closed doors and wide smiles and nobody knows. People like Draco, people who put on a bad front, has those feelings, those days, too. I guess that’s why I like him. Because I’ve seen him on those days.” She was quiet as you spoke, but you could see by the way she was tilting her head that she was listening to you. "He's not a bad person, Hermione, he was just one of the unfortunate to be born into a bad family.” "I believe you.” Hermione whispered back finally, her eyes now looking into yours. “That still doesn’t change the things he has done, however, and it will take me a long while to forgive him for it. I might never be able to.” She paused, eyes going back to the floor as she thought, before flickering back up to yours. “But I'll give him another chance. Because I trust you."

“Thank you, Mione.” You gave her a warm smile, bringing your arm out from underneath the duvet and holding it out between the beds. Catching the drift, Hermione reached out to grab ahold of your hand with a smile of her own.

“You might have to convince Ron some more, however.” She chuckled quietly.

“Don’t I know it.” You rolled your eyes at the thought, sighing loudly. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

#harry potter imagine #harry potter one shot #harry potter x reader #hp marauders #hp one shot #hp imagine #draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine

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omegatheunknown · 4 years ago

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AEW Revolution 2021

Super fun night at Daily's Place, all told, but if all you're going to remember about a big card is how it ended, well...

-Production continues to be a bit of an issue. AEW PPVs tend to be closer to ROH than to WWE, which I imagine is largely preferable to the core audience, minus the hiccups that include continued ill-timed (but not gratuitous) camera cuts, sound mixing absolutely drowning theme music and uh, evidently the crucial pyro, whether they're going to spin it on Dynamite or not. - I haven't done a full-sized review for a long while. I sorta dipped a few months into the crowd-less/small, masked-crowd era out of watching Dynamite and NXT regularly. Though I did watch the Royal Rumble. For some reason. Anyway I miss hot crowds, I miss surprise pops. - I would like a straight answer out of anyone 'disappointed' by Christian. Who were you holding out for that wouldn't be a disappointment? Punk? On what planet was that actually happening? At least it wasn't Angle, or Foley, or someone unable to actually go. Christian's got gas in the tank, and let's not pretend he isn't one of the best to ever do it, in terms of his actual wrestling.

*Pre-Card Britt Baker & Maki Itoh v Riho & Thunder Rosa (*) - Star largely awarded for Maki Itoh's stateside AEW debut and implied continued presence, which is undoubtedly cool and good. Outsized personalities are something the women's division can definitely work with, even if this was not much of anything, as random pre-show tag matches go.

*Main Card The Young Bucks (C) v Chris Jericho & MJF for the AEW World Tag Team Title (***) - Wasn't going to be the usual high-octane Bucks tag match against this pair, though MJF's grappling is perfectly suited to what he's doing and Jericho, despite his abject (and okay, supposedly irrelevant, but man is hard to enjoy him on screen these days...) clownery on social media, remains perfectly willing to lionsault and work real snug. - Don't know what would've put this one over the top, a hot crowd? Outcome wasn't super in doubt for me? Casino Tag Team Royale Match (***) - I'm not a big fan of matches with more than three teams, or more than six competitors, or... I mean these are always slogs and if you're going to derive any satisfaction it's going to be from surprise eliminations or unlikely teams showing up or who ultimately wins. - In which case, two out of three ain't bad. QT Marshall's renaissance continues, the depth of the division is entirely out of hand (Bear Country? Good! Varsity Blonds? Good! The Pretty Picture? Also good! Sons of a Gunn? Probably good eventually!) and of course, fucking Death Triangle is absolutely who you want winning. Hikaru Shida (C) v Ryo Mizunami for the AEW Women's World Title (***1/2) - Shida is locked in. Early days in AEW she didn't look much more talented than any random STARDOM mid-carder, but she's found her comfort zone as a character for an anglo audience, and she's kicking ass in the ring. - Mizunami obviously knows Okada's tailor, entrance robe-wise, and a little touch like that imparts so much gravitas to a performer you don't necessarily know the most about, outside of her tournament run. - This was a very good match but the finish lacked for oomph. Post-match angle was... clumsy. Silly? Good on Rosa for chasing a crowd out of the ring singlehandedly I suppose. Kip Sabian & Miro v Chuck Taylor & Orange Cassidy (*1/2) - Literally all I wanted here was for Miro to unleash the beast and we started in that direction and I was pretty hype, 'Charles' got taken to the woodshed and OC could barely crawl to the ramp. - 8 minutes with back and forth seems a little unnecessary, though Orange has beaten Jericho among others. Still, he could've been a non-factor and Miro could've sent Chuckie T into the shadow realm. Hangman Adam Page v Matt Hardy (**1/2) - Well this was going one way. Always have to remember that Matt has walked that way pretty much his whole career and is still quite capable in the ring, some really nice counter sequences ending with reliably crisp twist(s) of fate. - Should probably bump this up a whole star if not two for the triumphant finish. I mean... that's awesome. The Dark Order are a wholesome face cult that's there for *you*, Adam.

Ladder Match for the 'Face of the Revolution'/TNT Title Contendership/A literal giant brass ring (**1/2) - AEW's set the bar for ladder matches a little higher than the likes of Cody and Lance Archer could possibly reach, no slight on them but this is not their wheelhouse. Caster's in a weird place, push wise... some 'fire' bars, though. - Lance could've won though. Or Penta. Though, Scorp deserves title shots, overdue for some gold, I can't even think of the most significant singles belt he's held... AWS? RevPro? - Ethan Page is a kickass get, though unavoidably I think about the possibility of getting Jordynne Grace (among others in Impact's women's division) onto the program. - Weird highlight of the match just seeing Jake getting attended to on the bottom corner of the ring for a couple minutes. How much has Jake the Snake done to establish the credibility and value of Lance Archer? So. So much. Sting & Darby Allin v Brian Cage & Ricky Starks in a Street Fight (****) - Sting, in 2021, having the match of the night. 61 years young. Well. He had some explosive looking stinger splashes, and looked pretty game for most of it. - Darby, as is tradition, was thrown at or through or threw himself at or through most of the big spots, and that's worth the price of admission for this whole cinematic digression. Plus, Sting. - Commentary should've... stopped? Taken a different tone? I'd like to see future Sting cinematic matches go further into the Lucha Underground aesthetic. Kenny Omega (C) v Jon Moxley in an Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match for the AEW World Title (***1/2) - It's a shame. We watched Onita v Funk before the PPV and this was obviously light years better in every single way, there was actual wrestling, Kenny did a springboard maneuver in an exploding death match, everything looked pretty vicious, the pace was solid, even the Good Brothers stealing Kenny's valour by helping him was totally fine because they were all leaving Mox to get written off for the foreseeable future. - But uh. - Where's the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom! - You cannot tell us that the ring is going to explode and then the ring does not explode. You cannot ask poor Eddie Kingston to sell like death for some sparklers. You cannot end your show with a wet fart. Air out of the room like the end of... well, any WWE PPV.

#aew #aew revolution #kenny omega #jon moxley #sting #darby allin #brian cage #ricky starks #hangman page #matt hardy #wrestling reviews

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years ago

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 54)

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Times are tough right now, aren’t they, folks? We all deserve a bit of fun smut to distract us for a while. So yeah, this chapter isn’t entirely smut, but its mostly... Specific tags: semi-public, oral, first-times

Enjoy! x

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

The next time I saw Arthur was after a couple of days, and he had just got back to camp and was trimming his beard. I hadn't seen him arrive since I was busy chopping vegetables, thankfully my leg was healed enough to stand on comfortably and I was taking advantage of my returning mobility by helping out. I still needed a cane to walk to give me that extra sense of stability, it was more because I was scared of tripping and landing on my wounds than an actual necessity.

I approached Arthur when I was done with the vegetables and Pearson no longer required my help.

"Hi stranger," I said, sidling up to him. I made him jump a bit by accident, and he turned to look at me.

"Oh, hey, it's nice to see you moving about, that leg's getting better," he commented, "I'm sorry I ain't been back in a couple days, I had stuff to do over in Annesburg and I didn't wanna keep riding back and forth, not through Murfree country," he explained.

"Oh, of course, can't be mad at you taking care of yourself. You bumped into any since we've been staying here?" I asked. He paused for a moment.

"Yes," he said, but offered no elaboration. I didn't prod. "I'm heading down to the river for a bath before I leave you again," he said, his tone lightening up as he changed the subject.

"What you gotta do next?" I questioned. He brushed his fingers over his chin, dusting away stray clippings of hair.

"I gotta meet Sadie and Dutch in Saint Denis," he told me, putting down his scissors. Saint Denis! His insistence on tempting fate by going back there again boggled my mind until he told me his reasons. "Colm's being hanged."

"Colm O'Driscoll?" I balked. Arthur nodded. "Oh, my. And you're going there to watch?"

"I'm going there to make damn sure it happens. This ain't the first time he's been dangled off a rope, somehow his boys always manage to get him out of there. This time, he ain't getting away."

"I'd love to come watch," I told him. Oh, to see the man who'd caused Arthur so much pain and caused the gang so much trouble swinging from the gallows, to hear his neck snap as the floor opened up, to see the colour drain from his face and the motion cease in his body…

"You wouldn't," Arthur snorted, knowing me far too well.

"The idea of it appeals, but right, I've never been able to watch that kind of thing," I admitted with a chuckle. Every time I happened to be passing a public hanging, I'd look the other way as soon as the lever was pulled. The truth is no matter what that sicko had done, watching death was not something I could take satisfaction in.

"You coming to uh, keep watch while I bathe?" He asked after a moment, his voice quiet.

"What am I watching, you?" I teased.

"I ain't fussed where your eyes go as long as there ain't no nasty fellers passing by trying to start some funny business while I ain't got nowhere comfortable to holster a gun," he chuckled.

I giggled and nodded, "I got your back."

"Come on then," he jerked his head and picked up a towel and some soap, and we headed down the slope towards the river. We walked down a ways until the area felt excluded enough, and Arthur held onto my arm the whole time to make sure I didn't slip.

I sat down on a nearby rock as Arthur stripped bare, leaving his clothes with me. I smiled at his tan-deprived buttocks as he waded into the water, hissing at the cool temperature, his body tensing.

"How's the water?" I asked sarcastically.

"Let's just say there's a reason I ain't turning 'round yet," he said, his voice a little jerky as he shivered. I frowned.

"Why's that?" I asked in genuine curiosity. He laughed aloud.

"Never mind," he was quick to reply, then turned to face me once his lower half was submerged in the water.

"Hmm," I hummed aloud, still frowning.

"You'd be coming in with me if it weren't for the dressing on your leg," he said, changing the subject.

"Why, do I stink?" I asked with a laugh.

"No, not that I've noticed," he smirked at me. "But I could've just got used to it, you never know," he teased.

"Don't even joke about it, that might be true."

"If it is, we all reek. Don't worry about it," he shrugged in amusement, then dipped down under the water and scrubbed at his hair, rising up and shaking a spray of water in all directions. He lifted his hands, "throw the soap?"

I tossed it, watching it plop into the water a short distance from his outstretched hands. He sighed and crouched, reaching around underwater for it, trying to grab it before the current took it away.

"Sorry, I never said I could throw," I called.

"You can shoot an arrow straighter than I can and yet you can't throw a bar of soap?" He questioned. I smiled at him and shrugged. He managed to find it, and scrubbed the thing over his chest and under his armpits.

"So what have you been doing while you've been out?" I asked. He blew out a stream of air through pursed lips and met my eyes.

"A couple of jobs. I helped get those stolen horses back for Eagle Flies, then yesterday I went along with Bill to Van Horn," he told me, then dropped his gaze down and started washing his legs, "stagecoach thing. Explosives. Nothing good or exciting, I assure you."

"Charles said you met someone in Annesburg," I said. He hummed and nodded.

"I saw someone I recognised when I took that girl home. Went to check it out," he said, his expression a little tense, "Mrs. Downes. Her husband owed us money, died before I could collect it. This was months ago. She paid off the last of the debt and now she's– well, she's doing things she shouldn't have to be doing just to get by."

Arthur was ashamed, I could see it on his face.

"I've tried to offer her some help but she ain't ever gonna forgive me, I know that," he added, and I nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, you can't change other people's feelings," I said softly, and he nodded.

"I don't… necessarily want her forgiveness. I just wanted to do something good for her, maybe help her get out of where she is– ain't a nice place for a lady and her son," he said, then looked a little nervous to say the next thing, "I, uh, I gave her some money. Not too much, just…" he trailed off.

"That was kind," I told him, and he stared at me for some time. I frowned a bit.

He recognised my confusion and cleared his throat. "Was worried you might be a little upset that I gave her money when I should be saving for you an' me."

"I said I'd let you do what you gotta do. This included. I ain't mad, Arthur, money ain't anything I care about," I shrugged my shoulders and he watched me for a while before relaxing.

"You're a good lady, a real good one. I don't deserve–"

"Don't start," I rolled my eyes and smirked in amusement, cutting him off before he could go there. I fought the grin trying to spread across my face and looked down to tweak the buttons on Arthur's shirt, smoothing my fingers over the fabric.

"Hey," he said, "look at me."

I did as he asked, meeting his eyes.

"Once this is over you and me are gonna have the rest of our lives together," he told me. "We just gotta stop ourselves getting impatient."

"The rest of our lives," I repeated, letting the grin take over. "I hope I get to see you become an old, old man."

"What'chu on about? I am an old man," he gestured to his broad chest and soft yet toned stomach with his muscular arms and I cocked a brow at him.

"You ain't old. I mean Uncle-old," I said, "at the very least."

"I ain't too sprightly," he shook his head. "I'm not like Uncle just yet but I'm sure starting to feel my age."

"Christ, Arthur, how old are you, exactly?"

He had to think for a moment. "Thirty-six. I think," he shrugged one shoulder.

"Thirty-six. And you're talking like you're in your fifties," I shook my head at him. He snorted and looked away, stretching as he tried to scrub his back with the soap.

I admired the way his arms and chest worked with his movements, pressing my lips together to resist the indulgent smile that wanted to appear. I wondered if it was bad of me to enjoy watching him so much, the poor man was only trying to bathe.

"You sure don't look like an old man," I told him, my voice coming out lower and a damn sight more sultry than I intended.

"Mm?" He hummed lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"You look… handsome."

"Why'd you hesitate before you said that?" He let out a breathy laugh, his hand moving under water, between his legs, looking indecent only because I'd chosen to see it that way once my mind had begun to turn down an inappropriate path.

"Because handsome don't feel like the right word. Handsome is when you're wearing a nice shirt and vest, and you've put a little pomade in your hair," I explained, tilting my head, pausing as he ducked under water briefly again to scrub at his face and hair. "But when you're all wet and your hair's messy… I sure like looking at it but it's a different kind of nice," I grinned.

"That's pretty complicated," he teased me, beginning to emerge from the water, apparently satisfied that he was clean. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You ain't gotta be shy," I told him playfully when he cupped his privates with his hands, not allowing me a single glimpse of his entire body.

"I'm not shy," he chuckled, but still didn't move his hands. I looked around, the area was completely void of passers by, there wasn't an easy path close by so I doubted anyone would ever see him.

"It's just me," I reassured him, holding the towel towards him when he got close enough, swapping it for the soap.

"That's my point. It ain't a modesty thing, it's a pride thing. I don't wanna put any pictures in your head," he laughed, scrubbing the towel over his body, always careful not to flash a glimpse.

"I am so confused," I said slowly, shaking my head like an idiot.

Arthur was flushed since I'd basically cornered him into explaining. "The water's real cold, princess. Some things... get a little smaller. You don't need to see nothing."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with the size of everything on your body, I couldn't possibly be disappointed by anything you could show me," I smirked. "Come a little closer."

"Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"I won't look. But maybe I could…" I trailed off, my eyes dropping to the towel. "I could warm you up a little."

"You being dirty, sweetheart?" His face was a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I'm in the mood for it," I admitted.

"Out here?" His voice raised in pitch.

"You opposed to that?"

Arthur glanced around. "Not really," he said, scrubbing the towel under his arms, still keeping the bottom of it hanging down over his groin.

"Come here then," I purred, and he slowly closed the gap. He stood just in front of me, his knees close to mine. He watched me intensely as my hand slid under the edge of the towel, my fingertips walking like little legs up his inner thigh.

I could tell he wasn't breathing, but he let out an audible hiss of breath when my hand wrapped around him. I looked up at him to see his eyes flutter closed momentarily as I began to gently play with him, brushing my hand back and forth, rubbing my thumb in a feather light dance over the tip.

"What– what're we doing? You want to lie down with me, want me to take you out here?" He questioned, his voice shaking a touch.

"I want to play around, try something," I told him. "You ever had a lady use her mouth to make you feel nice?"

"Fuck, only once," he breathed.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes," he nodded easily and I smiled.

"I liked it when you did it to me," I whispered.

"You want that now? I can– I'm real happy to, I like doin' it," he stammered out, his cock filling out in my hand, twitching upright, lengthening.

"I'm not asking you to do anything, I just want to play, for now," I told him.

I brushed the towel aside, exposing him. He didn't stop me and I leaned forwards to his belly, pressing kisses to his warm, soft flesh, moving sideways under his chest, lingering at the shallow hollow beneath his rib cage. I breathed over him, tilting my head until my forehead pressed against his chest. I looked down at my hand as it moved over him, and I paused briefly to slick my palm with spit. Arthur moved the towel completely, draping it over his shoulders as he hummed out his first audible moan.

"This nice?" I asked, returning my lips to his body, kissing down over his abdomen, the toned line down the centre towards his navel. He exhaled his confirmation without hesitation.

His abs flexed when I brushed over a sensitive, ticklish part of his belly and a low, sudden grunt sounded above me. I brought my free hand to his body, stroking it up over his chest, my palms feeling the firm peaks of his nipples before I slid my hand all the way down. It slipped between his thighs, cupping and fondling him as my other hand picked up the pace over his shaft. My heart began to pound, and I turned my eyes upwards to see him watching me closely. His hand brushed over my cheek, up to my temple and through my hair. I exhaled softly at his pleasant touch, closing my eyes and kissing down lower, beneath his navel, down to where his hair became thicker and more coarse until my hand knocked into my chin and I realised how close I was…

"Jesus Christ," Arthur exhaled almost inaudibly, his fingers burying themselves in my hair, scratching lightly at the base of my skull. "I feel like I'm gonna cum before you even start, watching you's getting me so worked up," he whispered. The corner of my lips lifted in satisfaction.

I loosened my hold on his cock, thumbed at the head and smeared the slick that gathered there as I slid my hand right down to the base. I watched as it twitched when the cool air met it, and heard Arthur's small, growl of a moan. I opened my mouth a little and tilted my head, leaning in to press a lingering open-mouthed kiss to the side of his cock, low down beside my hand. Arthur made a sound mighty close to a whimper and he rocked forwards on the balls of his feet momentarily before dropping back and letting out a stuttered breath. Warmth flooded and pounded between my legs and in my cheeks as I saw how aroused he was, how starved for the pleasure I could give him he was becoming.

I kissed him again, and again, moving up his length towards the tip, where my lips lingered with the kiss. I turned my head to and fro, dragging my lips over the slick head and feeling his arousal coating my lips like rouge. Arthur released a series of high pitched ah's and I pulled back to look into his eyes as I made a show of licking my lips. I didn't know what to expect but the flavour that hit me was a mild one, just a little salty, and I resisted the instinct to make a content hum as if I'd just tried a new kind of food.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, licking his own lips and fidgeting on his feet. His cock twitched in my hand again, and a clear stringy bead oozed from the tip, dripping down before I could attempt to catch it with my tongue.

"Oh my God," I breathed, my whole body tingling with intense, unignorable arousal.

I pushed forward, drawing my tongue over his cock, right down to my hand before tilting my head and retreating right back up to the tip. I encircled my lips around the end of it, immediately gaining a gasp and a jolt of Arthur's hips. I let out a sultry laugh at his reaction and he wailed out like he was going to cry. I'd never seen him like it before, not so intensely.

"Please," he begged, his voice low and husky. Please? Please what? I thought to myself, sliding my lips down a little more. "Ah, fuck, that's it, princess. Good girl. How much can you– you're going real far, shit," he commented as I slowly took more of him into my mouth, being careful to keep my teeth away.

I soon felt like I'd start to retch if I went any further and I froze, how on earth was I meant to tend to his entire cock? Was I even doing it right? It was supposed to go this far into my mouth, wasn't it? I was only assuming. I began to feel nervous, heart rate galloping again. I slid my lips back over the head, and he groaned when the tight ring of my mouth slid back and forth over the most sensitive part of him, and my hand began to stroke the rest of him. I sucked a little as I pulled back and Arthur's moan was loud and unbridled, so I did it a few more times, producing more and more intense reactions until I lifted my eyes to meet his, and suddenly the hand on my head pulled me off.

He gasped, tensed, cock pulsating.

"S-sorry, I nearly came and I didn't– fuck, it feels so good I don't want it to be over yet," he told me, and I let the relief slow my heart, for a moment I feared I'd done something wrong. "Okay… okay I'm good," he told me after a moment and I returned to him, taking him back into my mouth and sliding down.

I went a little further than before, trying hard to relax so that I wouldn't gag. It was hard, my mouth watered profusely and I tried to swallow what I could before I started drooling all over the place like a mess. The act squeezed the muscles at the back of my mouth around him and Arthur's hips rocked forwards a bit as he growled out. I coughed as my gag reflex was triggered and I withdrew.

"Shit, princess, I never meant to do that. You alright?" He questioned, cupping my face and tilting my head up to look at him. I nodded licking my lips and looking into his eyes, watching them soften in concern before shifting into something more sultry and aroused at the sight of me. "Do you want to stop?" He asked, despite his clear enjoyment.

"No, I like it. Just don't– try not to do that again. It'd be real embarrassing if I threw up," I laughed, out of breath.

"I won't, I promise I'll have more control over myself," he whispered, stroking the sides of my head as I trailed my tongue around the head of his cock, then up and down the sides slowly, hearing his little hums and groans returning. "I'll warn you when I'm about to… I won't do it in your mouth," he told me.

I hummed against the underside of his cock as I lifted it up, peeking up at him past his length. "I thought that was the idea of this," I murmured.

"Not… not always. You don't have to," he said, shaking his head and looking down at me with glazed eyes.

"What if I want it?" I asked, tilting my head at him as I jerked him quickly, letting the head of his cock brush over my lips.

"Then you ain't gonna be waiting long, you keep talking like that," he shuddered, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again.

"I want to try," I whispered, flashing a sultry smile, "I always wondered what you tasted like."

"Oh fuck," he whined, breathing heavily. I wrapped my lips around him, chased my hand up and down his length with them, sucking on the draw back, using my other hand to play with his balls. "Ohh, I'm gonna cum," he sighed.

I moaned around him, spurred on. I was surprised at how much I was enjoying myself, how much gratification pleasuring him provided me with, my body throbbed and pulsed with pleasure and I felt so slick between my legs I must've soaked my drawers by then.

"Oh baby, I love you, I love you so goddamn much," Arthur panted, his hand stroking back over my hair over and over, "I'm gonna– fuck, almost there. Almost– I'm cumming!" His voice was strangled as his cock started to throb and twitch inside my mouth.

I felt a sudden flood of liquid, it hit the roof of my mouth and flowed down over my tongue, filling my mouth with a flavour far stronger than I'd tasted before, definitely salty, a little bitter. I swallowed it down as a knee-jerk reaction, mainly to get the foreign texture out of my mouth. My eyes closed in concentration as I drank him down with each throb and pump of his cock, until he was spent, just twitching rhythmically as his loud moans died down. I pumped my lips over him a few more times, wringing the last sparks and shudders from him before tonguing away any residual spend from his tip, opening my eyes to meet his.

"Jesus, fuck, princess," he sighed, sagging a little on his feet, swaying a bit.

I was breathless, staring up at him as my whole body buzzed with an indecent yet wonderful thrill. I was suddenly very shocked at myself, performing such an intimate and dirty act, and getting such a release from it that wasn't like an orgasm, but it was certainly something. I received a special kind of satisfaction and gratification when Arthur spilled into my mouth, riding waves of his own pleasure that I had brought him.

Arthur recovered, panting as he bent down, tilting my head up and kissing me hard, his tongue probing enough for him to surely taste himself. He quickly dropped to his knees, dirtying himself up on the ground. As he kissed me his hands went to my skirt, lifting. I jolted and grabbed his hands to stop him. He must've forgotten about my current condition, I was bleeding, in no fit state to have such attention.

"No?" He questioned lightly, not needing to string together a whole question for us to communicate. I shook my head.

"I only wanted to do you," I whispered.

He carefully placed his hands on my thighs and nuzzled his face into my neck, inhaling and kissing between words. "I'd like to do you," he returned, tone a low hum, "you don't want me to?"

"I'm satisfied," I whispered. "Besides, you know I can't," I added sheepishly. He seemed to remember, exhaling quietly.

"It's okay," he nodded, drawing back. "How was that?"

"What we just did?" I breathed, smiled. Arthur nodded. "I liked it."

"You did?"

"You seemed to enjoy it a lot, and that really does something for me," I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I did enjoy it a whole lot, you're real good to me," he pecked my forehead.

"You're gonna need another bath, kneeling in the mud like that," I warned, and with a groan he pushed himself to his feet. He sighed as he dusted his hands over his knees, not at all shy about standing naked so close to me, especially in comparison to earlier on.

I didn't think when I reached out and pressed my hand to his chest, stroking down and feeling his muscles, humming pleasantly to myself.

"You sure you don't need taking care of?" He smirked, seeing my handsyness for exactly what it was. There was no denying I was aroused. Still, the impulsive cloud had passed and I wasn't going to lift my skirts for him, despite his apparent willingness.

"I'm sure," I grinned at him, letting him go and handing him his clothes an article at a time so he could get dressed. "We should be heading back anyway, that's a long bath you just had."

Arthur hummed in agreement, flashing me a dirty smile.

Arthur left to meet Sadie and Dutch after having a quick bite to eat; a lump of pork he cooked over the fire himself on the end of his knife. He kissed me goodbye by the horses and I wished him luck, telling him to give Colm a wave goodbye from me. I spent the remainder of my day doing chores and trying not to scratch at my leg where it had entered the itching phase of the healing process; at least it no longer hurt.

I was taking a break with a cup of water and a little bit of chocolate Pearson had snuck me from the back of his wagon, I was discreet in eating it. There was not enough to share and it'd been so long since I'd eaten chocolate, I decided to be a bit selfish. So when I saw Tilly approaching, I shoved the last tiny piece into my mouth, screwing up the wrapper and pocketing it.

"Why's it look like I've caught you doing something you shouldn't?" She smiled playfully at me as she got closer.

"Cause I'm sitting down doing nothing, don't you feel bad whenever you take a break?"

"Not at all," she huffed a laugh. She stretched out her arm, handing a letter to me. "This came for Arthur. Would you give it to him?"

"Course," I said, looking at the handwriting on the front of the letter. I knew who it was from.

"I think it's from Mary," she said with a bit of an unimpressed tone. I nodded in agreement. "God knows what it is this time."

"I'm a little shocked. When we saw her last things seemed to get wrapped up, Arthur told her how it was," I hummed, and Tilly sighed.

"Feels like there's something inside it," she noted. There was a hard lump between the layers of paper, and a squeeze had me recognising the shape. My eyes widened a bit.

"I think she got the message," I murmured, "it's a ring."

"Oh," Tilly's brows raised, "ouch. She didn't have to send it back, that seems a little… why make a thing of it?"

"I don't know," I shook my head, "maybe she thinks Arthur could do with the money," I snorted.

"Mm, maybe," she said, her tone low. "With a stroke of luck, that'll be the last he hears from her," she patted my shoulder, and with a sigh I slipped the letter into the pocket of my jacket. Tilly went to leave but I called after her.

"Hey, Tilly. You mind sitting for a second?"

She hesitated, only out of surprise, then turned back and took the seat next to me. "Sure, what's up?"

"Nothing, really, I just– how're you feeling?"

"Me? Well, you know, I'm just trying to get through each day just like everyone else. This place is like purgatory, though. I'm not liking it one bit," she told me with a heavy sigh, shaking her head and looking out across the camp.

"What do you think's gonna happen?"

"I think Dutch will figure it out. He always does."

"You think he still can? My understanding is this is far worse than it's ever been for the gang," I tentatively suggested, trying to figure out how much confidence she had in him after all that happened.

"I think he'll do his best, and he's never let us down before. He came back to us after Guarma, didn't he? He and the boys could've not looked back, sailed on off to some other country where the law wouldn't know nothing about 'em," she pointed out and I bobbed my head in consideration. Dutch, Micah, Bill… possibly Javier, I could see doing that if things were dire enough. But Arthur? Even if I didn't exist, I doubted he would leave the gang so stranded.

"I suppose so," I said anyway. "You really believe in Dutch, don't you?"

"Right now, I have to," she said, almost sadly. I rubbed my hand up and down her arm briefly. "What about you; how're you feeling?"

"I'm alright," I nodded, "I reckon I'll be fine as long as Arthur keeps on coming back. This is all way over my head, way more than I expected when I joined. But I'm sticking with it, just thinking of what's important."

"And what about Dutch? Do you trust him?" She asked. I was quiet for a moment, my eyes locked with hers for a few long seconds.

"Well, it's like you said. He'll do his best. The rest of us? We'll just… follow," I said quietly. Tilly's lips parted, but she closed them again and nodded slowly.

"Anyway, I better get back to my chores," she told me, putting on a small smile. I nodded and watched as she got up and headed away, glancing over her shoulder at me once.

I sighed and dropped my head into my palms.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #reader insert #nsft #rdr2 fanfic

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

Text

Academic Misgivings (Part Ten) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Things are looking up! The truth is out there and Y/N and Peter finally know where they stand with each other. But will this relationship last? Or will outside forces bring it crumbling down?

/ PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR/PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE

It felt like there was pure electricity in your veins. Every inch of you buzzed and hummed with a new sense of life. After Saturday, after you told Peter how you felt about him, your whole body thrummed in some Spring-like symphony. You barely registered Sunday when the Sun knocked on your windowsill.

You only got out of bed when your phone chirped with a text alert. In a flash, your covers were thrown to the side and your cold feet hit the floor in a matter of seconds. Your phone was charging on your dresser, it’s screen illuminated and reflected in the small mirror of your vanity. The sight of yourself, oddly, made you smile. Your lips were stuck in a smile, as they had been the moment Peter grabbed your hand. Silently you hoped that you would see yourself smile more.

Your phone chimed once more, ever impatient when it came to your attention. Although, you the alert that greeted you sent a flurry of all sorts of insects a buzz inside your stomach.

PETER: mornin :)

YOU: good morning

PETER: i told May about shopping

PETER: but she has a shift tonight so she cant

YOU: Oh, okay.

PETER: she can do Monday after school but we dont have to wait

You bit the inside of your cheek in a poor attempt at suppressing a grin. Eager to reply, your thumbs hovered over the keyboard of the texting app as you thought of your answer. Peter added to his last message both you could reply.

PETER: i mean it we would be getting to it late so the dresses and stuff might not be cool

PETER: but you would make any dress look cool

PETER: pretty, i mean.

PETER: sorry

PETER: i’m screwing this up

You beamed at the series of texts and shook your head. As you typed out a reply, you rocked back on forth on the heels, too happy to keep still.

YOU: You’re not screwing anything up, Pete. You’re being endearing

You waited for a beat and when Peter didn’t reply you wrote out another message.

YOU: It’s sweet and very cute

PETER: cute?

YOU: Yes, cute. :)

PETER: your cute too

YOU: You mean *you’re and thanks Pete

A laugh slipped past your lips. Loud giggling was a sound so foreign to you it sounded fake as your laugh echoed within the walls of your room.

PETER: wow ok i see how it is

PETER: call me cute then insult my grammar

YOU: Maybe…. :) and I don’t mind waiting until Monday. I could use May’s help with finding a dress.

PETER: your mom still isn’t home?

You felt your smile fall flat, but not entirely give into a frown. You had been so consumed with what had happened the night before you hadn’t been paying attention. During the night, you thought you heard a door slam but your mind was so lost in some fantasy you felt you had imagined it. Even if your mother was home, dress shopping would not be on top of her to-do list.

YOU: No. But May is more fashionable anyway.

PETER: ok, she’ll be happy to hear that

PETER: i gotta run, see you tomorrow?

YOU: Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow. We have school.

PETER: oh yeah :)

YOU: Go you goof

You set your phone back on the top of the dresser and left it to charge as you padded out of your bedroom. The apartment held a chill trapped in the air. One so strong you shivered and wished you had snagged your sweatshirt for the trip to the kitchen. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, some bowls tucked in on the top looked freshly used. The next step you took creaked and a shuffling sound to your left made you jump.

On the couch, the crumpled form of your father laid on his side. One arm was completely extended, flailing off the edge of the cushions entirely. His mouth was pressed in a line and even in sleep, his jaw moved, tensed, working through some stress that haunted his dreams. Your mother was nowhere in sight. She hadn’t been for three years.

The euphoria that Peter’s texts had given curved down, off the high. You had been pitched off a cliff and back into reality. A reality where brilliant boys like Peter Parker did not mix with girls like you. Bravely, with Peter’s words repeated in your mind like a mantra, you pushed the doubt away. He wouldn’t care about your family, about their flaws; Peter accepted everyone, helped everyone. He would stick by you.

Quietly, you back over to the couch and plucked the blanket from off the back of it. With a tenderness you remembered from your childhood, you rested the thick blanket over your father's sleeping form.

“Sorr-ry…” he whispered, his body shuddering as he spoke. You pressed your lips together to keep from making a sound. Whatever dream he was having was not a good one. It felt more and more like worst fears and nightmares ran in the family.

You remembered times of his smiling face. Trips to the zoo to marvel at dozing lions and laugh at funny the penguins looked when they waddled. His smile had faded, alongside his presence after aliens fell from the sky and destroyed the home he had built for you and your mother. Now he worked day in and day out, with Sunday and Monday mornings off every other month to make sure you both had enough to eat. When you mother had left, he barely spoke. He wouldn’t smile anymore, ask you how your day was and that was all. It was like living with a ghost sometimes, a haunted, weary soul.

Tiptoeing, you crept back down the hall and into your room. It was best to leave him to rest. Plus, you had studying to do. Your books laid on your small oak desk with book covers taunting you as you took a seat in your rickety desk chair. A sigh passed over your lips as you grabbed The Great Gatsby. Hopefully, you could stay focused and keep your thoughts about Monday at the side.

As you ducked into the books’ pages you realized, that would simply be impossible.

Sunday had dragged with little excitement. You had spent the day studying or trying to study at the very least. Too many ideas and hypothetical scenarios about Monday swirled about you, pestered you as you moved through the day. Your father had left for work soon after you had seen him. An all-day shift at a grocery store outside of Queens took him away and left you to your own devices. Although your mind was too lost in thought too much of anything productive.

Even as you eagerly tucked yourself into bed as the Sunday sunset, your brain still worked. You thought of Peter as you and May studied fictitious dresses. His lazy smile when he would see you in a dress for the first time. Would May be able to tell that you were both something more? Had Peter already told her?

The steady flow of worrying questions turned into a somewhat tumultuous lullaby as you drifted in and out of sleep. A hybrid of dream and nightmare gave you what you wanted only to take it away. Peter’s face with a smile then a frown as his figure faded from your sleep-vision. Needless to say, sleep did not come easy. If it did, it didn’t stay long as you woke up a few times during the night.

When you woke for the last time, with the sound of your alarm ringing in your ears. Like a ghost, the shrill haunted you as you got ready for the day. Your walk to school was one of belly aching excitements. You were going to see Peter after you told him that you liked him. He liked you too. It all felt like a dream, some horrible trick; but it was real.

It was as real as Peter as he leaned against the lockers near your own. His lips were pressed in a line, brown eyes searching the faces of all who passed by. Peter was looking for you. The smile that spread across your features must have acted as some sort of beacon or maybe your heart was hammering louder than you thought because Peter met your gaze in an instant. A soft smile and the scent of Peter’s cologne greeted you as you walked to your locker.

“Hi,” he breathed out as if the word had been waiting for its appearance as well as your own. You felt heat rush up your neck and curl like wisps of smoke in your cheeks.

“Hi,” you returned, “you waited?” Peter’s expression shifted from relaxed to shuffling and stuttering. His arms crossed and uncrossed in record time.

“I did but I...if you don’t like it...I thought it would be nice.” Pink kissed the tips of his ears and you smiled at the sight.

“It is nice.” You lifted a hand and brushed it against his arm. The touch shocked you, literally and metaphorically. A zap of static zipped up your fingers and you felt your heart melted into a puddle of a surprise when Peter leaned into the touch.

“Ok, I’ll do it again then,” Peter said with a calm smile on his face. You nodded before you turned your attention to the lock. As you entered your combination, Peter pressed the side of his head against the neighboring locker. When you snuck a glance at him, you saw that he was already staring at you.

“Hi,” you murmured again in the hopes of deterring your growing bashfulness

“Hi,” he repeated and you let out a shy giggle. “Oh, and should we meet here after school?”

“We can, yeah,” you said as you opened your locker. You plucked your math textbook from the dark depths before you shut the metal door with a clang. Peter’s brown eyes studied your face and you gave him a soft smile. “What?”

“Is it weird now?”

“What is it?”

“Us,” Peter admitted. “I mean, I like you and you like me so it’s not weird but it kind of feels that way, right? Maybe it’s just ‘cause I haven’t-”

“Pete,” you rested a hand on his cheek, something you had wanted to do since you realized you had feelings for him. “It’s not weird, you’re being weird.”

He let out a laugh and you grinned at the sound. “Am I?”

“No, but I get what you’re saying,” you let your hand fall from his cheek. While the action was new, it felt right; it felt natural. “But the circumstances were weird. It’s not every day a tutor and a tutee gets together.”

“Tutee?” Peter raised a brow at you with a grin splayed out on his features.

“The person being tutored,” you explained. You paused before sighing, “you think it’s a funny word.”

“I don’t think it is a word,” Peter said through a laugh.

“Well...it is now,” you took a step away from your locker and out into the current of the hallway. Students marched to and fro, getting ready for first period as the clock ticked down the seconds.

“Y/N, what about proper grammar conventions?” Peter teased as he fell into step at your side. You let out a huff but your amusement was clear on your face.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you pondered aloud and you heard Peter stifle a laugh.

“Our mistake, though. A good mistake.” As Peter spoke, his knuckles brushed against yours. The entire world melted away until all that remained was you and Peter. Your fingers splayed and reached for his. When you pinkie knocked against his, you curled yours around it.

You heard Peter hum something but you were too lost in this new reality to totally hear it. Mindlessly, your feet carried you through the hall with Peter at your side. He spoke up again but your world was still so fuzzy. You kept walking until you saw a figure sulking towards you and Peter, headed straight towards you.

“Y/N? Why is MJ looking at you like that?” Peter’s questions finally broke through as the rose-colored lenses lifted from your eyes. MJ’s dark eyes were glued on you as she pushed her way through the hallway. It didn’t look as if she were angry but slightly panicked. The mild annoyance in her face was always there.

“I-I-”

“Y/N,” MJ stopped right in front of you and Peter.

“Hi, MJ,” Peter chirped. She sent a look his way, something entirely unreadable.

“Peter,” she turned her gaze back to you, “I ran into Flash.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. However, your befuddlement did nothing to quell the sudden and furious storm of dread brewing in your stomach. Flash.

“He asked if I had seen you or if we had a class together.” You untangled Peter’s pinkie from your own and you felt the air drop around you.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just told him to shut up and he told me he had a surprise for you.”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked, cutting through the conversation. You looked at him and saw his jaw was tensed. Was he jealous? He turned his gaze to you and, instead of anger, you saw concern. “What does he mean?”

“I don’t kno-”

A high pitched whine pierced through the air, out from the intercoms that lines the walls of the hallway. Students stopped shuffling at the sound, waiting for whatever early-morning announcement couldn’t wait until school had actually begun. Crackling on the end of the microphone broke the whine and someone cleared their throat.

“Midtown High, I have a special announcement from our very own Y/N L/N. You may think that aliens are the true villains or maybe that Spiderman is the true menace, but it seems Y/N has been the darkness in our midst all along.”

“Who is that?” Someone asked but you knew. It was Flash. Whatever voice modulator he was using could not hide the goblin quality of his voice from you. You glanced in the direction of the voice that asked the question and saw a few people from your history class. With widened eyes, they stared at you, waiting for whatever villainous message Flash had planned to share.

“What does that mean?” Peter’s voice pulled you back to yourself. You grabbed his hand and his brown eyes met your gaze. It hit you all at once. Flash was going to tell them about Peter, about how you both had schemed to ruin him.

“Peter, I have to tell you something,” you gushed. You had to beat Flash to it, tell your side of the story before he got the chance. “Before this, before I got to-”

“I..want Peter off the team ...I'm...using Peter. ...leave me alone...Peter ...entitled piece of shit.” Your voice with gravel quality rang out over the speaker, but it wasn’t your voice. It was too low, too edited and pieced together. It almost sounded mechanic but the words spoken were your own. Your stomach dropped. The phone call on Saturday, Flash’s threat….

A profound silence filled the hallway as the speaker cut off. An echo, your own heartbeat pounded in your ears. With a simple audio trick, Flash had ripped a hole in the hope you had built for yourself. You felt your limbs grow cold and numb with the realization. The whole school had heard.

“Y/N, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter’s voice broke the glass that had gathered around you and the vacuum of silence stopped whirring in your ears. The happiness you had held, in the shape of Peter’s hand, slipped from your grasp. His brown eyes were squinted but it didn’t stop the welling tears as they threatened to spill over. “Y/N?”

“I…” You took a step back away from Peter. His brows were knitted together in confusion and you felt bile rise up in your throat.

“Y/N, is this...did you...a lie?”

“N-No, Peter, it’s not...it’s not like that.”

“But it was? This whole time?” His voice cracked and you imagined it was nothing compared to the shattered pieces of his heart.

“No…” you whimpered, your voice failing you. “No, Pete it…” Eyes. All the eyes in the vicinity were glued on you and Peter. The Shakespearean drama unfolding in the middle of the hallway had captured everyone’s attention. Your throat was closing with panic, making so you could only choke out the next few words. “I-I’m sorry.”

You turned around and ran down the hall, as far away as you could from Peter Parker.

Your feet carried you out of the school, wove through the crowd amassing at the entrance as the bell rang. By the time you made it down the block, your chest was heaving. You hadn’t run that fast in a long time and it didn’t help that a series of silent sobs racked your form. To catch your breath, you slumped against a brick wall of a storefront for support. People, much too busy to wonder what you were doing out of school, passed you by with cups of coffee clutched tightly in their hands.

You looked up from the passersby and across the street. The slightly yellowed lights of the coffee shop’s interior shown through the front window. The tables lining the windowsill were empty, letting the glow shine out in the still brightening sky. Golden edges of the horizon stood out against the dark blue of morning.

A sudden hunger overwhelmed with sharp stomach pain. You hadn’t eaten breakfast, too eager to see Peter to spend a minute longer in your apartment. Now, you felt too nauseous to eat despite the pang of hunger. What you wanted was a place to be alone.

You crossed the way, barely caring to look either way down the street. A car honked as you darted along the road but you were too consumed with wiping the evidence of tears off of your face. When you felt satisfied with your effort, you pulled open the door of the coffee shop. The heat of brewing javas and the smell of freshly baked cookies welcomed you with a warmth that, in the present moment, you felt you didn’t deserve.

“Hey, you! My favorite customer!” A soft voice greeted you from behind the counter although, at first glance, you didn’t recognize the face accompanying it. At least not the hair. “Oh, yeah, changed it up a little,” the perky barista explained as she pinched a few strands of her now blue hair between her fingers. “Got tired of the pink.”

“It looks nice,” you sniffle as you speak, eyes glancing over the menu. “Any new teas?”

“We have a cinnamon apple tea,” she said with a smile, “it’s like apple cider but not as tart, ya know.” You nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. She returned the expression, mirrored the sadness that you knew was much too readable in your red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ll take one of those then.” You sniffled again as you pulled out a few dollar bills to pay. The brightly colored barista hit a few buttons on the cash register and recited the order.

“So one apple cinnamon tea and one fresh snickerdoodle cookie,” she said pleased. She looked up at you with a smile, even as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t order a-”

“You look like you need one,” she said and tipped her head at your eyes. She handed you a tissue from the counter, “and it’s on the house. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you, I don’t know what to say,” you gushed, overwhelmed by the kindness. You were only used to Peter being so kind. When the rest of your life had been lonely it felt like every good thing someone did for you was a treasure.

“You don’t have to say a thing. It’ll be right out.”

It felt like a mere few minutes had passed before a warm cup of tea and baked cookie were in your hands. With another series of ‘thank yous’ said to the barista, you made your way to the table tucked in the far corner. As you waited for your tea to cool down enough to drink, you picked at the snickerdoodle. You broke off pieces of it to eat, weary that if you ate it too fast it might not stay down.

When you had worked through half of the delicious snack, you looked up. The empty seat across from you seemed to echo. If you listened hard enough, strained your ears to the point of lightheadedness, you could almost hear Peter’s laugh. It was the same laugh that he showed whenever you made an inadvertent joke or mocked the sentence structure of a decathlon practice question. That laugh was not the same as the little chuckle Peter gave you when you teased him.

Part of you cringed at the thought. There had been a point where you had meant the words you teased him with. At some point, you had told yourself you hated Peter. How could you have done that without knowing him? Had you jealousy been that deep?

Obviously it had been, you thought to yourself bitterly. You had willing teamed up with Flash, that was how deeply your envy had been. Now, through some twisted sense of fate and Peter’s charm, all you felt was shame. Shame and sadness seemed to come hand-in-hand. With the regret came tears, tears that cascaded down your cheeks and on the napkin placed before you.

You wanted to blame it all on Flash. He had turned green with envy whereas you had grown. Grown to like Peter, more than you ever thought was possible. Flash had ruined it, manipulated words, the only tool you had and made sure he was right in the end: Peter wouldn’t sick with you now. Only the pain in his face as your voice, but not truly yourself, spoke over the speakers and told a stale truth.

Your heart began to pound as reality set in fully. Nothing would be the same now. Whatever you and Peter had started, shared with each other, would flatline. There was no longer a pulse left in that relationship and it was your fault. All you could do was apologize, try to tell him how things had changed when you got to know him better.

Deep in your heart, you felt like you need Peter. Through him, through learning about him you learned more about yourself. Through liking him, you learned to like yourself. Now it felt like you were free-falling. The foothold Peter had made for you both had broken under the weight of past mistakes. You couldn’t fix it, so you would have to learn to be okay on your own.

And the coffee shop didn’t feel like the right place to start. Too many memories of Peter haunted the place, times when you felt like the best person you could be. You needed to tap into that person, that version of you, without the ghost of Peter helping you. You needed to be with yourself.

So, after you finished your cookie and tea, you thanked the barista one last time. It was noon by the time you had felt, time seemed to have sped up in your panicked state. With traffic somewhat calmed, you were able to cross the street without cars honking in distress this time. The path your house was peppered with browned leaves carried in on the breeze. Autumn’s end was near, sharp and sudden as the end of bare branches.

It would have surprised you if snow were to fall as you unlocked the gate to your apartment building. Instead of thinking about how you and Peter had said a heartfelt ‘goodbye’ in the spot you stood in just a few days ago, you thought about the impending Winter. Maybe you could convince your parents to go to your cousin’s place for the holiday season so you weren’t locked away in your room like last Winter break. It would be an unexpected trip but you couldn’t stand the thought of being home alone for two weeks.

What was also unexpected was the sight of your father when you opened the door to the apartment. He looked just as tired as he did Sunday, but he was cleaning the kitchen. Cleared plates and shining utensils were sat out on the drying rack. When you the door closed behind you, your father looked up.

“School?”

“I-I…” your stomach twisted, “I wasn’t feeling well. Can you...you call me in sick?” Your father’s brows scrunched together but he nodded nonetheless.

“Y-Yeah, you...you alright?” There was a softness in his voice, the type of concern a father should have for his daughter. How long had it been since you had heard him speak like that? He had been gone off on work trips, struggling to make ends meet and all the while hoping that your mother would come back. Yet, it seemed, he had a bit of softness saved for you. And that broke your heart.

“N-No….” Tears fell from your eyes before you had the chance to stop them. They blurred your vision until the home you had known for the past seven years was turned into muddled shapes. You relied solely on sound. So when, instead of asking about what had happened, you heard the footsteps of your father’s work boots against the floorboards, you were shocked. More so when two warm arms wrapped around you and your backpack to pull you to his chest.

Sobs racked your frame, so loud that your cries seemed to echo through the apartment. Despite the sound, you heard your father’s voice. “I wish I could fix it.”

“Y-you can’t,” you hiccuped. You felt his arms tighten around you as if holding you together was all he could do. In that moment, it was all you needed.

You didn’t remember falling asleep or how you got in bed in the first place. The note on your nightstand scrawled out in rough script from your father told you what you needed to know.

Called into the school. You should get some rest, honey. Feel better.

-Dad

You set the note back down and sat back up against your headboard. Fresh from sleep, your eyes were still clouded lost in the haze of slumber that called out to you to return. The moment the darkness behind your eyelids welcomed you back, an image of Peter smiling entered your mind’s eye. Crinkles by his eyes and the wide grin made your heartache.

Your eyes flew open and you scrambled to your nightstand again. In a mad, groggy search, you looked for your phone. Your fingertips traced the smoothed wood of the side table and found no trace of it. With a sudden rush of mild panic, you got up from your bed. The fabric of your worn, blue backpack poked out from under your desk chair.

With the knowledge it was the last place you had it and pure hope, you kneeled in front of your bag and rummaged through the pockets. Your hands brushed against folders and paper in your quest. The familiar feeling of earbud wires tangled between your fingers gave you a rush of relief. Pulling gently on the wires, you lifted it out of your backpack. Still plugged into the port, your earbuds suspended your phone before your eyes.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you unplugged your earbuds. The screen of your phone illuminated with text notifications. One from MJ asked where you had gone while the message from her gave you details on what you missed during English class. You had even received a message from Ned who, after telling you that it was him, told you that he hadn’t seen Peter and that he had heard about what had happened. There was nothing from Peter himself.

You finally unlocked your phone and scrolled through your contacts. It didn’t take long until you found Peter’s name littered among those of people you no longer spoke to. His contact picture was an open book, a picture you had taken during a tutoring session instead of asking for one from him. Now, looking at it, you wished you had.

Without wasting another moment on regret you hit the dial button and pressed your phone to your ear. The dull, repetitive ringing had you biting on the inside of your cheek nervously. Pick up, please, please pick up.

“Hi, it’s Peter….” His voice, animated, almost happy, answered a twisted sense of happiness flooded through you, even if it was short-lived. You had to tell him you were sorry.

“Pete, it’s me. I-I-”

“And I can’t get to the phone right now because uh...I’m busy? I guess? You can leave a message though. I don’t really know what else to-” A loud ‘beep’ stopped the automated message. Tears welled in your eyes at the sound before you found the courage to speak up.

“I know I’m the last person you want to hear from but I need to talk to you. I need to explain so you don’t think…” you paused and sighed. You should have written it down, planned out what you were going to say. It was too late now. “I’m sorry, Pete. You know I’m not...I’m not the best person, I sure wasn’t before we started talking. But with you, I feel like I can be a better person. I hope...I hope you can see that. I’m sorry.”

Your phone fell away from your ear as you pressed the ‘hang up’ button displayed on the screen. As you did, another text alert popped up. The number matched Ned’s and you tapped the notification.

NED: um, I don’t want to worry you or stress you out more than you probably already are but I still can’t find Peter.

NED: he normally tells me when he’s gonna go out but he didn’t and May doesn’t know where he is either. have you heard from him?

YOU: I gave him a call. He didn’t answer.

NED: okay, thanks.

NED: and, Y/N, don’t worry, he’ll come around.

You didn’t have the strength to thank Ned or ask how he even got your number. Instead, you peeked into your backpack again to find a notebook and a pen. Peter was gone, probably angry and upset. The thought filled you with worry.

Your eyelids grew heavy at you wrote out four simple words. On shaking legs, you stood from your spot and strode over to the window of your bedroom. Carefully, you leaned the notebook against the glass so it could easily be seen:

Spiderman, I need you.

Bitterly pleased with your handy work, you strode over to you bed and collapsed once more.

The light tapping of rain against your window slowly coaxed you from your slumber. Slowly, you sat up from your bed and hit the button on your phone to catch the time. It was ten o'clock at night meaning the dance tomorrow was merely sixteen hours away. The calculations in your head made you feel sick with dread and sleep.

The steady tap against your window pulled you out of your own mind. In the small second of peace, you let your thoughts drift again. That was, until, the pattering at your wind intensified. You shot up from your bed and you feet hit the floor. Blindly, you swung your hand towards the lamp on your nightstand and flicked it on.

Two white eyes of a familiar red mask came into the light. A gloved hand waved on the other side of the glass as you threw yourself off of your bed. Your bare feet padded against the carpet of your bedroom floor as you neared the window. You weren’t entirely sure if your lack of pure shock was from the lingering haze of sleep or the fact you had seen Spiderman before. There wasn’t much thought to give it before you opened the window.

“You got my message,” you whisper as you poke you head out of your window. Your teeth clattered as a gust of night air swirled into your room. “Are you cold?”

“I, no, I’m okay. You’re lucky I was swinging around.” He said, his voice not as low as the last time you saw him. Something about the pitch was familiar, so familiar in fact it gave you goosebumps. Or was that just the cold?

Now was not the time to dwell. “I….I need help...”

The blank eyes of the mask stared at you in wait. Quiet oozed between you and you remember Spiderman being more talkative before. More confident, even. Perhaps it had been an off day for him too.

“His name is Peter, Peter Parker, you might know him. He works with Iron Man and he...I messed up. I don’t know where he is he won’t answer his calls and his friends can’t reach him either. Can you...do you find people?”

“That’s more of a Jessica Jones’ thing.” Your brows furrowed at the snappy tone and you opened your mouth slightly in shock.

“But can you help?”

“Why do you want to find him?”

“Because he’s missing!” You yell in a whisper. You threw your arms up in the air but Spiderman only cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. Or perhaps a dog too wise for his own good.

“Just because of that?” Angry bubbled up inside you, spread flames from your stomach up to your chest; but your resolve turned to ash in your mouth. All you wanted was to know Peter was okay.

“I...I need to tell him that I’m sorry, that I-I...” The words got caught in your throat. Why were you telling a total stranger about this? A masked stranger at that. You were desperate...that was why.

“Tell him what?”

“That what I did, what I wanted, it’s different now.” Spiderman fell quiet and you felt it was due to the lack of context. But you were too tired to explain so you continued. “ I need to tell him that...well the voicemail I left him already covers most of it…”

“So he’ll call you back when he’s ready.” The superhero’s curtness was not something you had expected. Yet, despite the tone, you knew he was right. Peter would speak up when he was ready. There was no point in worrying until then. If he truly went missing, you were sure you would have felt it. With all that had happened, Peter probably ran off as you had.

“Yeah, sorry for bothering you. You’re probably busy.” Spiderman only nodded in reply and got up from his crouched position. As quiet as a shadow, you watched as he leaped on the fire escape railing and readied to jump off. When he lingered, you quirked a brow at him. Almost as if he sensed your change in expression, he craned his neck to look back at you.

“Do you...do you care about him?”

“Yes,” you said without missing a beat. “More than anything. He’s my closest friend and I….” The words teetered on the tip of your tongue but you bit them back. If you went too far you could never make it back. Spiderman nodded; sometimes there was no need for words to explain the most complex of feelings. All you had to do was look at someone’s face and just know.

“Then you can trust him to come around, Y/N.” With that, Spiderman lept and webbed away in a matter of a few seconds. You watched as the bright reds and blues of his suit faded into the haze of the light-polluted city. With your chin balanced on your elbow, you rested your head against the frame of the window. The white paint of its surface was chipped and had flaked off due to weathering over the years.

You too had lost parts of yourself as you had gotten older. Childhood memories felt more like an old movie now, one that you used to know the lines to but had since forgotten. When Peter asked you to tutor him, unknowingly, he had given you a chance at a starring role in a movie that promised a happy ending. So why did it feel like the reel had been cut short?

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