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spacedikut · 4 years

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“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #garcia is watching everything through the security cameras btw #you think she'd do all this and NOT watch her hard work flourish?#think AGAIN

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xadoheandterra · 3 years

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Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.

#fic: patriciate #fanfic #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #canon divergence #crossposted

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 7 years

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Softie

Prompt: “The urge to interrupt him before he had finished was overwhelming”

Pairing: Warren x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A few bad words...

Word Count: 2, 795

Summary: The reader thinks Warren hates her but he's really just trying to protect her because he caught the feels.

Tagged amazing beings: @emmcfrxst @iamplaguedwithideas

Masterlist

A/N: I used this lovely website that generated a random first line writing prompt and decided to give it a go. Definitely not my best work, but I really liked the idea I just had no clue how to end it so this not-so-hot mess happened. I had trouble finding a title but everyone knows that Warren is the #1 Soft Boy ™. I was maybe thinking of writing a mini part 2 as a sort of bonus epilogue thing. Hope you like it sweets!

The urge to interrupt him before he had finished was overwhelming.

Warren Worthington III is the most infuriating person you have ever known. Since the day you started at Xavier's and even now when you've just become an official member of the X-Men, he's never given you a break. From the start you were always kind to him, but he always maintained a stoic presence when you were in the room. It was a rare occasion when you would actually have a civilized conversation with him or when he wasn't constantly on your case, especially around the squad. During training he'd be harder on you than anyone else, and then afterwards he'd just ignore you like he didn't just spend two hours nagging you about your form and technique, or relentlessly knocking you to the ground. At some point you started sassing him back until it became a regular repartee, which usually ends with one of you storming off. You simply do not understand him.

But you. No one could get a rise out of Warren like you. Everything you do seems to elicit strong emotions that are entirely foreign to him and that terrifies him. He is aware that he is rude to you most of the time, but it's the only way he knows how to cover up the fact that you make him confused about everything. He doesn't comprehend how anyone could get him so worked up and yet you didn't even know it. He gets agitated just thinking about how oblivious you are to the effect you have on him.

So here he is arguing with the team about how you're not ready for your first mission, even though you're already suited up and on the jet that's about to take off. It is taking up every bit of your willpower not to snap at him.

"This mission is too risky! She's going to bring the whole team down!"

Jean comes to your defence, "It's not your decision Warren!"

"Look at her!" he retaliates, motioning to you. "She's nervous as hell- She's not ready for this."

Scott approaches a seething Warren in an attempt to work him down. "Hey man, calm down. We were all nervous on our first mission." Warren's wings puff up in response as he carries on arguing.

As the bickering continues, you look desperately to the one person who hasn't inserted themselves into the conversation yet. Your best friend can read you like a book; one look at your face and she knows exactly what you're thinking. Ororo knows that the fighting and Warren's constant badgering is what's making you the most nervous.

Thankfully, she somehow manages to silence the room. "She's trained just as hard as the rest of us. Yes, this is a big one for her first mission, but if she says she's ready, she is ready."

Everyone watches you quietly as they wait for your answer. You scan over everyone's faces. Everyone is giving you a reassuring smile or a curt nod of approval, except Warren. He stares at you intently with an unreadable expression.

You think about how far you've come; all those times you stayed behind to train some more with Raven, all the patience it took in learning to control your mutation with Charles' help, and all those extra hours you spent with the team going over different tactics and reviewing past missions. You know you're ready for this. You muster up as much conviction into your voice as you can."I'm ready."

Warren stalks to his seat grumbling something unintelligible. Knowing him, it probably involves a lot of swearing.

"I don't get why he hates me so much," you mutter as you fiddle with your seat buckle. "He doesn't hate you," Jean chimes in with a knowing smile.

"How do you- Oh, right," you chuckle, embarrassed that you momentarily forgot she could read minds.

"It's okay to be nervous on your mission," she reassures you. "And it doesn't take a telepath to see that it's not the mission itself that's got you freaked out."

"It's just that- I don't get what I've ever done to him." You don't doubt Jean's abilities, but you're still sceptical. "He totally hates me- There's just no other logical explanation to the way he acts around me."

"Trust me," Jean says, placing a hand on your shoulder. "He doesn't hate you."

You wake up- well not really. You are conscious but you can't open your eyes or move your muscles just yet. You hear a heart monitor and assume that you're in some sort of infirmary; ideally at Xavier's. You recall the events that led you here.

All in all, your first mission was a success; the team accomplished in containing the threat and catching the bad guys. However, you didn't come out unscathed. The mission was indeed a challenging one, but nothing you weren't prepared for. The team had to go off plan when things took a twist. The initial plan was to spread out individually, but not too far away from each other, to surround the captors and save the hostages. However, two of the men escaped through the back, and since you and Warren were closest to the exit, you had to team up to chase after them.

You tried your best to work as a team, but Warren seemed hell-bent on making sure you didn't do anything, flying past you to get to them first. He ignored your attempts at trying to communicate or come up with a basic plan. He successfully caught the first guy without much effort, but Warren didn't notice when the other one came up from behind him. You had just caught up to him, panting and completely out of breath. You saw the man approaching Warren with gun trained on the head of blonde curls. You knew you didn't have time to stop the man and you knew that alerting Warren would make the man shoot him then and there. So you jumped in front of Warren, hoping at least shield him from the bullet. The man obviously noticed you because you heard the gunshots while you were midair and felt the hot blood pouring all over your chest when your body hit the ground. Here you were, bleeding out on the ground, and all you could think of was how this guy had such good aim or if he was just lucky; bad guys in movies usually don't aim that well. You were hit a few times, thankfully only the first two spilled blood, the rest hit your vest. The first just grazed you neck without hitting any major blood vessels, but the second bullet just happened to have hit right above where your bullet-proof vest ended.

Having heard the gunshot, Warren spun around immediately and knocked the man out cold with one swift swipe of his wing. He picked you up in his arms, not caring that your blood was all over him. Panic settled in when your eyes started fluttering shut."Y/N!"

"Warren- I-I'm sorry," you managed to choke out through the metallic taste of your own blood filling your mouth.

"No- Fuck- Y/N! Y/N!" He tried to get you to keep your eyes open with no avail. The last thing you remember seeing is a silver blur.

"What happened?!" Peter's concerned voice rang through your ears.

"Get her out of here! Now!" Warren growled, placing you into Peter's arms.

"Warren," you mumbled as you slipped out of consciousness.

"Don't worry, you'll get to have one of your screaming matches with him soon enough." Peter's chuckled. You couldn't help but let out a soft painful breath of laughter before completely blacking out.

You didn't think Peter meant as soon as you woke up.

You finally open your eyes to see Warren asleep, his head rests face-down on his folded arms next you on the bed and his butt is close to falling off his chair. You come to the conclusion that it can't be comfortable for anyone to sleep like that.

You weakly move your hand to touch his arm, wincing in pain when the movement sends a shock of pain through your chest. The rest of your body is ridiculously sore and probably sports deep bruises from the shots that hit the vest. The light sounds and shifting around him wakes him up. You see dark rings around his baby blue eyes. This is the closest thing he's had to sleep since you were brought here about day ago. He refused to leave your side. The smile that had grown on his face, seeing that you were finally awake, soon fades as he realizes that your trying to rip off all the wires and IV's that are connected to your body.

"What the hell are you doing?!" You ignore him and try to fight against his arms that keep your hands from doing any more damage. Hank rushes in at the sound of the heart monitor going off.

Hank gently coaxes you into settling back down and explains to you everything that happened while Warren is the corner of the room trying to calm himself down. You bargain with him to at least let you sit up with your legs dangling off the bed so you can shake the stiffness out of them. Once Hank makes sure that you won't do anything stupid, he leaves the room to tell the others that you've woken up. Warren turns back to you fuming, and wastes no time in lecturing you about how careless you were.

"You recklessly rushed in and now you're hurt!"

"I took a bullet for you- I saved your life!"

"I never asked you to!"

"Well, that's what happens in this line of work, Warren!"

"Work?! I thought you were going to die!"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I care about you okay!"

Hold up. What kind of shit is he trying to pull?

You just don't get him. He can't treat you like you're a burden to the team and then spew that kind of crap. You seethe through your teeth, "I am going to give you exactly five seconds to repeat yourself because I don't think I heard you correctly."

He approaches you and leans in close, placing a hand on either side of your thighs on the edge of the bed. Your breath hitches at the electricity you feel between your bodies even though you aren't touching.

"I. Like. You."

His face hovers mere inches above yours as he looks between both of your Y/E/C eyes to try to get a read on you, but you are at a loss for words. That was the last thing you expected him to say. Not being able to get a read, his confidence slightly falters. He pushes himself back up and breaks eye-contact with you. "And I can't stand the fact that you almost died thinking that I hate you."

Your anger subsides quickly as you process everything he just said. You simply have no idea what to say. Was he playing games? He was just chewing you out and now he's confessing his feelings? At this point you don't even know why your still trying to figure out what goes through that mind of his. Your face contorts with a plethora of different emotions as you try to find the words. You settle on confusion.

"What?"

"When we fight, you narrow your eyes a lot and you ball up your fists to keep yourself from punching me. You bite on the inside of your cheek when you have something to say, but you're too shy to say it." He's currently kicking himself for sounding like a huge cheese ball he would normally want to beat up. "You always look at the ground when you're sad and try not to bother anyone with your problems. When you're happy, your eyes sparkle, you can't keep your feet still, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling too much, even though there's no such thing because it's beautiful. You also bite your lip when you're nervous or concentrated and it drives me fucking insane."

As he's bringing all this up you back track and realize that everything is saying is true. You didn't notice all these little things that he's pointing out. As you file through your memories for these details, you find yourself recalling all the little things he does. How he clenches his jaw when you sass him and his wings puff up slightly no matter how hard he tries to keep them down. You haven't seen him smile often, in fact you think you're hallucinating the few times he does, but it lights up the whole room. You feel yourself melting on the inside, thinking about his baby blue eyes always seem to shine no matter what expression he has. You don't realize that you've subconsciously been biting your lip this whole time.

"And you're doing it now!" He throws his hands up dramatically.

"I honestly can't tell if you're angry with me or not." You giggle at how sensitive he is. You've got him wrapped around your little finger when he hears your adorable laugh. He settles down beside you on the bed. "If you like me, then why are you always so hard on me? Why didn't you want me to go on the mission- or be part of the team for that matter?"

"I don't want you to go on missions because I'm afraid you'll get hurt." You watch how his golden curls bounce from side to side as he shakes his head. "And, well, I couldn't just tell you that I liked you."

"Why not?"

"Because..." You raise an eyebrow at him. His cheeks go bright red as he averts his gaze to where your feet dangle close to his. You never thought you'd see the day where Warren Worthington III would get the least bit flustered, let alone be the cause of it. "Because I'm not good at dealing with all this feeling shit, okay. I'm sorry, I never meant to be such an asshole."

"You see, I wish you would have told me that sooner." You crane your neck to catch his eyes which is big mistake because there is a literal hole in your chest that feels like it's being poked at and you feel the stitches in your neck pull at the skin. You bite back the pain and smile at him when your eyes meet. "Maybe I kind of like you too."

"What?" He was confused but he was grinning from ear to ear.

"You heard me." You roll your eyes and lean over to nudge him playfully with your shoulder. "Fuck-" How the hell do you keep forgetting that you got shot?

"Careful," he warns, placing a hand on your shoulder to steady you. His hand sends a comforting warmth through your body. "Does it hurt?"

"It's not so bad."

You find yourself lost in his eyes as he does with yours. He starts leaning in, his sweet breath fanning over your face. Your heart races as your focus involuntarily darts to his pink lips for a split second. His hand trails up from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes never leaving yours. You let your eyes flutter closed when his thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. Your lips have barely brushed when you're interrupted.

"Get a room!"

Both of you whip your heads, a little too quick for you because you feel pain ripple through your chest, to see the squad standing in the doorway. Jean rolls her eyes at Scott's comment before dragging him away, Peter has already sped away, Jubilee and Kurt are giggling, and Ororo is smirking at the scene before her.

"Let's give them some time alone," she says, ushering Jubilee and Kurt away, but not before shooting you a wink as she closes the door.

Warren awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and chuckles, "I was a huge asshole to you, I'm really sorry about that."

"Well, there are ways to make up for that," you smirk.

"I am so okay with making up for it."

You smile and lean in to give him a soft peck on the cheek. You wince in pain at the sudden movement. "But that will have to wait until these heals," you say, gesturing to your wounds.

"I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"You're going to have to, birdboy."

"You're worth waiting for."

Wow. You never thought he had it all in him and he just keeps getting softer.

"I always knew that deep down inside, you were a softie."

"Shut up."

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #potatowrites #my writing #xmen #xmen imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #softie

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xadoheandterra · 5 years

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Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Cor Leonis, Gladiolus Amicitia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gilgamesh, Cid Sophiar Tags: 10 years older!Prompto, Cor Leonis and Cid Sophiar the old guy duo, plot comes knocking, Noctis realizes some shit, introspective bullshit on the nature of Prophecy and being Chosen Summary: Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

The call came early in the morning from Cid to Cor. Out of the entire sudden party of six only Cor, Ignis, Gladio, and Gilgamesh where awake just yet. Ignis had only just stumbled out of the tent he shared with Noctis, hair sleep-messed and glasses half-askew for the motion. The King wouldn’t be awake for a few hours more, since the sun had barely risen over the eastern mountain ridge of the Ravatogh Trail, and Prompto seemed content to sleep in after the night they had the day previous.

Gilgamesh noticed the sound of the ringtone first, and he tilted his head Cor’s direction. The braid of his hair tumbled down his shoulder and mixed with the long, clasped bangs that framed the taller man’s face. The interest made Cor stiffen his spine even as the man asked, politely, “What unearthly sound is that?”

“Phone,” Cor said, voice tense because there were a scant few people who even had his number these days and would deign to call him. He dug the hone out of his Crownsguard fatigue’s while Ignis began to pull out food from the armiger to start on breakfast.

“Are omelets alright with everyone this morning?” Ignis called out to the camp as Cor finally got his phone out of his pocket. He stared at Cid’s number for the longest moment and let the phone ring, then shook his head.

“That’s fine, Ignis. I need to take this,” Cor said, stood, and walked off the edge of the Haven. He kept the party in his sights even as he tapped the answer call button and braced himself for Cid’s usual antics. “Leonis.”

“Well I’ll be damned, ya picked ‘er right up fer once. Was ‘fraid I’d need to give a second or third call,” Cid drawled along the line and Cor pursed his lips.

“Very funny,” Cor said.

“I guess hangin’ out with those boys is doin’ some sorta good fer ya, eh, Cor?”

Cor sighed and dragged a hand along his face. He turned from the camp for a moment and prayed for patience—and reminded himself that Cid was a dear friend even if he was almost forty years Cor’s senior.

“Old man,” Cor said tiredly, “why are you calling.”

“Who you callin’ old?” Cid harrumphed, then sighed a second later with a grunt that Cor presumed meant Cid had finally found a chair to settle into. A second later the faint groan of relief brought a smile to Cor’s face as Cid mumbled, “Ah, hells. I am old.”

“Admitting it? Will wonders never cease?” Cor teased lightly, and then shook his head and his face turned towards seriousness once more. “Although really, Cid. Why are you calling?”

Cor waited, half-turned to view the Haven once more. He watched as Prompto crawled out of the tent and scrubbed at his hair and his chin-fuzz with a wide yawn, and how Gilgamesh—who’d been staring and Cor really wished the other man wouldn’t; he was half-certain that Gilgamesh was going to stab him as time went on with how the man just looked at him—Gilgamesh immediately moved to grasp Prompto by the wrist. Cor might’ve found it odd how Prompto favored the well-worn travel clothing that they found him in compared to his Crownsguard fatigues if Cor didn’t realize that ten years instilled into Prompto some form of habit and figured for both Prompto and Gilgamesh the clothes were something of a comfort. Cor hadn’t missed the way that Prompto tugged them out of a very much red armiger compared to Noctis’ colder blue, or even Regis’ icy silver.

“It’s done, Cor,” Cid eventually spit out. “That EXTERNIS gal o’ yers delivered the tempered mythril yesterday and I jes got up an’ finished installin’ it inta place. Them boys are all good t’head on off an see that Oracle o’ theirs.”

Cor breathed out heavily and felt his shoulders relax just the slightest bit. Hopefully with the reminder that Lunafreya awaited them in Altissa, and the fact that the Royal Vessel was now operational meant the tenseness that each and every one of them were ignoring could be dealt away with for the more immediate problem. Honestly Cor felt thankful that the poor woman hadn’t gone and dragged Leviathan awake just yet, considering what a right mess to Altissa that would eventually be given the rumors Cor heard from the lips of Imperial’s and Hunters about the mess Titan made of Duscae and Cleigne.

Astrals, Cor thought disdainfully, were terrible weapons of mass destruction. They were worse when they were awake compared to when sleeping. Cor would never forget the day that Regis summoned Ramuh of all the deities from a dainty little crystal the bastard found back in their youth. It was one of Regis’ godsdamned adventures Cor was rather glad to not have been originally brought in on, if just the aftermath had nearly wasted a good chunk of Duscae for nearly ten years.

“We’re about six hours out of Caem,” Cor said eventually when Cid made an inquisitive ‘Cor?’ on the other end of the line. “Up in Ravatogh Trail.”

“What in tarnation are you boys doin’ all the way up there?” Cid demanded.

“Hunting,” Cor said dryly.

“Well finish up and get yer behinds down here, kid! I ain’t got all the time in the world to waste, ya know!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cor let the smile cross his lips. “We’ll head your way as soon as His Majesty wakes up.”

Cid harrumphed. “Damn spoiled brats. Sleepin’ in when there’s work t’be done.”

Cor hummed in agreement. He didn’t bother to remind Cid that the magic of the Crystal took a lot out of its Kings. Cid knew that well in hand already. Lamenting Regis’ desire to sleep in had been nothing more than teasing between them, Clarus, and Weskham back in the day rather than anything serious. It was the days where Regis slept too much or too little that brought to mind worry; Cor wondered if they boys felt the same about Noctis. Still that ended the conversation pretty neatly, so Cor hung up without further word. He’d probably get an earful from Cid when they reached Caem for hanging up like that, but Cor didn’t quite care.

They’d be on their way to Altissa by tomorrow, and Cor could go back to figuring out what sort of bullshit nonsense Niflheim was up. This back and forth in occupation, and the fact that the gates to Insomnia were still closed, did not bode well to Cor. He had his own work he needed to get to, and while he cared for the boys he couldn’t stay with them. He wanted to—Six knows Cor wanted to stay with them and make sure they paid attention to the world around them instead of whatever nonsense they’d been doing before he’d been pulled into their messes—but they wouldn’t learn if he hovered. They needed to learn. They needed to be their own men.

Cor would only drag them down with his memories.

Noctis woke up to an empty tent, something he found himself steadily grown used to over the past several days. It still bothered him, like an itch that he couldn’t quite reach at the small of his back. For a moment he lay there and stared up at the ceiling of the tent in silence. He felt empty; a whole ripped through his chest filled with nothing reminded him of the days after he woke up to know Prompto was gone. Then Noctis breathed and closed his eyes—he felt for the bond to his retainers—

I offer my life into service—

—to guard and protect from all threats both within and out—

—as the blade to pierce through the darkness—

—never to be alone, forgotten, or without a companion in the moments where his steps may falter—

—for my King of Light, forevermore.

Noctis relaxed slightly at the feel of it—of his Hand, and his Shield, and of Prompto whose Oaths were so unorthodox that they didn’t have a title with them. He could feel where the pieces of themselves twined in with the pieces of himself—or the pieces that he could touch and use, as jagged and broken that they were. Ignis, Gladio and Prompto gave him something as much as he gave them something. Noctis shared with them his Light, the magic that family history claimed to come from the Crystal. They shared in return with him the stabilizing presence of their very lives.

“Okay,” Noctis breathed out and pushed himself up. He clenched a fist over his chest and sucked in a breath, only to release it a second later with another reminded, “Okay.” Fortified Noctis rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shifted onto his hands and knees so that he could craw out of the sleeping bag. It took a little focus, more than it would when the rest of his mind started to function beyond the haze of waking up and waking up alone, but Noctis eventually got the sleeping bag back into the armiger and his change of clothes out of it.

The young King spent fifteen minutes working through his clothes, half seated and half crawling in and out of each piece before he folded the articles of dirty clothing—something he did on rare occasion—and focused on the space in the armiger that held the laundry they hadn’t gotten around to yet. Sometimes Noctis couldn’t be certain if the clothes ever made it to the right part of the space of his magic, so tired like this, but this morning he wasn’t as dazed as he could be, so Noctis felt reasonably assured that the clothes made it to where he wanted and not, accidentally, at the top of Ravatogh.

Noctis sniffed at his Crownsguard fatigue jacket as he crawled his way out of the tent and made a slight face at the smell that wafted off of it—perhaps they needed to make a stop to the nearest laundromat, he thought with his nose scrunched up as he made his way into the brightness of the sun. It took half-a-second before the sudden blindness associated with light washed away and Noctis was able to drag himself to his feet.

“Morning,” Noctis mumbled, and accepted the fresh plate of breakfast from Ignis. He took a bite without even really looking, then paused to stare down at the plate almost uncomprehendingly when he realized it was eggs with a large whopping of bits of meat cooked into it. Noctis dug his fork around the omelet for a second and raised his eyebrows when he saw no squirreled away vegetables in the meat.

“Is something wrong?” Ignis questioned, lips tugged into a frown, and Noctis jerked his head up and around.

“What? No,” Noctis shook his head and stuffed another forkful of the omelet into his mouth. Zu eggs that they gathered out of the nest about two weeks back when they went and visited the Royal Tomb rumored to be nestled in the volcano itself, Noctis realized. They had a different sort of texture when cooked compared to most of the domesticated eggs that one could get at the marketplace. He knocked around the meat a bit more before he realized it was Spiracorn and not Garula. “Foods good, Specs.”

Ignis smiled, relieved, and Noctis flopped himself down into one of the camper chairs to finish eating. It wasn’t a lie, even—the food was good. The initial surprise had been from the fact that Ignis hadn’t bothered to sneak in any veggies. Noctis had grown used to taking that first bite in the mornings, only to taste something unholy followed by the need to dig out all of the pesky things from an otherwise succulent meal. Prompto would steal them off of his plate—the heathen loved vegetables for some reason—but instead there’d been nothing. Noctis tried to remember the last time he had a bite of food in the breakfast with the taste of some vegetable and found himself unable to recall.

With a mouthful of food Noctis glanced over to where Ignis had begun clean up of the cooking supplies with a hum. Had Ignis stopped sneaking vegetables in Noctis food out of some sort of regret? The man knew Noctis gave them all to Prompto, anyway. His disgust and distaste for the food was legendary and it took work for the royal kitchens to find ways to accommodate Noctis. The thought and care implied in the fact that Ignis had done away with vegetables in Noctis’ food was something he hadn’t even thought about until now.

Once the plate was cleared Noctis moved to wash it, only for Ignis to take it from him without a word and begin to clean. It gave Noctis further pause, surprised at Ignis’ nonchalance and it struck something within Noctis that left him heavy hearted. He looked over to Gladio who sipped at some water with a book in hand, then to Prompto who looked right at him with an unreadable expression. His wrist was grasped yet again in Gilgamesh’s only hand, and Noctis wanted to frown at it—but he’d seen the man wake up in the middle of the night with a sharp breath and twist around until he could grasp at Prompto’s wrist and found himself unable to.

It reminded Noctis of how he’d wake and seek out the feel of Prompto at his heart; how Noctis found comfort in the Oaths Promised that made ties to each of his retinue. He couldn’t be jealous when this ancient man didn’t have that comfort like Noctis. It made the young monarch wonder how other people sought comfort in those closest to them when they couldn’t feel the very souls bound to theirs. After a second Noctis turned away and looked over to Cor who stood off to the side with his head bowed low, and decided that if Ignis wanted to clean and Gladio wanted to read, then Noctis would bother the Immortal instead.

“Silver for your thoughts?” Noctis asked, and when Cor made a confused sort of sound in the back of his throat Noctis’ lips curled into a slight smile.

“I thought the phrase was gil for your thoughts?” Cor asked and Noctis shrugged.

“Maybe?” Noctis said and turned his gaze toward the sky. “Although I always thought it was crowns.” He looked over at Cor, curious. “Is it a currency thing, then?”

“Ah, yeah,” Cor blinked. “Is there anything you need, your highness?”

Noctis said a blunt, “You looked lonely,” to which Cor snorted and then shook his head.

“Of course.” For a moment the Immortal said nothing more, then stretched and looked over the camp with a critical eye. “Cid called this morning.” Noctis stilled, the breath stolen from his lungs. He knew what Cid calling meant. Aranea gave them a huge chunk of mythril before they left Lestallum to meet Prompto. Cor made sure the metal got delivered to EXTERNIS for processing, but if Cid called then it was probably already installed.

“I see,” Noctis said after a moment, head ducked down. The Royal Vessel—with it ready they could head to Altissa. Noctis would see Luna again, for the first time in twelve years. He knew she planned to summon Leviathan; he understood that she sought to forge the Covenants for him now, something he hadn’t truly understood until after the blessing of Ramuh completed itself in Fociaugh Hollow.

For weeks after Fociaugh Hollow Noctis wondered why Luna decided that they needed the Covenants with the Astrals. She knew just as well as he did that to wake them one after another like this was dangerous. Noctis anticipated the need to gain that Astrals blessings—he knew about the Prophecy in the loosest sense, and knew that as the foretold King of Light he’d need the Astrals to defeat the darkness, but he didn’t understand why now. He’d originally thought the darkness maybe meant Nifflheim after they attacked and stole the Crystal from Insomnia. Perhaps that was what Noctis had been meant to defeat—Insomnia’s ancient enemy.

Except Noctis knew he wouldn’t need all of the Six for something so paltry as a fight with another nation. Only Titan or Ramuh could lay waste to the entirety of the MT units Nifflheim could throw at them if needed. Then Prompto vanished and came back with talk about the Scourge and daemons and that these were a disease—that people called it the darkness when they didn’t call it the Scourge—and there was a Healer King tasked to end it. A Healer King still alive today and working with the very people who stole his Crystal and killed his Father, even, who was related to Noctis with some two-thousand year difference. What then did that make Noctis in the grand scheme of things? The second choice of the Six to fix what had been broken about the world?

No one really knew where the Scourge came from these days, or that it was even a thing beyond that at night daemons roamed the world and would kill you. They knew the Haven’s kept people safe, that lights kept the daemons out, but what else did they know about the fiends of the dark, really? Certainly, Noctis hadn’t known they were people, sick and malformed people, but they’d been people once and possibly could be again someday.

Ardyn failed to stop it, the Scourge; he grew sick with it instead. How could Noctis finish it then? Noctis whose magic was so terribly broken and mostly out of reach—who lacked the soul-weary Ring of the Lucii that his forefathers used to channel the Crystal’s blistering Light. All Noctis had were the Covenants, and even then Luna forged them so fast and so quickly that Noctis worried they’d even be able to get the remaining three after Leviathan without consequence.

“Your Majesty?” Cor asked, and Noctis blinked out of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” Noctis mumbled and gave Cor a hesitant smile. “Just…surprised.” Cor nodded and Noctis carefully relaxed himself from his tense thoughts. “Can you do something for me, Cor?”

“What do you need?” Cor asked, face serious.

“Find Ardyn for me,” Noctis said, words soft but with the bit of steel behind them that he rarely used. He looked over to Cor and watched the way the other man looked at him back, the way his brow twitched and his eyes narrowed. “I need to have a discussion with the Chancellor.” Noctis waited until Cor nodded before he smiled his thanks. “I’ll go let the others know to pack up then.”

#fanfic #final fantasy xv #ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #cor leonis #cid sophiar #prompto argentum #gilgamesh ffxv #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #fic: the path untrodden #fic: the burning of solheim

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